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[whiskeyghoul]

Pt.3 || She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid x Goth!reader]

Read pt1 here, previous chapter, next chapter.

A/N: Hello hello, we are finally to the unofficial first date hehe. This is a bit of a longer one because somehow I kept on writing. So once again this is not proofread. I don’t know yet how many parts this story is going to be, because I just want to continue this for as long as I can. I have some ideas for some more future angst that I want to start setting up to keep it interesting. Anyways, enjoy the read. If you do please like, reblog or comment. If you want to be added to my tag list let me know.

WC:2,5K

Tags: Fluff, sweet fluff, two idiots in love, goth!reader, alt!reader, coffee date, but is it really a date, both are flustered messes.

Warnings: Discussions of murder. Nothing worse than in criminal minds itself.

Spencer POV

Spencer stood in front of the lab door again. Hearing the music pour from the cracks, Siouxsie and the banshees again. A familiar situation. Only this time he felt even more nervous than he had before. There was a cup holder in his left hand, the two steaming beverages balanced equally. The smell of cinnamon and coffee filled his nostrils as he took a deep breath. Trying to calm down his racing heart. It had been 4 days since he first called you. 4 Days of wanting to get back to Quantico as quickly as possible so he could bring you the coffee you wanted. He called you every day, short calls at the end of the day right before he’d go to bed. He felt giddy when talking to you, and would go to sleep thinking of when he’d get back. He finally returned late last night, the office was already empty and there was no sign of you to be seen. So he had gone home, planning to get out and get coffee early in the morning. That left him here, in front of your lab. 

As Spencer stood, staring at your name plaque next to the frosted glass door, he felt like he might be going too fast. Coming on too strong perhaps. He didn’t have time to worry about it though when the door in front of him opened. The music turned louder as you came into view. Beaming at him, “Were you planning to come in, or what?” Your voice sounded so melodic to him. Sweet, warm, and slightly teasing. “You saw me?” He asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “It’s frosted glass, I knew there was someone waiting. From the height I suspected it was you.” You answered with a shrug. Spencer did notice the slight pink tinge that dusted your cheeks at those words. The way you avoided eye contact for a moment. You were embarrassed. If only just a little. “I got your coffee.” He held out the holder with the two cups, watching you perk up at the sight of the coffee. “Come in, we can sit together.” You answered him, taking the coffee cup marked with cinnamon. Spencer smiled, he quickly fixed his hair when you turned around, following into the lab. You still wore an almost completely black outfit, this time a skirt that hit just above your knee, large black platform boots made you taller than before. He had noticed this time you wore a ripped shirt, still with a logo on the front that he did not recognise. 

The music was turned down to a mild background noise. Spencer watched you place the little remote on the desk before you sat on the wooden surface. Turning the chair like an invitation for him to sit. His eyes wandered to your legs, the skirt riding up slightly exposing more of those gorgeous thighs. He quickly placed his bag on the ground, before he took his seat forcing his eyes to your face. He didn’t want to feel like a pervert staring at your thighs. The position causes Spencer to have to look slightly up at you, in turn you smiled at him after taking a sip of your drink. He turned slightly side to side in the swivel chair, a nervous energy overtaking him. His knee bumping into your leg softly. He usually was so full of words, but in your presence he was once again speechless. “How was the case?” You spoke up first, breaking the relative silence that had been over taking. Spencer's eyes wandered to his hands in his lap, where he held the cup a little awkwardly.

“Oh, it was a bit more difficult than expected.” He tried to find his voice, still feeling a little tongue tied around you. “There was a group of male bodies found in more of a ritualistic setting in a warehouse. Laid out with their heads towards each other in a cross like fashion, all dressed in white, and with myrrh found on their hands. At first we thought of ritual killings, after learning they were all members of the parish it seemed most likely…” When Spencer looked up and saw you were watching him with undivided attention he was surprised. Normally when he rambled people were either bored or cut him off quickly because it was an inconvenience to them. Yet it seemed to him you weren’t inconvenienced at all. He stopped, feeling his heartbeat pick up again. 

“But it wasn’t a ritual killing? Was it made to look like one then?” You asked him. Your interest in the story was clear to him. You were leaning slightly closer, towards him, the smell of cinnamon mingling with your perfume was a little distracting to him. “It was but not really intentionally I suppose.” He continued to explain the case. He had managed to find his voice, describing what happened, how they managed to track down the unsub, and how the killing was done by a former church member who wanted to expose the victims for their wrong doings. When you would interject with questions he had time to sip his coffee. Slowly but surely the cup grew colder, the coffee becoming less likable with each sip but he didn’t seem to mind as much. So he moved closer to the desk, in turn slotting his knees around your right calf, before placing the coffee cup on the desk. He preferred this, being close to you. Enjoyed the way you were listening to him and showing interest.

“What was it like here?” Spencer asked after he answered your last question about the myrrh, changing the subject to you. He wanted to know how you spent your time, wanted to know what you liked. The idea of learning more about your hobbies and interests had taken up residence in his head. The entire time he had been away there was just this difficulty focussing on the case. Hotch had even called him out on his lack of focus, remarking that he had been unfocused and to get some shut eye if he had a difficulty due to lack of sleep. Instead he had gone back and picked up his phone to look at your number. Debating to call, scared you wouldn’t pick up. When you did hang up the first time he felt a little defeated, his heart was beating out of his chest. However, still feeling like he needed to try again, he hit the call button again. When you did pick up that time, and your voice rang out through the speaker on his phone, relief washed over him. Starting to ramble on as he tried to find the right words to explain how he felt. His heartbeat was still a mess, his head an even worse one. That was until you had explained you had given him his number because you wanted him to call. Suddenly, he could think again.

“Oh, it was fine. When you called I was over at Pen’s place, maybe she told you about it. Other than that it was pretty normal. Currently I am still working on some tests on the stomach contents of a presumed poison victim. I did get something interesting. Do you want to see?” Your smile was infectious as you placed a now empty coffee cup next to Spencer’s discarded one. Spencer watched enamored at your shift, the excitement washing over you showing just how special this thing was. That apparently it had made your week.  "Of course." He answered, delighting in getting to know just a little of what you enjoyed. Spencer watched as you hopped off the desk, suddenly standing so close to him. He really looked up at you, taking a deep breath to take in that intoxicating perfume. You were practically straddling one of his legs as you stood there. He was scared to move, just in case he touched something he wasn't supposed to. His heart beating out of his chest, he could swear he could feel the heat from your skin through the fabric of his pants.

The moment was short lived when you moved a step back and around. Making your way to one of the many cabinets that lined the wall. Some with warning stickers only alluding to the dangers of the content. The one you walked to didn't have any of those labels on them, it was lower than most other cabinets picking up what looked like a frame. He watched you, the way your hips swayed did something to him. Spencer averted his eyes before he got off of the chair, walking over towards you. “It came in yesterday after you called. Maybe you find it a little weird so don't freak okay.” You looked back over your shoulder. Spencer's heart skipped a little, for some reason when you looked over your shoulder the light hit just right, making you glow. All he could think about was wanting to be close to you then. How wonderful you looked. More importantly, how soft your lips looked.

“I won't, I have seen a lot of weird things.” Spencer promised. Taking a few steps closer so he was a foot or 2 away from you. His face was still feeling warm as the urge to be close continued to brew. “You probably have.” you turned to face him as you spoke, still holding the box with the glass facing your body. “So, my favorite books of all time are the Hannibal books. I know… predictable. But they are wonderful books.” you turned the box and Spencer was faced with a beautiful death’s head hawk moth, pinned up against a dark blue background. He smiled a little, having you excited over a moth that was on the cover of your favorite book. He had to file that away for later. “I saw someone sell it online, and just had to have it.” You sounded a little embarrassed. He could see the small flush return to your cheeks. “It's a beautiful specimen.” He answered, “Did you know they squeak when distressed?” He added, unable to stop himself from fact sharing. “I do now.” The smile you wore made him want to lean in, want to kiss you. It was overwhelming. So he bit his lip, not wanting to do something to scare you away. This was new.

You turned away from him, placing the pinned moth back on the small cabinet. Spencer took a step even closer without even thinking. When you turned around you looked surprised, head tilting up to look him in the eyes. He took note of the little breath you took in, how your eyes lingered on his face as your surprise faded away. Just like you had done that first meeting. The mood shifted from nervous excitement to something more intimate. “Spencer?” The way you said his name made his mind go stupid, he could listen to you saying his name over and over again for all eternity. “Yeah?” He said it softly, not sure if you really wanted an answer, or if he even had the brain capacity to answer you coherently. “You’re staring.” The tease in your tone was clear as day. Yet you spoke so softly, with your cheeks dusted in pink. “So are you.” He whispered back. His heart was beating out of his chest. "Touche." You whispered back. With how close you were, the mingle of cinnamon and cherry was too much. He couldn’t think any more. His hand was itching to reach up, to cup your cheeks as he would kiss you.

Spencer’s mind wandered with the idea of how your lips would taste. Obviously the cinnamon would be there, but what else. He wanted to find out. Wanted to kiss you until the coffee was gone and he could just taste you. How his hands would course through your soft hair, or hold your head as he kissed you. Then again he wanted his hands to hold your thighs, the ones which were so enticing to him. The feeling of your soft skin under his fingers, the idea made his mouth water. So, he gently moved his hand up, his fingertips gently caressing your cheek. Your skin was as soft as he expected, maybe even slightly more so. You were warm, flushed and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Wanting to drink up every little reaction, every movement and intake of breath. “Spencer.” You breathed his name. Another eruption of butterflies in his stomach. “Is this okay?” he asked, tucking a small piece of hair behind your ear. It was as smooth as he envisioned. 

