#THIS IS TO SAY. YES. THIS SHOULD BE THE SEASON OF FISH. I COMMAND IT.

[theminecraftbee]

I think the other funniest thing about all the current fish-related shenanigans is. if this season is nearly as long as last season we are going to get well past the point any of this fish stuff was relevant (to anyone but gem, gem fish stuff will be forever). however. this is also the early days. the ESTABLISHING days. people drew scar as an elf until the bitter end of season nine is what I’m saying. xb has been a fish for like three seasons now is what I’m saying. joe STILL has green hair from snips in most of his fanart is what I’m saying. people still give ren his season eight prosthetics from time to time is what I’m saying. doc’s design gets more and more Creature every season, is what I’m saying.

somewhere, there’s a fanartist solidifying their designs for the hermits for the first time and it’s while we’re all making them fish and in a year and a half all the new fans will be staring, baffled, going “okay and explain why pearl is a salmon again???”

is what I’m saying.

and personally I think that’s beautiful,

[whet-ones-write]

Baku Birthday 2021

So I’m posting this a /little/ early because I’m just too excited to share this fic! So I joined in with Bakugou’s Birthday Bash hosted by these amazing people!!

@phasmwrites​ @katsukikitten @bakugotrashpanda​ @lady-bakuhoe​ @jodrawssmut​ & @ramen-rambles​ 

And since joining I couldn’t have found a more supporting and helpful group on Discord!! Special thanks to: @hoe-doroki​ for being my beta reader and editor!! Thank you for dealing with my sorry, inconsistant ass and giving me the strength to pull though and just do some of my best writing to date! I haven’t written so much in so long and it was rather nice!! 

And to @notchesandbullets​ for telling me I can do this and be those words of praise when I needed them the most helping me pull though and finish this!

Contains: DragonShifter!Reader x Bakugou. Fantasy Setting,

WC: 3755 - Masterlist to all the works!!

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, oral (Female + M reviecing), Cowgirl, unprotected sex, Cum eating, Premature Ejaluations (if you squint), Age gap? It’s implied Reader is much older than Katsuki. Restraining Katsuki, Pervert Kiri

Looking around his throne, Katsuki couldn’t help but scoff at what came to his mind. He had everything a chief could want, but it still wasn’t enough for the young, barbaric male. Vast and grand was his home. People were happy, going about their day, harvest due and bountiful, the river running steady and clean. 

Though, he was still missing a vital element to his life. Someone to make him happy, to have by his side and call his own. So the only thing he had left to need or want was someone to walk into battle with him, because not just any person would. 

No, they had to have a few key traits to meet his standards. They needed to have a willingness to fight, to want to protect those around him and themselves with everything they had. They had to be able to take flack and a joke but also be serious when the time came. They had to be able to take no shit from anyone and make sure to be willing to put others in their place if they went out of line.

It wasn’t much! Honestly…Or at least he thought so. 

“...ugou, Bakugou!” A voice snapped him from his thoughts as he glanced at his adviser, unhappy over the fact he was interrupted from his thoughts. 

“What is it?” Katsuki questioned as he lazily shifted his attention to the man standing at his right side. 

“As I was saying, there have been some sightings of strangely coloured dragons in the nearby valleys. We do not know if it is one or more or if they’re passing by or staying. Moreover, they have yet to attack the villages, but it would be wise to at least investigate the surrounding areas before anything happens,” his assistant spoke as he looked for what the King was going to do. 

Taking a moment, Katsuki couldn’t help but smile as he got up and began to stretch. “Eijirou, prepare for a flight. It seems there might be someone that needs a reminder of who those valleys belong to.” 

Though to the Bakugou family dragons were revered and seen as good omens, there was a limit. Dragons that fought over territory could be destructive and wipe entire lands from existence, so if there was ever more than one in an area it could prove to be a bad omen instead.

One dragon or one family were seen as protecting the lands, keeping invaders at bay and being loyal by nature. Though another one could offset the balance, should they prove to be hungry or hostile. The valleys in which the Bakugous lived were famous for having the longest standing relationship with the red dragons of the Kirishima clan. They had served one another for generations with the latest duo being that of the Barbarian King Katsuki Bakugou, son of the late Chieftess Mitsuki Bakugou, and the dragon that protected the lands, Eijirou Kirishima, son to late Hikori Kirishima.

Standing at seven feet, the mostly human nodded and saluted as he walked with his friend outside. “Yes, sir.” He beamed happily, seemingly excited by the prospect of seeing another dragon. “Though, what are your instructions, should they prove hostile?” 

“Hostile?” Katsuki mused, placing a hand to his chin as the other morphed into that of a forty-foot-long dragon from the tip of his nose to the very end of his arrow-pointed tail. Once finished, Kirishima leaned down to lower his wing, letting Katsuki get on by walking up the thin bone of the arch of his wing and holding onto his spines, climbing all the way to behind the red horns that adorned his head. “Should the dragon wish to try and stay, we will start through the diplomatic route.” 

That was the thing about Katsuki. For all his bloodlust and anger, he was quite the strategist when it came to monsters several times his size. Having worked with Eijirou for some time, they had built up a bond of trust valuable for when trouble arose. 

“Should that fail, we will have to take things up a notch. I would like to avoid a fight if at all possible.” He sighed as he clung to the horn while the other took off. “The valley is full of fish making their way upstream for the breeding season,” he muttered before groaning and slapping his face as he remembered something, getting even more irritated. 

“It could be a female dragon,” he groaned, looking down to Eijirou. “With breeding season approaching, it could prove very troublesome,” he grumbled as he lay down to keep low as Eijirou took to the sky. 

“Hm,” came a deep rumble from the beast.

A female dragon would be far better than a male should they be able to move it along. It could prove worse in the long run, though, as other males came to try and have their chance, destroying the local landscape fighting over the female. 

“Not going to be influenced? I know you’re a young male.” Katsuki snickered as the dragon grunted and shook slightly in a ‘no’. “Don’t worry, whatever happens we’ll sort it,” he offered quietly as he calmed down to focus on the mission at hand. 

They took to the base of the mountains and looked for any signs of disturbance. With fear running though the nearest village, it was clear to see that the crops were half unattended and in the middle of being harvested. “I’m going to go take a look at the surrounding areas and talk to the locals. You go on up the mountain and scout that out,” the Chief commanded. With a short huff and a nod, Eijirou turned to slowly and carefully make his way up and around the mountains. 

It wasn’t long before Eijirou returned with some news. Meeting in the center of town, the dragon descended slowly and waited for Katsuki to approach before he spoke. “I found a trail of blood from the ground leading up to a cave roughly halfway up the mountain. 

Nodding, Katsuki signaled for Eijirou to lower himself so he could climb onto his back. “Sounds about right. The locals saw a figure flying unsteadily across the sky and into the mountain. There was a loud thump before all went silent. It’s more than likely a dragon. It hasn’t done harm to the villagers yet, though, so a slow, quiet and careful approach is needed.”

Coming to the entrance of the cave, Katsuki hopped off Eijirou, immediately noticing the plants had been recently crushed and a splattering of dried blood was leading into the cave. Looking up to Eijirou, he nodded and quietly led the way in. Eijirou used a small breath to light the torch that Katsuki would have to use to see. 

It didn’t take them long to find the cause of the blood and crushed plants. Lying in front of them was a bronze dragon just as large as Kirishima, if not bigger, bleeding heavily from it’s hind leg, belly and face. 

“Holy shit,” Katsukimuttered as he looked over the sight. He froze as the dragon raised its head. Chuckling, you looked over at Katsuki and Eijirou. “If you have come to kill me, at least make it swift.” 

“Tch, don’t lump me with most humans,” Katsuki stated as he approached you, looking over the wounds. A huffing could be heard as he made his way closer, your muscles tense and beady eyes watching his form, ready to attack should harm come. “I’m a Bakugou. We don’t harm your kind.” 

“You may not harm but you enslave. I feel sorry for the red scaled one over there. Forced to serve you like their ancestors,” you mumbled, laying your head down and closing your eyes to rest. 

Eijirou huffed before he sat down. “I’m not. It’s nice to have lands that we don’t have to fight over and live in harmony with humans,” he protested, watching as Katsuki assessed the wounds. “I am from the Kirishima clan.” He beamed, almost a little too excited to say so. “It’s nice to see another shade of red around here. Normally those of the Shinsou clan are around these areas.” Eijirou started, tilting his head to the side. “So what brings you here?” he mused. 

Which was how you explained your side of the story. It wasn’t uncommon for humans to attack those of draconic race because of the first dragons causing havoc and turmoil for humankind. You were a young dragon who still had not found some land to live in. So, you were aimlessly looking around for somewhere to sleep before you were ambushed by a kingdom that had a bad past with dragons, driving you out. 

“Well,” Katsuki started as he backed off. “If you revert into your human form, we can take you back and give you medical aid. I’m not about to let a creature like you just die pathetically cold and alone in such a depressing state.” 

With that, they watched as your form changed into a bloodstained, corseted, sleeveless dress, wings still visible with a tail barely peeking from beneath your long skirt. Their eyes lingered for a little too long to be completely respectful.  

Getting up from where he lay, Eijirou gently enclosed you in his claws, protecting you, letting Katsuki onto his back before taking off back to the kingdom to give you the aid you needed. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next thing you knew, you were waking up to some argument going on outside, though you took no heed to it. After all, you would need to at least stay to repay the kindness the human has shown you before taking your leave. 

As the flap to the tent opened, you looked up at the figure that came to inspect you in the cot. “How are you feeling?” The one that entered had torn red wings and a thin arrow-headed tail much like that of the dragon you’d seen earlier. 

“Much better, thanks.” He watched you as you got up to move around.

“Yeah, my mother is a great healer.” The man beamed proudly before his face dropped for a moment in realisation. “Oh, that’s right! I’m Eijirou Kirishima!” He offered a hand for you to shake as he introduced yourself. “I’m Katsuki’s dragon companion. Speaking of which, when you feel up to it, he wants to see you in the throne room. He’s currently occupied with some business, so why not come later tonight before dinner? He wants to talk to you about some things.”

“Ah I see” You nodded in agreement though still clearly wary of him. 

“Yeah, my mom specialises in herbal and magical treatments for dragons. You should be fighting fit by the end of day! So enjoy yourself and have a look around! You’re more than welcome here as long as you don’t kill anyone.” You found yourself chuckling lightly along with him as he waved. “See ya! Rest up well and don’t push yourself too hard!” He beamed as he left. 

As Eijirou left you alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but think back to just how trustingly and kindly Katsuki had treated you. Taking your leave from the tent, you looked to the sky to gauge the time of day. Deciding you had at least an hour before the sun would set and you would need to see the Chieftain, you went to see what the town had to offer.

As you walked among the townsfolk, you couldn’t help but notice that dragons and humans walked around one another as if that were a normal thing to do. Had things always been like this? And how had this not spread to other countries? Though be that as it might, you were happy for these people; they seemed to be comfortable and welcoming just like the man who had found you. Perhaps you could stay a little longer than intended… 

Still, once the sun started to set you walked back the way you came only to come across a tent larger than most, assuming that was where Katsuki would be wrapping up the day. 

You slowly opened the flap as some villagers came out, happily discussing the day’s harvest before you heard. “Come on in, dragon!” Katsuki called as he remained seated on his chair smirking to himself. “Feeling better, I see?” he questioned as he sat up straight. Even like this, you could see and feel the power he irradiated. 

“Yes, much, thank you.” Bowing, you smiled before you were told to stand upright. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please just let me know. It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.” 

The moment those words left your mouth, you had a feeling that you were either going to live to regret it or thank him.

“Speaking of which,” he started as he leaned back and patted his lap. “Please, come here,” he commanded. Once you approached, he leaned forward, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger as if inspecting you. Up close, you could just see how deep ruby red his eyes were as well as how sharp his teeth were. For a human, he had a great set of fangs on him. ‘Shame he’s a human; he would have made a great and fierce dragon,’ you couldn’t help but think before he spoke, bringing you back to reality. 

“Yes, you’re perfect,” he muttered, pulling you into his lap forcefully by your waist. “Strong willed, a fighter, and someone I could learn to grow better with,” he stated as he suddenly captured your lips. “You will be my partner,” he stated as his hands wandered low. 

Spluttering and blushing, you thrust your arms at his chiseled chest, putting some distance between the two of you. “B-But how do you know? I could kill you! You barely know me,” you protested, though with his power he forced you to fold your arms, leaning in to whisper. 

“But you owe me your life. Surely this is nothing and if you don’t feel like you’re the one you’re more than welcome to leave,” he purred.

You knew he was right. This young, powerful man knew that dragons didn’t back down on their word, and so serving him would mean repaying the debt? A small price to pay, truly. 

“So why not get on your knees for your Chief and thank me properly?” he offered, leaning back and letting go of you. You watched as the grin on his face was almost ear splitting as you sunk to your knees in front of him. He let his hands wander down his trousers to help you get them off and down to his ankles. 

“That’s it,” he praised, reaching out to gently lay his hand on your head. His eyes watched you with keen interest as you slowly took him into your mouth. He wasn’t completely hard and you shifted to get a better angle and grip him in your hands, though he tried to encourage you with soft words. “That’s it, fuckin’ take it all in,” he muttered as he leaned back, getting more comfortable on his throne. The grasp on your hair got tighter as he started to get impatient and guide your face along his length. “Come on now, no need to be so shy about it.” His teeth showed as he smiled. “You’ve lived longer than I have, surely you have the experience?” he goaded. Which, if you were honest with yourself, was true. You were most likely older than him, and could show him a thing or two while you’re at it. 

Straightening your back a little from the floor you looked over his hardening dick. Licking your lips, you took the head in, using the flexibility to weave in between the head of his cock and the shaft before leaning up and taking it in as much as you could. Tongue flat, running along the thick vein underneath, you slowly bobbed your head back and forth, breathing when you could. It wasn’t long before you felt a tug with the hand that ran through your hair to pull you away from him, leaving you panting, and breathless from working so hard to please him. 

His cheeks flushed a bright pink he chuckled almost as breathlessly as you, having forgotten how to breathe in the moment before letting go of your hair. “What a good girl,” he praised as he shifted back and patted his lap.  “Why not come for a ride?” he questioned as he watched you stand. “I would have taken you back to my room, but I'm feeling impatient. It’s my birthday after all,” he informed, eyes hungrily watching over your form as you stripped naked, and then worked on taking off his trousers completely. 

“Your birthday?” you questioned him as you straddled his lap. “I see. Perhaps this will be enough of a gift then?” you mused lining yourself up, slowly trying to sink yourself down on him.

His head slammed back against the back of his throne as he groaned. You were taking your time, though as you hadn’t prepared yourself. You knew your body could and would stretch, but it was painful to begin with. He was stretching you to your limit, but you licked your hand to reach down to let the saliva coating his dick for an easier entry only then were you able to sit down fully on his lap. 

Taking a good minute or two you both sat, panting, just feeling one another as you got used to the stretch of his cock within you. His hands empassing your hips, he tried to get you to move, but you had other ideas. It was his birthday? That’s just fine, but you would make sure it would be a ride he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. 

You gently grasped his hands and took them off your hips to raise them above his head as you started to roll your hips back and forth. Leaning in close to kiss him and to distract him, you used your tail to wrap his hands above his head. He only just realised when you leaned back.

“W-What the fuck is—shit—the big idea?” he panted as his eyes were glued to your form, which started moving so effortlessly up and down on his dick. 

“It’s your birthday. I want to spoil you, so enjoy the ride.” Chuckling a little darkly, you couldn’t help but use your wings to give you some extra momentum and power into your movements as you rode him. 

He couldn't believe just how lucky he was to have such a beautiful person ride him within an inch of his life. You knew just what to do and how to please him, which, to his embarrassment, had him orgasming not much longer after you started. 

“F-Fuck!” he grunted, unable to couldn’t help it when his hips met yours. Though your gut had only just started to coil with your own orgasm, much to your disappointment. You remained seated on his lap as he came down from his high, letting go of his arms. 

He watched you only to frown. Noticing you hadn’t orgasmed yet he couldn’t help but feel like a teenager all over again. 

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. 

Growling, he forcefully lifted you up from him as he slid to the floor, getting you to sit in his seat. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he brought you to his face and started to lap up not only at his own cum that had started to seep it’s way out from the confines of yourself, but searching for any original taste of your own essence. This surprise had you leaning over with a groan. In all your years, no other man had been so willing about doing this. 

Smirking from the inside of your thighs, he knew from your expression that you were loving it or at the very least surprised by his movements. “What?” he questioned, so close to your cunt that you could feel his breath ghosting it. “Never been eaten out before?” He seemed a little too smug, as if he almost already knew the answer. 

With a shake of your head, he only shifted closer and got more comfortable as he nudged your clit with his nose. “Hmm, good. I'm a man starving for pussy and it’s delicious, so don’t mind me,” he muttered before his gaze lowered. 

Though his dick felt great, this was almost a thousand times better. There was no painful stretch, only a soft muscle, though not deep. The slurping and sucking sounds and sensations were what quickly brought your end. He was more than happy to guide you though your high as you remained hunched over his head, hands which you now realised were in his hair, forcing his face just that much closer. 

Leaning back once you had come back to Earth, you watched him as he wiped his chin and cheeks with the back of his arm. “Thank you for the meal.” He chuckled, giving off a lopsided smile, showing off the pearly whites of his sharp teeth. He stood as he gathered up his trousers as he got dressed. “You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner in my home,” he stated as he turned to you and passed you back your clothes. 

Slowly taking them, you nodded as you got dressed despite the shake in your legs. “Y-Yeah, I think I will,” you confirmed as you slipped back into your clothes. 

“Good choice. I’m not finished with you yet, beautiful.” Leaning in, he kissed your cheek before taking his leave only to find a very flustered Eijirou waiting outside. “Something wrong?” Katsuki questioned with folded arms, knowing exactly what he was doing. 

“N-No!” the dragon protested, though the redness that was spread all the way up to his ears gave him away. 

“Next time, just ask. It’s rude to eavesdrop.” Katsuki laughed as he walked away, going to join the mass for dinner. 

“K-Katsuki! I had to make sure you were safe! After all, she’s a rogue dragon,” Eijirou protested in earnest. Though he wouldn’t admit it, that would be something that Eijirou would very much like to do. 

“Sure, sure, whatever you say, man.”

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki took a seat at the head of the banquet table, waiting for your arrival before the festivities could begin.

[calaofnoldor]

Driving My Baby

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 2,183 (i can’t drabble)

Summary: Dean doesn’t know about your mad skills behind the wheel, but it turns out there’s nothing hotter than seeing his baby driving his Baby.

Warnings: implied smut, language, fluff, dean’s bow legs, references to the fast and furious franchise

A/N: was originally gonna post a slightly angsty 2-part dean fic next, but decided against it in light off recent events lol. there’s really no plot or substance here, just some light floof. (and yes, the title is a reference to the song ‘you’re having my baby’)

MASTERLIST

The roar of Baby’s engine rumbled to a halt as Dean glanced over at you, “Alright, so you gonna sit tight while I go scope this place out?”

You sent him a close-lipped smile, trying your best to repress the excitement bubbling within you. “Mhm!” you concurred with a bouncy nod, pausing to sneak a quick peek at his shapely behind when he stepped out of the car, “I’ll try and see if I can get a hold of that morgue guy again.”

Walking over to the passenger side, Dean bent down to kiss you through the open window. “Mmkay, I’ll be back soon,” he mumbled against your lips, before turning to commence his search for the potential vamp hideout you suspected was in the vicinity.

“Oh wait! Dean!” you called out, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yeah?”

“The keys?”

Dean looked down at his pocket where the Impala’s keys were safely nestled and then back up at you with raised brows.

“You’re not gonna leave me in here like a dog, are you?” There was a subtle hint of amusement in your voice, but also a challenging edge, as well as a slight pout which you added for good measure. You knew he could never really say ‘no’ to you.

And as expected, Dean returned to deposit the keys into your waiting hands. You gave him a wide smile in return, “Thank you! Love you!”

Your boyfriend narrowed his glimmering green eyes at you, imparting one last suspicious glimpse in your direction as he grumbled somewhat warily, “Love you too,” and then finally sauntered off for good.

Biting your lip, you watched with bated breath as his figure grew smaller in the rear-view mirror. Normally, you would have enjoyed the exquisite vision of what you often dubbed his ‘sexy ass bow-legged swagger’, but this time, it was when Dean was no longer in sight that a devilish grin broke out across your face.

But really, who could blame you? You’d been a car enthusiast all your life, and classic cars were your weakness. “It’s just you and me now, Baby.” Your fingers glided along the dashboard.

With Sam on the bench due to a broken ankle (courtesy of the werewolf from your last hunt), you and Dean had driven out to Piedmont to take care of this vampire case on your own. So now after two years with the Winchesters, you finally had a chance to explore the front seat of Dean’s Baby, his pride and joy, the glorious, refurbished 1967 Chevy Impala.

When you’d joined forces with the brothers, it was readily agreed upon that you would be better off riding together in the sleek American muscle car, so you ditched your stolen, rusty 2003 Honda Accord and never looked back. Since there was a giant moose to accommodate, you were naturally relegated to the back seat, and rightfully so, but boy, did you miss the thrill of being in the driver’s seat.

You were always a bit of a demon behind the wheel, and it’d been ages since you’d gotten the chance to flex your driving skills. Back when you and Dean first got together, he promised you joyrides (and other recreational activities) in Baby, but the hunting life never seemed to let you get it on.

Sliding across the bench seat, your lungs released a contented sigh as you wrapped your hands around the leather-bound steering wheel. Dean’s bowlegs, however sexy, were not the same length as yours, so you pulled the lever beneath the seat to adjust its position to your liking. Perfect.

You took your time getting to know the ins and outs at the helm of the Impala, though it seemed like none at all had passed when you suddenly heard Dean’s deep voice cry out.

“Y/N!” Your eyes shot up to the rear-view mirror to find an image of the older Winchester running towards the car. “We gotta go!”

Well that’s strange, you thought. Dean never ran – not unless someone, or more often something, was chasing him… Oh shit. Had he somehow woken the vampires? But the sun was still thriving; how much could they retaliate out in the open at this point during the day?

“We gotta get outta here! Now!”

Dean’s voice was much closer now and if you’d learned anything from your experiences hunting with the Winchesters, it was to never doubt your boyfriend’s commands. He was a seasoned pro and possessed instincts like you’d never seen. It’s a good thing you’ve also got some of your own.

Plunging Baby’s key into the ignition, you started the car without hesitation, allowing yourself only a second to relish in the thunderous purr of the engine below you and the incomparable feeling of glee that always sprouted in your chest whenever you were sat at the wheel of a powerful, capable vehicle. Indeed, the adrenaline was already rearing.

As Dean approached the car, you quickly reached over to open the passenger side door for him. “Get in the car!”

“You- Wha-“ Dean stumbled for a split second, so accustomed to taking the driver’s seat. “Y/N, they’re awake and they’ve got bikes – a bunch of Harleys!” he continued to explain, as if that would get you to move out of his designated spot.

“OK, so hurry up!” you yelled again.

Seeing no better option, Dean hastily climbed into the car. Just as he got in, your ears picked up the unmistakable resounding growl of revving motorcycle engines. From the sound of it, they couldn’t be too far off. So when Dean slammed the door shut, your foot came down fast and heavy against Baby’s gas pedal, propelling you forward with an aggressive lurch before you whizzed off, burning rubber and leaving nothing but flying leaves and dust in your wake.

“Jesus!” Dean bellowed; his eyes had grown to about twice their usual size.

You paid him no attention though, too busy reveling in the delightful buzz that vibrated through your body starting from your fingers and toes, where you could feel every unit of Baby’s intoxicating horsepower, and travelling up your limbs until the exhilaration settled deep within your very core.

Stealing a glance at the rear-view mirror, you caught sight of the monster-driven motorcade advancing considerably, so you decided to take the next available turn as an attempt to throw them off. Things were getting truly exciting now.

“Vamps on bikes? Really?! And covered in leather?” you huffed mirthfully with a shake of your head.

But it was Dean’s turn to ignore you. He was clutching at his door tightly, as if afraid your driving might somehow hurl him out of it. In fact, when you took the first corner without warning, Dean just about fell over.

“Woah! Slow down, Toretto!” he shouted in alarm, looking over at you as if you’d grown a second head.

Seeing you’d managed to surprise the vampires with your unexpected maneuver however, a loaded smirk was your only reply.