You nodded your head, eyes still transfixed on his face. It was cute, Spencer thought, the way you were suddenly the one at a loss for words. How both of you seemed to be so affected by each other. He moved his hand again, placing it where your jaw met your neck, he could feel your heartbeat racing under your skin. A smile tugged at his lips. He was about to lean in, to press his lips softly to yours, unable to resist the urge, when suddenly an alarm rang throughout the lab. Pulling him from the intimate moment. A little resentful of the equipment interrupting him. He watched you close your eyes and breathe out through your nose almost with a sigh. “I have to get that. If I don’t I might not get accurate readings on the toxicology.” You looked a little disappointed. Spencer felt just a little pleased at that. “I understand, my team is probably wondering where I am too.” He responded, taking a step back and allowing you space. He was surprised when you placed your hands on his shoulders, “lean down a little.” He did as you asked, leaning down until his face was almost level with yours. You tipped up onto your toes, the platforms making you at eye level with him.

You smiled, quickly planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He felt his cheeks flush as his brain went blank as his senses just filled with you. “There, that will have to do for now.” You spoke as you pulled away. Spencer was wide eyed but he felt his lips curve into a dopey smile. “It will, for now.” He answered. “You better wash that off before you go back to the bullpen.” You were referencing the lipstick stain on his cheek most likely. “I might want to keep it.” He knew that Derek would tease him for it. It would be a reminder of you though. Of your lips on his skin. “Hmm, don’t blame me for the relentless teasing you will undergo if you do.” You grinned before turning to head to the beeping machine. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Spencer said and you looked back over your shoulder. “See you tomorrow.” You called back before getting to work on the tox screen.

Before Spencer returned to the bullpen he made a quick stop at the mens restroom, taking out his small phone and snapping a picture of your lipstick mark on his cheek. A reminder for later. Before he washed it off with reluctance. He was already looking forward to tomorrow.

Tag list: @depressedbutartsy @sarai-ibn-la-ahad

[call-me-eds]

The Boy is Mine (call-me-eds version)

I was not tagged in @carolmunson 's writing challenge, and encourage with her for other small writers to jump in and participate in anything that sparks interest or creativity! Find the guidelines here and check out her ongoing masterlist to see all of the other incredible editions :)

Masterlist

A romantic night in at the trailer. 

Fluff | WC: 2.5 K

“I ran out of, like, nice cups, is this okay?” Eddie extended a plastic souvenir cup with the Cubs logo half chipped off, and it took everything in you not to slap it out of his hand. 

The gravity of this night was not being taken seriously by anyone, and it was driving you up a wall. You could only give your own 100%, nothing more, but apparently you’d need to drag the effort from the Munson’s with your bare hands.

“No, it’s not okay! This is a date, you need to make a good impression,” you abandoned your station at the counter to start rifling through cabinets. There were three open bottles of whiskey in the trailer but not a single cocktail glass. Eddie’s soft voice barely pulled your wandering thoughts from wondering how long it would take you to run home to get two of your own glasses.

“Baby, do I need to remind you that neither of us are going on this date?” he asked, avoiding the urge to come behind you and put his hand on your shoulders to manually relax them. He didn’t want to lose a limb and you were dangerously close to the knife block. He looked on, feeling helpless in his own home while you ran around like the queen was coming over.

Whatever, it could have been possible that you were going a little overboard, but all you wanted was for Wayne to have a good night. He was so kind and hardworking, and putting up with Eddie was an exhausting job. The man was a saint.

So you messed with one of the lightbulbs to dim the light, fluffled the one throw pillow that the men had, and convinced Wayne to take his time getting ready while you and Eddie made a round of drinks that didn’t come with a tab or need a bottle opener. 

“We don’t have time for reminders, just line the rims,” you said, carefully putting down the only two matching drinking glasses. They weren’t the martini glasses in your vision, but they would have to do. 

“Vanilla frosting?” he confirmed. “What, is this Christmas-themed?” he joked, but took care in looking at the photo on the recipe you ripped out from an old home magazine you found. He gently inserted the glass and spun it around. No matter how much he teased you, you knew that he wanted the night to go well for his uncle just as badly as you did.

“So what if it is? Who doesn’t love Christmas?” you asked, going back to arranging the food you put on a tray you found that might have been older than Eddie. He finished his task, taking the care he knew you would have, quickly swiping his finger through the sugary substance when you were turned away.

“Everyone does, it’ll be a hit,” he said, maybe just to make you feel better, and licked his finger clean before you could catch him. “But if you don’t relax, you’re going to hit the floor,” he side-swiped you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, going to the sink.

With the self-imposed expectations you put on yourself to ensure your boyfriend’s father figure had a great night was the guilt that came from forcing your man to anticipate your wants for the night. There weren’t any canceled plans, and just a few snippy comments, but you were sure there were other ways Eddie would want to be spending his Saturday night off from work. Between ironing the one tailored shirt in Wayne’s closet and taking your own laundry down from the clothesline, you told Eddie to call Steve and make plans to meet him and Robin at The Hideout for a few drinks. 

Non-peppermint drinks. Which smelled like Macy’s in December and were definitely from the holiday edition of the magazine. You didn’t have time to overthink your out-of-season choice, though, because Wayne was coming out of the bathroom smelling suspiciously like Eddie when you went out on special occasions. A mental note fleetingly popped into your head to buy your boyfriend his own, different scented, bottle of cologne.

“I could have sworn I told you two to scram,” Wayne said, a hint of sincerity in his mocking tone. His eyes scanned over your spread with equal parts appreciation and confusion. Fine, maybe wintery cocktails, carrots, and crackers didn’t exactly go together, but you were working on a tight timeline and whatever you could scrounge up from the Quick-Mart.

“We’re going soon, I swear,” you promised, mixing the combination of ingredients that you thought might be on the sweet side for Wayne’s preference, but were sure that his date would prefer to a Heineken. There wasn’t a cocktail shaker at your disposal, a measuring cup and a fork would have to get the job done.

Eddie could read the two of you like a book. The nervous energy you were emitting had him wanting to stay out of the way, so he washed and dried the few dishes you dirtied in record time. The domestic act may not have been as exciting as ripping a guitar solo, but it was just as sexy to you, especially when you didn’t even need to ask. Not that you were paying a speck of attention to him at the moment.

“Now Sally’s just coming over for a little while before we go to our rummy game,” Wayne said, sounding like he was warning you both to behave before leaving you with a babysitter. “So you don’t have to be out all night, but I don’t want you making her feel crowded,” he pointedly looked at Eddie this time, who couldn’t even pretend not to understand.

The last time the two of you had been around when Wayne’s “friend” Sally came over, Eddie wouldn’t stop asking her questions about her job, her family, her weekend routine, and you feared he was getting dangerously close to inquiring about her medical history and savings account.

“We’ll be out of your hair, don’t worry,” you confirmed, doing one last sweep to make sure there wasn’t a trace of Eddie in the living room. As endearing as he might be, your boyfriend had a tendency to leave anything that belonged to him in the shared space of the trailer. 

“Now listen, here, partner,” the dark-haired Tasmanian devil strode up to his uncle in imitation and smacked a hand on his shoulder. “We’re not going far, so if there’s any funny business going on under this roof I will know about it.” The two of you heard a version of the same speech any time Wayne was going to the bar or leaving for a shift and you two would be by yourselves. It had the opposite effect, making you act all the more quicker so you’d be put back together when he came back home.

“Son, I was getting into funny business before you were born,” he responded, knocking Eddie’s bravado right off its kilter.

“Oh, ew, I don’t want to think about that!” he whined, blush appearing faster than his hands could cover his face.

“Well, if you don’t quit it, we’re going to have a problem, then.”

“Leave him alone, let’s go,” you said, grabbing the bag of snacks reserved for you two from your grocery trip. “Have fun, Mr. Munson,” you smiled. Even though you were setting him up for a night of romance and intimacy, you still couldn’t bring yourself to call him by his first name. 

“Thank you, Darlin’, I’ll see you later,” he said, reaching out to ruffle Eddie’s hair before he was out of reach. 

“Hey!” You opened the door to separate the two before a wrestling match broke out and a button popped or a hair came out of place.

“And if you don’t start opening doors, boy, you won’t even be in amusing business, nevermind funny!” he called after the two of you, making you laugh. He kept walking, grabbing your hand and waving it around so his uncle could see the small act of romance.

The two of you strolled in between the trailers as the sun was dipping below the horizon. You let the stillness of the evening come over you, decompressing from your few high-string hours. The adrenaline seeping out of you made you more tired than you should have been before sunset, and you accepted that your actions were a bit overkill. But you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Your uncle looked really nice,” you commented, smiling at the thought of him deciding what to wear and pulling out his fanciest belt buckle. “Like a real gentleman.”

“And you like that?” Eddie asked. “You’re not exactly dating the swankiest guy in town,” he flicked the hand that wasn’t holding yours up and down, gesturing to his sweatpants and t-shirt. You wouldn’t dignify his self-deprecation with a response, so you just squeezed his hand.

“He was nervous, it was cute,” you deflected. Eddie sat down in one of the chained-down adirondack chairs that the trailer park had surrounding a few singed logs that were last tended to before you had even met the Munsons. He reached down to grab the security measure and tug another chair as close as it could possibly get to his.