It took you about twenty minutes to get the vamps off your tail, during which time Dean managed to recover from his initial shock and began instead to absorb your radiant form. The look of exuberance on your face and the utter determination in your bright eyes, mixed with the mischievous tug of your lips, and combined with the all-around liberated and euphoric aura that surrounded you was sexy as hell, not to mention your sheer competence. All of it astounded him and caused his blood to flow to places he could not have foreseen.

You seemed to be completely at one with his esteemed Baby, handling her with perfect control and aptitude, and all the while enjoying yourself so very much. It was something Dean never knew you were capable of, but more so, it was something he never knew he needed.

Dean had always loved how much you loved and appreciated his car, but this made him feel like he was seeing you in a new light; it made him feel like he was falling for you all over again. That devilish glint in your normally kind and virtuous eyes, your ever jubilant and fervent love for life after enduring so much pain and grief, the way you never ceased to amaze and surprise him – it was all gloriously heady and irresistibly addictive. His teeth couldn’t help but pull at his lower lip, emerald eyes glazing over with lust and adoration as he stared over at you in the driver’s seat.

So when you ultimately pulled into an empty clearing, not wanting to lead the vamps straight back to your motel room, Dean was at a loss for words.

“So, a bloodsucking motorcycle gang, huh? Can’t say I’ve seen that before,” you speculated in a cheery, nonchalant tone, feeling perfectly satisfied after your little stunt driving escapade.

Dean, on the other hand, appeared not unlike a fish out of water with his furrowed brows and pouty lips which appeared undecided as to whether they should remain open or closed.

“That was… I just- You-… I don’t even know…” he ran his hands through his hair, pulling the short strands forward roughly, “What just happened?”

You sent him a small, innocent shrug, rather amused at his adorably stuttery response.

“You never told me you could drive like that.”

“You never asked,” you replied truthfully.

“Fuck, Y/N. That was… so… incredibly…”

What? Your curiosity was killing you. Dean’s opinion always mattered to you and at the moment, you could read a myriad of emotions upon his face. He looked stunned and confused, perhaps a bit frightened, but at the same time awed and impressed, and maybe even – were you reading that right? – slightly… aroused?

Dean lowered his voice to answer your unspoken question, “Hot,” he finished emphatically.

You heaved a breathy laugh, “Yeah?”

“Fuck yes! Baby, that was incredible. The way you handled Baby like a fucking pro, the little faces you made when you were living for the thrill of the chase. The skill, the speed, the Tokyo drifting, all of it. Goddamn, you are so sexy when you’re driving my Baby like that.”

“Well that’s a coincidence ‘cause I also happen to find you amazingly sexy when you’re behind this wheel,” you joked lightly, “In fact, I think seeing you drive this car might’ve been part of the reason I fell in love with you.”

“And I think I just fell in love with you all over again,” came Dean’s suave response.

You giggled a bit, but soon sobered when you saw his gorgeous eyes cloud over with wanton desire. One minute you were dwelling in the heavily charged sexual tension that seemed to consume the entire car, watching his gaze wander down to your lips while yours did the same, and in the next your mouths met ferociously as your bodies swooped forwards simultaneously, crashing together in the center of Baby’s front seat.

You moaned into the kiss, your hands finding their way around Dean’s ridiculously broad shoulders and up to his thick neck. When you were forced to come up for air, his lips began to work their way down to your collar bone. “Mmm, god Dean.”

“Seriously baby, that was such a turn on,” he rambled across your skin, “I didn’t even know driving could be so hot.”

Your laughter was really more just an exhalation of air. “Are we finally gonna do it? Are we gonna christen Baby now, thanks to your newfound kink?” you whispered salaciously, your brain already presenting obscene images of the two of you re-enacting something akin to the infamous Titanic scene.

Dean paused for a moment, allowing you to rip off his outer layers with relish before he brought his large hands up to cup your cheeks. “See I wouldn’t call it ‘newfound’,” he started, dazzling forest orbs boring into your soul, “Cause I’m pretty sure it only turns me on when it’s you behind the wheel, and I’ve always had a kink for you.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to keep the smile off your face, “You are such a smooth fucker sometimes, Dean Winchester.” And with that, your lips and bodies collided yet again. His strong hands held you impossibly close while yours ran joyously across his expansive chest before travelling down to find the zipper of his jeans.

“Ungh, wait a sec,” you pulled back a little with knitted brows, a playfully incredulous tone taking over your voice, “Did you call me Dominic Toretto earlier?”

“Well, yeah. You were driving like a madman!” Dean exclaimed candidly.

You smirked, “So does that make you Letty Ortiz?”

“Sweetheart, I will gladly be the Letty to your Dom anytime you want… I still can’t believe you just took me on a high-speed car chase, that was fucking awesome! Just wait ‘til Sam hears about this one!”

Laughing as you pulled him back in, you shut him up with your tongue as it invaded his mouth, pausing only to smile against his luscious lips, “Mmm, well maybe he doesn’t have to hear about this next part?”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading, feedback always appreciated! oh and here’s a look at some new stuff at lexicolor.redbubble.com :)

[peachypascal]

work for it

summary: tensions are running high between you and mando, and after a long day, he loses his patience with you.

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (m+f receiving), choking, condescension, possession i guess?, very lowkey dom/sub vibes, one (1) spank, spoilers for season 2, unedited

word count: 5.3k

you can barely even look at him anymore.

if you could get to his face, if he wasn’t such a skillful fighter, you reckon you might have hit him already, but instead, you’re forced to push all your irritation under the surface. it’s already such a tense environment; there’s no point in making it worse.

he’s been fighting with everyone since the moment you had landed. he’s unhappy. it’s understandable, given what he’s lost recently, but you had lost, too. you had lost the child, and you had lost a piece of yourself. you hurt, too, but he won’t allow you your moment to grieve. for the first time since the two of you met, your mandalorian expects you to stand up. you are meant to be the strong one this time. before he had begun taking his upset out on you, that had been fine. you had been okay with that.

din has lost more than you have. you lost grogu and you lost the ship, but he had lost his child, his home, his creed. din had lost his way. you ache for him, really. it’s unfair that such a good man should live a life so wrought with tragedy and tribulation.

it doesn’t stop you from bristling at the way he talks to you, like you can’t take care of yourself anymore. the two of you had always worked so well together before now. now, he’s pent-up. he’s angry. about his losses, about his mere proximity to bo-katan, who seems to have her mind set on defeating him every step of the way, about the fact that he can’t find a moment alone, not with you staying in the same room he’s in, one hardly big enough to hold the two cots you’ve been sleeping in.

he thought getting off the ship was what he needed. solid ground and natural light and someplace where looking out the windows doesn’t make his head spin, but now he’s even closer to you than before. lately, something that was once so comforting now only reminds him of one more thing he’s bound to lose. against all great odds, he had managed to survive his losses. you, he’s not so sure he could handle losing. you’re the last thing keeping him hanging on, the single thread keeping him where he needs to be, and without you, he’s gone.

after the days that you have been living, all you want is a nice, luxurious bed to fall into after your perpetually long days, but you and mando are barely able to scrounge enough extra credits together for the dingy little box they call a room. you would call it a scam, but after traveling with mando for so long, you’ve grown used to the seedier parts of the galaxy, and you’ll only be here a few days while everyone regroups. it’s a much-needed break from the only person you want to punch more than din and even with your mounting annoyance, it feels nice to listen to the chatter of a city while you sit in your room, watching them from above.

behind you, the door opens. you don’t bother turning around—you fear that seeing him might set you off and vice versa. a deep breath holds still in your chest, waiting, wondering if he’s going to say something to you. right as you begin to let your guard down, your shoulders dropping, he breaks the silence.

“we’re leaving tomorrow.”

they’re the first words in days that he has spoken without malice behind them, but the sound of his filtered voice still grates on your nerves. the two of you have been living in a powder keg, your explosion inevitable, but you had hoped it would stay intact until you left this planet. with the irritation that burns you now, you’re unsure you’ll make it through the night. it fills you with a great sense of dread. no, you aren’t sure you can stand another moment sleeping three feet away from him, but you hate even more the idea of the two of you not even speaking.

you don’t hear him move, still by the door, still in his armor. with a quiet sigh, you glance back at him only to give him confirmation that you’ve heard him. even through the modulator, you hear his disgruntled huff. he begins removing his armor, shaking his head at you. you purse your lips at the sight of him. before grogu was taken from you, it felt as though you two were finally getting somewhere. you had been traveling with them long enough to feel as though you were a part of a small family. you had finally managed to break down din’s walls, to almost get close enough to touch. all your travels had led up to this, all the nervous glances and tentative touches, and now, you can barely look at him. you want to reach out for him, but even in the tiny room, he feels too far.

finally, you sigh. “great.”

din stacks his armor noisily beside his bed, hiding his blaster under his pillow and kicking his boots off. he’s being loud. after so many nights of hearing him take off that armor in the crest, you knew he was always careful not to let it clang the way it does now. if you could see his eyes, you would see the light that flickers in them, just waiting for an excuse to start a fire.

“what did you do today?” you ask quietly, skin burning with the tension and your need to diffuse it.

he sighs, shaking his helmet minutely. “nothing.”

a crinkle forms between your brows. “nothing? you’ve been gone all day doing nothing?”

his shoulders square in irritation and the sight nearly sets you off. “does it matter?” he scoffs, settling his hands on his hips.

your jaw sets and you turn to face him. “no, i suppose not.”

the air is thick between you and a heavy shiver runs down your spine, desperate to get away from him. you stand, in need of a moment of fresh air, but din grabs your bicep before you can pass him, the stoic flat of his helmet tilting to look at you. “where are you going?”

your mandalorian is a man of pride. he would never admit it, especially not after he had sacrificed that pride so much in the time that you had known him, but it was true. that pride means that asking the very question makes him cringe beneath his helmet. perhaps it’s your anger with him, or your inability to keep your mouth shut, but in a quick moment of spite, you sneer back at him. “does it matter?”

before you even have a chance to change your facial expression, one gloved hand wraps firmly around your throat, forcing your gaze up to meet his. you choke, not because he’s holding you too tightly but because of your surprise, eyes wide as you look up at him. “watch it.”

you stare at his visor, hardening your expression. your shock wears off quickly. instead, you find it much easier to concentrate on the fury that has been building for days. “or what?” you spit. “i’m not fighting with you, din.”

the use of his name catches him off-guard. he had only heard it fall from your lips in the most intimate of moments, quiet, long conversations in the cockpit when the child was asleep. then, it had calmed him. it soothed his soul to know that you knew him. now, it fuels the fire already burning in him; it only feeds the need settled low in his gut at the sight of you. it sets him off.

he takes two, long strides and takes you with him, backing you against the wall with his hand tightening around your throat, ignoring your confused squeak. “you don’t talk to me like that,” he cuts out, voice low and tight, and you laugh mirthlessly, still impassioned enough to fight him even with his hand around your throat.

“and you don’t treat me like dirt. deal?”

the two of you stand in a long silence, your nose an inch away from his visor; you wonder if mando will say anything, defend himself, but he seems as though he doesn’t even hear your words. he takes in a slow, deep breath before his fingers tighten around your throat, and you can’t help your quiet moan, eyes fluttering closed. his mouth goes dry at the sound, legs weak at the sound he’s been imagined every single night. even with anger still pounding through you, you can’t deny that you like the position. after traveling with him for so long, always at arm's length, this is all you think about anymore. him, touching you, holding you so close like he does now.

you shudder under his hand and blood rushes in his ears, seemingly amplified under his helmet. his breathing is heavy, pondering his next move cautiously before he finally says, “turn around.” you’re so headstrong, you have been since he’s known you. you don’t take his commandments without question or pushback, which is why he expects you to spit a curse back in his face. you don’t.

instead, for the first time ever, you obey without question.

din feels like the breath he takes is gasping, his mouth open like a fish as his hand falls down to his side, eyes tracking down the arch of your spine. it’s as though you’re presenting yourself to him, the subtle look over your shoulder telling him all the words he wants to hear. take me. i’m ready. the wait is over.

“mando,” you whisper hoarsely, pressing your warm forehead against the wall. “please.”

he’s unsure exactly where to start. after a thousand fantasies, they all seem to blur together until he wants everything, no way to figure out what he wants the most. as he pulls off his gloves, he takes a moment to deliberate, admiring the sight of you waiting for him. all those fantasies and din can only decide on one thing: he’ll take as much as he can.

his bare hand glides over your hip, his touch relaxing your tight muscles as his arm wraps around you, palm pressing to your stomach and his chest pressing to your back. “you’re okay?” he asks, voice tight with barely-restrained need.

your answer is breathy and needy. “yes,” you sigh. “please.”

din tightens his arm around your ribcage with an impatient grunt, his other hand already reaching into the waistband of your sleep pants. your skin is warm under his palm and not for the first time, he’s cursing the helmet on his head. he wants to be closer to you, to bury his face in your neck and breathe you in until you’re all he knows, and just as he begins to toy with the band of your underwear, he pulls away.

you give a frustrated groan, leaning back into him, but it’s fruitless. he’s already crossing the room, bare hands drawing the curtains and turning off the lights. “mando.” it shocks you to hear how your voice sounds, whiny and small while you turn back to him. “what—did i do something?”

“no,” he answers shortly.

there’s a moment where all you hear is the pounding of your own heart and the faraway chatter of the crowd on the street below you before he returns to you. you breathe out gently in relief when his large hands grip your hips tightly again, squeezing once before one travels up and the other goes down. your eyes flutter closed, reaching to grasp at his wrist when he cups your breast.

and then he leans down and presses his lips to the shell of your ear. you jump in surprise at the feeling, at the idea that he would take his helmet off in such a vulnerable position, and your eyes fly open. “mando!”

din shushes you. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, fingers slipping into your pants once again until he’s cupping your pussy, an unfiltered moan vibrating against your neck. “maker, you’re already soaked.” your hips jolt into his hand, desperately searching for any sort of friction. his teeth sink into your earlobe. “needy,” he growls. “always so needy.”

a quick retort is already on your tongue, but his nose nuzzles against your temple and two of his fingers find your clit, lips stretching into a small smile when he hears your soft moan. your head falls back onto his shoulder, sinking into the pleasure he’s building within you. he’s always worked so well with his hands but you have a newfound appreciation for the dexterity of them as he rubs deep, slow circles into you.

din buries his face in your neck, tongue laving over your pulsepoint and teeth biting at your collarbone, savoring the way you take over all of his senses. he grinds against your ass, the thick duraweave of his pants grating against your threadbare sleep pants. “feel that?” he murmurs, just below your ear, and you moan, grinding down against his fingers. you certainly do. it shocks you, at first, just how hard he is, how big he is. he’s always been so broad, so big in every other sense that it shouldn’t surprise you, but you find yourself daunted by the thought of him already.

“fuck, mando,” you whine, unable to decide where you want to be more, grinding down against his fingers or back against his cock, and you let out a frustrated groan.

“what’s wrong?” he coos mockingly, hand sliding from your breast to your throat. “you want more?”

“i want to come,” you beg.

“you want to come?” his grip around your throat tightens. “work for it.”

your knees almost buckle, a loud moan falling from your lips, one that makes din’s cock twitch. you press back against him, grinding shamelessly against your mandalorian with your brow furrowed in pleasure. his fingers work faster against your clit, the arm across your chest keeping you tight against his, and his low moan rumbles against your back.

it’s just out of reach, right at your fingertips; you need just a little bit more. you reach back for him, your fingers tangling in his hair. “din,” you gasp, voice choked. “i’m so close.”

he hums against your hairline, long fingers slipping further into your underwear to circle your entrance just once before he’s sinking one in, enjoying the bliss that washes over his body when you lean back against his chest. “stars, y/n, you feel so good,” he breathes, his eyes falling closed when he adds another finger.

your jaw clenches in preparation for your orgasm, already burning you up when din presses right against your sensitive wall. with a tug of his hair, your stomach tightens, the prettiest moan he’s ever heard in his life falling from your lips. din curls his fingers, breathing heavily when you clench tight around them. it takes over you without warning, your strangled cry of his name forcing his own rough groan against your hair. your thighs shake around his hand as you come, pulling on his hair until he’s hissing.

it’s the first time you’ve come in weeks and by the time din stops pressing against your g-spot, there are tears running down your cheeks. your hips jerk away from him fruitlessly, desperate to get away from the stimulation. din can’t help his soft smile, guiding you to your bed as well as he can in the dark. “c’mon, you need to rest.”

“no,” you insist, eyes wide and searching for him in the black. “no. sit down.” the thought of you on your knees for him, between his legs, it nearly makes him sweat, so he searches for your hand, entwining your fingers. “please.”

you trap your lip between your teeth as you sink down to your knees, listening to your mandalorian remove his clothing before he sits on your cot. your palms find his knees, brushing over the hair scattered over his skin, grinning at the sound of his exhale. you hum, running your hands up and down his thighs, over his hips, appreciating the feeling of his skin against yours until you wrap your fingers around his cock, stomach flipping at his quiet moan of your name.

all you want is for him to feel good, to feel a fraction as blissful as he made you feel, and it’s hard to pace yourself, so you lean forward and take him in your mouth, your lips closing around his head and your eyes fluttering closed. it’s a scene you’ve imagined a thousand times over, but none of your daydreams compare to the real thing. he’s so vocal, his loud moans and quiet murmurings filling the room, and he’s intoxicating you, his scent and taste and the feel of him under you, it already has you ready for him again. you moan around him, tightening your grip slightly, and his hips stutter.

“fuck,” he hisses, grasping the blanket beneath him. your eyes open, desperate to see him, but the way this man, this warrior, whines when you flick your tongue a certain way, you think that’s just as good as seeing his face.

din’s hips jolt at a particularly strong suck at his head. you hum at the taste of him on your tongue, distinct and so uniquely him, taking him deeper to taste more of him. when he hits your throat, your gag makes him cry out, voice thin from the pleasure, and in an attempt to calm himself down, he pulls you off of him, panting loudly. it had been far too long, not just since relief but since he had started fantasizing about this very position, and it’s not unlikely that if you continue, this will be over far too fast for his liking.

wordlessly, he pulls you off the floor and into his lap. strong arms wrap around your waist, and you gasp when he grabs the nape of your neck, guiding you into a kiss. it’s sloppy, a little unpracticed, but you’ve never felt so worked up. you wrap your arms around his neck, eagerly rolling your hips against his. “more,” you insist, grinning against his lips at his silent chuckle.

“what did i say?” his grip on the back of your neck tightens and his voice drops, suddenly serious. “needy.”

without answering, you reach between the two of you, fingers wrapping around his cock again before you drag it through your folds, pleased with the impatient grunt that falls from his lips. his fingertips dig into your waist and his teeth dig into your lip, trying to will you into giving him what he wants and you’re in no position to deny him this; you’re just as worked up as he is. with another long kiss, you sink down slowly, pressing your forehead to din’s. the room echoes with the relieved breaths that fall from both of you, with the increasingly passionate kisses the two of you share as you begin to adjust to his size, and with the lewd sounds of him filling you. he’s panting, holding you close in an effort to not drag you down on his cock. you’re barely halfway and already whining against his lips, and maker, he’s going to leave bruises to show his restraint, a sweat springing at his hairline every time you take him just a little deeper.

finally, with a high, quiet moan, you sink fully down on him, settling on his thighs for a moment of rest, adjusting to the way he stretches you. “din,” you breathe, tugging on his hair. you clench around him, your heart leaping when you feel him shudder. “you feel so good.”

“you’re so tight,” he huffs, thrusting up into you gently. “sweet little thing. i’ve been waiting for this.”

the admission makes you whimper. you kiss him hard, rolling your hips against his in an effort to get him just a little deeper and din’s head falls back, taking in a shaky breath before he’s thrusting into your again. leaning forward, you nip at his jaw. only he will see the marks you leave on him, but you’re unsure what happens when the two of you are done. you don’t know if it will ever happen again. you’re determined to leave your mark on him. you want him to remember this night when he looks in the mirror tomorrow, and the day after, and as long as your marks last. it sets a new fire under you, holding desperately to him while he fucks you, your teeth littering marks on his neck.

“mando,” you whine, sensitive clit rubbing over his pelvis. you want to say more. you want to tell him exactly how he’s making you feel, dizzy and hot and intoxicated by him, but you can’t exactly find the words. instead, you hang onto him like you’re going to lose him. he has you stuffed full and near tears with how deep he’s fucking you and for the first time, you have him. all of him. you feel him all over, breathing his scent in, finally pure and strong without the obstruction of his armor between the two of you. it’s a scent you never want to get rid of.

the way you squeeze him nearly has him coming, hands shaking even when pressed against your skin. he wants to pull you off him—needs to pull you off him—but you feel too good. his eyes roll back, jaw tight when you circle your hips just right, and with no warning, the same way he had pulled you on his lap, he rolls you off onto your cot.

“no, no, no,” you cry, reaching out for him. your fingertips barely brush his bare skin, and he shushes you quietly, grabbing your ankles as though he can see you perfectly well.

“you’re okay, mesh’la,” he says softly, pressing a sweet kiss to one of your calves. “i’m going to take care of you.”

din sinks to his knees, pressing his cheek to the inside of your knee, and you take in a sharp breath, his facial hair scratching pleasantly at the sensitive skin. “din,” you breathe, sitting up on your elbows. he only hums, soft lips pressing a line of sweet kisses up your inner thighs.

oh, he had been waiting for this. all of it, really, but this is his favorite daydream. his mind had worked up the most elaborate fantasies about what you would sound like, feel like, taste like, and his heart pounds at the idea of finally finding out. he’s not in the mood to tease you, not anymore, and his eyes flutter closed as he wraps his arms around your thighs and leans in, dragging his tongue through your folds with a satisfied hum.

you keen, reaching down for his hair without hesitation. the sharp tug makes him moan into your cunt, savoring the taste of you with nothing but pure delight. for a few minutes, all he wants is to taste as much of you as he can, but your quiet, little moans are no longer good enough for him. he licks a thick stripe up your slit and wraps his lips around your clit, tightening his grip around your thighs.

“oh, fuck,” you mewl, pulling on his hair harder. he flicks his tongue before he sucks your clit into his mouth, basking in all your needy little sounds.

din pulls away despite your desperate whine. “can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me, sweet girl,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your clit.

your back arches, pushing your hips further toward him. “please.”

as though he hasn’t even heard you, he continues, “but this pussy is mine now, isn’t it?”

those words are enough to have you clenching around nothing, the idea of din wanting you longer than just a night. “yes!” you cry, digging your heels into his back. “it’s yours. i’m yours, din. please let me come.”

his fingertips dig into your skin and his eyes roll back. he ducks his head down and the fervor with which he licks into you has your hips rolling against his face, so close to your release. the room echoes with the lewd sound of him between your legs and your eager moans, teetering right on the edge of another orgasm. your legs struggle against his hold as you writhe around on the cot, voice getting pitchy as he sucks your clit again, humming into you. whatever sound you’re making gets caught in your throat, your whole body tensing around him as you come again. you sob his name out, pulling his face closer and pushing your hips away, unable to decide whether you need more or rest.

din works you through your high with sweet kisses and quiet praises, nuzzling his bare cheeks against your inner thighs as you whine. “c’mere,” you slur, trying to pull him up by his hair.

he complies, allowing you to pull him into a tired, sloppy kiss in the haze of your orgasm. “can you give me one more?” he asks quietly, lining kisses across the bridge of your nose.

his wide hips settle between your legs, grinding his cock against your sensitivity and you shiver, scratching his scalp gently. “yeah,” you breathe, searching for his lips again. you smile against his lips at his sharp intake of breath, hips rolling toward yours in an effort to get him back inside of you.

din sinks his teeth into your lower lip, tugging gently. “roll over, cyar’ika.”

you barely feel like you can get the strength up to do it, even with his hands on your hips. with your hips raised in the air, you rest your forehead on your folded arms, pushing your hips back toward him eagerly. “i need it,” you huff, jumping when one of his large hands settles on your hips. “need you inside of me.”