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just stayed in my room or something,” he said as you sat down. “I could have behaved myself.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, his mumbling was evidence even he didn’t believe it. “Whatever, I’ll just read about it in his little notebook later that he pretends isn’t a diary.”

“Eddie!” you laughed. “Let him have some privacy, he’s a grown man.” As you and Eddie got older, he tended to treat his uncle more like a roommate than an elder. When you first started dating he would have taken his arm from being around your shoulders when Wayne walked into the room, where now he tried to convince you that walking around in his boxers wasn’t weird, it was like wearing your own shorts.

“You love him more than me,” he deduced, flopping in the chair like a depressed fish.

“Aw, don’t be like that. that’s not even true,” you swung your leg over the arms of your chairs, and his hand drew like a magnet to your calf, starting to rub it with the amount of pressure he learned you preferred.

“Yes it is, that’s why you always want to come over to my place. You’re using me to get to him and his union insurance,” he teased, sending you into a further fit of giggles.

“Would someone that bought you your nasty snacks be using you?” you asked, handing him the plastic bag with the beef jerky he loved so much.

“You do always say this will give me a heart attack,” he smiled, ripping open one of the packages with his teeth. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, Eddie’s massaging hand lulling you into a level of relaxation that let you both know you wouldn’t be joining Steve and Robin at the bar like you originally planned. With all of his talk of malintentions on your front, you were pretty sure that he was trying to lull you into the state you were in now so he wouldn’t want to go out. 

Eddie talked a big game, but when faced with the decision to hit the town or stay curled up in bed with you, he was hiding your shoes, boiling water for tea, and putting a blanket on the radiator for maximum comfort. 

“Hey, you know I appreciate it, right?” he asked through his chewing. 

“What, the snacks? They were like, two bucks,” you told him. He pinched your skin lightly, chastising you for making him talk about how he truly felt,

“No, you doing all of that for Uncle Wayne.” You kept your eyes on the stars that were starting to dot the sky. It was always so much easier to spot them from the trailer park, even more so with Eddie by your side.

“I was happy to,” you reassured. It wasn’t a secret how much you loved spending time not only with your boyfriend, but with his uncle. He always made space for you in his home and trusted you with the most important thing in his life. 

“I know, but it still means a lot, Sweetheart. I love you,” he lifted your leg slightly so he could lean down and press his lips to your ankle where your leggings separated from your sock.

“I love you,” you answered automatically.

“Next week I’ll make sure he goes out so I can give you a romantic evening,” he promised.

“This is a romantic evening,” you hummed.

“Baby,  I know I’m white trash, but don’t let me drag you down into thinking this is romance,” he laughed. You sighed and finally took the bait from all of his negative quips.

“Okay, what’s your idea of romance, then?” 

“Not helping my uncle get laid,” he scoffed. You pulled your leg from his grasp to lightly kick at his chest. “Alright, alright. If I had unlimited cash I would start by hiring a chef to cook for us so we wouldn’t even need to leave the house,” he started, cajoling your leg back into his grasp to continue his massage.

“Does that mean I wouldn’t have to dress up?” you asked.

“Ideally, you wouldn’t be wearing anything,” he said, fully meaning it. “I’d have a new piece of jewelry come out with every course, so I guess you could wear that. And after we ate, maybe I’d hire someone to play us a concert, like Prince or someone. Then we’d go fly to France for dessert on my private jet and come home to the penthouse and watch the sunrise,” he finished.

“That’s not romantic at all,” you said. “That’s just expensive.” You pulled away this time not to punish him, but to get closer. His hand was warm from the work it was putting in on your muscles as opposed to the normal chill. 

“Okay, so then what was the right answer?” he asked. 

“This, just being together,” you said, knocking the air from his chest and the canned response from his lips. 

It was a simple answer that held much more beneath the surface. What you weren’t saying was that every time you were with him felt like you were winning the lottery. The idea of a five-star meal and some diamonds were nice, but you’d take Eddie heating up a can of soup on the stove, a bracelet made of string and beads, and him playing the same guitar riff over and over for hours over anything he could cook up in his mind.

Despite the nice picture he painted, running through his mind was a more similar scene to yours, except there was a ring on your finger.

“I guess that sounds good, too.”

[kinley-cafe]

Kinley Café Current Menu

The menu may change based on the season or special holiday. Text version with full menu and item descriptions can be found below the cut

ORDER NOW

CONTACT DISPATCH

Drinks

🔥 "You Still Owe Me that Beer" Float  A deliciously tart and creamy root beer float made with quality craft beer and decadent French vanilla ice cream. This delightful treat comes with one turnout straw and one flight suit straw.

🔥 Fake Mouth Static Sparkling Tea  Extra fizzy kshhh butterfly tea ksshhh with honey, berries ksshhh and a helicopter ice cube

🔥 Like That Tommy’s preferred coffee order (Iced almond milk flat white in a clear tumblr with a flaming heart sticker on the cup).

🔥 Cat 5 hurricane Cappuccino A rich and creamy cappuccino in a (possibly stolen) LAFD Helicopter themed mug. 

🔥 Crosstown Cafe Noir Smooth and rich dark roast coffee, with an unexpected kiss of sugar in a cup that shares a pattern with Buck’s shirt from the night of his and Tommy’s first kiss.

🔥 Muay Thai Lessons A refreshing Mai Tai mocktail tea with Muai Thai glove shaped ice cubes, garnished with delicious fruits and a keepsake hook ladder.

🔥 “I took a guess” Mystery Coffee  Not like that. It’s definitely not what you want, but Buck tried his best and that’s all that matters. It's a random coffee with undisclosed, completely random ingredients, served in a green to-go coffee cup wrapped in a cardboard coffee cup sleeve, decorated all over with brown hearts and flames.

🔥“That Fire Was A Beast” thirst quencher  Hydrating strawberry dragon fruit, topped with whipped cream and soot colored chocolate drizzle. Served in a fire hydrant cup.

🔥The “Confident and Interesting” A rich chocolate milkshake served in a beast of a beer pitcher, topped with a mountain of whipped cream, flame cherries, blazing sprinkles, a chocolate propeller and 118 helmet. Made for two.

Desserts

🔥 118 Cream Donuts Bavarian Cream Donuts with fire engine red strawberry frosting and ember sprinkles.

🔥 Fire and Ice Cream  A flaming scoop of Orange Strawberry Lemon Swirl Soft Serve in a keepsake turnouts cup.

🔥 Clipboard Buck’s Croissants A flaky and delicious croissant baked to absolute perfection with a precisely measured dollop of fresh whipped cream and exactly 4 strategically placed, flame-shaped strawberries on top.

🔥 Flying Lessons Fudge Bon Bons Delicious fudge-filled bon bons molded with a headset and wrapped in a pilot jumpsuit colored wrapper.

🔥 Bachelor Party S’mores Sliders Dark chocolate and gooey marshmallow sandwiched between  cinnamon Sweet Rolls. Don’t take too many, or you might pull back a bloody stump!

🔥 Are We Still Talking About Cake? Layered Vanilla cake with Strawberries, buttercream icing and a candy LAFD logo. Go ahead and take it to your table. So you can eat it.

🔥“I’m An Ally” Cookie Bars Delicious copycat Italian cookie bars with bisexual flag layers. Made for any ally, or...more than an ally.

🔥 Daddy Issues Devil’s Food Cake Bites   Red wine chocolate cake bites with a wine ganache drizzle and some flaming hot cayenne whipped topping. Perfect for an intimate evening at home.

🔥 Open Channel Chocolate Muffins Chocolate muffins topped with cream cheese frosting and chocie talkies (chocolate walkie talkie shaped chips)

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Buck’s Happy Hour

🔥“I am free” This eye opener cocktail is a refreshing and invigorating beverage that features rich coffee with deep, malty notes of stout that lingers in your mouth, much like the sweet taste of a first kiss. It combines vodka, cold-brew coffee, coffee liqueur, stout beer, and a sweet brown-sugar syrup. Garnished with heart shaped mint.

🔥The 24 Hour Shift A highly caffeinated, creamy cocktail with sweet and smooth flavors, made to keep you going for hours. This cocktail is blended with nitro brew, bourbon, brown sugar, and half and half, topped with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick. 🔥Intermittent Showers This cocktail is excitement in a glass. A rush of sweet, smooth and fizz, made with cold-brew coffee, club soda, berry infused rum, simple syrup, topped with silver storm cloud whipped topping and a mini chocolate helicopter.

🔥The “Tommy, Actually” Made with craft beer and espresso to combine strong, bold coffee with the rich flavors of beer, featuring the unexpected sweetness of the heavy cream, coffee liqueur, and whipped topping. Topped with whipped cream and Edible gold Air Ops Pilot Wings.

Anytime Menu

🔥 The Q Word Have you been jinxed? Order one of these special to-go combos to help you get through the chaos ahead.

🔥 “Badass Coffee Mug” Ready to go up? Order this combo whenever you’re in the mood  for a Harbor Station tour from a hot pilot to put a smile on your face.

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[c-e-d-dreamer]

Top Shelf Love: Chapter 2

A/N: Has anyone else been watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs? Just Me? I haven't decided yet who I want to be in the final ever since my Canes have been eliminated... Anyways! All this to say that it's been fun writing this hockey fic while watching hockey, and I hope everyone enjoys reading this latest chapter :)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Despite having played the Kraken in Seattle once last season, Cassian has to admit it’s pretty nice being on the home side of Climate Pledge Arena. Sure, playing in a place like Madison Square Garden most nights was a dream, one he held since he was just a boy, but there’s something to be said about all the upgrades and modernity that a newer arena has to offer.