“so impatient,” he mumbles, the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance. your whole body wracks with anticipation, pushing back against him and grunting when he pulls back. “you are not in charge here,” he hisses, slapping the swell of your ass sharply.

your yelp echoes throughout the small room, the sound fading into a low hum as you push your hips back. “i’m sorry,” you respond smally, reaching back to grab his wrist. “i’m sorry. please.”

his chest burns against your back as he leans over you to slide inside, choking out a moan into your ear. “perfect girl,” he spits, wrapping an arm around your waist. “take my cock so fucking well.”

you brows furrow, hips shifting until he’s brushing that perfect spot inside of you with every single thrust. still sensitive from your last orgasm, you can’t help the way you cry out at the stimulation. “right there,” you wail, your head falling from your arms as you grab helplessly at the blanket.

it feels so good that it nearly hurts, the tears that had dried after your first orgasm springing to your eyes again. “right there,” he repeats. “is that what’s going to make you come again? hm? is that the spot that’s going to have this pussy squeezing around me?”

your head feels foggy, unable to focus on anything other than the way he feels, not just inside of you but around you, too, his hot breath fanning over the side of your face, the heat of his skin warming you everywhere. one of his hands slithers between your body and the cot, finding your sensitive clit and drawing lazy, tight circles around it. “i— fuck, din,” you blubber. “it’s too much.”

“too much?” he asks gruffly, teeth sinking into your shoulder. you think the lapse in his movement will give you some relief to that unbearable ache growing between your thighs, but when his hips slow, his cock nestled as deep as it will go and your fingers still rubbing your clit, your hips jolt in a dazed panic. you can’t afford for him to stop, not when you’re so close again. “are you done yet?”

“i can take it,” you sob, fingers tightening in the flimsy blanket that covers your cot.

he’s beginning to lose control, his thighs slapping against yours as he fucks you, your face buried in the mattress as you blubber. din desperately tries to hold on but the way you cry for him leaves him reeling, counting backwards in his head to keep from coming too soon, and he’s unsure how much longer he’s going to last while you squeeze him so tight that he has to clench his teeth.

“c’mon, mesh’la,” he whispers in your ear, voice tight as he staves off his orgasm. “let me hear you.”

“din,” you whine, your thighs aching with how tight your muscles are. he hums, kissing the shell of your ear. his orgasm is already taking root in the pit of his stomach, so he pinches your clit gently.

“can you come for me? one last time?” he asks, but you’ve already clamped down on him, a broken moan falling from your lips as you come around him, inconsolably shaking around him, and there’s not a single bit of hope for him. he comes—hard—calling out your name and clutching at you, both of you riding out your highs in the darkness of the room.

after a long moment of nothing but the two of you breathing heavily, din pulls out with a broken moan, rolling to lie beside you on the cramped little cot. he’s never been good at this part—the after effects. he never knows exactly what to say, whether or not to cuddle, or if he should leave. in fact, he he’s already working himself up wondering exactly what he’s supposed to say, or if he should say anything. his eyes move in the black of the room, fingers reaching for you tentatively, ready to take the leap and pull you into his chest.

in the heavy silence, you finally give a tired laugh, rolling closer to him, right under his already open arm. “wow.”

“wow?” he repeats softly, and he can hear the mirthful lilt in your voice. it makes him feel a little better, a little more hopeful that he hasn’t entirely ruined your relationship.

“i’m just surprised that this is what all our fighting was leading up to.” it’s a joke, really, but it makes his lips turn down in a frown. after so many long, unbearable days of fighting, his heart sank at the reminder of how short the two of you had been with one another. the way that he’d treated you. he had never treated you that way before, and he had never wanted to, and even through the veil of post coital bliss, regret begins to eat at him.

“i’m...sorry,” he finally whispers, fingers intertwining with yours.

you smile, lifting your hands up and pressing a kiss to the back of his. “i know,” you assure him. “i am, too.”

and then he’s quiet again. it usually means that he’s searching for exactly the right words, so you allow him his time, pressing your cheek to his chest and breathing him in, waiting for him to finally sort out whatever is going on in his head. “i don’t—i dont want you to think that this was...something i did…” he stumbles through the idea, but you exhale softly, opting to put him out of his misery.

“mando,” you cut him off, turning your head to kiss his shoulder gently. “i know better than anyone that none of your decisions are careless.”

din chuckles quietly, relief flooding through him and relaxing all his muscles. “still, i shouldn’t have treated you that way,” he insists. “this wasn’t how i imagined this happening.”

a smitten smile pulls at your lips. “well, you’ll find some way to make it up to me,” you hum. he rubs a large hand over your back, goosebumps following as the cold air of the room rushes back to your skin. you lean away from him only to tug on the blanket. “in the meantime, i’m exhausted. let’s get some sleep.”

for the first time since he can remember, din sleeps through the night.

[sourwormsaresour]

Headcanons on the type of pets La Squadra would own?

Holy shit this was too fun to make, especially with giving the pets names.

Sorbet and Gelato have their own Crusty-White-Dog™ that's a Maltese Terrier named Armani. The dog hates and barks nonstop at everything deemed threatening (aka, everyone and particularly the rest of La Squadra) and yet those two will claim she's the sweetest thing in the world. True to her name, they deck her with Armani branded clothes, either specially made dog fashion or they had a DIY done to make it look like an Armani outfit- down to the bright pink leash she wears dripping in the Armani logo. She eats the finest dry kibble and only drinks Ferrarelle Sparkling water; she will know the difference if you switch it up. She's the epitome of "I demand pets but only do so with your eyes" to everyone. Despite loving Sorbet and Gelato the most, she demands all their attention on her and she will cockblock those two if she catches them being affectionate to each other instead. Despite having a nice bed, she always sleeps between the two of them and will whimper if they kick her out of the bedroom so they can get intimate. Those tear-stained eyes always look like they've seen everything, despite being constantly babied by her owners. If Armani could, she would kill everyone.

Risotto, the biggest man in Vento Aureo, has a little Syrian hamster he called Ace. He thought that a pet with a shorter lifespan would allow him the perfect balance of having a pet but not being very attached to it compared to pets that live longer- he was wrong. If you ever come into Risotto's office as he worked, either you are greeted with Ace running around in his green hamster ball, walking around Risotto's desk as he worked, or running in the hamster wheel behind the desk. Ace's tank is an old Aquarium tank Pesci gave to Risotto that is now full of soft bedding, toys, and Risotto frequently cleans it. There are days where Risotto just spends hours watching his hamster walk around the room, eating little treats, and staring at Risotto with its beady eyes. It's gotten to the point where you can't walk into Risotto's office without noticing a lone sunflower seed or piece of bedding on the ground that Risotto didn't notice until you pointed it out. Every time Ace passes from old age, Risotto buys a new Syrian hamster and calls that one Ace. He hasn't kept track of how many hamsters that came and went so far, but treated every one of them as if they were the first Ace. He takes pictures of Ace doing the most relatively boring things and will share them with his members.

Illuso got a Sulphur-crested cockatoo named Scapino as a joke. He thought they didn’t require much attention but later felt bad when he found out that they need specific proper care. He proceeds to care for it as if it was his child. Illuso taught his bird how to speak and swear at people, specifically swearing at Formaggio and occasionally at Ghiaccio. This man will shower his bird with the best treats (expensive nuts, dried fruit, chicken bones) and has a special bar for it to perch on when they're in the shower together. This bird has free reign all over Illuso's place and wears a little anklet thing to verify that it has an owner should it escape. The two of them have spa days together and it’s one of the most wholesome things in the world to witness. Scapino will actually join Illuso on missions too, staying in the mirror world the whole time, and it provides him some comfort from his social anxiety. Sometimes Scapino sits on his shoulder as he walks. Illuso trained it to stay and hide in the mirror world so that it wouldn’t fly away or blow his cover when he’s working. But the bird will fly around in there and will watch anyone that’s getting murked in front of him with no remorse and commenting on it too. Imagine you’re dying in the mirror world and your last moment is this fucking bird looming over you going “night night, motherfucker”. JESUS CHRIST. 

Prosciutto used to be on the whole “pets are unnecessary” train but he had considered looking at breeders for the best quality dog. And then one rainy day he found an abandoned Portuguese Water Dog puppy in an alleyway and at Pesci’s insistence took it in. Turns out the puppy was bought by a rich family for their kid but then abandoned when the kid wasn't interested in it anymore. Prosciutto insisted that the dog was going to stay for one night and then sent to the pound first thing in the morning. It's been years now and the little dog is now a big fluffy good boy named Pon Pon. The second biggest chunk of Prosciutto's paycheck is for this dog; I'm talking grooming services with paw-ticures, an all-organic raw diet, the nicest beds that even a human would wish they can sleep on. Pon Pon is properly trained with all the basics and tricks, because Prosciutto doesn't want to deal with a misbehaving dog, but it will use puppy eyes against the old man now and then. He give you the best smiles if you call him a good boy and if you glance at the right time you can see Prosciutto smile for a brief moment. Had he lived longer, he would have made Pon Pon famous on Facebook like Boo the Dog. Prosciutto will also not admit that this dog has helped him get laid a few times, because every person he did bring home always got a kick out of Pon Pon.

Ghiaccio has a pet snake- an albino ball python named Bianco. Ghiaccio was also on the “pets are unnecessary” train too but mainly because he can't stand loud pets (i.e. Illuso and Sorbet and Gelato’s pets). When Risotto suggested he get a snake, Ghiaccio looked into it, researching and meticulously setting up the proper enclosure  and found himself going to a local reptile expo to find Bianco for sale. He’s fascinated by his snake to say the least, and would use leftover containers or Tupperware for Bianco to spend more money on proper equipment or food. Ghiaccio is really involved in online reptile forums and frequently debates with people on topics such as the best substrates to use, whether live rodents are better than frozen, ethics of breeding certain species, etc. He often gets worried when Bianco becomes picky and Ghiaccio would spend sleepless nights trying to get his baby to eat. Ghiaccio would walk around with his ball python wrapped around his neck or lets him slither around in his room under supervision but he mostly leaves him alone in the enclosure. There are times where he would claim he has the best, smartest pet and everyone just rolls their eyes like “yes the white fettuccine that got stuck in a toilet paper roll an hour ago is so smart”. But they let him rant about it. It’s kind of cute to say the least.

Pesci is the definition of people whose entire LIVELIHOOD is making his room into an aquarium. His room is full of strictly maintained, cleaned, and decorated tanks full of various types of aquatic animals. I’m talking Dwarf Puffers (Antonio, Portia, Jessica, Bassiano, and Solanio), Albino Gold Axolotls (Moe, Larry, and Curly), Red Ear Sliders (Franco and Ciccio), Clown Fishes (Browser, Mario, Toadstool, and Koopa), Brazilian Sea Horses (Tom and Jerry), a Blue Betta Fish named Valentina in a 30+ gallon aquaponics tank that grows a variety of plants each season- to name a few. He rebuilt his entire room to keep everything running and even had Melone help him set up timers for lighting and temperature control. Pesci will cry if you somehow made the pH level off by 1 or did not care for his animals properly when he’s away. He’ll even lecture you about bad tank setup. He's a prominent member of the aquarium  community in Italy and will regularly redecorate each tank to suit the year and mood. This is where he’s spending his cut on the 20 million lira job: caring for his mini aquarium room. He occasionally gives away his pets’ offsprings for extra money (he doesn’t breed but sometimes he ends up having a ton of baby animals he can’t take care of) and would have been a YouTuber for his fish content. Now that I think about it, Pesci reminds me of my mutual @nexter2nd. Please go follow them.

Melone has a Holland Lop bunny and you cannot change my mind. He actually had a pet bunny growing up, another Holland Lop named Echo and Grep, and his current one is named Sudo; all three are named after UNIX commands. He has a large dog crate he diy-ed to be a roomy enclosure in his room for her that he cleans frequently but also allows Sudo free reign of the room when she wants to go out. Because of his job, he makes sure all his wires are covered so his bunny isn't tempted to chew them and watches his bunny diligently whenever she roams around. Easter time is when the denim jacket, pastel bows, and flower crowns come out and Melone makes sure to take a lot of photos. He also housetrained his bunny and taught her a few tricks, similar to how he trained Echo and Grep years ago. Sudo is spoiled in terms of getting a lot of pets, new toys, and feasts on the finest veggies and delicious hay. Melone also makes sure the first thing he teaches his Juniors is to not harm the bunny. Surprisingly, he's against breeding Sudo and has her neutered. This is mainly because he doesn't have the time to breed and raise more bunnies but also he hates the idea of selling the grown bunnies off afterward. 

You know that Formaggio has a cat: the little Russian Blue cat named Sweetie Baby. Sweetie Baby was a kitten that he found outside his home. The little thing was the sole survivor of its litter and nearly starving to death, so he took her in thinking he will bring her to the shelter when she recovers; that cat now lets him live in HER apartment rent-free. Despite feeding her cheap dry food and constantly shoving her into bottles, he treats her like a queen otherwise. He will dress her up in little outfits (much to her annoyance) and often would be too aggressively affectionate towards her. Still, there are moments where she would cuddle with him during the later nights and allow him to put on one iced-out bow he just spent a quarter of his paycheck on. Walking to his apartment and even the backdoor of La Squadra’s HQ means carefully walking through the stray cats mewling at your feet, because Formaggio will feed any cat he sees. Initially, Risotto wanted the cats gone, but then he finds out the cats doubled as security when he watched some robber attempting to break in but getting their eyes scratched off instead.

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I promise I have not given up on this fic. Life is kinda of a mess right now. The College Entrance Exams Season has just begun, and I’ve been studying nonstop, which leaves me with little time to write and a brain overheated due to excessive studying.

Good news tho! So far, I have been accepted in the two colleges I’ve already applied for, which leaves me with just The Big Scary Exam in January which also has a second phase that is FIVE DAYS AFTER ACOSF IS RELEASED. And which is pretty much my dream college

But let’s talk about happy things. Get comfortable and enjoy the long overdue Part Four!

In which she makes a friend, Part Four

Cassian woke up in the late afternoon. After a silently breakfast with Nesta, he went to report to Devlon and go over the papers he had left piling up in his absence. Nesta had gone to her room — probably to take a bath and change out of the leathers — and he had not seen her since. He had promptly fallen asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow, his aching muscles and wings screaming for some well deserved rest.

Cassian debated whether to knock on Nesta’s door or not as he splashed some cold water on his face. He had decided he was going to help her, he just didn’t know how to do that without seeming as if he was just following orders from Feyre. Nesta was not a burden. Would never be. At least not for him. He was going to do this right and make up for the two months he was away.

Gathering his courage, he softly knocked on her door, straining his ears to listen to something that would indicate that she was in her bedroom. When he heard nothing, not even her breathing, he remembered the stone bench. The weather was sunny — with “sunny” in Illyria meaning that the grey sky was more or less free of clouds and the cold not as unforgiving as usual. However, when he opened the front door and stepped outside, he did not see Nesta but the young Illyrian he had seen earlier, Kaelin.

Cassian stayed quiet, taking the opportunity to inspect the kid, which was so busy writing something down in a piece of paper — Cassian could see him biting his lip in concentration and pushing back a stray curl that kept falling on his eyes — that didn’t take notice of his arrival. Kaelin was a question mark that had suddenly appeared in his life. Cassian didn’t know who the Illyrian was, but if Nesta had chosen to trust him — to take him under her care when she could not deign to care for herself — then he was going to trust her decision. And he would ask Kaelin to work with him to help Nesta heal.

“You know, if you’re thinking of growing your hair maybe you should have something to tie it back” Cassian said, clearing his throat to warn Kaelin of his presence.

Kaelin almost fell from the bench in surprise, quickly raising to greet him.

“Please, there’s no need for that” Cassian pleaded, interrupting Kaelin before he did the formal salute “You are living here now, you may address me informally”.

“Yes, sir” he hesitantly answered, as if unsure if he should be treating his superior like that.

The younglings usually liked Cassian. He did teach a lot of them to fly and played with them whenever he had the chance. But Kaelin was in the phase where training got harder, tougher. When the Camp Lords started to separate those who had potential and those who would only be another number in the army.

“Isn’t it better to write inside? The bench looks uncomfortable” Cassian tried, hoping to gain the kid’s trust.

“Nesta said...she said it’s good to read out loud while you write” the tip of Kaelin’s ears turned soft pink “I didn’t want to disturb you, sir”

Nesta was teaching Kaelin how to read.

Cassian didn’t know what to do with this new information. He had really missed a lot on two months.

“I wouldn’t be woken by your voice. I usually sleep like the dead”.

“When I can actually sleep” Cassian thought. His dreams usually turned into nightmares, and he only slept well when he was near the point of passing out from fatigue. Like today.

“Oh, I see. Nesta gave me one of the military books in your living room to practice, I hope that’s fine” the young Illyrian knotted his eyebrows in confusion “She said she didn’t have any books I could read”.

“No, I don’t think she has” Cassian allowed himself a small smile, thinking about the dirty romance novels he knew Nesta liked. He didn’t think they’d have been proper for Kaelin “Feel free to take any books you like. I’ll see if I can get hold of less boring ones for you”.

“I don’t want to burden you!!” he quickly said “Really, they’re not boring. A bit hard to understand, but I usually write down the words I don’t know and Nesta helps me later”.

“It’s not a bother. I was planning to get some books for Nesta. She reads a lot and I think she may have run out of books now”.

Cassian tried to calm Kaelin, making sure it was nothing out of his way. He knew how it felt when you had nothing and people offered you things. The first time he had received a present, a solstice gift from Rhysand’s mother, he had been afraid to accept and had cried afterwards, once he was alone. He could only imagine how it was for the Kaelin. An orphan who once had some and suddenly was stripped of even the little things he had to call his own.

“You and Nesta... you seem close” he tried to appear nonchalant, laying the ground for his intention of gathering Kaelin’s aid.

“She’s nice” he answered, pushing the stray curl away again.

“How has she been? Has she been going out a lot?” Cassian cringed internally at how desperate he sounded, but he could not deny how worried he was that Nesta was not back when it was beginning to darken.

“I’ve know Nesta for two, three months at most”.

“And?” Cassian inquired.

“She does not eat much. Started going out recently” Kaelin eyed him in suspicion “I don’t know if I should be talking with you, sir, about her. I know that I wouldn’t like to have someone talking about me behind my back. Specially with someone who had left me alone for months”.

Cassian realised that, in this conversation, he was the enemy. Kaelin knew Nesta, but had no reason whatsoever to trust Cassian, ranks in the army be damned.

“I was busy. Commander stuff” he didn’t want to talk about how a civil war was most likely to happen.

Kaelin’s only answer was to raise an eyebrow in question, an act that reminded Cassian so much of Nesta that he was momentarily thrown back. Was his idea about to go down the drain before he had even tried it out?

“I wouldn’t have left if wasn’t really necessary”.

“I didn’t doubt you” Kaelin said, the corners of his mouth raising slightly.

Cauldron, he couldn’t believe how he was being played by a teenage boy.

“And I guess I know what you’re trying to do” Kaelin commented, gathering the book, tucking the piece of paper inside it and pocketing the pencil.

“If you know it, then are you willing to be my helping hand?” Cassian remembered why he usually stuck with training the younglings. They didn’t have smart comebacks.

“I cannot possibly train Nesta. I only know the basics I’ve learnt as a kid. But you sir, are a legend” Kaelin’s eyes sparked in admiration.

Mikael had told Kaelin stories about the Commander of the Illyrian armies. Of how an orphan who was supposed to be a foot soldier had the biggest killing power in Illyria’s history.

“I’m willing to do anything to make Nesta happy” Kaelin’s expression saddened “She is not doing well. And I own her my life. It’s the minimum I can do”.

“Thank you. I think she’d listen more to you than me” Cassian stretched his wings “First things first then kiddo. Could you tell me where she is? It’s getting late and she should have someone accompany her back”.

Kaelin gave him a wide smile, and before Cassian could do anything, got airborne.

“Don’t worry about it!! I always walk Nesta back!!”

And with a last goodbye shout, Kaelin flew away to meet Nesta at Cauldron knows where, leaving Cassian no option but to enter the house and get dinner ready.

~•~

To say dinner had been awkward was an understatement.

Cassian didn’t remember ever being so tongue tied before. Nesta had also kept quiet for most of the meal. Kaelin, however, did enough talking for both of them.

The kid had completely lost all shyness regarding Cassian, although he still added ‘sir’ sometimes when it seemed he was going overboard. Keeping his word to help Cassian with Nesta, Kaelin had talked nonstop about the things that had happened in those two months. Cassian learned that Nesta cooked quite well — “Illyrian culinary is different from high Fae but she learned so fast! It didn’t even feel like the food had been kept in the ice box for so long!” — and that she also knew how to sew — “She fixed all my clothes! They fit perfectly now! It feels as if they’re brand new!”.

Cassian would be pleased to just sit there and listen to Kaelin praise Nesta and tell all her hidden abilities, but he saw the way her pointed ears were getting pink and how she stuffed food in her mouth to avoid getting asked more questions. So he changed topics to Kaelin’s training, and he swore he saw Nesta silently thank him by the way her grey blue eyes softened.

The rest of the dinner run smoothly. He was also relived to see Nesta getting a second helping of food. Cassian could bet that she had not had lunch and, as a result, was starving.

He had made rice with cooked vegetables, along with fish seasoned with baniwa, a pepper based sauce. He had also left some fish without baniwa, not knowing whether Nesta liked her food spicy or not. He was happy to see that she choose the fish with the sauce and decided to stick with solid food, not taking any of the Imu Yanisa Kiyauriri he had offered, in case her stomach was not well.

After quietly washing the dishes while Nesta dried them — she had just gotten up and grabbed the kitchen rag, not sparing him a glance as she took the clean plate from his hand — Cassian locked himself in his room, hoping to get a good night’s sleep.

However, lucky was not on his side. He tossed and turned on his bed for hours, until finally giving up sleep and moving to his desk to go over the training schedule and other minor documents. Maybe work would tire him out enough to get maybe three or four hours of sleep.

Cassian was in the middle of a report regarding the preparations for the Blood Rite when he felt a shiver running down his spine. A faint sensation of panic came forth, and he was momentarily thrown back. Shrugging it off as fatigue, he turned back to the paper. But the sensation did not disappear. Had someone gotten over the wards somehow?

“Oh, screw this” he cursed, raising from his chair and opening his bedroom door.

Looking in the living room’s direction, he saw Kaelin completely passed out in the couch, sleeping on his stomach, his wings twitching in his sleep and drooling. The kitchen was clear as well, the same with the outdoor patio and the bathroom. The sensation got fainter, and he almost gave up when he walked by Nesta’s bedroom.

Cassian felt that panic rise within him once again. Felt that sensation of dread and helplessness knock him with full force. Without thinking, he opened her door, all reason flying out of his head to knock or call her from outside. Once inside, the first thing he notice was how cold the room was. She had not lit the fireplace, but it for sure was not due to lack of firewood. Why had she chosen to bury herself under multiple fur blankets then?

Second thing he took notice of was that said blankets had been thrown to the floor. And that Nesta was painting, fists tightly closed beside her body.

“Nesta...” Cassian breathed, slowly approaching the bed. He could see her eyes moving frantically under eyelids. The sensation was stronger now, threatening to consume him. He could not imagine how Nesta felt. Tried not to think why he also felt it.

“No...get away...” she murmured feverishly in her sleep “Take me. Take me instead”

Cassian smelled smoke, and he realised that Nesta’s fists were burning the sheets were they touched, her skin damp with sweat.

“Ness....” Cassian knew that you should not wake up someone when they were having a nightmare, not when they were letting their power lose. That indicated that the person had lost all sensation of reality and imagination, and could hurt whoever approached them. But Cassian could not see her suffering and just do nothing.

Gently, he kneeled beside her bed, and tentatively run his thumb across her forehead.

“You’re safe Nesta. Breath.” he murmured, bringing his other hand to her clenched fists, squeezing in reassurance, the fire around them not hurting him.

“It’s my fault...my fault” she whimpered, and sorrow and guilty hit Cassian just like earlier.

“Shhh.... Nobody can harm you” his thumb kept caressing her, trying to transmit comfort through his touch.

“I’m sorry...” she took a sharp breath, and Cassian could feel she tremble slightly.

“Nesta. Nesta.” he willed her hand to open, clutching it on his “Hush now xe r-endy, I’m here. Îebyr pe ixê.”

He kept talking in Illyrian, and she started to calm down, her breath coming in regularly and some tension leaving her body.

“That’s it sweetheart. You’re safe” Cassian tucked the blankets over Nesta, getting her comfortable.

“Cassian...stay” she grabbed his hand, eyes half open and laced with sleep, her strange and mysterious power faintly shinning on them.

“I will stay until you fall asleep” he replied.

And Cassian spent the rest of the night and early morning sitting on her bedroom floor. Holding her hand. And when the first of rays of sunlight appeared, he let go of her hand.

And he left Nesta’s room.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arin1030-blog @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @allilal

{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list.}

[heyitssmiller]

Chop It Like It’s Hot

Chapter 9: We Brie-long Together

The boys finally talk.

To everyone who has shared their ideas for this story, I love and appreciate every last one of you! I tried to include as many ideas as I could in this chapter. This one’s for y’all! <3

Tag List: @peanut-in-the-goal @whataboutmyfries @raxelle-nite-in-gale @heyoitslysso @spookydiyharrypotterbat

Chop It Like It’s Hot Masterlist

@lumosinlove

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Excerpt from Chapter 8 (If you don’t recognize this I would really recommend reading the last chapter!)

“We’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Logan asked, green eyes hopeful. “At the game?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” The bus driver honked the horn, clearly fed-up with waiting. “You’d better go before they leave you behind.”

Logan and Finn gave one last wave before heading towards the door while Leo began making his way back to the kitchen.

“Hey!” Logan called suddenly. Leo turned back around to look at them. “Can we take you out to dinner tomorrow? After the game?”

Leo’s stomach churned at the wording. He gathered up all his courage, took a deep breath, and asked, “Is this a date?”

Finn and Logan beamed. Leo’s heart skipped a beat.

“I sure hope so.”

Leo smiled hesitantly at Finn’s words. “You’re serious?”

“Of course we’re – ” Logan was cut off by the horn of the bus again. He whipped around to shoot it a glare. “One second.”

He fished out his phone from his pocket and quickly sent a text to the team. Don’t wait for us. Harzy and I are going to take a cab back. He then proceeded to turn his phone off. “Finn, you might want to silence your phone.”

Then they both turned to look at Leo again.

His heart skipping a beat had now turned into a full-on arrythmia.

“I honestly can’t believe you didn’t pick up on this sooner.” Finn said, still smiling. “I mean, we weren’t exactly subtle.”

Leo finally closed the distance between them, hyperaware of the two pairs of eyes following his every move. “I had my suspicions. I was just…” He sighed, looking down. “Every possible outcome seemed so terrible and I was so scared that I was going to ruin all of this.”

He reached out to grab Finn’s hand, then looked up at Logan and gently cradled his neck in his hand, thumb brushing against his pulse point. “Guess that was kinda dumb, huh?”

Logan groaned and surged forward to capture Leo’s lips with his own.

Oh.

Leo exhaled in a sigh and kissed back, moving his hand slightly so that his fingers tangled in soft brown hair. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening, holy shit. He had no idea how he’d become so lucky, but he definitely wasn’t about to question it. Logan stood up on his tiptoes, grabbed Leo’s shirt for balance, and tilted his head for a better angle.

“Oh my god, I love my life.” Finn whispered as he watched the two them. Leo smiled and broke away from Logan in order to kiss Finn with equal enthusiasm. With a muddled brain, Leo tried to sort through all the emotions he couldn’t put into words before Logan moved to kiss his neck, causing the blond to gasp. All previous train of thoughts had officially left the station.

“We – we should probably talk about this.” Leo managed to say in between kisses, his grip on Finn’s hand tightening.

“Kiss now, talk later.” Finn mumbled back. Logan hummed in agreement.

Leo couldn’t really find a flaw in their argument.

That arrythmia was quickly morphing into cardiac arrest.

After an undiscernible amount of time, though, he reluctantly had to lean back in order to breathe. Both boys looked up at him, pupils blown, and Leo smiled.

What on earth had he done to deserve this?

“As much as I’d love to stay here,” He said as he pressed a kiss to Logan’s forehead. “I know y’all probably have to get back to the hotel. You’ve got morning skate, right?”

“No…” Finn whined, pressing closer to his boys.

“I already overfed your entire team the night before a game. I’m not going to be responsible for two of their wingers being tired all day tomorrow.”

“But it’s still early. Maybe we could just walk back to the hotel?” Logan suggested. “I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.”

“It’s November.” Leo countered, then sighed when Finn and Logan just sent him blank looks. He sighed. “Northerners. I will be a freezing, miserable mess if we walk around New York City all night in weather like this.”

Logan pouted, which proved to be very distracting because Leo couldn’t stop staring at those full lips.

“We could always go back to my place for a little while.” He finally conceded, watching the other two perk up. “It’s not too far of a walk. You guys can call a cab whenever you need to leave.”

“Yes.” Finn blurted, leading the way towards the door and dragging Leo and Logan along with him. “Let’s do that.”

“Hold on – Finn,” Leo laughed, trying to pull his hand free with little success. “I need my keys.”

Finn reluctantly let go of his hand, only to immediately grab it again when Leo came back with his keys. Leo arched an eyebrow as they stepped outside into the cold. “You know I still have to lock the door behind us, right?”

The redhead sighed dramatically and released his hand again. Logan smiled and said something in French about drama queens as he stared at Finn in adoration.

It didn’t make Leo’s heart ache anymore. Instead he just felt giddy – like he would never be able to sleep tonight.

How had this become his life?

Leo quickly locked the doors to the restaurant and then laced his fingers with Finn’s again. “Ready?”

“Lead the way, Peanut.”

So they began the walk back to Leo’s apartment, side by side. Leo and Finn shared stories about the places they passed as they walked – a strange combination of childhood stories from Finn and food recommendations from Leo but Logan soaked up every word, wanting to learn as much about his boys’ city as he could.

Finn was playing with Leo’s hand when he brushed his thumb across a thick, raised scar on one finger. He held it up to inspect and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “What’s this from?”

Leo looked down at it. “Oh, I almost took that finger off in culinary school.”

“You did what?”

“We were learning how to properly butcher a cow and it didn’t end well.”

Finn looked a little green. “Oh my god, baby.”

Leo tripped over his feet and looked over at Finn, who didn’t even seem to realize what he’d said.

Leo’s heart would never recover from tonight.

“Oh, Fish, show him that one scar you got sophomore year of college. The one from that asshole who played center at Brown?”

“Oh yeah! Nut, you’ve gotta look at this one.” Finn said excitedly, dropping Leo’s hand to roll up his coat and the shirtsleeve underneath it. “So it’s the third period, we’re tied one to one. I was on a break away, right? And then...”

They continued to share stories as they walked, although Logan was finding it harder and harder to focus on anything else but the rising spots of color on both of their cheeks and Leo’s nose, god it was too cute. The three of them finally reached an apartment building and hurried inside to get out of the cold.

Leo led them to his apartment and unlocked the door before welcoming them inside with a sheepish grimace. “Sorry about the mess, I’ve been making a lot of pasta and didn’t have time to clean it up before I left.” His stomach growled loudly. “Didn’t have time to eat, either, so I’m going to make a snack too. Make yourselves at home.”

Logan looked at the kitchen that was covered in flour, cooking utensils, and several different pasta cutters. He smiled softly at the sight, although he felt a little guilty. “You really went through a lot of trouble for tonight, huh?” Finn stood by his side and wrapped an arm around his waist. Logan leaned into him slightly as they both watched Leo preheat the oven and grab a wheel of brie and fresh raspberries from the fridge. Next came honey and crackers from the pantry.

“It wasn’t too bad.” Leo said as the oven beeped to signal that it had reached the right temperature. He put the brie in a pan, drizzled it with honey, and set it in the oven. “I enjoyed it. It’s been a while since I made pasta from scratch.”

Leo led the way to the living room where they all sat down on the couch, getting as close to each other as they could. Logan finally got to kiss the pink of Leo’s cheek, which earned him a soft smile.

“We still should probably talk about this.” The blond said, snuggling close to them. “I mean, how is this going to work? We all travel all the time. I’m based in New York and y’all are in Gryffindor. That’s a lot of long distance.”

Finn sighed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “I’m not going to lie to you, the season is going to be hectic. It always is. But we can visit as much as we can, and then there’s the offseason.” He smiled and poked Leo in the side. “You’ll be lucky to get rid of us then.”

“And you aren’t constantly recording new shows, are you?” Logan asked. “You could always visit or tag along to away games if you wanted.”

“I do a lot of videos from home, too. If you don’t mind me commandeering your kitchen every once in a while, I could always record them from there.”

“Peanut, literally nothing could make us happier than you taking over our kitchen.” Logan grinned at the thought, remembering the week Leo had spent in their apartment. He wanted to have that every day.

“Oh my god, we’re going to eat so much good food.” Finn sighed happily, resting his chin on Leo’s shoulder.

The timer for the brie went off. Leo rose to his feet to head back to the kitchen, shooting his boys a look as he went. “Your nutritionist is going to kill me.”

“Nah. You’ll be fine.” Finn reassured, giving Logan a lovestruck smile. He sent a similar smile back. “I’m sure you can run faster than him, anyways.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.” Leo called over his shoulder, taking the brie out of the oven and setting it on a plate with the raspberries, crackers, and more honey.

“I can’t believe a giant like you is afraid of a five-foot-nothing nutritionist.” Logan teased.

“If you’d seen the way he was glaring at me for all the pasta I cooked tonight, you’d be scared too.” Leo sat back down on the couch and picked up a cracker, scooping some warm brie onto it and adding some honey and a raspberry on top. “Now I know you’re probably full, but y’all have to try this.”

***

Logan looked over at Finn as the elevator began to slow down. “You ready for this?”

“Not at all.” He replied, but he was still smiling.

The elevator doors opened with a ding! and Logan and Finn stepped out. Their entire team was waiting for them in the hotel lobby with matching smug, teasing looks on their faces.

“You took a cab home, huh?” Talker chirped with a wicked grin.

The rest of the team erupted in cheers and whistles and cat calls, talking over each other in order to keep the teasing going.

“We signed up for this, didn’t we?” Logan asked, rolling his eyes.

Finn just kept smiling. He was going to be smiling for weeks after the events of last night. “Yep. And it’s definitely worth it.” Then he raised his voice for the rest of the team to hear, “Keep laughing while you can! We’re going to be soft, squishy romantics for at least the next month and you guys are going to have to deal with us. You’re going to be so sick of it, I can guarantee it.”

The team gave them uncertain looks.

“Now, get ready! I’m about to talk about our sweet ray of Louisiana sunshine the entire way to the stadium. I sure hope there’s a lot of traffic, because I have a lot to say.”

“Oh god. What have we done?”

“Blame Dumo - he’s the one who signed them up for that show.”

“Hey!”

***

The Gryffindor Lions Talk Show: Hosted by Butts and Kinzy

Longbottom: Looks like we’ve got a special guest in attendance tonight, folks! For those of you who don’t know, two of our finest went on a Food Network cooking competition during the offseason, and it looks like they’ve made a friend.

McKinnon: That’s chef Leo Knut. He was one of their instructors on the show. It’s nice to see that they still keep in touch. *clears her throat* There’s a link on all of our social media pages where you can watch Harzy and Tremzy be absolute disasters in the kitchen. Go check it out if you haven’t already! Now for our starting lineups!

[haliyam]

interim (v)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 4

Hi again! Forgive me for this chapter and the next few ones, guys. I offer you this art I commissioned and an itty bitty happy-for-a-millisecond Zeke/Reader oneshot in the meantime 😪 (Please notice this I am so happy with it)

As usual, Reader default name Lucy is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background and family name. But feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension!

Chapter 5

“Why are you helping me?”

You grit your teeth, peering over at Zeke as he lets go of your foot. He was helping you stretch, seeing as you’re too fatigued to do it yourself, not to mention you’re covered in a heated blanket and he’s put hot towels over and under your limbs. 

He ignores you, like he’s been ignoring you since he entered your room with all of these items, asking instead whether you wanted help or not. Like he’s been ignoring you since you arrived as a guest at the Yeagers’.

You don’t really like Zeke, and you’re sure he doesn’t like you either. You’re six, after all, with all the confidence the world can offer a child in your position, and he’s twelve, with all the arrogance of a boy already training to become the Beast Titan when the war in the South is over. 

That’s why his help is so strange. And without Mrs. Yeager forcing him into it, too?  It’s suspect, and you’re not even sure you know that word yet.

“Why—”

“Shh,” Zeke hisses, looking very displeased about having to respond in any way while you glare at him. When your brows unfurrow and you continue to stare at him expectantly, he rolls his eyes. Still, he finally speaks again. “Why are you like this, anyway? Aren’t you Magath’s new star would-be candidate?”

You were, until the ideology tests began. You don’t know they’re called that, but you’ve been doing terribly at the written exams which ask why Eldians are the dirt between the toes of  real  humans. Your answers show a well-read knowledge of Marley-sanctioned history, but distinctly lack the Eldian shame that comes naturally to your classmates. 

This is concerning to the program and to command in spite of your potential, so it’s up to your instructors to beat that shame into you by keeping you running for far longer than the others, leaving you out of meals, or shortening your breaks and then making you stay behind so you can do everyone else’s grunt work, especially after you dared to look Captain Magath in the eye the first time your class fell in to formation after the first round of exams. And every other time since, like an idiot. 

“Not anymore,” you answer, struggling to keep his gaze. You don’t really want to talk about this with someone who now must only wait to inherit his Titan. It makes you feel small, and nobody in Marley should have that authority.

Zeke wrinkles his nose. “That’s not an answer. It just seemed like you were doing great… and now you’re a baby that has to be coddled?”

Your glare returns, shame be damned, but the pain that suddenly pulses through your body as surely as your indignation quickly drains it. Your pride and your strength are depleted for the day, and you need to save what remains for tomorrow, when you have to face the instructors again. And besides—Zeke has already seen how weak you are. What’s the point? Tybur pride will do nothing for you now. 

You lower your gaze for once. “Are you going to tell the captain?” 

Zeke stares at you. “No? Why does Magath hate you now, anyway?”

You know why. Because you’re still a Tybur, and you refuse to be nothing. Even if nobody knows it. Even if you feel like nothing right now.

Zeke sighs again—a concession of his own, though that is unknown to you. “Fine. Just... my grandparents will get worried if they hear you crying because you can’t sleep.”

“I wasn’t crying,” you lie. Your body hurts so much that you haven’t been able to stay asleep for very long. You just didn’t think he could hear you crying.

“Sure,” he scoffs. He’s lied, too. It’s difficult to hear much noise inside your rooms from the hall—but you did pass him on the way to the bathroom with those puffy eyes just a little while ago. “Just make sure they don’t see you as pathetic as you look now—they already have enough to worry about. If you have to be pathetic… only do it in front of me. Understand?”

You still want to glare at him, but somehow, his words are almost as much comfort to you as the towels he’s heated for you. You don’t know the last time you let your guard down since the Warrior program began for your class, and you’re so tired. His words, however cold, warm you in your newfound frailty.

“Okay,” you murmur in defeat, relaxing in earnest. Your eyes are slowly starting to close.

“Hey!” he snaps within a whisper, quickly reaching for your shoulder and shaking it. You’re too sleepy to notice his reluctant concern. “Don’t fall asleep wrapped up in all this. It’s just a few more minutes, and then you have to go to the bathroom and put this ointment on your muscles like I told you. Remember?”

You do your best to widen your eyes and shake your head awake. The effort ends with you groaning in pain, but you eventually manage a nod. “I’ll stay awake,” you promise. When he sighs again and pulls the seat out from next to your desk to sit at your bedside, you murmur something else.

He frowns at you. “What was that?”

“I’ll stay awake,” you repeat, “but will you tell me a story?”

--

Are you surprised that Willy is coming to visit? Yes and no. Over the years, Willy has perfected the art of making his presence in your life known while somehow remaining completely absent. The nature of the new Lord Tybur’s existence in your world became immutable the summer after that fateful one, after you came crying to him and to Lara when you could no longer bear the loneliness of ignoring your friends’ letters for an entire year. Willy’s response, as with everything regarding Mila, was to turn away and change the subject. It was Lara who couldn’t resist your tears and confessed it all to you—what father told Willy hours before he became Lord Tybur, and then all she learned when she devoured him.

The new Lord Tybur was furious. It was only the second time in your life you had ever heard your brother so angry—but he never stays that way with you or with Lara for very long, and wouldn’t you have discovered the truth after thirteen years anyway? In true Willy fashion, he only smiled days later and expected you never to mention it again. The fact that you have, many times hence, is part of why your relationship is so frayed.  That and his tendency to appear, shower you with affection, and then shrink at the first sign of trouble. After all, how can anyone expect you to love a man who can’t bring himself to stand up for you?

Your resignation to this is mostly what keeps you from worrying too much the next morning, when Zeke leaves for HQ and you elect to join the Yeagers for market day. Part of it is guilt—apparently you and Zeke now consume much more than you did as candidates, and you want to make sure that you’re paying your share—and part of it is that you still feel ashamed for letting Zeke see you act the way you did last night. You still have to take care not to groan outwardly when you remember how you shrugged him off when he tried to be a friend, or how much you practically wailed into his chest. Never mind how you hid behind him from Mila when he let you, like the coward you are.

“You’re so pathetic, Lucy,” you mutter to yourself.

Standing not far from you by a vegetable vendor, Dr. Yeager glances over his shoulder. “Hmm? What’s that, Lucy?”

“Er—nothing, Dr. Yeager. I was just thinking to myself,” you smile sheepishly. Drawing closer to avoid getting jostled by the crowd, you search over his selection. “Oh! That’s… a lot of potatoes. You don’t need to avoid other items on my account. I’m happy to pay for my share.”

Dr. Yeager chuckles. “No, no. You know how much Zeke likes them. And don’t worry, Lucy, I can carry them.”

“No,” you say slowly, exchanging a look with the vendor when Dr. Yeager gives his smaller basket a faithful pat. You reach for it instead, tugging a little when he stubbornly refuses. “I’m taking these. You can carry some of the fish, but I’ll be taking most of the baskets. Hand them over and I’ll bring these to Mrs. Yeager.”

Dr. Yeager sighs. “Very well, Lucy. But only because I know how much you like carp from our friend down the road.”

You grin, and he lets you take his basket so you can fill your much larger one with (apparently) Zeke’s potatoes. As you part ways so he can go and buy you fish, you set out to find Mrs. Yeager. She should be waiting outside a little cafe not far from the market—Dr. Yeager likes doing most of the groceries nowadays, and Mrs. Yeager’s one very important task is to buy the household’s favorite seasonal dessert: grapes. Unfortunately, the best grapes in the zone market are sold by an old man who has a bit of a crush on her, and he doesn’t like seeing Dr. Yeager if he can help it. Or Zeke. Or you. 

That should be her only task, which is why you’re surprised when you find her with a man and a basket full of cured meats when you arrive. 

The truth is you almost miss her, if not for the sweet sound of her amused chuckle right as you decide to head inside to find her. Walking around the man blocking her from view, you approach. “Mrs. Yeager?”

“Lucy!” she waves. 

Her raised brows tell you she wants you to meet someone; evidently, the man carrying most of her baskets along his arms, wearing an apron over a button-down and slacks with his sleeves rolled up. You turn toward each other at your name, and after a blink or two between the two of you, you realize that the man’s shock is more familiar than you first realized—probably because it’s your second time bumping into each other this weekend. 

“Lucy?” he gawps at you.

You give him the same look. “Kellan? What are you…?”

He follows your gaze to Mrs. Yeager, and the way it dawns on his face is enough for you to trust that this is another funny coincidence. “Oh—” He gestures to her, “I was just helping, er…”

“Mrs. Yeager,” you help him.

“Right, Mrs... You’re Mrs. Yeager?” he asks, glancing at her. It’s clear he’s seen her unmistakable red armband, but it’s not polite to ask which child earned you Honorary Marleyan status. 

Mrs. Yeager is accustomed to his curiosity, which he soon realizes along with his manners with an embarrassed flush that makes you smile. Luckily, she takes over for him with a pat on his arm. “Kellan here was helping me with the meats I bought from his family’s shop. He was just telling me that he’s studying to be a doctor, and I thought, what a coincidence—but it seems you two already know each other! Isn’t he handsome, Lucy?”

Such a pointed question. You and Kellan meet each other’s gazes with mutual embarrassment. 

“You really don’t have to answer that,” Kellan laughs nervously, which helps you snap out of your stupor and look at him. You suppose he is handsome, even with his dark hair mired in sweat and slicked back today. He’s tall, taller than Zeke and maybe even Reiner, with a strong nose and gentle eyes that watch you hopefully in spite of his words.

The Warrior program and boarding school means no one has ever looked at you like that before, and the novelty has excitement blooming in your chest. Maybe a slight pink on your cheeks, too, which you try to hide with a smile. 

“I think so,” you say, his gaze and then his shock making you feel a new kind of brave. “And I have bumped into him a few times. ...Sorry again about yesterday.”

“That’s all right. Bumping into you isn’t so bad,” he says almost smoothly, very nearly matching your courage until he remembers Mrs. Yeager and, as such, his embarrassment. “...You know, because Mrs. Yeager bought so much. I’ve never seen my aunt so thrilled.”

You’ve never been this thrilled either—attractive boys were a constant topic for your peers at boarding school, but then you’ve never had the chance to meet one. You still haven’t. Kellan is an attractive man, a few years your senior and hardly a boy. And you aren’t a liar. He’s very pleasing to look at, especially when his eyes search yours so intently. 

“Of course,” you say, trying not to look nervous when you take a step closer and reach for the baskets he’s holding. “Well, thank you for helping Mrs. Yeager. But I can take those.”

Kellan withdraws the arm holding her basket, giving you a once-over. “What do you mean?”

“Lucy is our guest at home,” says Mrs. Yeager, who looks far too pleased with herself. “Even if she refuses to let us carry our own things.”

“Please,” you feign a sigh. “I haven’t kept up with some training for nothing.” 

Kellan looks confused as he glances between the two of you, but he’s determined when you meet his gaze again. “Lucy,” he begins, “remember that bookstore I mentioned yesterday? I was thinking—did you want to drop by after this so I can show you which books you can start with?”

“Really?” you ask. Perhaps you were hoping to see him again, make a friend or two at campus, but you didn’t think your encounters could actually move past hello and goodbye. But Mrs. Yeager was right. He is handsome, dark-eyed and tall, and the idea of more of those shy smiles is a flattering one. “Well… I’d like that. But I wanted to bring these home first. And aren’t you helping at your aunt’s stall?”

“I can take a break,” he says easily, smile growing just a little more confident. “And I can help you bring these home! You shouldn’t be carrying all these yourself. Er… If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Yeager. And I’d just have to change quickly. Been out here since early this morning.”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Yeager answers for you, giving you an openly suggestive look. You pretend not to see it, but stifle a smile yourself.

Politely averting his eyes to spare you the embarrassment, Kellan reaches for the basket on your right arm, and for a moment you understand the Dr. Yeager of a little while ago. But you’ve never experienced anyone’s chivalry before, excepting Bertholdt (and he was an angel to just about everybody and he was twelve). You can suffer Kellan’s for now. 

“Thank you,” you say reluctantly. “But only that one. I have my pride to consider, you know.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, readjusting the baskets along his arms. When he shifts them all to just one arm so he can wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his damp hair glistening slightly, you imagine the tales you’ve read of countryside romances at the school library and remember to swoon a little. When he catches you looking and glancing away, Kellan smiles. 

“Where to, ladies?”

--

You find Dr. Yeager with your carp, and he is just as pleased as his wife to have another helper no matter how much he claims he can take another basket of his own. Your fears of Kellan’s talk of med school bringing out unhappy memories in Zeke’s grandfather come to nothing when Dr. Yeager expresses interest in the university system nowadays, and you’re happy to listen to the men converse about Kellan’s plans for specialization on the way home. 

“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Yeager says when you arrive, hurrying to unlock the door, and the three of you file into the house while she keeps it open. To everyone’s surprise, the door to the kitchen is already ajar: Zeke and Porco are sitting at the table, poring over folders together in silence. It seems they didn’t hear you come in.

“Good morning, you two,” Dr. Yeager’s surprised remark shatters their deep focus, and both of them spring out of their seats. They immediately turn the folders over and stack them next to a small paper bag.

It’s Zeke who relaxes first. “Grandpa,” he greets, casually nodding at each of you until he spots Kellan coming in from behind you. He doesn’t notice himself straightening up to his full height.

Before he can ask, Mrs. Yeager beams at the sight of Zeke’s guest. “Porco! What a nice surprise. You rarely come to visit.”

Porco’s suspicious brow slackens into a smile for her. It’s almost sheepish, and if that’s the case, is it really Porco? “Sorry, Mrs. Yeager.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Things have been really busy.”

“What are you two doing here?” you ask, rubbing your arms as you set the baskets down by the counter. You join them standing by the table at Dr. Yeager’s urging. “I thought you worked Sundays.”

It is Porco, because he snorts, only a little more politely since the Yeagers are around. “We were supposed to, until our Warchief realized he left work at home.”