Following the director of team services out of the elevator, they come to a set of frosted glass doors, the Kraken logo split between the two. As they step closer, the doors automatically slide open, revealing the locker room, and Cassian barely swallows down an impressed whistle. It’s certainly spacious, even for an NHL locker room, LED lights and the Kraken logo displayed on the ceiling. At least, he won’t have to worry about stepping on it here.

“Valdarez.”

Cassian turns just in time to see a tall man walking toward him, blonde hair cut short and beard trimmed to just a stubble along his cheeks. His grin is wide and easy, revealing the chipped upper tooth on the left side. It’s easy enough for Cassian to recognize the captain of the team, Fionn Donoch. He still remembers watching him lift the Cup back when Cassian was just a teen.

“Wanted to make sure I came down to meet you myself,” Fionn continues, holding out his hand for Cassian to shake.

“Are you sure you didn’t just want to come down and remind me who’s really in charge here?”

Fionn laughs good naturedly at the joke, slapping Cassian on the back. “You’re going to fit right in here. So, what do you think so far?”

Cassian glances around the locker room again, thinking back to the practice facilities he’d toured earlier. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice, all the fancy arena upgrades.”

“Definitely not the worst place to call home, right? Listen, they don’t have the ice down yet, but I can still show you if you want.”

At Cassian’s nod, Fionn leads the way out of the locker room. They pass through a glass lined hallway, Fionn explaining how during game days, it’s lit with blue LED lights, how fans typically line the other side, banging the glass and getting the boys going. Then they’re stepping onto the home bench and the arena floor, and Cassian gets to appreciate what the view will be from ice level. He turns slowly in a circle, taking in the stands, the scoreboards, the afternoon light streaming through the wall of windows.

He takes a deep breath in, and for a moment, he can almost hear it. The blare of the goal horn. The roar of the crowd. He can almost feel the cool bite off the ice against his cheeks. Can almost feel the surety, the peace that comes from having it beneath his skates, from the comfortable weight of a stick in his hands.

“Have you met with Miller yet?”

Cassian shakes his head of the daydream, turning back toward Fionn. “Yeah, I met with the whole staff earlier this morning.”

He and Fionn continue to talk shop, talk the system, before making their way together toward the garage and their cars. Or, in Cassian’s case, his rental car until he’s able to secure a new apartment and get all his things shipped out. He supposes he should check in with that realtor Eris connected him with again.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out,” Fionn tells him, offering another easy grin as he hits the remote of his car. “Even if it’s just food recommendations.”

“Thanks, but I’m actually meant to be meeting up with a friend after this. She’s going to give me the whole tour of the city and all that.”

“She, huh? Let me know if I need to pass her number along to the wife. I don’t think they’ve done dues yet for this season.”

Cassian chuckles at the teasing smirk on Fionn’s face, the implication of his words. But then he thinks back to Nesta. Thinks back to the photos of her Instagram, to those icy blue eyes and that damn expression on her face. He can’t deny there’s been a low, simmering heat in his gut all morning, sparking at the fact he finally gets to meet Nesta, finally gets to witness that fire in person.

“Only if I’m lucky.”

~ * * * ~

Large, looping letters declare Grumpy & Sunshine Books above the door, the window display to the left of the door decked out with an artsy display of flowers and hanging book pages. Cassian glances down at the phone in his hand, the Map displayed on the screen there, confirming he’s in the right place. With a nod, he pockets his phone and presses forward, stepping through the front door.

The scent of paper and ink greets him as soon as Cassian steps inside, along with something vanilla. A candle that he can’t see? There’s a table display of books immediately inside, and Cassian casts them a cursory glance, taking in more looping text and what looks to be a variety of cartoon characters on the covers. He weaves around shelves and more table displays, past a wall of vines and succulents and a pink neon sign declaring Most ardently.

And at the very center of the store, Cassian finds the register and the woman he’s looking for bent over a book behind it. Cassian had known Nesta was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen since he first saw her picture, but seeing her in person is another thing altogether. Seeing her standing there in front of him almost has him wanting to drop down to his knees right there in the middle of the bookstore.

Her hair is braided back in an intricate updo, but with her head bent down, a strand of golden brown hair tumbles down her temple and kisses her jawline. Deft fingers brush the hair aside and behind her ear absently, further revealing the sharp cut of her cheekbones. When she turns the page of her book, her lips part, eyebrows jumping, and Cassian thinks he might give anything to see her eyes properly, to see if they spark and flare along with whatever she’s just read.

He’d give anything to have those eyes on him.

“Reading on the job?”

Nesta snaps her book closed, her attention finally rising, and Cassian gets his first look at those blue eyes he’s so often thought about. They’re a similar shade to Feyre’s, sure, and yet so different somehow. They seem to burn with a silver fire that leaves the cool shade of them looking like a storm roiled sea, especially when that gaze narrows on him, her lips pinching into a scowl.

Cassian doesn’t let the reaction deter him. If anything, it only stokes the embers in his own chest, beckoning him into the flames. He closes the final few steps between them, leaning against the register counter with a smirk.

“Nesta Archeron,” Cassian greets.

“Cassian Valdarez.”

His name falling from her lips shouldn’t sound as sweet as it does, especially with the clipped tone she speaks it, but a zing of electricity still skitters down Cassian’s spine nonetheless. What would it take to have her saying his name again? To have her sighing it? For him to taste it?

“So you do know me, then?” Cassian drawls, daring to glance down at her book. A Calanmai Secret. “And yet, you couldn’t answer any of my texts.”

Nesta crosses her arms, leveling him with a hard look that Cassian is sure is meant to send him running. “Most people would take that as a hint. Yet here you are. In my bookstore.”

“Feyre said you’d show me around the city.”

“Feyre asked me to show you around. I don’t recall ever agreeing.”

“I’m starting to think you’re the grumpy on the sign outside,” Cassian chuckles softly, hoping to at least earn the hint of a smile at his teasing joke.

Instead, Nesta settles both hands on the register counter, leaning forward. “Buy something. Or get out of my store.”

Cassian tilts his head, taken back by the harsh reaction. He’ll clearly have to work harder to get her to smile or laugh. Challenge accepted. Already, he can hear Az’s voice in his mind, making a dry comment about his taste in women. Already, he can see the way Rhys would roll his eyes.

“Fine,” Cassian says easily with a shrug, stepping back from the register counter. “The historical section is…?”

Nesta merely points to a bookshelf to his left, so Cassian turns his attention toward it. He grabs the first book within reach, the spine a blue and green. He’s intent on striding right back up to Nesta and proudly purchasing the book, but then he catches sight of the cover. Of the shirtless man that takes up the cover, the model’s skin clearly oiled up so every ridge of muscle is on full display. A tartan hangs low on the man’s hips, and just above the man the title is scrawled, Highland Escape.

“This… is not what I meant.”

Rather than direct him toward the historical fiction section, Nesta crosses her arms across her chest, her lips tugging up into a smirk. And, oh, there’s a real challenge blazing in her gaze now, that fire that had called to Cassian even in photo form sparking in her blue eyes. It’s beautiful, that look on her face, daring him to play.

He glances around the bookstore again, this time with fresh eyes. The greenery on the walls, the different table displays, the pink neon sign with an Austen quote. Of course. He’d heard of bookstores like these, ones that specialize in romance novels.

When he looks back toward Nesta, she has that same daring expression on her face, her smirk already starting to grow as though she’s won. As beautiful as it is, as beautiful as she is, Cassian refuses to back down. Heat flares through his chest as he fights back a smirk of his own, more than ready to keep this game of theirs going. He clears his throat and turns back to the shelf, sliding the book in his hand back into place. He takes his time reading the different titles along the spine before finally settling on a different book, tugging it free and sidling back up at the register counter.

“I’ll take this one,” Cassian tells Nesta with a grin, sliding the book across to her.

Nesta hums, glancing down toward the book he’s selected. Viking Bride. Cassian waits for the mask to slip, to see a hint of a reaction take over her face, but she’s nothing but cool and silent as she rings him up. The transaction complete, she tucks his receipt into the cover of the book, sliding it back over to him.

“Have a nice day,” Nesta offers, her tone mockingly sweet.

Cassian reaches for the book, his fingers brushing along Nesta’s own until she snatches her hand away. “You know, I’m beginning to think you don’t like me.”

Nesta snorts and rolls her eyes. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Oh, yeah, Nes, you’re a real ray of sunshine right now.”

“Don’t call me that.”

There’s no stopping Cassian’s smirk at earning that reaction, a little tidbit he tucks away, even as he continues, “but it’s not really fair, is it? I mean, you don’t even know me. This is literally our first time ever meeting. What could I have possibly done?”

Nesta’s face falls, a new emotion flashing through her blue eyes. It’s certainly the cool, haughty mask slipping away, but not how Cassian wanted. He frowns at the sudden change, but before he can even begin to attempt to decipher what that emotion is, what that expression could mean, Nesta turns away from him.

“If I give you a tour of the city, will you leave me alone after that?”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta doesn’t know what she expected. She knew, in the back of her mind, that despite never responding to a single one of Cassian’s texts, that that wouldn’t be the last of things. But she can’t say she expected him to show up at her bookstore. Didn’t expect him to stride in with a smirk and an easy confidence, to almost proudly buy a viking romance novel.

She wants to hate that he still looks as good as the last time she saw him at Feyre’s engagement party. His hair is loose, dark curls hanging around his temples and tumbling down to his shoulders. His eyes are a hazel as bright as Nesta remembers, a maze of greens and golds that seem to spark with a flickering flame. And that cocksure smile has no damn right being as attractive as it is.

She wants to hate the way he didn’t back down from her ire, from all the quips she threw his way. Instead, he only seemed to rise to meet her, seemed to enjoy it as though it was a game between them. She wants to deny the way his fingers brushing against hers sent a shiver ricocheting up her arm and down her spine.

And he doesn’t even remember her.

She’d felt stupid that night in New York, but she feels even more stupid now. She certainly hadn’t expected an apology or anything, but this is like a slap in the face. And on the heels of that churning feeling roiling through her gut is anger. It burns red hot through her veins, flaring like a wildfire that licks between her ribs.

“If I give you a tour of the city, will you leave me alone after that?”

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly, that cocksure smirk finally slipping. “You want me to leave you alone?”

“What are you doing here?”

Nesta’s attention snaps toward the new voice, finding Emerie standing just inside the door, her brown eyes narrowed on Cassian.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Cassian answers easily despite Emerie’s clipped question. He holds his hand out toward her to shake, but Emerie doesn’t take it. “I’m Cassian.”

“I know who you are,” Emerie tells him airily, stepping behind the register counter.

She reaches out as she passes, fingers curling around Nesta’s wrist and squeezing lightly. It’s a silent question out of view of Cassian’s eyes, to check that she’s alright. Nesta meets her best friend’s gaze and offers the smallest hint of a nod.

“You do? Are you a hockey fan, then?” Cassian asks, unaware of the silent conversation happening without him.

Emerie snorts at the implication. “No. There’s only one hockey fan in this bookstore, and it’s not me.”

“I feel like you don’t like me either…” Cassian comments quietly, tilting his head slightly. “Is everyone the grumpy on the sign? You might want to consider a new name if there’s no sunshine.”

“Gwyn is the sunshine, and trust me when I say you’re lucky that you don’t have to deal with her.”

Nesta has to press her lips together to keep from laughing at the way Cassian’s eyes widen slightly in horror. It’s certainly not a misplaced expression. Gwyn was one of Nesta’s first friends when she first moved to Seattle, and while the redhead is one of the kindest people Nesta has ever met, she’s also the fiercest. Beneath all the bright smiles and easy laughs there’s a viciousness that can and will be released, especially when it comes to those Gwyn cares about.

“I don’t know. You said there’s one hockey fan, right? And I’m guessing it’s this Gwyn. Maybe I do want to meet her. We can talk all things Kraken.”

“Gwyn’s a Nashville fan,” Nesta informs Cassian. “They’re her hometown team.”

And dedicated to her hometown team she is. Nesta doesn’t think she’ll ever forget the first time she and Gwyn went to grab dinner at a sport’s bar, the first time witnessing the way Gwyn ranted and shouted at the large television on the wall.

Nesta waits for Cassian’s face to drop again at this newest tidbit, but what she doesn’t expect is for his grin to grow wider and stretch across his face, for the golds of his eyes to glint. He looks like a child that just stepped foot into a candy store, like this is exactly what he was waiting for, and it has Nesta frowning in confusion.

“My brother plays for the Preds. Azriel. You know, if she wanted, I could probably get her a signed jersey.”

“Gwyn would absolutely lose her mind,” Emerie comments under her breath.

“And what’s the price for this signed jersey?” Nesta dares to ask, squinting suspiciously at Cassian.

Cassian shrugs a shoulder, all faux innocence. “Well, you clearly don’t want to give me a tour, so how about just dinner? You can give me a list of your recommendations then.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“A dinner for a jersey. Sounds like a fair trade to me. Don’t you think, Nes?”

Nesta sighs, shaking her head. “Fine. One dinner and in exchange, you’ll get a Nashville jersey signed. By the whole team.”

Cassian’s smile twists into a smirk, gaze flickering and darkening as he holds his hand out across the register counter. “It’s a bargain.”

Nesta already knows she’s going to regret this, but she reaches forward, sliding her hand into Cassian’s. His fingers curl around her own with ease, his grip surprisingly gentle. His hand is so large compared to her own, practically swallowing hers whole, and the callouses slide against her palm when she pulls her hand back. She has to forcibly shove down a shiver before it can skitter up her spine in reaction.

“Let’s go, then,” Nesta says, gathering up her things where she stored them beneath the register.

She and Emerie share one final look before Nesta leads Cassian out the door and back onto the street. Thankfully, it’s a short walk to one of the local restaurants that focuses on PNW cuisine, a good introduction for Cassian to the city and area.

“So, I have to ask,” Cassian begins once they’re seated at a small table near the back of the restaurant, the waitress vanishing with their drink order.

“Ask about what?” Nesta asks, not even bothering to look up from the menu even though she already knows what she’s going to order.

“About the bookstore.”

Nesta’s gaze flicks over the top of the menu in her hands, eyes narrowing. “Some people like to read, meathead.”

Cassian tips his head back and lets out a booming laugh, earning a few curious looks from the other tables. “Did you really just call me a meathead?”

“I’ve seen you play, seen you fighting other players on the ice.”

“Are you watching my games, sweetheart?” Cassian asks, leaning across the table to smirk at her, those hazel eyes of his glinting in amusement again.

Nesta rolls her eyes, leaning forward as well to sneer, “you wish. I told you, Gwyn is a Nashville fan. I occasionally watch a game with her.”

Cassian hums, and Nesta bristles at the way he continues to eye her. Something about those hazel eyes is almost unsettling, as though he’s looking through her in a way no one ever has. It takes everything within her not to shift in her seat, to simply turn her attention back to her menu.

“History.”

Nesta looks up again with a frown. “What?”

“History,” Cassian repeats, leaning back casually in his chair. “That’s what my degree is in.”

“I thought hockey players got drafted at eighteen? That’s what Gwyn has always said at least.”

“That’s true, but not everyone joins the NHL right out of the draft. I played for my college team for two years before I was finally called up.”

“And what? You magically finished your degree in two years?”

Cassian laughs again, this time a low chuckle that’s surprisingly warm, that practically wraps itself around Nesta’s limbs. “Lucky for me, there’s this really amazing thing called online classes.”

“Oh.”

Nesta doesn’t know what else to say to that, but thankfully, she’s spared when their waitress returns to their table, ready to take their food orders. When she steps away again, Nesta no longer has her menu to use as a distraction, has nowhere else to look except at the man sitting across the table from her. The low light of the restaurant cuts shadows across his cheeks and jaw, the candles on each table flickering in and deepening the hazel of his eyes. The large span of his hand is on full display as he curls his fingers easily around the bottle of wine he ordered, filling Nesta’s glass before he fills his own.

“You never answered my question,” Cassian tells her, setting the bottle back down. “About the bookstore.”

“I told you, some people enjoy reading. Myself included.”

“Yeah, but I remember Feyre talking about how you went to law school, that you’d be terrorizing courtrooms and making everyone regret going up against you. So, what happened? How do you go from lawyer to bookstore owner?”

The urge to lash out, to make a snapping reply that diverts the conversation, claws up Nesta’s throat. She rarely talks about it, about him. The reason she made the move to Seattle in the first place, leaving a gaping wound as big as the distance between them with her sisters. The reason the dream she thought she had, the dream she swore she always wanted, shattered between her fingers like glass, shards cutting deep and leaving her bloodied. The reason she retreated and fell back into the shadows, that Emerie and Gwyn had to pull her out.

There are days where it all still feels so raw, no matter how much time has passed. Days where a sickening feeling will churn through her gut as soon as she opens her eyes. Days where she can still hear his voice, still feel his hands. Days where the voice in her mind morphs into her own worst thoughts, into her mother’s clipped, cool tone.

“My life fell apart, and I decided to open a bookstore with my friends,” Nesta finally answers with a derisive drawl. “Happy?”

Cassian’s face falls, lips tugging down in a small frown. “What does that mean?”

Nesta doesn’t want his pity. It’s the one thing she hates most, people looking at her with pity in their eyes. As though they feel sorry for her, as though she’s weak. When she finally walked away, finally got out, she swore to herself that she would never be weak again, and she’ll be damned if she starts now.

“Last I checked, I don’t have to tell you my whole life story. I answered your question, did I not?”

“Nes–”

“You get one dinner as part of our bargain, remember? Do you really want to ruin it?”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies @freakingata

[megamilfluvr]

Headcanons about Kate

These are just a few things I personally deem as headcanon about Kate, after rewatching and analyzing her interactions and personality traits. Please remember that this is just my perception of her. If you have anything you consider to be headcanon about Kate let me know.

- likes being playful and teases you a lot

- leans against EVERYTHING (example: doors, counters, couches, tables. hell, she’d probably even lean against you if you let her lmao)

- manspreads. always. (if you ask why she sits that way she’ll tell you “i don’t know. it’s just comfortable,” and you know what i can’t argue that)

- can’t sit straight. (if you find her sitting properly, it’s probably because of a formal gathering or a meeting)

- likes stealing kisses from you (you could be sitting, standing, laying down it doesn’t matter she’ll still manage to steal one from you. AND ITS ADORABLE)

- randomly does something that only makes sense to her and just confuses you (things like her leaving a half empty cup ramen with tinfoil over it and her explanation? “what? i was in a hurry to leave.”)