Zeke shrugs helplessly. “It slipped my mind. I hardly ever bring home work.”

Porco remembers that you were the one in a hurry to leave HQ two days ago, prompting Zeke to forgo leaving the files in his office when Boy Wonder decided he would accompany you home, which is seriously stupid because you don’t really need any more babysitting. But then the two of you did pass by the family bakery and Mr. Finger—so he decides to stay quiet for now.

On that matter, anyway. He gestures to Kellan, who is quietly helping Mrs. Yeager unload the baskets. “Who’s the guy?”

You shoot him a reproachful, wide-eyed look. “Porco—!”

“This is Kellan. He’s studying to be a doctor, a few years ahead of Lucy,” Mrs. Yeager interrupts. She hardly knows him and she’s already proud of him, it seems, pushing him next to you by the table. He apologizes when the surprising force of her shove has him bumping into you.

“Right.” You steady him with a hand on his upper arm and are unsurprised to find muscle there. “Uh, Kellan helped us bring the groceries home. We’re heading out in a bit so he can show me some textbooks I can study ahead of time, regardless of which professors I get.”

“Textbooks?” Porco repeats with a chuckle. “Since when do you study, Blanchard?”

“Since a while ago, Galliard,” you say pleasantly, even with your teeth gritted, wondering if it’s possible to burn alive with embarrassment while hoping Porco catches alight himself. When the new Jaw only continues to look amused, you sigh. “Kellan, this is Porco, and that’s Zeke.”

You could announce their last names, but everyone in the zone knows who the Warriors are, and Kellan already seems uncomfortable. You hope it’s not because of Porco’s remark and consider throttling the man.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Kellan says anyway, politely offering his hand.

You hold back when Porco shakes it. It goes on for a little longer than you expect and their knuckles are paler by the end of it, but you suppose that’s better than nothing, which is exactly what Zeke gives when Kellan extends a hand to him next.

“The pleasure is ours,” Zeke says in lieu of doing anything else. He’s smiling, one hand in the pocket of his uniform while the other holds half the stack of folders. “Kellan, right? You’re pretty persistent, huh?”

Kellan presses his lips together as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Zeke stares at him a little longer before he chuckles. “Nah.”

You’re not surprised. Zeke always takes his time warming to people, if he ever does. When he meets your gaze, his amusement softens into something a little more natural.

You smile back, unsure why you feel embarrassed all of a sudden when Mrs. Yeager comes up from behind you. “All right, Kellan, thank you for accompanying us home. Now, off you two go.”

You survey the kitchen counters with a grimace. The groceries still need sorting. “But Mrs. Yeager—” you and Kellan start in unison, and then exchange glances. His light laughter is a little more than charming.

“Ugh,” Porco mutters, echoing more than just his own sentiments. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Yeager says before you can notice. She rounds the four of you to pat the shoulders of Zeke and Porco. “I’ve found two new helpers in your stead. You can spare a few minutes, can’t you, dears?”

Kellan looks to Dr. Yeager. “But—”

“We can handle it,” Zeke cuts him off, but he’s decidedly ignored the man, waving at you instead. “Do what you need to, Lucy.”

“Thanks,” you beam at him, feeling oddly silly. Like a child playing adult as Kellan opens the door for you. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, kids,” Porco calls out. He chuckles when you glance over your shoulder to shoot him a deadpan look, only to find Zeke giving him the exact same one once the front door clicks shut.

“What?”

--

“I’m sorry about that,” you say as soon as you leave the Yeager household and head down the steps toward the street. You glance back at Kellan, waiting for him to follow. “Zeke and Porco are nice when you get to know them. And vice-versa.”

Kellan nods, looking at you. “You seem close.”

“Yeah,” is all you can say. When you don’t say more, he doesn’t pry. 

He asks to drop by the market again so he can pick up his things and an extra shirt, and you walk in relative silence until you reach it.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, open palms pressing at the air as if you’ll disappear the moment he leaves. It’s cute from someone so much taller than you.

“Go ahead,” you smile, and he does too before diving back into the crowd.

You adjust your armband as you back into a nearby building and watch the coming and going of Eldians through the tightly-packed throng. Long ago, during your first foray into one of the zone’s open air markets, you were disgusted and confused. Only your growing regard for the Yeagers and the thought of Zeke’s sarcastic surprise at the little you knew of the world had kept your mouth shut. 

Over the years you came to accept it as part of this temporary home, and market day a time when Eldians could happily interact with familiar faces and keep one another apprised of their trials amid life in the zone. The strong stench of the place became a reminder of this affection you could only find within a community, one completely nonexistent in the grand, empty gardens of the Tybur estate. 

The first summer after you left showed you that to Eldians outside of Marley, the Liberio internment zone—a place you still consider a prison for people you care about, where stepping outside its gates to look for a pharmacy when those in the zone have nothing more to offer can end in a beating—is paradise. It’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, but it’s your world. The world that the Tyburs have allowed to flourish. 

Alone with your thoughts, you find yourself nervous. Why is Willy coming here? Only Mila was ever permitted to come and visit you—but that was when father was still alive. 

Perhaps if Willy sees Liberio, the place that raised you...

You find yourself hopeful. Maybe it was father all along. Maybe Willy isn’t a coward after all.

“Sorry about the wait. Lucy?”

Kellan stands before you, hair no longer damp but brushed down a little more properly. The apron has disappeared in favor of a new button-down, the strap of his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. 

His sleeves are still rolled up. You like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile, readjusting the purse at your side. “Ready to go?”

Kellan nods, and is much more talkative now that he feels more presentable around you. He apologizes for his silence earlier—his own scent was bothering him, and he was embarrassed—and he starts to tell you about university as soon as you ask. 

The bookstore he mentioned is a little far from the Yeagers’, but it is useful. Many are secondhand, but the store is vigilant about keeping only those published in the last five years. It regularly gets donations, perhaps from sympathetic Marleyans, though how they would know about it you can only wonder.

Kellan advises you as to the best books when it comes to basic medical subjects, which are what you’ll be taking up in your first year. In spite of Porco’s little joke, you’re eager to get started working toward that degree. General List’s words may hang over your head, but now that Willy is coming to Liberio, you have time to wait to tell him instead of putting off writing Lara about it. 

“Wow,” Kellan remarks, once you’ve bought everything. “You really are serious about this.”

You glance up at him with a frown you can’t help. “You thought I wasn’t?” 

“It’s not that,” he says at once, holding the door open for you as you leave the shop. He offers to take the books off your hands, but you hold the pile to your chest, waiting for his reply. “No, it’s more—I thought I was the only one who did this kind of thing. Study ahead of the year if I can.”

You relax somewhat at his words. “You do this too?”

Kellan nods, and when he reaches again, you let him take half your books. “My friends made fun of me, but I mean to become a physician. There aren’t enough Eldian doctors to attend everyone in the zone, and… I want to help.”

“I see,” you murmur. Suddenly, Kellan seems a lot more charming than he is already. “I bet you’re at the top of your class or something.”

Kellan only smiles, and you blink at him.

“Are you?”

He looks embarrassed about it the way you know most men in your life wouldn’t be. “One of my professors said if I wasn’t Eldian, I might have been offered a scholarship.”

“That’s amazing,” you say, a mix of admiration and pity swirling in your stomach. You wish you could help him. Do more for a man like this. 

“Yeah, well…” Kellan shrugs, but he easily replaces his bitterness with a smile when he looks at you again. “You have a good study ethic yourself. You’ll do great.”

You can’t help but laugh at that one. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like passing the state exams was a fluke.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if it were.” It’s his turn to frown. “None of us Eldians would.”

You wish that were true. Of course, you took the exams as Lucy Blanchard, and for all intents and purposes Willy had nothing to do with your results. You studied ridiculously hard to earn your grades and the state exam score—it’s just difficult not to wonder when Lord Tybur has always known what you were up to.

“Look.” He stops, moving to stand in front of you. “I know we just met, but—I don’t like hearing you say that about yourself. Okay?”

You can only smile. You haven’t known Kellan for half a day, but you don’t feel like challenging him the way you would the others if they said that to you. It feels like he deserves more than that. “Let’s just say I was always the more sports-oriented type. But thank you.”

Kellan looks at you as though he thinks you might say something self-deprecating again and he’s ready to gainsay it. When you don’t, he nods with approval and looks ahead. “Uh, so I was thinking…”

“What is it?”

“My friends study with me nowadays on university grounds. We’re allowed to, and the university library does have some books the store might not. The cafeteria has great food we don’t have in the zone, too.”

He glances over at you, and when you continue to wait for his point, he asks, “Do you want to study with us, maybe tomorrow afternoon? We have lectures to attend this summer, but I can maybe… pick you up afterward? The permit office will let you if you show them that you’ve confirmed your slot. If you want to,” he adds.

His offer is surprising and exciting and daunting in equal measure, because of course someone wanting to spend more time with you is nice, even if you’re ambivalent about meeting new people. Of course, the new people you met at boarding school knew you as Lucy Blanchard, the daughter of some Eldian servant for the Tyburs, and they were Marleyan to boot. Kellan’s friends are Liberio Eldians too. Maybe they’ll be just like him.

“I do want to.”

His uncertain expression immediately lights up. “Great,” he beams. “Will you be at the Yeagers’ tomorrow?” 

“Uh… yeah,” you answer, after some thought. You’ll be at HQ most likely, but you can always leave ahead of Zeke. “Just tell me what time you’ll arrive and I’ll have my permit ready by then.”

“Okay,” he says, pleased. “That works.”

You exchange smiles, and he walks you back to the Yeagers with a more relaxed silence than when you left. He hands you your books once you’ve unlocked the door to the house.

“I really have to get back to my uncle’s, but…” He scratches the back of his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, right? Maybe… four?” 

“Yeah,” you grin. When he waves, disappearing down the street, you hurry back inside toward the dining room. But it’s empty, with everything sorted in the kitchen. The Yeagers have left a note on the dining table about going out on a Sunday date, apparently presuming you would be out all day, but there’s another note from Zeke on the folded paper bag he and Porco brought home earlier. 

Crybabies only, it says. You thought it was part of Warrior work, but you open it and find a few jars of your old favorite fruit jam.

“Tch,” you chuckle, fishing out the jars and storing them, but you take Zeke’s note and bring it upstairs with your books. 

You get started on a simple lunch soon after. You want to re-wrap your new books in time for tomorrow afternoon, and make a note to replace Mrs. Yeager’s roll of plastic entirely since you neglected to buy your own. Once you get your permit for tomorrow, it’s still early enough that you have time to visit Mr. Finger, especially since you forgot to yesterday, and you end up sharing his dinner. You were embarrassed about dropping in when he was cooking, but he’s happy for the company, especially while Pieck is away.

To your relief, there are no guards in plainclothes outside the Yeagers’ when you return, and Mr. and Mrs. Yeager are in the living room chatting quietly between them. You greet them and hurry upstairs before they can ask you about Kellan, and allow yourself to linger in the bath when your reflection on Kellan inevitably leads to Mila and the night before. 

Given how angry she was yesterday, you already know what she would say to you if she found out about any man like him. Not that you have ever considered sharing your life with anyone, but surely she would accuse you of trying to find some way out of your duty again, even when she knows that the family made sure—

The doorknob turning to no avail rattles into your thoughts. It must be Zeke, since you share a bathroom, so you hurry to get out and get dressed into your pajamas again. Once you’ve brought your things to your room, you give his door a knock.

He opens it pretty quickly. It seems he wasn’t expecting you, because he looks surprised to see you still drying your hair with your towel. On his part, he’s still in his uniform—just without the coat and the belt, one side of his shirt unceremoniously tucked out of his pants. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile, more pleased than you should be. You feel like you’ve been waiting to see him all day. “Was that you? I’m done with the bathroom.”

“Ah. Thanks. I’m still finishing something anyway,” he nods, and leaves the door open when you don’t immediately turn and go.

You follow him inside, flopping at the edge of his bed while he goes to his desk again. “What are you working on?”

“Warrior stuff.”

Something must have him in a mood, but there’s no use poking him at this stage. “I saw the jam. Thanks for that.”

Zeke turns away from his desk, his serious countenance lingering just a little before it finally falls away for mischief at the reminder of his little gift. “Like my note?”

“No. And only because it means I’ll have to share it with you.”

“Heh. Yeah, sorry—just putting off turning in paperwork I should’ve gotten done before.” He sighs, obviously trying to settle down, at least until he seems to recall something else. He glances back at whatever he was writing, his pen swaying noisily between his fingers as it hits his desk. After a beat, he slides his work a little further away from him and asks, “How was the date?”

You’d almost forgotten about that. “Oh—it wasn’t a date,” you say, and realize how strange it feels to be discussing a boy with Zeke. “Kellan is just helping me study ahead of the semester.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, like a promise. You don’t care to mention that you’ll spend time with Kellan and his friends tomorrow afternoon. That was implied, right?

Zeke shrugs, sitting back against his desk chair. “When did you get so fond of studying, anyway?”

You shoot him a dirty look. “The way you and Porco tell it, it’s like I didn’t know how to read.”

“No,” he laughs, making the denial sound a lot more like affirmation, “I just mean you hated it. Before Bruning knew who you were, you were in the running for either the Jaw or the Armor for a reason.”

You peer at him. When Zeke only lifts a brow, challenging you to deny it, you click your tongue. “I guess. But I didn’t inherit anything, so what was I supposed to do? I was never interested in the varsity teams… not that they would have let me join as Lucy Blanchard. And I wanted to be useful somehow. I mean, actually useful.”

“I know,” Zeke says, watching your fingers lightly pinch at the hem of your pajama top in frustration. It’s almost amusing how your tells haven’t changed a bit, but he can’t deny that it’s endearing.  “Well… I’m glad you’re doing something apart from getting me in trouble for once.”

Your jaw drops. “I never got you into trouble for that long, did I?”

The two of you meet eyes for a moment, knowing the answer to that, but you both choose not to bring it up. He wouldn’t put you through that memory again.

“I don’t know,” he grins. “How long did I stand there getting an earful when you glued Nickel’s belt together?”

You stare at him, genuinely trying to remember—before you burst into laughter, hand over your mouth in sheer horror at the memory, as though you can’t fathom ever having done such a thing. Zeke is shaking his head, trying not to smile, when you finally calm down enough to present your defense. “That—that was Pieck’s idea!”

“No, Pieck said she wanted to do it. You actually did it.”

“But it was funny,” you grin. “And Nickel deserved it. Besides, I paid for that too.” 

“Yeah…” Zeke’s smile falters. He remembers. You had been about this close to being force-fed the glue you used that afternoon, when you found one of Magath’s fellow instructors asleep in his office. “Nickel deserved everything that came to him.”

He remembers what you looked like when they found you, busted lip still stubbornly set in a line, trembling as Pieck shed silent tears when Magath dragged Nickel out of sight. But then your foot nudges his leg, pulling him from his reverie so he remembers what you look like now. Not a bruised or bloody memory that still wakes him at night sometimes, covered in sweat, but Lucy in the flesh, with a knowing expression on your pretty face. Zeke supposes he’s just as easy to read when you know his tells, too. 

“Well... sorry about that anyway,” you say. “Pieck had a name for my brand of stupidity for a reason.”

Zeke knows what you’re doing. He grants it to you with a sigh. “No sense of self-preservation.”

“That. Don’t worry—I’ve developed one since then. Or Pieck’ll really give up on me this time.”

You give him a smile, as if he’s the one who needs comforting when it comes to that night. Why did he have to bring it up? He would put his foot in his mouth if that didn’t remind him of Paradis—of his most recent nightmare. The thought of everything you don’t know makes him feel like an ocean separates the two of you all of a sudden. Like you’re here, and he’s still on that island, a blade jammed into his maw. He shivers. 

You lean a little closer, elbow on the footboard. Of course you’ve noticed. “What’s wrong?” 

Leaving his pen on the desk, Zeke moves over to sit next to you on his bed. If nothing else, he can at least shorten the distance in one way. 

He has a lot to tell you, Paradis foremost of them all. He knows Pieck must have said something, but he’s managed to avoid the topic so far. 

He has a lot to ask, too—what was normal school like? Did you really not have any friends? You seemed to make easy enough friends with that Kellan character.

Zeke looks at you like he wants to say something, and then gets as far as opening his mouth before clearly thinking better of it. 

“It’s Pieck.”

Alarmed at his tone, you inhale sharply. “What about Pieck? Is she all right?”

He was holding his breath himself, but he relaxes with a chuckle.

“Yeah. She’ll be back with the Panzer Unit in less than a week.”

“Oh! Good,” you say, but then stare at him, obviously catching the lie in his old answer now. But he sees it when you shift priorities (Pieck was always one of them)—you’re clearly excited to have her home earlier than she promised, but the why of it is giving you pause. “So soon?”

“Yep.” He shifts away so that he’s moving up his own bed, at least until he catches you giving him a disgusted expression. You can’t stand it when someone still in their  out  clothes wears them to bed, and he knows that very well. That earns you an eyeroll, but you’ve had so many arguments about it at this point, many of which began with well it’s my bed and which ended only because he couldn’t stand hearing you talk any longer, that Zeke only sighs and practically vaults himself off his sheets so he can grab a change of clothes before you can start.

He makes a twirling motion with his finger when you look, and you turn to face the wall. This must be the quickest that Zeke has ever grabbed or changed his clothes outside the rush of Warrior training as a kid. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly conscious with you in the room. It’s just you.

“You know it doesn’t count if you don’t shower, right?” you ask.

Zeke makes a snorting sound as he climbs back onto his bed in a shirt and a pair of pajamas, even if he feels like he’s twelve wearing the whole get-up right now. This time he ignores you until he’s got his back against his pillows and the headboard, legs stretched out over his blanket and his arms crossed over his stomach. “Do you want to know why Pieck is coming back soon or not?”

Your turn to roll your eyes. “Fine.” 

Smiling triumphantly, he pulls out one of his pillows and tosses it on the empty space next to him. You wrinkle your nose at him, but he did give you the clean pillow when he’s given you the other before, so you let yourself fall forward on your stomach and rest your head on your arms, both crossed over his pillow. Your hair looks warmer than usual against the light of his lamp as you peer up at him. “So?”

Zeke looks away and shrugs. He shouldn’t be telling you this. But if his room isn’t safe for secrets, then where is? “One reason. Lots of movement in the south these days.”

Between the old Southern borders of Marley and Ulodana lies its new Southern territories, swept off the board by Marley and into its net in years past through the efforts of the Warrior generation before yours. Mr. Ksaver’s, to be exact, before they started training children. You had heard of minor attempts at guerilla warfare within those former nations in their bid for freedom, but little else. After your summer excursion with Mila, you began to distance yourself from news of the world when it came to Marley’s expansion, the Warriors’ activities especially so. Ignorance was better than guilt back then, but Zeke doesn’t know that.

“The South… you quelled a small rebellion there, right?”

“Yeah, but…” One of his hands drums near your pillow, tugging once at its corner as he asks, “You don’t know?”

“The Tyburs aren’t told everything.”

“Fair enough. Between the two of us,” he says, giving you a meaningful look you return with an earnest nod, “a couple of the leaders escaped into the eastern peninsula. Who knows what support they’ve gotten since then?”

You take a deep breath and hum as you exhale. “...That explains why General List reached out to me.”

“List? He’s the one who called the meeting with you?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Didn’t the commander say he was there?”

“He doesn’t tell me everything. So have you decided?”

You almost look amused. “You know I can’t move without Willy’s say-so.”

He shrugs. Needless to say he doesn’t care all that much for the new Lord Tybur, who sounds just as absent as your old man was back then. “I meant what do you want?”

When your surprise at his question starts to fade, you lower your gaze at his quirked brow, slouching a little. “I don’t know. List wants me to… ‘be the new face’ of the Foundation. Distance it, myself from the regime so we can build headquarters abroad and bring in intelligence. That way we can bring more Eldians into the safety of the organization, but...”

“What?” Zeke snaps, sitting upright all of a sudden, but all the reasons you shouldn’t do it skid to a halt behind his teeth when you recoil in surprise. He pauses, clearing his throat, and reaches up to scratch behind his ear instead. “...would your brother put you in danger like that? What about Tybur non-involvement?”

You scoff, eyes narrowed at nothing you can see here. “That’s not what the general thought. He only said Willy wouldn’t do it to Mila.” Zeke grunts at her name, and you shake your head. “I mean… maybe it’s moot. She would never give up control of the Foundation.”

“Yeah... Maybe.” Maybe it’s enough that you’re ambivalent. General List is one of General Calvi’s close allies, and he’s well-known in certain circles to get what he wants. But even he can’t change the century-old tradition of Tybur ‘neutrality,’ even if part of Zeke is curious to see if Mila Tybur or Hulbart List would win in a battle of wills.

He sets that aside when he catches a distant look in your eye. He’s only ever seen one reason you’ve looked like this. Or two. “She didn’t drop by again today, did she?”

You shake your head. “She had Foundation business yesterday. She must have gone from the city last night the minute she left here.”

“Then what is it?”

You look at him, and now he knows what it is. “I just… ugh,” your eyes fall to his sheets. “I don’t know. I was so pathetic yesterday. I wish I—I wish that I could have said something to her.” Your voice is quieter when you add, face flush with embarrassment, “I wish you hadn’t seen me like that.”

“This again,” he says at once. It was difficult not to cut you off from the get-go. “Have you forgotten already? If you have to be pathetic…” He reaches over to graze your chin with the curve of his index finger, tilting it forward so that you meet his gaze. “You can be pathetic in front of me. Understand?”

His soft smile is the same as it was in the hallway yesterday. Warm still, like the solid expanse of his chest when you wept in his arms, but suddenly his finger beneath your skin feels hot. Tingles where he touches you. Like your face, now that he’s looking at you like that. 

That’s not right. Zeke is either an annoying jerk who should shut his face forever or all comfort, blankets tucked up to your nose after a grueling day of work and a warm bath; a good night’s rest. Wrapped up in a hot blanket, the murmur of his voice lulling you into a deep and restful sleep. Not standing over a precipice with only the whim of the wind behind you or the rush of blood pounding through your ears without warning. 

This is not the Zeke you’ve wanted back for the past six summers.

His touch scalds you—or maybe the memories you keep closest to your heart, as if any closer, any longer and it might burn them away forever. 

You tremble, but not with pain, and decidedly ignore it as you stare at him, forcing a slight wince on your mouth. You hope he doesn’t notice you gulp. “That was probably more impressive when I was a kid.”

Zeke lets his jaw drop—it must have been a while since anyone denied him their awe—but he only laughs, so deep and hearty you feel his mirth in your own chest, before he flicks a finger at your nose. “You little ingrate. That was supposed to be touching!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grin, a little too widely for your own good. Batting away at his hand, you sit up and slide off his bed. You’re strangely hyperaware of the way you gulp again once your feet find your slippers. When your eyes meet, he’s pretending to be cross with you. Maybe you like it better that way. 

“But thank you,” you say, rubbing an arm. “Really.”

Zeke only nods, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as you head for the door. “Lucy—you still coming to HQ tomorrow?”

You glance back only once you’ve got your hand on the doorknob. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” he says, but he looks pleased. “All right, get out. Distracting me from work and then telling me I’m not impressive anymore…”

“Spend more time with the kids. They still think the world of you. Good night!”

Zeke could probably chuck a pillow at you when you give him a little cackle before shutting his bedroom door, but he lets you escape with your dignity intact. 

At any rate, he’s in a much better mood when he gets back to work.

////////

If you're worried about Kellan, you can click the fic list link on my bio for spoilers. (assuming you haven’t already read the other oneshots ahahha) 

The flashback at the start of the chapter (as well as the others in the next few chapters) is something of an edited excerpt from a long-ass oneshot I wrote detailing Lucy’s childhood from before she left the Tybur estate, going through her Warrior training, and until a little after the time Lara inherited the War Hammer which I was/am debating with myself about editing&posting maybe after finishing the sequel fic to this which occurs during the Mid East-Marley War. I wondered if I should keep flashbacks out except for 2 crucial flashbacks toward the end of the story, but I’ve been sad about the dumb leaks post-139, having this feeling of ‘what’s the point of all this then if it all ends in that’ (even if this will be canon divergent), and I decided I would like to show the most important bases for Lucy’s relationships with at least Zeke and Pieck before she left, plus editing this in made me happy, so yeah.