- always wears socks

- loves cereal, specifically Frosted Flakes

- can accurately shoot up to five arrows at the same time

- loves to spoil you

- sometimes likes to splurge on perfumes (she’s not big on jewelry but fragrances? absolutely.)

- has a spacific playlist for working out

- made a playlist for you

- can’t take care of live plants, so she buys fake ones (she just doesn’t have a green thumb. any greenery you see in her apartment or dorm isn’t real lmao)

- loves target

- tried to hit the target logo with a plunger arrow (this is very on brand for kate)

- somehow burned water??? (we’ve established that she can’t cook multiple times by almost burning the apartment down. the one time the apartment burned, wasn’t her fault, but still kinda was lmao)

- collects squishmallows (she definitely buys the 24 inch squishmallows)

- if she doesn’t get her way she’ll start cutely pouting

- gets flustered when you’ve out rizzed her

- loves to act cocky around you (whatever you do don’t challenge her to a game of fencing, she wins. she’ll let that go to her head lmao)

- loves going to the movie theater with you

- gets excited to get a slushy and popcorn

- when she talks about you to someone she gets shy

- mumbles stuff under her breath (when she was talking with yelena in episode 6 she’s LITERALLY doing it. “yeah, i know what box mac n cheese tastes like, okay? i know it’s- i know it’s delicious.”)

- she’s insecure about her rambling but you always reassure her that it’s fine and you’re listening

- she’s spent too much money on a gaming pc

- only owns a pair of boots (it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing, she’s going to wear her boots even if it’s a dress)

- super clumsy (somehow in the field she’s good at not being clumsy, but oh my god she’ll make your blood pressure spike 100%)

- always thinks outside of the box (it's impressive how quickly she thinks on her feet)

- is surprisingly calm under certain serious situations (i mean she took down men double her size running right at her, i’d panic and run the opposite direction)

- doesn’t give up easily which results in her being stubborn sometimes

- you having to remind her to shut up or low her voice in very quiet places (you could be on a mission with her and a few others and she just randomly “hey, did you see that tiktok i sent you this morning?” “SHHH, is now really the time for that?”)

- will send unhinged texts at worse time (you’re both in a debriefing and she’ll just text something like, “okay, so hear me out… we kidnap him.” “what?! no. kate we’re not about to steal rocket!”)

- loves sending memes (that’s literally all of her tiktok fyp)

- ALWAYS LOSES HER APARTMENT KEYS (someone give this girl a tile… you know what she would also end up losing that too lmao)

- loves ring but ends up losing them

- has a matching arrow necklace with you (again, she doesn’t wear rings much since she’s always losing them, so she’d go with a bracelet or necklace)

- loves hats, hoodies and sweatpants (after seeing that one picture of hailee wear her hawkeye hat, it’s headcanon for kate)

- still somehow makes you laugh even when you’re upset with her

- it doesn’t matter what time of day it is, when she’s been assigned a mission. she’ll always make time to video chat with you

edited: i’ve proofread this like three times, if there’s still typos or anything just ignore them lmao

[through-rosey-glasses]

PWHL Teams and Which Taylor Swift Era They are in

My sister and I were talking about how Minnesota Frost is clearly in their Tortured Poets Department Era, and that inspired the rest of this post. This is just a fun little thing I did, please don't take it too seriously or personally.

(Also for swifties, I used the old versions of album covers as it refers to that era. Red TV is totally different than Red ya know.)

Minnesota Frost:

Currently in their The Tortured Poets Department Era. Basically messy despite being on top of the world. The album came out after the raging success of Taylor Swift in her Era's tour and winning her fourth album of the year at the grammy's. This new album brings out snappy lines targeted at fans and revelations at how Taylor Swift didn't live up to the ideal many fans had of her. In Minnesota we had the recent firing of the favored general manager and drafting of a controversial player. You can't convince me that Ken Klee wasn't blasting But Daddy I Love Him, as he made all his messy decisions.

Boston Fleet:

Speak Now was a Taylor Swift era filled with spite and determination. The whole album was written by Taylor Swift alone, partially because her ex and some critics accusing her of not being a proficient writer on her own. After losing the Walter Cup, the Boston Fleet have the confidence that they can make it far and the determination to be better. (I also think spite comes naturally to Boston, not like they need a motivation or something.) This era is very youthful but honest, and I think that energy would be great to see in Boston next season. Someone blast better than revenge.

Montreal Victoire:

A personal favorite of mine, the Red Era of Taylor Swift had it all. Heartbreak, style, chaos, parties, love. This era was also risky and complex, Taylor Swift blended country and pop, bringing critical acclaim and a wider fanbase. Montreal has had a fun, but chaotic summer. Their draft picks are a fair mix of old and new. (With that wild Kessel pick) Their name and logo got rave reviews. People see the the good foundation the team has and are waiting in anticipation for what's to come.

Toronto Sceptres:

Reputation is a come back era, and Toronto has something to prove. Following a devastating injury to a star player, the team wasn't the same during the playoffs. This season they are going to have to show that they are still that team. Reputation is a fan favorite album and I have found Toronto to have the strongest fanbase. (They sell out most often and have the largest social media presence.) The team knows they are good and they have the support, they just need to rebuild.

Ottawa Charge:

Folklore is an era of surprising change. During Covid and following the cut short run of Lover, Folklore was an unannounced reinvention of Taylor Swift. It wasn't an intentional change, but one forced by the way of the world. Ottawa needs to find its grove and step into its own again. I haven't heard much from Ottawa on anything really, and I hope its because they got some cool alt indie surprise on its way.

New York Sirens:

Listen I am not only picking 1989 because it has a cool New York aesthetic. This is the era of leaning in and giving it your all. When Red didn't win album of the year, Taylor Swift decided to move to New York and reinvent herself. New York was last in ranking last season, but got first in draft. They have been working off season with insane draft picks and that somehow it worked out trade with Boston. New York has the star power, the New York city life, and the rebranding to help turn them into something new.

[throwaway-yandere]

"Aren't You Supposed To Hate Me?" (Yandere Modern!Il Dottore/Reader)

CW: mild yandere

the real a/n: if you see me putting too many sylvia plath references, no– no you did not. Also, webttore rights. I promise he's not that bad bakery anon pls don't kill me-. ALSO LOGO'S MADE BY ESTHER ANON!!!

Mother of Klee, Alice’s note: When your bakery opens, can you make some Eton mess? What? “That’s not on the menu…?” Well, you should add it! My darling Klee looks adorable eating strawberries! Oh, but you're not leaving Teyvat Pro, right?

Yandere! 1k Idol Match-up Event

---------

According to what people have said about you, you exude calmness. And that it’s a strength. That your soothing and somewhat “motherly” presence puts you one step forward more than most people. But why isn’t your composure congruent with the frantic screaming inside of you that begged this lunatic to quit clutching your baking supplies?

Damn, this isn't the time to NOT be assertive, assistant (Y/n). Pull yourself together.

"Please stop. You're strangling it."

"We all die, (Y/n). The sooner you internalize that, the better."

The man in front of you is none other than your boss: "Il Dottore", the man behind the idol group ADDICKTZ's creative decisions. You have been given the responsibility of maintaining order among the original 4 ADDICKTZ members while he deals with the second batch after he chose you out of the other 22 interviewees. 

"Sir, we're just baking. Please use a proper measuring cup. Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor–"

"Master. Not sir. I suggest you speak to me in a more respectful tone, Assistant (Y/n). The mere fact of your utility does not make you indestructible."

"I understand that very well, sir– Master, but please put the dough down. I cannot allow you to do the frosting at this rate."

Dang Akademiyan scholars and their honorifics.

Zandik huffed, unsatisfied, before leaning back on his chair. 

"Mind you, I'm a licensed surgeon." He boasted snarkily. "I'd certainly outmatch you when it comes to steady hands, assistant."

"Well– shame that a medical degree does not automatically mean you'd be good at art, then."

"(Y/n), did I hire an imbicile? Answer me, who exactly are you working for?"

"You, Master Zandik." 

"And my occupation?"

" ADDICKTZ’s Creative Director–"

Zandik smugly raised an eyebrow.

"... I admit defeat."

ADDICKTZ values both of your artistic inputs. Even after work hours, you've done what you can to support DCKZ. You helped Diluc choose a haiku to confess his emotions not long ago, and more recently, you aided Zhongli to find inspiration in contemporary poetry for his lyrics. Sir Zandik, on the other hand, would help the group's plans progress from simple masquerades to a magnificent mashup of VISUAL Kei and distinctive pop elements with unbuckled bones facing the front view just tasteful enough to adhere to the unit's usual aesthetics.

Of course, these tasks are obviously trivial in comparison to what your "real work" entailed, and the CEO would split hairs if you joked about retiring. The doctor is no different; in fact, he is the most guilty of this dependence. Normally, superiors wouldn't break into their staff members' closed bakery at 2 in the morning on a Saturday, but Il Dottore has a few loose screws.

Partly, it's your fault too because Zandik has a crush on you.

That's not your ego talking– he admitted it three days ago. Maybe you would've accepted that confession if he didn't utter another word, you did hear Sohrah and the other staff members mention that he's some eye candy. The nose, the eye pits, the full set of pearly white teeth– those mean nothing when the person is Zandik. His personality is as foul as the things Ayato bought in the ADDICKTZ's hotpot game. You’re never crossing the water for an obvious red flag.

Following his direct confession, he went on to enumerate all of your faults in a psychopathic and alphabetical order. As to add more salt into the wound, Zandik brought out printed pictures and pointed at all the blemishes on your face that needed fixing before tossing a plastic surgeon's business card at you.  What an absolute jerk. Not the most romantic confession out there, but he did ask you out, right?

WRONG.

After his long spiel about being burdened by unnecessary dependence on you, he gave you an incentive to "look more unattractive during work hours" with a pay raise. 

So, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy. Yet, you can't loathe Zandik when he's THAT honest about his avid repulsed fascination. The man is mad, but being mad doesn’t make him stupid. He wants the exact opposite of the likable behavior reinforcement theory coming from you. Zandik would sooner receive the loving embrace of an iron maiden than be in a rendezvous. He wholeheartedly believes that love is an illusion of a Greek necessity– whatever that meant. 

You were ready to argue when he pulled out a contract that Zhongli had revised for added credence. As self-preservation reared its not noble but necessary head, your anger left you. His proposed numbers were bafflingly astronomical that you might just quit your job after the first pay…

The moon has nothing to be sad about once it witnesses your dreams bear fruit. Zandik knows that as well, that's why he visited your little bakery before its opening day, demanding that you make him any type of pastries. Unfortunately, you're the type who would adjust your schedule for others and not the other way around.

Zandik wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeves. "Mind if I strip?"

"E-Excuse me?" You chuckled nervously. "Strip your apron, right?"

"Hair extensions, assistant." He clicked his tongue, amused. "With some common sense, you would’ve discovered that they get in the way and that these two long strands are artificial. Clearly, you lack some degree of rigor expected for an assistant."

Should’ve expected as much. This is the same man who cut off Childe's hair because he's "so damn tired seeing everyone in this forsaken group have the same fucking rat tail." You're pretty sure the only person who thought it was mildly amusing was Dainsleif.

Still… Last time, he told you those two strands were part of his hair. Zandik is not the type who would pettily lie for a joke. He's as straightforward as CEO Alhaitham– for better or for worse. Maybe he has a twin brother or something… 

No, that’s just inconceivable.

Zandik watched in amusement as your forehead creased. 

"You should've worded that differently… Doesn’t matter. Is there a flavor you’d like? Chocolates or...?"

He answered immediately. “Strawberries. Saw Alice ate some with her daughter last night.”

“Definitely it's not because it's your favorite, I’m aware,” you mused sarcastically. “Since you’re not actually into strawberries, might I suggest chocolate?”

Zandik glared. “Why?”

You batted your eyes at him playfully. “Oh, doctor, don’t you know chocolates have the love drug? As Langston Hughes would say “Have you dug the spill of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims, on this sepia thrill–”."

“Debunked. It’s laughable that you would insinuate such an incorrect notion.” Zandik scoffed loudly. “Chocolates don’t directly pass phenylethylamine to our nervous system, you’re more likely to excrete these pathetic sweets off your a–” 

Never been a romantic. Dottore somehow loves to make it a point to remind you of that foul personality trait of his in every conversation.

“Alright, that’s enough. It’ll be strawberry flavored.” You sighed as you placed the tray inside the oven. “Might I say, you’re acting rather… cocky, for a lack of a better term, with how I should handle my work.” 

“In my many years of living, I’ve learned that arrogance is a side-effect of truth and intelligence.”

“Yes, but your methods of holding that dough is quite barbaric. Please let it go.”

“Tsk.”

Dead hands, dead stringencies– Zandik simply lacks the talent for baking due to his rigidity. He dropped the dough and you smirked for a second, relieved. You secretly have a competitive side and you'd hate to admit that you're scared he might just beat you at your own game because of the frostings.  

“Master Zandik, please just sit down. There are empty chairs at empty tables–”

He rolled his eyes, crossing his legs on your table. You tried not to scream at him about hygiene and barely succeeded. “Friends are all dead and gone– I know. Do not think you can reference Les Miserables without me knowing, baker.”

You shook your head as you set the timer. While you were preoccupied, it seemed as if the doctor just couldn’t sit still.

“Hmph, this is the only thing of interest I’ve found in your precious little bakery thus far.”

You turned to look at him.

Zandik paused in front of the small wall of photographs you had on display. A smile crept on your face as you remembered how proud you were of organizing the photos of your friends and family into a heart-shaped mosaic. There is a tiny square space in the middle and he correctly inferred that will be the center will be used to display a photo of the bakery's opening day. Be that as it may, his attention lay elsewhere.

"You had a violent streak, didn't you?"

"... Pardon?"

"You were the "problem child", that's my assessment," Zandik smirked, detaching a photograph from your wall, which surprised you since you've had trouble easing them free. 

He specifically picked the photo you took during kindergarten with your grandma. 

"You had scraped knees and elbows but you don't have that stereotypical dumb boyish smile. You seem to have quite a pronounced frown. Would I be wrong to assume you weren't well-liked in your school–"

“Put it back.” While you do generally dislike being put under a spotlight, the cause of your harsh delivery stems from his unpleasant phrasings.

Zandik pretended not to hear you, "–I'm not teasing you. I would know this because I had a photo similar to this one."

For a moment, you saw a flicker of melancholic humanity in your otherwise monstrously rigid employer. You thought that vulnerable display would be brief, but the hollow chuckle that echoed proved that this event will mark a milestone in your "work" relationship.

Master Zandik is opening up to you.

"Unlike this cute and happy memento, I don't have a grandmother who would take a picture with me. I’ve lost them all in the fire." He muttered, his voice low and his eyes squinting. "Hence the reason why I squandered most of my hours burying my nose in textbook after textbook. Pantalone and I had to prove ourselves worthy of living a life outside the orphanage. But this picture…"

Your boss grumbled. "This picture looks awfully similar to the only childhood picture I have taken. A large frown, beat-up uniform– a rage that I can relate to. I understand your child self all too well. Too well, in fact, that I feel the urge to burn this photograph like what I’ve done with mine."

He traced his thumb around your young self's image, shockingly intimate.

You blinked incessantly, trying to process all the information that he told you. First, your boss has no family left. Second, he’s an orphan raised alongside sir Pantalone. Third, he burned the only picture he had when he was a kid. You would pinch yourself but this conversation is jaggedly real. 

As sensitive as this topic may be, your skepticism slips out as easily as breathing. "You burned your only childhood photo?"

Zandik ruminated. 

"Curious as to what I would've looked like? You don’t seem to find my decision very agreeable."

"Who would?" You didn't mean to whine, but the tone of your voice made you sound like complaining. "What possessed you to do that?! Now no one would know what you looked like, not even yourse–"

"I didn't look too different as to who I am now," Zandik answered, his usual confidence coming back. "Only back then, shades of purple bruises would overlap my face, arms, legs, and stomach. If I loathed my natural features I would've done something drastic to tweak my appearance."

"Of course, you would, hair surgeon." You jokingly muttered Childe's best Dottore insult.

"What was that?"

For the sake of the hair Ajax is trying to grow out, you need to change the subject, fast.

"Master Zandik, I have to ask– aren’t you supposed to hate me? Pray tell, what are you doing here then?”

It’s been bothering you since he walked in. If he wants his “crush” for you to disappear, then why the hell is he spending more time with you?

Surprisingly, Zandik was also stunned by your question. His eyes went wide, perplexed.

“... What are you talking about?”

“You know what I meant.” You deadpanned. “The contract, what else?”

“Contract?” He squinted. “What contract? Is it a contract revised by Zhongli?”

“An astute guess.” You mocked his tone. “Yes, it is. Perhaps we’ve handled so many workloads the past month because of Sir Alberich’s eye-plucking shenanigans that’s why you forgot. To put it simply, you ordered me to act less attractive in exchange for a pay raise.”

“What?”

He looked at you incredulously, as if you were joking.

“Is this some kind of twisted joke?” Zandik huffed. “I would do no such thing. That’s...”

His demeanor shifted once, then twice. After a moment of silence, he nodded.

“Forgive me, you’re right. I did propose that contract, haven’t I?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And I also confessed my affection for you as well?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Pity.” He muttered, his tone grieving. “There should be no other person who can understand me more than I do.” 

Zandik glared. “But why on earth is He trying to sabotage us.”

He?

“What are you talking about?”

Zandik gritted his teeth and smiled. “No matter. There’s no need for concern, darling.”

…

Did Master Zandik always have shark-like teeth?

He reached out and ruffled your hair slightly, but there is an ominous aura that lingered in his expression. It was akin to self-loathing, but not quite. Zandik pulled his hand back slowly, clenching it into a fist as he walked away.

You will never understand what he was talking about. After all, “Zandik” failed to mention the most important aspect of that photograph.

He had no parents, aunts, uncles, cousins… But the outcast did stand next to someone in that single childhood photo he had.

And that person was the picture-perfect imitation of himself, the perfect “sibling”.

Il Dottore laughed.

Now, if he could just throw him in the fire too…

Ansytea: Thank you so much for joining the match-up event Bakery Anon! Please don't chop, cook, and serve me to faceless!ayato–

[jaegersolstice]

Suburban Legends ft. satoru gojo

For the shame of being young, drunk, and alone; prologue.

hockey player!gojo x fem!reader, friends to…a complicated relationship, college & highschool au, angst, fluff, everything in between wc: 1k

You hate the smell of alcohol. 