Also! I know Zeke was a sweet little boy... but he was alienated by his classmates when he did poorly at first and burdened with expectation his whole life. No doubt that alienation shifted to sudden praise, admiration, or jealousy as soon as he became a candidate, and my hc is it made him a cynical kid when it came to others his age and even older people. Of course, he does eventually learn to be more charming (or annoying) and does have friends (as much as you can have friends in his position and with his life view), but that to me is why he’s like that at 12. Mr. Ksaver is exempt from this obviously as he completely trusts the man.

Another note: This is tagged zeke x reader because it’s in 2nd person POV, but also zeke x oc because reader or Lucy has a set background and family name. If you've gotten this far in interim I'm sure you already know what that is. XD So... please don’t send me hate or frustrations about why she looks like she does in the commissioned art I linked in the top of this chapter. Her family name necessitates that she’s white, I'm sorry. I hate having to say this but I'm not white either, or white-passing or w/e, but as I said in my note in chapter 1 I want to write a Tybur OC. If you’re going to send hate about me making a Barbie doll to complete Zeke or whatever I’m just going to delete it. Lucy is much more than that, in fact Zeke is not an entirely positive force in her life though they may appear to implicitly understand one another, and I have an entire background story and development for her that I‘m excited to write and share. I’m (not) sorry if me taking the time out from that to commission art that makes me happy grinds your gears. Of course I hope that readers will enjoy what I've written for myself but if you don't like it, just click away please. I won't be responding to complaints about that from here on out.

Anyway, thank you as always for reading! Would love to hear what you think. Of the flashback, of Kellan, of Zeke, of Lucy's blatant denial of certain things (I love and hate this), whichever! (Also can you tell I love Porco? He notices everything. Or almost everything.)

[gerbithats]

A long sims 4 rant

Starting this I can already predict it’s gonna be a big one so if you stick with me, thank you and I’ll try and add pictures to make things feel easier 😆

I was thinking about it and I mean really thinking about these community surveys we’ve been getting and how they speak volumes on the way the game is handled but also also how we position ourselves as a community. I noticed alot more game changers are starting to get pretty vocal about their thoughts since the first community survey came out and that’s refreshing to say the least, but it shows a pattern that we all present: give us what is missing no matter how. We want beaches. We want cars. We want more stairs. We want bunkbeds. Etc.

So these things are probably somehow rushed into production to please the community and then, when we finally get it, it’s like we finally realize that what this game truly lacks is gameplay and not more items.

I invite you to come and think about the packs and the stuff we got throughout these 6 years with me.

🏢 Chapter 1: The apartment issue 

Yes we got apartment buildings with city living, but sometimes it doesn’t even feel like it’s a game feature because it’s L I T E R A L L Y related to living in a city, so it’s not a real feature. We have no possible way to play with apartments and condos outside of san myshuno because for the first time ever we can’t build or own apartments. This was such a missed opportunity of giving us new lot treatments like condos and even rentable properties. I mean, just think about how those 2 features could allow so much new gameplay and stories with it (I can literally imagine being a landlord, having to go fix renters stuff in my their places and doing social events as condo meetings).

The neighbors in that type of lot could also help solve somehow what so many people mention as “boring lot gameplay”. Let’s be real. hardly something ever happens with so little npcs and only the walk by sims (You have to literally run after them to make things happen sometimes and it shouldn’t be like that). But if sims were to live in the same condo or building as yours, sharing common living spaces that’s a whole other thing. Which brings me to the fact that even in the city, where apartments exist, there’s no common area other than the halls. Imagine if we could build laundries, rooftops, basements, patios with pools and all that sort of stuff.

That sort of detaling and really getting deep into the pack’s features is even show in elevators: we can’t use them ourselves (for building) and they’re not even animated, your sim is just teleported (even the modded ones have animations and that’s just awkward).

🌊 Chapter 2: Swimming in shallow waters

“We want a beach”, we said. So they gave us a beach, and a beach only. I’ve never seen so many people call a pack “shallow” as I’ve seen it happen to Island Living and tbh I do agree with them ‘cause... there’s really not much to do in this pack. For the first time ever swimming was restricted to this pack which is already a big let down by itself, but then features like deep diving were added for no reason and of course, as a rabbit whole, not actually contributing with much to do. So how could it be better?

My answer is pretty obvious: resorts. It is a livable world, but that don’t mean your sims can’t take a vacation from work and just stay there if that’s the gameplay you want to go with and resorts match perfectly with that, not to mention it would have great integration with packs like spa day. It also means a new lot type and lot system, that wouldn’t be much new if the city living building condos and sublocating them as I mentioned would’ve already been implemented, but now with the feature of renting it yourself too. Resorts could also have their own event schedules, integrated with the seasons calendar: cava parties every wednesday, yoga lessons on thursdays, etc. And the best thing would be: if you own one, you can make your own events and traditions. imagine just how fun that would be. A feature like this would also mean it’s already done for other packs coming later on, maybe a colder destination where you can ski and build iglus or even another cultural based pack like jungle adventure.

Other obvious resolution would be better mermaids. Make it harder to become one, being only able to get the kelp from a mermaid themselves. Make it less anticlimactic, having an animation of them turning before they just walk in water with a tail all of the sudden, maybe just some scales in their legs. Give them more unique features and powers like vampires and spellcasters have, such as easily persuading people (sort of like the mind control feature aliens have) and maybe even a secret lot, like a grotto where all the mermaids are. Give them curses with the points system to go with it, some mermaids are actually sirens amirite

🥶 Chapter 3: Seasons change, gameplay stays the same

Activities truly based on the season that are specific to that moment create urgency and different moments. Something I can think of is integrating a pack we already have: spooky stuff. It does feel lackluster ‘cause it’s missing opportunities, but imagine going trick or treating but actually going, loading different houses and gathering it while a meter like the active jobs one guided you. Forming groups with friends to do it or maybe for tpeing trees and bushes if you’re on the rebel teen side and destroying their porch jack’o lanterns. It could even be randomly generated, like the game would send you to 3 different houses to do it (that would bring lots of replayability value ‘cause you could end up in houses with neighbors that love you and will give you candy no problem, but maybe also neighbors with family feuds that won’t answer their door or make it harder for you to accomplish the event objectives), maybe one of those could even be a abandoned one that’s haunted or something like that.

The implementing of a better wants and fears system is very essential for this pack. Yes your sims get overheated and a popup message tells you they need some water or lighter clothes, but it’d be so good if they’d actually want to go to the beach, swim in the ocean, take a vacation from work and go to a resort. Heatwaves that would make your sim act weird, not strangerville level of weird, but maybe not obeying your commands.

Blizzards so strong that work and school would get canceled and you actually don’t have the option to leave your home lot anymore until it passes would not only add a different element to the gameplay, but also add value to the weather controler machine.

🥺 Final chapter: The general “more stuff to do” and “more things happening” factor

The game offers all these beautiful secret worlds and yet when you finally get to them there’s not much to do other than searching for rocks and frogs and doing some fishing. I miss going to a community lot hidden somewhere and finding an eremite, goddamn bigfoot, some crazy npc or even just an actual community lot with something to do and people doing stuff in it. Unique community lots would also be a way to make towns more lively and captivating like they did so well with realm of magic and the casters alley section of the world. Maybe forgotten hollow has this abandoned haunted house where people claim they’ve seen the grim reaper walking around. Maybe sixam has a alien station where they clone human sims. Maybe sulani has this beautiful sunken ship beach where a club of people that dress up as pirated meet. Maybe Del Sol Valley has a movie theater where you can watch premieres. Maybe Oasis Springs mine hides actual gold that you can collect and get rich outta nowhere. That kind of stuff.

I can’t stress this enough, but NPCs are so important to shake things up. It was so good to have a pack like realm of magic where the we would have to go to the three sages in order to progress. Having unique sims like this or npcs that change the way your story is going like burglars, firefighters, cops, social bunny, bonehilda and even a fortune teller is so important to keep things impredictable and interesting.

Age groups really need more specific restricted gameplay for better feel of progression. Many people say sims 4 is a young adult simulator and well... there’s not much to show that differs from that. Toddlers are as interesting as hamsters, locked in an object waiting for you to feed, clean and give them attention. Teens really should feel more like a transiction period, and the wants and fears system would really help out with that. I miss being able to participate in more elements that would mark a sims life even if they’re cheesy as heck, like having a prom, graduating, having a midlife crises.

In conclusion

First of all: if you got to this point thank you and I’d really wanna know what you think about all of this.

Some people may find even ridiculous for someone to go about a rant this big on a game and to that I have to say I agree lol I can’t help it tho, honestly, the sims has always been the game I’m most passionate about and it helped me express myself and my creativity so much since I was a kid. I really do care about this game and this franchise.

The point I want to make with this is: perhaps we shouldn’t ask for more and more different stuff, but actually put some effort into showing things we already like in the game and how they can be improved to make it more interesting. At the end of the day I still want spiral staircases, ladders, paintable ceiling, werewolves and all that but does it really matter if they get added to the game following the same patterns as the things pointed in here? Also we really are getting to a point where only a few things are missing as far as cas/build/buy go and I believe it’s time for us, as a community, to give gameplay as much importance as all these things we wanted so bad that got implemented. I probaby forgot to say something here and I didn’t even mention the infamous hamster pack, but anyway, I hope the point got across.

I try really hard to believe that the gurus are here for us and that most of all we, as a community, have a very strong voice, all we need to do is make it clearer and stronger about the things we really wish for this game.

[gabriel4sam]

Seventy-two varieties of root vegetable and other tasty things to discover (now that the Sith are dead); a Gen Obi-Wan story!

Written for theObi-Wan Kenobi Gen exchange and beta-ed by the charming @texasdreamer01

Under the cut, the fic! 

It was when he saw Ahsoka eyeing a beetle with keen interest than Obi-Wan decided it was time for an intervention. He had totally failed the culinary education of his own Padawan, he wouldn’t fail it in the same way for his Grandpadawan.

“You didn’t fail my education, Master, seriously-“

“-Shh, Anakin, I’m the one telling the story.”

The war was dying down, for no reasons the Jedi could exactly pinpoint. They were doing exactly the same things they had done for years, but this time the other side was answering their propositions of peace talks and, sector by sectors, the combats were stopping and tentative talks started.

The Senate was busy sending ambassadors left and right, companies were tentatively establishing commercial routes again, employment was going up and even Asajj Ventress was calming down, because after finally killing Dooku the only thing she apparently wanted was to roam the galaxy with a besotted Quinlan Vos trailing behind her like a besotted, if well-armed, puppy.  

How sad it was that a previously undiagnosed heart condition had taken Chancellor Palpatine before his time, before he could see the peace and harmony he had so wished for.

“Padmé will laugh so much when she hears you called her blaster an undiagnosed heart condition.”

“The joint investigation between the Judicial officers and the Jedi was thorough, Anakin. Heart condition.”

So, Anakin liked to eat worms, Ahsoka wasn’t far behind, the clones had only eaten rations for all their lives, and once a strange mushroom in Fives’ case. That had prompted hours of talking to the wall and giggling about stuff his foot was telling him, the right because the left was apparently quite rude. After seeing that, and also the way Fives had been ill after, none of the vode had wanted to test anything that wasn’t a ration sealed in vacuum and with the same taste every time, no matter what was written on the package.

Time for an intervention.

Obi-Wan had called his old friend Dex and asked for the permission to borrow his diner during the closing day.

Anakin had whined that it was a little hypocritical of Obi-Wan, who survived on tea, sass and more tea, with sometimes some algae biscuits thrown in it when Bant could corner him long enough, to comment on anyone’s eating habits.

“I didn’t whine!”

“You really did, my dear. And you do on a regular basis.”

Dex had said yes and even offered his diner, and more importantly his kitchen, every closing day when Obi-Wan was on Coruscant.

So, Obi-Wan had chosen his first tasters.

Ahsoka, of course, for who he had started all of that. Worms and beetles and other crawling things were fine in a pitch, he had himself sometimes indulged when Qui-Gon Jinn’s latest nonsense had thrown his Padawan self in the middle of a jungle with no rations. He could also admit that with the stress of the war, he had let his responsibilities erase his body’s normal hunger, but it was no more a time of war. Time to eat like a civilized sentient.

Anakin himself. Young Knight Obi-Wan, struggling with grief and -he could see it now- depression, had let this feral child keep his slave days habits in term of food: Anakin ate everything that couldn’t move away quick enough, in a latent fear there wouldn’t be something to fill his belly later. It was honestly heart-breaking.

It could also be heart-healing: the way the younger Jedi always insisted for Ahsoka to eat first… Obi-Wan will fight for every child in the galaxy to have enough, not like Anakin couldn’t when he was younger and now that the war is finishing, he hoped they could make a difference here.

Padme, because now that the so-called secret marriage was out in the open, he hoped he could spend more time with the young woman and deepen their nascent beginning friendship. The galaxy really could do with more friendship.

And Rex and Cody, the two vode they were closest to. Once those two had come back to the barracks in better shape than Fives after his mushrooms experience, the other vode could probably be convinced to try something else than rations.

Aaylala, who had just taken her first Padawan and would spend a year of Coruscant to better learn each other, had already put herself, the Padawan and Commander Bly on what she called jokingly “Master Kenobi’s dinner waiting list”. She wanted to explore with them the food of her home planet and reconnect with her culture.  Boil and Waxer could probably be convinced, too.

It meant the first experience had to be a success.

After his morning session with the Council, Obi-Wan had taken his afternoon off, that too being a new event in the Jedi Order. Most of the time, Bant or Anakin had too threaten to sit on him just for him going to bed. Everybody had sworn to never talk again about that time it had been so bad Master Windu himself really did have to sit on him for Obi-Wan just to take a nap.

“Speaking for yourself, Master, me, I’m never ever going to let you forget that one.”

He had slowly explored the closest market, feeling slightly nostalgic. Qui-Gon always had insisted food should be a fuel, not a passion. He had also said that taking pleasure in the taste, the smell, the hundreds of wonderful vegetables, fruits, meats, grains, offered by nature, that it was celebrating the joy of life, of the Force...

Obi-Wan realized he had forgotten that, in the despair of the war. Now, he took pleasure in choosing fresh produce for the people he loved. Around him, the market was bustling with life. People laughing, speaking, tasting, vendors celebrating their products… It was the season for one of the biggest food import of Coruscant. It was some citrus fruit which had the very rare peculiarity, a very rare one, to be edible for all known sentients. The smell was everywhere in the market, fresh and cleansing and Obi-Wan had taken a bite of one with a groan of pleasure the moment he had purchased them, the juice sweet and slightly acidic at the same time.

When he got to the dinner, he cooked with the same deep happiness of preparing something easy, nutritious and tasty for his family. He had decided to make it simple for the first time, not wanting to push the boundaries of Cody and Rex. Going from rations to a nine-course meal would probably be overkill.

Obi-Wan himself tended to a vegetarian diet, like Qui-Gon had, but he hadn’t always had a choice, and Ahsoka’s body needed an animal based died in a way human didn’t, so he had dismissed his all-time favourite recipe, a creamy vegetable pie a young Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi had learned from a young senatorial aid Bail Organa.

He prepared a stew which he had learned from Kit Fisto, with a lot of root vegetables and some river fish, aromatic bark from the Gold system and just a little touch of black salt. Soon, the entire diner smelled of Obi-Wan’s teenage years, when he and Bant did their homework and Kit Fisto prepared dinner.

Obi-Wan had a smile on his face, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. He should call Bant, soon. Perhaps she and some of their other childhood friends could come the next time….For dessert, he cleaned yellow, purple and red berries from Naboo, to honour Padmé, to be eaten with fresh cheese.

Nothing very complicated. Just simple food, to share and to rejoice in the new chance of the galaxy.

“To the peace?” Padmé proposed for toast at the beginning of the meal and all, they raised their glasses.

“To the peace,” they repeated in answer.

Seated between Cody and Rex, Obi-Wan explained sotto voce what exactly they were eating. He explained the planet of origin of every vegetable –

“Because everything has to be an occasion for a lecture.”

“Anakin, if you don’t stop, you will be in charge of the washing-up. And I used a lot of saucepans.”

Rex was very, very cautious with his first taste. He had been there when Fives had vomited everything he had ever eaten, and had been slightly alarmed once Obi-Wan had explained what a root vegetable was.

“Doesn’t seem very hygienic.” Was his opinion.

It changed after first taste and his plate was quickly cleaner than a ship before the admiral’s inspection.

Cody was more curious about why different sorts of vegetables had been designed.

“Waste of resources,” he decided, “one per species of sentient who wanted to eat them would have been sufficient.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t laughed. How could Cody, raised in the sterile environment of Kamino, know better about the extraordinary abundance of nature? In his own plate, he had picked a small section of one of the root vegetables he had chosen.

“This is a red stachys”, he explained, “the species comes from a planet all the way in the Outer Rim. It was only present on one of their landmasses, but as it isn’t attacked by fungus or insect pests, it’s now cultivated on all the planets and a lot of other agricultural worlds.”

Anakin made a face. He hated agricultural worlds, mostly for the smell. The desert boy loved his cities.

Obi-Wan smiled at his former Padawan’s face but continued:”Today, you can easily find seven, sometimes ten subspecies in Coruscant markets, but on the original world, where the people had centuries to select cultivars, you can find seventy-two cultivars. And it is only one of the vegetables you can find there.”

“Seventy-two!!”

Cody looked a little more at Obi-Wan’s spoon and the innocent little selection of vegetables swimming in the rich-tasting sauce.

“And every world…”

“Every world has its own food. Every ancient country, you could say. Every area. Sometimes every town has its own speciality.”

It was Cody’s turn to make a face. Not surprising: after years of ration, the abundance of possibilities seemed strange to his mind.

“It tends to be a little standardized today,” Obi-Wan admitted, “but a lot of people are working hard on preserving heirloom varieties and culinary traditions…”

Cody stabbed a bit of fish with his own cutlery and tasted it, chewing cautiously.

On the other side of the table, Padmé and Anakin were flirting. Anakin’s lines were terrible but Padmé’s own use of Naboo flowery poetry wasn’t exactly better.

Next to Cody, Rex and Ahsoka were whispering something about putting joy back in the Senate and something very suspicious about dye that Obi-Wan and Cody definitely weren’t hearing, because that one would be Commander Fox’s problem.

Cody tasted a yellow stachys, stolen directly from Obi-Wan’s plate because there were only red in his own plate. Then he tried again a red, pairing it with a green kidney-shaped pod.

“And that?” He asked, poking another pod.

“Magnolens. Seldom grown today, originated from the world of Glee Anselm.”

Cody seemed lost in thought, so Obi-Wan let him chew in peace, instead discussing literature with Padmé. They had all sworn they wouldn’t speak of work tonight, so every time they drifted to politics, Anakin interrupted them by stealing a kiss from Padmé.

It was a rousing and pleasant success.

“Master?” Ahsoka asked later, when she was helping with cleaning Dex’s kitchen. It would probably be neater than before their arrival.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Can I come to the market with you next time? And I think Rex would like it too.”

“Of course you can.” She gave him a sudden hug, surprising him.

From the kitchen, Obi-Wan could see the rest of them, Padmé and Cody lost in debate, Anakin just finishing his third helping of dessert.  Rex had taken apart his own dessert, testing the berries one by one.

His former Padwan sensed their gazes and turned to them, a smile on his face. His eyes were clearer than they had been in years, and Obi-Wan felt pride and happiness swell in him.

“You would be very welcome, my dear,” He answered his Grandpadawan.

[vannahfanfics]

Unpredictable

Category: Drama

Fandom: FullMetal Alchemist

Characters: Envy

Hey, everyone! I’m happy to finally present the piece I wrote for the @devilsplaygroundzine​, which centers on Envy!

The flickering orange tongues of the crackling fire several yards away reflected in Envy’s eyes as he crouched in the dirty, dank alleyway. It was one of the many neglected nooks and crannies that abounded the Ishvalan slum encroaching upon the outer rim of Central City. It truly was a miserable place, Envy decided quite early on in strolling around; nothing but ramshackle hovels and ash-choked firepits and rank outhouses.

It was also the perfect domicile to have himself a bit of fun. Lounging around in those stinking sewers torturing the chimeras had grown quite dull. Thus, there Envy was, hunching down in the darkness opposite a small hovel watching as the Ishvalan refugees obliviously went about their business. It was a family, parents with a daughter who could be no older than five. They kneeled beside the fire, above which several sticks of freshly-caught trout were just nearly roasted; their hands pressed together while their heads bent in prayer. Envy sneered at the notion. So stubbornly, they clung to their God, which had allowed them to be massacred like sheep among wolves. I suppose they have to believe in something, lest they fall into despair.

That’s what Envy found so infuriating about humans, their unyielding tenacity and nauseating bonds. It’d be so much easier if they just wallowed in self-pity and defeat. The Homunculi pitted them against one another, and then suddenly, they’re preaching forgiveness and empathy. Envy’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as the image of a certain blond-haired, golden-eyed, loud-mouthed twerp who so embodied those ideals materialized in the gloom. Go away, FullMetal brat, he growled silently and waved a hand to banish the phantasm. It dissolved into dust, joining the thin coating on everything in the miserable slum.

Forgiveness and empathy could only last so long, however, until indomitable rage consumed them. Sneering roguishly, Envy crawled on all fours towards the humble little family, while his body morphed into the likeness of an Amestrian soldier. I’ll destroy it, he swore. I’ll destroy the hope and togetherness you covet so much!

“Good evening.” Envy froze mid-step when the Ishvalan man suddenly addressed him. It wasn’t right. Why was the monk not cowering in fear? The Ishvalan’s hands calmly rested upon his lap, and his white eyebrows curved slightly from the welcoming smile adorning his face. Still half-cloaked in shadow, Envy’s false blue eyes were wider than the full moon shining above. The mother had not even moved to protect her child. She ignored Envy and poked at the embers to send the dying fire gushing up once more. The flames licked greedily at the underbellies of the fish, charring the flesh. One, two, three… four, he counted blankly, though he knew not why. It wasn’t right, not at all. Where was the fear? The hate? The despair?

Why the hell were they smiling so contentedly, dammit?

“You must be tired from your patrol,” the man continued. Envy’s wits trickled back through the dam that had blocked the river of his mind. Patrol, yes. He was wearing the skin of an Amestrian soldier. It would make sense that he was patrolling the slum. Envy’s gold eyebrows quirked when the monk gestured to one of the cooking trout. “Please, we have one to spare. Help yourself.”

Envy was utterly flabbergasted. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Ishvalans should hate Amestrians, especially the soldiers that mercilessly murdered their people by the thousands. Envy remembered it so well, corralling them to mow them down with machine guns, driving bayonets into long-dead bodies, children and mothers and even hardy men wailing in terror. This man should be slamming him up against the dirty brick wall, driving a fist into his jaw while the mother screamed and held her crying child. Yet, he was… inviting Envy to eat with them? He didn’t understand it, none of it.

Especially the fact that he wanted to agree.

Envy regarded the man suspiciously. Perhaps it was a trap. Yes, that’s what it could be; lure him in a false sense of security so his fellows could strike at Envy from behind. What a fun alternative. They could stick his back with so many daggers that he looked like a blood-soaked porcupine; it didn’t matter. Envy wouldn’t die. He found himself grinning at the bloody slaughter that would follow. Sure, old man, he cooed in his demented mind. I’ll play your game.

Envy smoothed the creases of the fake uniform before strolling over to the fire. The little girl’s red eyes bored into him as he knelt before the flames. Envy plucked the charred trout from the sand and scrutinized it. The scent of smoke and salt and even a few seasonings wafted up his nose, and despite himself, his mouth watered. One would think with their status, the Homunculi would eat well, but only Pride and Wrath had that honor. The rest of them had to go scrounging around like common urchins. Envy felt a little silly for salivating so excessively over some smoked trout, but his growling stomach soon overrode any prideful inhibitions.

“Thanks, old man,” he grunted before tearing his teeth into the succulent flesh. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head when the flavor exploded over his tongue. A hell of a lot better than the plain slop he stole on the daily around Central. Within seconds he was ravenously shredding into the fish. He paused, juice and bits of scale and meat dripping from his chin, as the Ishvalan laughed heartily.

“I knew you had to be hungry. A soldier’s duty is a demanding one.”

“Oh yeah?” Envy asked, eyebrow creeping up his forehead. He wasn’t quite sure where the monk was guiding the conversation. His ears pricked, listening for the sound of shuffling in the surrounding darkness, but he could not discern the presence of a potential surprise attack. The man’s kind face revealed no hostile intent. Envy finished off the fish and tossed the white bones into the fire, then began picking his teeth with the skewer. “Old man, I don’t get it.”

“Get what, young man?”

“Don’t you hate Amestrians?” A confused look passed over his face. For the first time, the woman stiffened and reached over to grasp her daughter’s hand. Envy watched, internally squirming with glee, as the man’s brown face sagged into sadness. Yes. Get sad. Then hate me. Then try to kill me, you foolish, predictable little human.

“No,” he contradicted, and Envy’s mouth fell agape. “I do not hate Amestrians.” Envy thought that surely, he must be lying, but it was hard to believe that when the older adult flashed him a soft, genuine smile. He did not care to elaborate, either; he just took his fish from the fire and calmly consumed it. Envy stared down into the orange flames. He had seen so many of them in his lifetime, gigantic white-hot flames that destroyed everything in their path - homes, crops, people - indiscriminately. Envy’s eye twitched as he struggled to comprehend the human monk.

I don’t understand. How can humans just so easily extend their hands and say, “it’s all right?”

Envy turned his head at the distant sound of screams and wails, rapidly growing closer. The end of the street was glowing auburn, just like the fire casting light upon his pale face. Little golden lights began to bob amongst the gloom, their ovoid forms growing with each passing second. From the darkness came frightened Ishvalans, tripping over their sandaled feet in a terrified effort to escape what was approaching. One of them, a twenty-something, stumbled and landed in the dirt on his belly behind Envy. The Homunculus stared disinterestedly at his hyperventilating form, while the monk scurried to his side. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“Amestrians!” the boy gasped. Envy’s mouth twitched into a sneer, which he hid in his palm. “An entire mob stormed across the river to the west with torches and weapons,” he sobbed and covered his head when a building a few houses down exploded. Scorching wood and glass bits rained down upon them. A few of the sharp objects sliced into Envy’s skin; the Ishvalans were too busy panicking to notice the small red lightning that skittered over his healing flesh.

“They must be angry about the fishing party earlier today,” the mother whimpered and hugged her daughter into her bosom. The little girl’s red irises swam in a sea of white. Envy stared thoughtfully at the skewer, then flipped it in his hand to brandish the pointy end. The monk had just finished bustling the man to his feet when he turned to Envy, who was languidly rising.

“You must leave. A single soldier cannot quell this hateful mob alone.”

“And what? You think a pacifying monk can?” Envy leered. The man winced; Envy had hit the nail of his intentions on the head. The next building erupted into flames, sending the shriek of hot wind and agonized screams into the air. Envy could leave, if he wanted to, and watch the slum burn from the tops of Central Command. He stared thoughtfully at the pointed wooden stick in his hand.

I don’t understand it, he thought once more with a small sigh. I really don’t, these humans and their kindness. However, he grinned seditiously, and his skin began to morph, the visage of the Amestrian soldier falling away to reveal his skinny and long-haired self. I understand the Amestrian’s hate perfectly fine. The family was finally cowering in the entrance of their little hut, which was no more than some cloth draped over some stacked boxes.

“Mister,” the little girl squeaked. She jumped when he turned his eyes on her. “What are you?”

“Oh, me?” he grinned and dramatically placed a hand over his chest. “I’m a monster.”

“What are you going to do?” the monk asked him with narrowed eyes. Envy shrugged and began strolling off toward the fiery carnage. The Ishavalans were attempting to throw pails of water onto the burning houses. Within seconds the angry mob of Amestrians cornered them and began beating them with sticks and fists. Envy sneered. So unpredictable yet so predictable. What a dichotomous breed. “What are you going to do?” the man yelled after him insistently, and Envy tossed a bored look over his shoulder.

“Me? Well, I’m going to do what monsters do best.”

It didn’t take long. Humans were just frail sacks of blood and meat. Still, a casual bloodbath was preferable to an actual challenge in this case. Constantly regenerating was exhausting and annoying. The Homunculus came strolling back to the little hovel, where the family still huddled inside shaking. His body still sparked to heal the bloody knife wounds he had incurred. Envy stopped in front of the shack and dropped the skewer in front of them. It was now dyed red and dripping with blood, just like his body. Their equally red eyes beheld it with a mixture of awe and horror.

“Thanks for the fish, old man,” Envy smirked and turned on his heel.

“Wait!”

Envy’s eyebrow raised as he looked over his shoulder. The little girl stumbled out, ignoring her parents hissing at her to get back into the tent. Envy’s eyebrow climbed higher when she offered him a little white weed flower. Her hands trembled as she crushed the green stem in her small fist. “Thank you for saving us.”

“Heh,” Envy grinned and took the flower from her. “Don’t thank me, squirt. I was just having some fun.” With that, he whirled on his heel and melted back into the darkness. Eventually, the slum fell behind him, replaced with dark woods. As Envy strolled along the path, he gazed thoughtfully down at the little flower, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Humans, he frowned and tucked the flower behind his ear. So unpredictable… I hate them for that. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[scapegrace74-blog]

The Second First Christmas

A/N Despite the fact that I’m posting it after Boxing Day, this little fic is about Metric Jamie and Claire celebrating their first Christmas as a couple.  It is unadulterated fluff, and in keeping with the season of giving, I’m going to give this an Explicit rating.  You’re welcome.

With special thanks to @lady-o-ren, for Jamie’s gift idea!

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

December 24, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

Claire could hear her phone vibrating loudly on the metal shelf inside her duty locker.  Overcoming fatigue so severe it blurred her vision, she entered her combination and yanked open the door, thumbing the screen just before the call went to voicemail.

How did he do it?  Jamie had an uncanny, and frankly slightly unsettling, ability to guess her whereabouts, even remotely.  The past week he had found her in the massive Spitalfields Market merely on the hunch that she would be craving sushi after her Pilates class.  At one point she’d found his prescience disturbing, but now it soothed her.  Someone cared for her enough, knew her well enough, to plot the passage of her days on the virtual map of his mind.  And that someone was on the line.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Claire Beauchamp’s circadian rhythm.  Press One if you’re a cortisol suppressant, Two if you’re an espresso machine, or Three if you’re Claire’s boyfriend, last seen in the flesh prior to the winter solstice.”

Jamie’s low rumbling chuckle filled her ear.

“Ye’re verra funny for a lass goin’ on twenty-four hours wi’out sleep, Sassenach. How was yer shift?”

Having worked most holidays in the A&E since graduating nursing school, Claire knew they went one of two ways: either complete bedlam, or utter boredom.  This one had been the latter, for which she was thankful.

“Surprisingly calm, but that means no lovely adrenaline to keep me awake.  I may sleepwalk into the Thames on my way home.  Are you at the station already?”

“Aye, jus’ starting my shift.  Can ye be at the main entrance of the hospital in five minutes?  I’ll call ye an Uber.”

“Jamie, that’s really not necessary.  I’m quite capable of walking...”

“Claire...” he interrupted, and needn’t say anything more.  They’d had numerous conversations and minor confrontations since becoming a couple over what Jamie termed her “wee addiction to self-sufficiency”.  She was trying to learn to accept help when it was offered, but it was an iterative process.

“Thank you.  I’d appreciate that.  Will I see you tomorrow morning before I go back on duty?”

Both Jamie and Claire were working extra hours over the holidays to offset the cost of refurnishing their flat.  Every minute spent together was therefore doubly precious.

“Aye, I’ll wake ye when I get in an’ we can celebrate our second first Christmas t’gether by tryin’ tae keep the other awake long enough tae open our presents.”

She smiled, but it morphed into a yawn.

“Get some rest, Sassenach.  And Claire,” he added in a serious tone, “t’would be a fine gift tae find ye in my bed, preferably naked, when I come home on Christmas morn.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she husked, suddenly much more awake.

***

There was a puff of cool air and then the Earth moved.  Straining to hold onto slumber, Claire rolled away from the disturbance, gripping the blanket beneath her chin.  A low chuckle preceded a solid warmth radiating along the entire length of her spine.  Something bristly abraded her shoulder and she flinched away.

“Has anyone told ye ye look like a wee hedgehog when ye sleep, Sassenach?”

“I’m fairly confident they haven’t,” she retorted, rolling onto her back and stretching before opening her eyes.  The room was mostly dark, but Jamie’s auburn curls glowed in the dim lamplight escaping their living room.  His bare shoulders were humid and pink from the shower.  “What time is it?” she asked.

“Gone four.  We have a few hours afore ye have tae be back at the A&E, aye?”

“Mmmm,” she hummed affirmatively, caught up in tracing the ligatures of Jamie’s upper arm.

“Good.  That should leave us jus’ enough time.”

“Just how many presents are we exchanging?” Claire laughed, mesmerized by the eager passage of Jamie’s eyes over her face.  The hand that wasn’t bracing his head aloft began a lazy exploration beneath the blankets, touching her naked skin so softly that it almost tickled.

“Only two.  An’ the first one’s already unwrapped.”

“How fortuitous,” she teased before leaning upwards to capture his waggish lips in a warm introductory kiss.  “Merry Christmas,” she murmured as they parted some time later.

“An’ tae ye as well, Sassenach.  Ye canna imagine how many times I thought of ye t’night, yer beautiful skin warm against my sheets.”  Jamie’s free hand was on the move again, firmer now along the contours of her body as it came alive to his touch.

“Slow night, then?” she gasped as his knuckle found her nipple, slackened with sleep.

“Painfully so.”

There was no further conversation for a time, mouths being employed far more enjoyably.  Four months of intimacy had bridged the span from friends to lovers, replacing hesitation with ardour.  They were still learning each other’s tells; when to lead and when to follow, how to ask and how to demand.  It was a giddy education for them both.  

Tonight, Jamie’s fatigue and drawn-out anticipation left him shaking with want, a sensation akin to sharing a bed with an earthquake.  His broad torso was outlined in the light from the door as he knelt between her thighs, lust pinwheeling like sparklers in his eyes.  Fortunately, condoms were no longer a necessity after they both produced clean blood tests and Claire had an IUD implanted.  So when he slid into her body, there was nothing but the needy clasp of flesh on flesh.  Her sigh of pleasure mingled with Jamie’s groan of relief as they began their dance.

“Yer breasts, mo nighean donn,” Jamie growled past the iron clench of his jaw.  She dragged her pupils down from the back of her eyelids to observe the twin objects in question, undulating in time to their meeting and parting.

“Touch them for me,” Jamie commanded.

Aware that her every movement was being minutely observed, she made a show of arching her ribs and running her hands first beside, then below, and finally between her breasts.

“Seadh, mo ghaol.” The words snuck unbidden between Jamie’s strained lips.  She didn’t have the Gaihldig, but his meaning was clear.  Go on.  So go on she did, dragging fingernails over the creased flesh of each areola before giving both nipples a sudden pinch.  Whatever tectonic fluctuations her actions caused, Jamie felt them, for he let out an ecstatic whimper.  A worried furrow now marred his brow.  Her fluent eyes read the desperation written on his face.  He didn’t have long, and he needed her to go before him.

Her right hand drifted down to where they were joined.  His cock was thoroughly coated in her moisture as it emerged from her body.  Wetting her fingertips, she began to trace the intricate geometry of self-pleasure against her flesh.  Breathy moans filled the air.  Jamie’s teeth were bared in a snarl of panicked concentration.  She wasn’t going to overtake him in the wire sprint to the finish, she realized.

“Do it, Jamie.”  His crazed glance snapped upward to meet her own certain one.  Doubt clouded the seascape of his irises.  “God, please,” she begged.  They’d spoken of it.  A fantasy.  A mental titillation not yet brought to life.

Resolution came just in time.  Slipping from her heat, he grasped himself and with two hard strokes erupted all over her skin with a hoarse cry, anointing the final acceleration of her fingers as she echoed his climax with a convulsion and a sob.

Minutes later, they lay side by side, still recovering their breath.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Claire warned.  “We still need to exchange gifts.”

“Greedy wee thing,” Jamie groaned, already halfway to slumber.

***

A shared shower and two cups of strong coffee later, they sat on their new sofa.  Claire’s carefully wrapped gift for Jamie lay on the coffee table before them.

“I can’t help but notice that there’s nothing under our tree for me, Fraser.”

“Och, ye mean ye expect me tae serve ye and give ye a wee present, Sassenach.  Ye truly are greedy,” he groused dramatically.  Standing, he extended his hand and confused, Claire allowed him to lead her towards her bedroom.  For a moment she considered that he might actually be taking her back to bed.  As he turned on the light she understood his intention.

As a lifelong wanderer, Claire could count on the fingers of one hand her precious material possessions.  Her mother’s emerald earrings.  Her father’s pocket watch.  A jade fish from the Cat Street night market in Hong Kong, a lucky talisman she carried in her pocket for every test and exam.  And a beautiful antique print of Persepolis left to her by her Uncle Lamb.  All but this last had survived their apartment fire unscathed, but the water and smoke damage to its parchment had been irreparable.  Or so she had believed.

“Jamie,” she gasped upon seeing the lithograph once again mounted in its frame on her wall.  “But... how?”

“Well, I willna bore ye with the details, but suffice it tae say that there’s an antiquarian o’er in Bermondsey who can work miracles.  There’s still a wee bit o’ smudging near the edges, but I reckon it adds to its character,” he explained.

“A palimpsest,” she said, taking his hand.  At his questioning look, she explained, “when one story is written overtop of an older one.  This print is a remembrance of my Uncle Lamb and his love for me.  And now, when I look at it, I’ll be reminded of your love as well.”

“Aye, just so,” he agreed.

***

Claire was unaccountably nervous as Jamie began to unwrap her gift.  She’d felt certain she’d picked just the right thing for him; personal without being sappy, meaningful without being extravagant.  But with eyes still misty from the thoughtfulness of his present to her, she was having doubts.

“Tis rather heavy,” Jamie observed as he lifted the rectangular package onto his lap.  His eyes were alight with childlike glee, which was a gift unto itself.

“A chess set!”  His smile was genuine, but Claire’s heart plummeted.  What kind of woman bought her lover a chess set?  She began to stammer.

“I... ummm... I thought you could invite your friend John over to play.  You mentioned missing the challenge, and ummm....” she broke off, floundering, but Jamie paid her no heed.  He was lifting each wooden piece from its velvet resting place, inspecting its shape with a look of utter fascination.

“Where did ye find this, Claire?” he asked at last.

“Oh, uhh, online, actually.  It’s from a store in Inverness, but of course I wasn’t able to...”

“It’s Culloden,” Jamie interrupted.

“Errr, yes.  I thought, you know, a chessboard is a tactical battlefield.  And with you being Scottish and your family’s Jacobite history...”

“Claire, this is the most amazing chess set I’ve e’er seen.   Look here.  See this wee knight?  Tis a Scotch Hussar.  An’ the white king is the Duke of Cumberland.”  Jamie’s finger traced the words and images carved on the plinth of each piece, going on and on about the clans represented by the tacksmen pawns and his own grandsire, Lord Lovat, symbolized by a tiny strawberry carved on the base of an ebony rook.  Claire’s ribs began to loosen their vice-grip on her lungs.  Maybe she hadn’t horribly miscalculated after all.

“Sassenach, thank ye.  Truly.   Tis a grand gift.”  The chess set had finally been set aside and they sat facing each other, hands gently caressing as the winter sun slowly warmed the room in tones of blush and grey.

“You’ve very welcome.  I’m so relieved that you like it,” she replied with candour.

“I love it.  But no’ half sae much as I love ye.”

“I love you too.”  It was only after the words had taken flight from her lips that she realized she had never said them aloud before.  Not to Jamie, whose sudden stillness indicated that he had heard her.  It was too late, then, to pluck her soaring words from the air and cage them once again inside her heart.  Too afraid to meet his gaze, she concentrated on smoothing her palms over the backs of his hands in a hypnotic rhythm. 

His response, when it came, was whispered into the secret stronghold they had built together.

“There’s naught on Earth tae compare wi’ the gift of yer heart, mo nighean donn.  I want ye tae ken that I shall treasure it, an’ ne’er give ye reason tae regret placing it with me for safekeeping.”

Jamie lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them both sweetly.  Still looking down, she nodded her acceptance of his pledge, a single tear escaping from the tip of her nose.

It was well past sunrise by the time Claire rose from their bed a second time, kissing her sleeping lover goodbye before creeping out of their flat and into the gemstone light of a perfect Christmas morning.

[1-lightofjustice]

You feel uncomfortable about Scepter 4 year-end track, is it because you're Reisaru shipper and in that track Fushimi ditched Munakata to chase Misaki? You know that the track was made by Yellow, one of official GoRa's members, right? The track is, sadly for you, canon.

Fushimi ditched Munakata? Oho, I support it fully. Like hell, sometimes on Drama CDs or short stories (especially Gakuen K) Fushimi is so tolerant with Munakata's shenanigans and made me want to scream "just kick him and run away Fushimi!" (Case point : Munakata fishing trip, Munakata got handcuffed, Munakata's King Game, Fushimi became Santa Claus). And for me, the fact that Fushimi can refuse Munakata and willing to do so without any fear or hesitation is the cute and healthy point of Reisaru. He already coldly rejected Munakata many times you know, like when he refused to accompany Munakata on his hobby because it reminded him of the time when he was roped by Totsuka into various activities, he refused to play cheese with Munakata, he refused to see autumn falling leaves together with Munakata on their day off, etc. So yeah, the fact that Fushimi ditched Munakata to chase Misaki didn't bother me at all.

So what made me feel uncomfortable for this track? Just one word, Timeline. The explanation is a bit meta-y so if you don't want read my rambling, the short answer is there's discrepancy with the main canon timeline, and while it's not impossible, the implication made me uncomfortable. Again, not impossible but hella uncomfortable for me. For full explanation....

See, for me, since most of K Drama CDs are mostly gag tracks, the ones that I treat as canon are Drama CDs that I think can be slotted in canon timeline. Drama CDs like Crow's Repayment, Snow White, and Izumo's Room are definitely not canon because there's no way those were happened on main timeline situation. Drama CDs like Everything Sank Except Me and That Guy and Munakata Fish The World is obviously placed after ROK (since Munakata got weakened like he can't pull a tire and Sarumi's improved relationship). Other drama like Munakata-kun's Strap, Elevator, or For Justice can easily be slotted in pre-anime or even post season 1. Window Shopping, Figure Direction, and Private Hero are obviously pre-anime by the casual appearance or mention of Mikoto and Totsuka. There are Drama CD that used as blatant promotion of K Project, like Guys Meeting in The Shower and it's Girl Version counterpart which completely break the fourth-wall by "Hey we are bunch of K boys in K world let's we dip in hot water and talk" which is definitely not gonna happen in canon.

So what category is YEP (Year End Party) Drama CD? It's logical enough to happen on canon. It didn't break any fourth wall. If we assumed that YEP Drama CD is truly happened on canon, on what period it's happened? It's definitely on pre-ROK, and by the casual mention of Mikoto, can it happen on pre-Season 1?

The answer is no. Why? Because unlike other Drama CD who has no mention of time as our foothold, YEP Drama CD has two hints about the specific time it happened. First, it's about year-end party, so the drama CD was happened on the end of December. Second, by the mention of ABCDEFGH as a squad that was expected to come by Munakata, it means that Scepter 4 Special Ops Squad was already formed, since before it ABCD were leaders of 1st-4th platoons and EFGH were ordinary swordsmen of 4th platoon. Is it impossible for them to have casual gathering together? No. Is it impossible for them to get grouped together on formal gathering with their boss? Yes. Because based on Scepter 4 structure, they were not a group yet, they were not even on the same platoon. Like, if EFGH was invited, how about the rest of 1st-3rd platoons? How about the 5th platoon leader and members? (Poor 5th platoon, they didn't get any screen time except a brief mention on Season 1 episode 8). And before Special Squad was formed, Fushimi is just an ordinary rank on Intelligent Division, so why did he come to gathering for Scepter 4 bosses and leaders of Swordsmen platoons, with bunch of troublemakers from 4th platoon? (I mean, yeah he is Munakata's favorite and the King's private soldier, but that was not.... an official title). The Drama CD with the mentioned casts was not logical to happen if Fushimi and ABCDEFGH was not yet grouped under a special group, which is currently named Special Ops Squad.

Now when we established that YEP drama CD happened on late December, before ROK and after Special Ops squad was formed, let's look at the detailed timeline of K :

Special Ops squad was formed on Side Blue, detailed time was on 1st May 2012. Fushimi particularly joined Special Ops Squad and became the third-in-command on 6th June 2012. So the mentioned casts (Special Ops Squad) plus Awashima and Fushimi were expected to have Year End Party together with Munakata, it certainly happened on late December 2012. And what happened on December 2012? Apocalypse well quite almost close to that. On 7th December 2012 Totsuka was dead, and 12 days after, on 19th December 2012 Mikoto was dead, killed by (a very unwilling) Munakata. So if YEP drama CD happened on 23-31 December 2012, more or less a week after the end of Season 1 and Mikoto's death, then...

-Scepter 4 ditched Munakata even thought they were aware that more or less a week before their King killed his friend. If the rest of squad didn't know about Mikorei's relationship, then at least Awashima knew how hard mental blow that was received by Munakata on K Season 1. Yet she still ditched Munakata. I don't know what happened on previous YEP, but would the ever loyal Awashima ditched her King when she knew that Munakata was very possibly on his sad and hurtful period?

-Fushimi taunted Yata with mentioning Mikoto just more or less a week after Mikoto's death. Sure we knew that Fushimi could taunt Yata even after Mikoto's death, but (I hope) he didn't specifically search for Yata and taunt him with how Homra and Mikoto is suck just after Mikoto's death. On canon, after Mikoto's death Fushimi avoided the hell of Yata and Homra, on Missing King Yata called him first, and on ROK, their meeting was coincidental.

-I love Scepter 4 as a whole, and I particularly love Munakata and Fushimi on the same degree. But my love for each of them is a little different. I love both of them to be happy of course, but if Fushimi got flooded with angst, I will feel "oh yeah Fushimi angst, mmm delicious, give me more" but if I stumbled upon Munakata angst I will feel "noooo don't be sad, I don't want him to be sad, please someone fix it!" Yeah sorry Fushimi XD. And that is the reason why I can't enjoy Mikorei after Mikoto's death, because watching Munakata's constant brooding over Mikoto's death is damn uncomfortable for me and I can't even feel sad along with him for Mikoto's death (I don't hate Mikoto, but I am indifferent about him). So yeah, hearing how Munakata sounded genuinely upset when Scepter 4 members ditched him, when Fushimi ditched him, when I heard Munakata's lament that he was alone on the end of video, when more or less a week before he killed his friend, I can't enjoy it. I can't laugh for Munakata's misery, I feel uncomfortable as hell instead.

Please note, just I said, the track is not impossible to be canon. Is it possible for Awashima and the rest of Scepter 4 members to be annoyed enough by Munakata to ditch him even though not long ago Munakata killed his friend and almost died in the process? Yes. Is it possible for Fushimi to taunt Yata with Mikoto after Mikoto’s death? Yes. Is it possible for Munakata to be left alone in a bar? Yes. BUT, as Fushimi, Munakata, Awashima, and overall Scepter 4 fans, that kind of portrayal makes me uncomfortable so much, especially since I valued Scepter 4′s bond so much and don’t care (or you can say quite disliked) about Sarumi’s taunting and fighting, also Munakata angsting over Mikoto. Also if the lack of Yata’s anger and depressed over Mikoto’s death means that the Drama CD happened before Season 1 a.k.a December 2011 (Fushimi joined Scepter 4 on October 2010, so December 2010 would be his first YEP and he shouldn’t know about previous party), then as Scepter 4 nerds I need explanation why only ABCDEFGH, Fushimi, and Awashima that was expected to come when they were not on the same squad before and Fushimi even just an ordinary member of Intelligence Division that rarely associate with Swordsmen Squad as Hidaka pointed out. Compare that to another Scepter 4 annual event like Flower Gazing that included Zenjou, Yayoi, and even we can assumed that there are other Scepter 4 member joined on flower gazing on other places. Also, Flower Gazing as annual event is already mentioned 4 times but there's no mention of Scepter 4 year-end party except on that Drama CD.

Speaking about portrayal, I also don’t like some of jokes on that track. Namely when Munakata said that he installed surveillance camera on Scepter 4 dorm, Awashima’s dorm to be exact. I knew that Munakata is an S and can quite ignore the concept of privacy and personal space, but as a boss and a man, just like Fushimi said, that action is a crime. And not the funny one. Awashima should and must protest for that, no matter how loyal she is to Munakata. And Fushimi as the main advocate of privacy and personal space should not accept that kind of behavior from Munakata and didn’t let Munakata be with just a simple protest. Honestly, if I have a boss who pulled that stint of me, no matter how amazing he is, I will lose my respect on him. And I respect the hell outta Munakata. I will not say that the track is mischarasterized Munakata, since as you said Kabei Yukako (Yellow) is the writer and she wrote an amazing Munakata in LSW and Sand Castle story, but maybe she played with fandom jokes “tyrant Munakata” a little bit too hard.  So yeah, I prefer if that track, especially that particular aspect, is not canon. 

Not that I hate the whole track of course. I like some trivia about Scepter 4, especially the ones that was confirmed canon on other materials like Awashima loves plushies and Benzai has younger sister. I also like when Fushimi can baffle Munakata with his card trick. But still, Scepter 4 YEP Drama CD is uncomfortable for me. 

Also track like Megane of Blue is also written by Gora Orange, it didn’t break the fourth wall or seemed happened on alternate universe, but you don’t actually believe that in canon Munakata truly became crazy if he lost his glasses right? Especially since we already got 2 glasses-less Munakata and he turned out just fine (three if you count Optician Drama CD, which is canon since it was mentioned on Countdown). On drama CD, script writers often exaggerate characters to create a joke, either Gora or non Gora.

[nonbinary-renfri]

inspired by this post by @elliestormfound

It’s Lambert’s turn to cook dinner tonight for the witchers wintering in the keep and he’s feeling rather inspired, after Geralt and Eskel went ice fishing and came back with four lovely large trout. Going down to the root cellar while the other two witchers were taking care of the gutting and cleaning and de-scaling of the fish out in the yard, Lambert picked out some onions and some potatoes and some garlic. He also took a container of the goat milk butter they’d started making after Eskel had insisted on getting the keep its own mini goat herd. The animals themselves were stinky, ungrateful bastards, but even Lambert would admit having the fresh milk was nice. Once they finally figured out this goat cheese thing, it’d be even nicer.

But for now Lambert’s heading back upstairs with a basket full of potatoes and onions and garlic and is greeted by some absolutely beautiful fish fillets laid out on the kitchen counter. A lesser man- such as many high-class chefs with their fancy restaurants in the cities- might shed a tear at the sight of such divine knife work. Lambert is so glad Eskel let Geralt do the filleting this time.

He dices onions and garlic and preps the potatoes, washing them and piercing them in several places with a knife. The wood-stove is already lit, doing its best to spread fingers of warmth through Kaer Morhen’s cold stones. Opening up two of the burners, Lambert plunks down a pair of heavy iron saucepans onto the stove. He makes two batches of an onion-butter sauce, one with garlic and one without. While that’s simmering, he seasons the fish with rock salt that he’s fairly certain Vesemir collects and grinds himself, and then divides the fillets out evenly between two baking pans. Lambert pours the sauce over the fish before sliding them, along with the potatoes, into the large oven to slow cook.

With some time to kill, he washes the dishes he’s created so far and then starts poking around in the kitchen cabinets. He finds things he knew were there, like shelves filled with jars of different spices and a section dedicated to baking supplies, and things he didn’t, like glass bottles of apple cider in a bottom cupboard. Lambert uncorks one and sniffs it, and, yep, that is apple cider and it’s still fairly fresh too, probably squeezed and bottled by Vesemir this past autumn. He doesn’t think the old man will mind awfully if Lambert commandeers some of it; it’s for a good cause, and it’s not like Vesemir won’t also get a share of it.

Putting a larger pot on the stove top, Lambert mixes up a hot drink made with apple cider, a splash of squeezed fruit juice, and spices. Sticks of cinnamon and dried orange and lemon slices float in bubbling amber liquid as it simmers on the burner. Dinner will be done before the wassail is, but that’s alright; they can have it as a nice follow-up afterwards.

Lambert glances up from stirring the drink as Vesemir enters the kitchen. The old witcher is carrying a basket with fresh broccoli from the winter garden, tiny bits of ice glimmering on green buds from being washed outdoors in the cold. Taking a deep breath in, he smiles appreciatively. “It smells delicious.” Yellow irises find the bottles of apple cider out on the countertop. “Ah. I see you got into my juice stores.”

“For a good cause, old man.”

Vesemir’s nostrils flare as he leans towards the pot. “Yes, indeed. An after-dinner treat?”

How does he always know these things. “Yeah,” Lambert admits.

“Would you be willing to trust me to watch over your handiwork for a bit? I thought I would add broccoli to the menu tonight, but the table in the hall could really use a wipe down before we sit down to eat.”

“Sure, I can go do that. Stir the pot on the stove occasionally and don’t fucking burn my food, okay?”

Vesemir acquiesces with a nod and waves the younger witcher out the door.

The table is rather dusty and bread crumb-covered from a multitude of meals, so Lambert wipes it down with a dry cloth and then a wet one. He also takes the opportunity to set the table, putting out plates and silverware for all the witchers, though not in the pompous, shitty way a noble household would. Just a fork and a knife, thank you very much. The butter dish and the ceramic howling wolf salt and pepper shakers Eskel had brought back one winter go on the table too. Vesemir keeps his eyes on the broccoli he has searing on the stove as Lambert comes in and out of the kitchen, pretending not to notice as the younger snags napkins for the table that he knows will be neatly folded beside their plates. And he thinks they don’t know that he cares.

Eventually all the food is done cooking and the old witcher lets Lambert take care of the plating of things, helping him carry the platters of roast potatoes and fish and broccoli into the hall. The smells must reach the other witchers in the keep as Geralt and Eskel quickly appear at the door, dressed in clean clothes with cheeks pink-flushed and the slightly spicy-sweet scent from the witch hazel soap they keep in the hot springs wafting off of them.

“Wow, that smells good,” Eskel comments. Geralt’s nostrils flare in agreement and the two are quick to take their usual seats at the table, eagerly eyeing the spread in front of them.

As soon as Vesemir fills his plate, the rest of them are free to dig in as well. Scenting the air, mouth partway open, Geralt gravitates towards the fish without garlic and scoops a good chunk onto his plate. Eskel takes a smaller piece from the same pan and a similar one from the other as well. Like Vesemir, Lambert takes a big serving of the fish with garlic. They all take potatoes and cut them open, steam wafting into the air from the well-cooked soft white insides. Goat butter melts quickly from the heat and they sprinkle rock salt on top of potatoes now drenched in gold. Broccoli joins the rest of the food on their plates and they eat in silence for a while, too hungry from the day’s work and grateful for a good meal to have the wherewithal to interrupt it with conversation.

Eventually though, as Vesemir and Geralt go back for second servings of their preferred fish and Eskel takes more broccoli, they find themselves able to take their concentration enough off the food to talk.

“Thank you for making dinner, Lambert,” Geralt says, because sometimes he can be a polite bastard. Lambert suspects it has something to do with all that time the white-haired man spends around a certain uppity sorceress.

“Yeah, thanks,” Eskel parrots, talking through a mouthful of potato because he doesn’t have a questionable influence in his life to teach him courtly manners. “’S delicious.”

Vesemir nods in agreement. “Quite.”

Resisting the urge to shrug off the praise, Lambert pretends the tips of his ears aren’t turning red. “Mhmm. Yeah. Uh. You’re welcome, I guess.” He remembers the wassail he has simmering in the kitchen still, and takes the excuse to flee the room. “Hot drinks, for after dinner. Should be done, so I’ll, uh, go get them.” Getting up and walking away, he waits until he’s completely out of eyesight of the others, because Vesemir would somehow fucking know if he didn’t, before he lets the bubbling warm feeling in his chest spill onto his face. He smiles the entire walk back to the kitchen.

Returning with a big wooden pitcher full of hot wassail that drifts the sweet scents of apples, citrus, and spices into the air with curls of steam, he pours it into the mugs gathered at the far end of the table, placing one in front of each witcher.

Vesemir, the madman, doesn’t even blow on his before gulping down a large mouthful. He swallows and immediately goes back for a second, humming his approval.

Slightly more cautious, Eskel blows on the surface of his drink before trying it. His face changes to a contemplative look and then he nods, seemingly in approval.

Geralt takes a sip from his mug with an unreadable expression. Lambert watches him carefully, knowing the other witcher can’t stand to drink apple cider on its own. Taking another sip, Geralt lets out a quiet grunt.

Lambert’s voice gets ahead of his head. “So? Is it good?” Shit shit shit way too pushy, what, do you need validation or something-

Shrugging, Geralt says, like he’s simply stating a fact, “Everything you make is good.”

There is a pleased yet embarrassed heat rising in Lambert’s cheeks, because Geralt doesn't say nice things when he doesn't mean them. “Fuck you.” Dammit, why can’t he be the kind of person who just goes speechless in moments like this.

Geralt doesn’t reply, but he’s smiling in that tiny way he thinks is unnoticeable, with the very corners of his lips and the tilt of his eyebrows, or something. The white-haired witcher doesn’t go back for seconds of the hot drink like Eskel does, or fourths like Vesemir, but he finishes the mug that Lambert poured for him, which is compliment enough in the younger’s opinion.

It’s a good night, he thinks, as they finish their drinks and Geralt and Eskel take the dishes back to the kitchen to scrub them clean. Even better as they all pile into the study, with it’s warm wooden walls and bearskin rugs a ballast against the winter’s chill. They quickly have a fire burning bright in the hearth, and the room becomes cozy and comfortable. Vesemir settles into his armchair with the old bestiary he’s currently annotating and the three younger witchers tangle together in a pile on the fur splayed before the fire. They wrestle lazily for a bit before sprawling out drowsily, serene and drifting somewhere close to sleep.

In the early hours of the next morning the armchair is empty, bestiary shut neatly on the accent table beside it, and the fire has reduced itself to cold ashes. Lambert wakes up to white hair tickling his nose and his feet tangled with Eskel’s, the other man’s calves laying on top of Geralt’s knees. Soft fur brushes his chin from the bearskin that had been spread over the three of them sometime in the night, keeping them warm beneath it with their combined body heat long after the fire had died out. There’s no window in this room but Lambert has a feeling it’s still not late enough for them to need to get up, so he lies there with his eyes closed, simply enjoying the weight and warmth of his brothers beside him.

[chibi-pix]

Okay, y’all! You know what time it is? Time for me to go over another “Chibi watches”! And we’re in season three of Voltron: Defender of the Universe! Due to how the episodes were numbered on the site I’m using, we pretty much leave off with others and we’re starting with episode 53. So, tonight’s watch consisted of episodes 53 through 60. A good start, if I do say so myself.  Now then! Let’s get the show on the road! With A dinner and a show? 

Episode 53.  Ah, Sven, I actually missed you a bit. Glad to know season three exists so you can be alive.  And Bandor, honey. Your voice seems a bit different. Less like a kazoo. But that happens and I don’t mind.  Ah, and Lotor. Didn’t miss you you son of a... well, I shouldn’t insult your mother... Ah, and pointing out that you’re royal blood. The only royal you are, Lotor, is a royal pain.  Tentacles grabbing the paladins. Hopefully they haven’t seen hentai to make them worry. 

Moving on to episode 54. “What a repulsive laugh you have, witch.” I feel like I should take offense to that because even I’ve had my moments of evil cackles. Scared the hell out of some of my classmates. Probably didn’t help with several classmates sure I was also a witch. 👀 “He wants to get rid of me? I can’t believe it!” Honey... didn’t he make it clear he didn’t like you in season one? You better believe it you bitch in denial.  A general? Who authorized this guy? And who thought it was a brilliant idea to take over the Voltron Force? Allura! Don’t be eager for this! Put him down! Get rid of the general! You don’t need him! Oh look, dancing! And Allura only seems to wanna dance with Coran. He must be like my grandpa at school dances when I was growing up. Many wanted to dance with him, too, classmates, teachers, and chaperones alike. But Grandpa is way better than Coran.  Um, moving on. Let’s see, Pussy Cat in the green lion and making Pidge crash. Ah! The general. “It’s not them, General. I’m afraid it’s you.” Yeah, you tell him, Coran. It’s the general’s fault the team isn’t doing so hot and they shouldn’t have listened to his orders to begin with. I know I wouldn’t have. But I have this bad habit of doing the exact opposite of what someone orders me to do. 

Episode 55 leads us over to a giant stompy robeast. Being turned into a kitty. Okay, it’s official. That would be my weakness and how someone would be able to trick me. I’m a sucker for cute kitties. Spoiler, all kitties are cute! I’m highly amused by the mice tricking Pidge just to get his apple. And then shock the poor boy. I feel sorry for him, but I’m highly amused. And they lead him to more trouble and to see a princess changing her clothes. Whoops! Aww! Pidge adopts the kitty! BUT! Noooo! It’s Haggar’s trick... Please. I just want Pidge to have a kitty he adores and who is good.... Okay, Pidge dressed as a chef is freaking adorable! And Lunch is a CATastrophe.  OH! Five mice! I only remember four from season one! There are five! I was hoping the Robeast would defy Haggar, wanting to be with Pidge. But. The mice were nice in the end, making a cake just for Pidge. And of course Pidge is precious and sweet, happy to share. 

Oh. I didn’t have notes for 56. I guess I got distracted with drawing. Oops! But I do at least remember part of the castle or whatever flooding and me commenting about home insurance with flood coverage. Okay, moving on.

Episode 57.  Zarkon: “You made me look like a fool!” Haggar: “That’s not hard.” Oh, I love the insults and burns. These guys are gonna need to invest in some aloe for those emotional burns.  Ah, and a mysterious guy lurking, watching the slaves. I had hope he’d be a good guy.  And I’m not disappointed. And! He’s a she! Hello lady! “You’re a very courageous woman.”  And pretty, too.” Oh Pidge. But I guess that’s to be expected of a severely honest kid with no brain to mouth filter.  “Things are going to get ugly.” “They always do when you show up.” The burns! I love them!

Episode 58 has given us the mean potion. So that really is a thing. What the quiznak?  But making a fish man. Dude, the monster fuckers probably had a field day with that one. “I never throw anything away if it can be useful.” Haggar, you sound a bit like a hoarder. And maybe me. Yeah... I suck at throwing things away, too.  Robot: “I hate pollen.” Me, too, buddy. Me too.  Okay, I’m liking this planet a bit. Strong pollen, sticky grass, it’s interesting. Of course, VLD Pidge would despise it. I wonder if I can find a way to reference this one in my VV/VLD au.  And Fishy man is awake and escaping! With the help of a jungle lady! Awesome! And the Garrison crew! I like that this season was made and able to show Garrison with Lion force instead of spliced from the two original source materials. Now they exist together. Awesome! And... fish man is jungle lady’s father? I did not see that coming.  And the music healing him. Music is always a grand thing!

Let’s move on over to episode 59. And Pidge being short. “Don’t tease him, Lance, he’s just a convenient take home size.” Yes. Wen many of us probably do want to take Pidge home. He’s adorable and huggable. He’s travel size for their convenience.  You know, I kinda like Commander Cossack. Not in a “I’m rooting for you” or “I hope you get a redemption and change” kind of way. But he’s amusing.  “Why does everyone pick on me?” Poor Cossack.

And we finish the night with episode 60!  And Cossack getting yelled at. I do feel a bit sorry for him. It’s amusing seeing Bandor signal Sven. And Sven overreacting, thinking Romelle’s in danger. You’re adorkable, Sven.  Ah! Prisoner is self conscious, not wanting to show his... wait... oh. You’re a bad guy. That was just a ruse. Clever.  Pussy Cat falling gave me Mufasa falling vibes. Minus the “long live the king” and a stampede, but still. The fall.  “Go ahead, make my day!” Bandor with a gun. I thought that line was just a meme! It’s real! Bandor! You’re bordering the same chaos energy Pidge is. I swear... And the masked guy was a robeast. I DEFINITELY did not see that coming. At least Pidge caught Bandor and Romelle when they were caught and all ended well.

Ah, this was a good start to season three of DotU. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the vehicle team, but I missed the lion team, too. Especially Pidge. I still love the chaos, explosive loving, snack munching, green boy of the team. 

Anyway! That’s it for the night! Until next time!

[chaotic-citrus]

Harvest in Honnleath

I have absolutely succumbed to the pumpkin spice season and am in deep fall feels right now, so I was inspired to write this shameless fall fluff by @cozy-autumn-prompts‘ Hot Apple Cider prompt and @oc-growth-and-development‘s OCtober prompt for Day 8: Festival! Enjoy some seasonally fluffy Cullen Rutherford x Evelyn Trevelyan! 

"Few celebrate the year's harvest quite like Honnleath."

When Cullen had spoken the words earlier, Evelyn had assumed it was little more than a case of hometown pride. However, as she took in the sea of decorative gourds so vast it nearly obscured the young children who wandered through it, the unyielding scent of cinnamon that permeated every inch of the small village, and a band so boisterous at times that she could hardly hear herself think, Evelyn finally saw the truth to his words.

Lanterns were strung between the homes lining the main square, candlelight bouncing over the revelry below as the sun's dying rays were swallowed by evening's arrival. A large, unlit pyre sat at the center of the square, the villagers having pitched all manner of tents and carts around it that each boasted their own promising aroma of a different delicacy within. Cullen had assured her that, despite appearances otherwise, most of these tents really just held different kinds of cheese (they were in Ferelden after all), to which Evelyn had (rather cleverly, in her opinion) responded, "I suppose some cheesy jokes are in order then!" Cullen hadn't seemed nearly as delighted by her joke as she had, and with a playful groan and roll of his eyes, he had walked off to fetch them something to drink.

"Do my eyes deceive me or is that something besides cheese? Isn't that sacrilegious for your kind?" she teased upon his return, an eager smile gracing her lips as Cullen gently placed a mug of warm cider in her outstretched palms. Taking a moment to attempt to think up another pun, Evelyn brought the mug to her lips absentmindedly, instantly realizing her mistake as she hissed and recoiled from the scalding liquid. Cullen did a terrible job of stifling his laughter behind his mug, which only grew louder when he caught the glare Evelyn shot his way, emerald eyes unamused and pink lips still stinging.

"Careful, I can't have the Inquisitor injured on my watch," he teased, blowing gently on the liquid in his own cup as if to demonstrate the proper technique for cider consumption. "Cassandra and Leliana could have my head for that, you know."

"Ah yes, a grievous injury indeed," she responded sarcastically, admittedly chuckling at her own clumsy mistake. "Should we call for medical attention? I dare say a head as handsome as yours would be a shame to lose." Cullen quirked a brow at that, lips twisting into a definitive grin as he leaned in a bit closer. "If I recall correctly," he began, one hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, "you're not supposed to apply pressure to a burn. With you talking like that, however, it's certainly tempting." At that, Evelyn watched his gaze fall blatantly to her lips, his warm chestnut eyes sparkling with mirth as she felt a rare blush prickling her cheeks at his forwardness. Blatantly pleased by the blush he'd managed to draw from her, he pulled away with a laugh and a smirk so handsome it bordered on insufferable. "How's that for cheesy?"

Evelyn felt a tug on her sleeve before she had the chance to respond, something that was likely for the best considering she'd opened her mouth before she'd had much of a witty response to deliver from it. Drawing her gaze from the spellbinding commander before her, Evelyn was greeted by a pair of young girls with enthusiastic smiles and arms full of more flower crowns she would've thought feasible for ones their size to manage carrying.

"Can we interest you in some of our fine flower crowns this evening?" the elder girl asked, gesturing to the crowns with a dramatic flourish as her younger friend did her best to display those she was carrying.

"These crowns make fine gifts indeed!" the younger girl added, spinning with the crowns in an act of showmanship Varric would've been proud of. "Crowns like these are the pride of Honnleath!"

"Are they now? Is there a story behind that?" Cullen asked, a gentle smile having settled across his features as he gingerly took the crown the elder girl was handing him.

The girls lit up at his question, both nodding enthusiastically before simultaneously shouting, "Of course!"

This was all the encouragement the girls needed before launching into a dramatic tale of a beloved statue that once stood at the center of town, one that with every passing festival was adorned with countless wreaths and decorations. After the villagers awoke one morning to its disappearance, the girls claimed the villagers eventually started to simply wear the decorations themselves, thus giving flower crowns their popularity.

Despite a cryptically muttered "I thought something was missing..." from Cullen as he looked around the square with a puzzled expression, the Commander returned his attention to the pair of girls as he fished into his pockets for his coin purse. Offering them a generous handful of silvers, he turned to Evelyn with a sheepish expression and flower crown in hand.

"I suppose I should've asked first, but-"

"Cullen, it's lovely. Would you help me put it on?"

The crowns were simple in nature, a smattering of white and purple wildflowers tucked haphazardly into a simple hempen braid to secure them. Cullen carefully placed the crown on Evelyn's head, meticulously placing the hair pins the girls had given him where he thought they'd be the most structurally secure. Fingers gentle every time he'd move her hair or slide a pin into place, he eventually stepped back and announced the completion of his work. The pride in his eyes as he watched Evelyn turn to a nearby window, moving to catch her reflection in its surface, was unmistakable as she let out an impressed whistle. While Evelyn had worn her fair share of intricate hairstyles to any number of balls at the Trevelyan Estate growing up, there was a charm to the clumsy attempt at weaving the flowers into her curls that she couldn't help but love. Satisfied with his work and clearly ready to proceed with the rest of the night, it was Evelyn's turn to stifle her laughter as the girls held out a second crown for Cullen before he could leave. Flushing slightly, Cullen did his best to dissuade the girls of his need for one, though all arguments seemed to falter when the girls pulled out their best wobbly lips and watery eyes. An increasing number of silvers lighter than it had been at the start of the night, Cullen eventually pulled his coin purse from his pockets again with a grumble, planting the flower crown on his own head with far less ceremony than he had Evelyn's as the girls skipped away, successful in their endeavor.

"Why do I feel like I've been swindled?"

"I think you look great. Very princely."

The distinctive sound of a blade striking flint drew Evelyn's attention next, one she knew well from countless nights huddled by a campfire over the course of her many Inquisition expeditions. Several had gathered around the unlit pyre she'd seen before, an older looking gentleman striking at a piece of flint rock twice more before a spark finally took to the massive pile of kindling. Drawn by the sputtering crackle of the growing flame, the commotion of the festival slowly died down as the rest of the villagers made their way toward the bonfire.

"This way," she grinned, giving a still-groaning-Cullen's hand a squeeze before falling into step behind the villagers, most of whom had queued up behind a set of large wicker baskets, each filled to the brim with... pine cones?

"They're for wishing," he explained, clearly having noticed her confusion as he plucked a pine cone for each of them from the basket. "I'm not certain what symbolism a pine cone has, but the wishing part likely started as a way to end the season of the harvest with a wish for another year of healthy crops. For as long as I can remember though, it's always just been tradition to end the Harvest Festival by tossing a pine cone into the bonfire and wishing for... well, whatever you want, really. I think I once wished for a growth spurt."

She laughed at that, the contrast between a gangly teen Cullen and the absolute snack of a man he'd turned into rather stark.

A moment of silence fell between them as Evelyn's laughter faded, both turning the pine cones over in their hands in quiet contemplation. Cullen was the first to break it, his voice soft as he fixed her with an attentive gaze that seemed ready to memorize whatever she said next.

"Do you have anything you'd like to wish for?"

She could still feel the weight of the coin he had given her the last time they’d been in Ferelden as she pulled it from her pocket, the gesture having been so kind she wasn't sure what more she could possibly wish for that he hadn't already given her. She flashed the coin at him with a wink. "What do I need a wish for when I already have all the luck in the world?"

Cullen chuckled at that, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck as he looked away with a flustered blush. "Yes, well... maybe I could commandeer your wish then, if you aren't planning on using it. Mine's hardly an easy request, so it can't hurt to use twice as many pine cones."

Intrigued, Evelyn wordlessly handed over her pine cone, cocking her head to the side curiously as she watched him turn to the fire. His voice was quiet as he spoke, wavering just slightly enough to betray how genuine the plea was as he murmured, "Maker, keep her safe."

Evelyn felt herself soften as she heard the care with which he spoke the words, warmth blooming in her chest and climbing up her neck to her face. For once, their complexions matched as he turned back to her, cheeks rosy for plenty of reasons beyond the glow of the fire behind him.

"Well,” he started, his tone light and teasing as his blatantly blush-stained cheeks twisted up into a mischievous smile. “I figure after the damage that cider did to you, you need all the help you can get."

She let out an incredulous laugh and a scoff as she readied for a retort, but Cullen was faster as he grinned and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her to him and silencing any argument with his lips on hers.

She supposed he was right after all - no one does a festival quite like Honnleath.