Not just the potent, sickening scent of the liquid – but that mixed with sweating, gyrating bodies in someone’s (way too big) family mansion and the weight of Satoru’s unsaid words hanging over you. He prevaricates, words slipping from the tip of his tongue yet not quite planting themselves in the ground, mindlessly tracing the school logo on his hockey jacket.  

He had once told you that he would knock back his future: take over the family business, lounge on millions of dollars, live the playboy lifestyle — he didn’t have much of a choice. It wasn’t that anymore. You guys had just graduated high school – bright-eyed, bushy tailed, balancing at the top of the world – and long lost count of the amount of the drinks you’ve downed tonight. 

An arm thrown over the back of the gray sofa, brown liquid sloshing over into his hand, Satoru says it like he’s rejecting another obsessive freshman begging for his number. 

“I’m thinking about going pro– you know, doing the real thing.” In a moment, your feet are covered in brown liquid, your cup already rolling between the feet of the drunk teenagers, cool moisture seeping into your white beaters (Satoru chuckles something about you being clumsy, grabbing the nearest napkin and attempting to soak it up).  

You can’t help but laugh. Soft snickers escape your lipgloss smudged lips (it shines on the edge of your solo cup), and Satoru’s icy gaze meets yours, mouth half opened in amusement, asking you if he said something funny in his whiny voice. You practically tumble off the couch, hunched over in your fit of laughter. In what world did Satoru care about hockey? And the way he (declared!) said it, elbowing you like it was an inside joke between the two of you. 

In all honesty, you couldn’t help but feel entertained and slightly betrayed, like he stole something that was yours. It was you, really, who encouraged him to take hockey seriously. 

 +

Freshman year: chemistry — yes, you remember it quite clearly. Lanky legs sprawled across the lab table during a free period, midnight hoodie hanging off one shoulder, arm gesturing widely and revealing his starch white shirt with every throw of a hand.

“This old man, I swear he knows nothin’ about me and still tries to, like, dictate everything about my life. I mean I literally–I literally told him I want nothing to do with his stupid business and still…you know, he could have just fucked again and had another kid–”  Face turning redder by the second, you smacked Satoru’s shoulder with the edge of your cracked phone (“Your always so inappropriate!”) 

He wasn’t laughing, though. His gaze was far off, landing somewhere between your ear and the classroom door, eyes pinched as if he’s trying to remember a chemical equation (Satoru has never been good at chemistry, honestly). Your eyes fell on his frosted lashes, tapping gracefully against his pillowy cheeks, tracing that up to the fluid slope of his nose and its acute tip, and his lips—

“Find a distraction.” You croaked, maybe saying it more to yourself then you were to him. “You skip hockey practices, get hurt on purpose, and always talk back to the coach. Just try being a little more serious ‘bout it.” You shrugged at him, sliding his strawberry gum from his front backpack pocket and popping a piece into your dry mouth. Brows pinched, his wide eyes followed the shape of your tongue snapping and clicking your gum around in your mouth (He looked more confused than anything.)

Truly, Satoru and Suguru had tried out for the hockey team beginning of freshman year as a joke – Suguru bet that he wouldn’t last a month in a school sport, and, big whoop, it's been a whole three months. Suguru had taken over the goalie position, always a bit bruised, and Satoru-- well, he was Satoru. Obviously, he was good as center, but he just didn’t care enough. Besides, the rest of the team was just a bit too slow to get anywhere far. 

Nonetheless, it was shit advice, and you knew it. 

“Or maybe you could get a girlfriend,” Suguru threw out, obnoxiously sliding his chair over to your table, lightly shoving Satoru’s head and bumping his knees into yours. The pair fell into mindless banter, breezily carried away into some other topic of conversation. 

+

You compose yourself, dragging your fingertips under your lightly eyelined eyes, your body back upright as your head bounces off the back of the couch. Clutching Satoru’s bony hand against your chest with both of yours, you level your gaze with his. 

“Okay, I need you to be like, so real with me right now, you don’t even like hockey! Like, I swear it was just yesterday–”

“Freshman year was three years ago–”

“Three years is so little time! People spend their whole life working towards being pro! I mean it’s not like you’ll be drafted that soon or anything, Satoru…” You trail off as he rips his hand from your grip, your hands falling into your lap at the sudden loss of warmth from your palms. 

You know you fucked up when he lets out a small, pained chuckle, gaze darting away from yours into the sea of people.

“That was bad, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come off so harsh, I just…I don’t know? I mean there’s still time, and you could still explore in college. Only if you want that is!” You don’t know why you keep talking, keep protesting. 

This should be a good thing, shouldn’t it? Recently, he’s had a spark in his eye when he talks about it, hockey. You just should let him do what he wants and, besides, the plans you made back in freshman year, before he ever joined hockey, will be what they’re meant to be: just words. 

Your heart has a hard time believing that for the rest of the night.

______________________________________________________________

note: okay so i can't believe that i'm finally writing this, i've been meaning to for sooooo long. This prologue is very vague because i didn't want to pack a bunch of stuff into one chapter, but rather explore it in the next few. It is also not the best, but I kinda wanted something to just start it off. I still have no idea how long it's gonna be BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!

series masterlist (coming soon)

[adiprose-abernath]

Proof is in the Pudding

Content Warning: Hypnosis, long term weight gain, fit to fat, slob

Chris was your example of your basic gym rat. Wake up at 5am, start your grind and get your protein shake on. Then, it's the gym for 3 hours and then it's out for a jog. By end of day, he was burning thousands upon thousands of calories carelessly like the gaunt slip of paper of a man he was. One night, however, he gets an advertisement for Adiprose Adipudding, a new product from Adiprose Enterprising that was said to contain "4 times the calories as the leading brand and twice the protein. No need to worry, so whats youre hurry? Try our Insta-Pudding, Today!" Unfortunately for our skeletal sucker the word "protein" was all he needed.

4 days pass and a big box arrives at his doorstep with the logo of a friendly bespeckled werewolf giving a sly wink and grin. Excited for his delivery, he's a bit confused by the portions in small, individually wrapped packages of powder and a flash drive that says "WATCH ME" on it. Supposing its an instructional video, he pops it into his computer and presses play. The video begins with a superimposition of the company mascot and a recipe on how to create the Insta-Pudding mixture followed by a step by step tutorial. Regardless of how redundant a tutorial is for a 4 step process, Chris can't help but be drawn in the by the beautiful baritone tones of the narrator, mesmerized by mindless mixing and making and building and baking and, by its end, he seems to snap out of a trance. He looks back at the box and sees nothing but empty wrappers and...wait...what is this? He feels a grumble in his stomach and touches it to feel his flesh. Did he eat ALL of the puddings? That couldn't be. He rushes to the bathroom to discover his face covered with the chocolate and frosting. How is this even possible? Then the voice in the advertisement seems to waft in his ears. "No need to worry." And he finds himself relaxing and hungry. Perhaps another order will calm his suspicions

A few weeks go by with thus and changes begin to appear on our pitiful protagonist. His pecs begin plumping as a big billowy belly replaces the abs that were there before. His biceps melt and hang with gravity as flabby flesh hang from both sides of his arms. His legs, once lithe and lanky, thicken and turn tubby the thighs like tree trunks. His face isn't spared either as a small double chin rests under his lonely single. His cheeks puffen out and his face fills with fat. Every part of him grows and, though he won't admit it, he's starting to enjoy it?

Ever the dutiful rat, he decides to head to the gym again. Maybe that'll clear the headfog he's been experiencing. As he walks that way though, the adiprose jingle chimes along the street as a delivery van lazily drives along. A red flag in his head is ignored as begins to turn to the fast food parlor right beside the gym and go in instead. Then, after ordering food for people twice his size til hes scarfed it all down in a piggish panicked display as though hed never tasted food in his life.

This activity repeats itself every week for another two months, his belly ballooning bigger and bigger, sagging lower and lower His A cups turn to B and nearly crest C as his bloated breasts become heavy with fat and flab. His steps, when he can make them, are thunderous as his thighs, wide as oaks and nearly as heavy carrying a porkish portly poundage. His body is rarely covered in clothes but it is certainly covered in crumbs and frosting and sauces and food, his smelly form like a buffet of the food he's eaten. He wheezes, his poor lungs having difficulty managing a land whale 3 times his original size. Once a small gym rat of a meager 180 pounds, he flattens his former form with a fantastic five hundred and twelve, practically an inflated ironic icon of his greatest fears made manifest.

This is, of course, not the only case. For you see, the distribution of Instapuddings came with a special hallucinogen that would encourage the consumer to be consumed by calories and cakes and confectionary craze so powerful it made twinks into bears in no time at all. After all, what's the harm in a little self indulgence every now and again, and again, and again.

[aussiepineapple1st]

What is Happening to Me (Part 14)

Leon x F!Reader

Words: 1,705 Contains: Death, Whump, Pain, Leon freaking out.

Part 1 | Previous | Next

You take the lead, you gun held close to your chest, the barrel angled up while you stand side against the wall to the entrance of the building. Extending your arms in front of you as you round the corner quickly, you stare into the lobby of some hotel or office building. Scanning around you have to pull a torch from your side and shine it throughout the building. 

"Stay alert, any sound could be our suspect." Leon whispers to you, standing side by side so he had your back and you had his.

"Copy." You respond as you motion with your hand to continue forwards. Walking towards the stairs leading up to a second level, the baluster was frosted glass, topped with a wooden handrailing. Though the glass hadn't faired too well, a body half hanging through one of the panels of glass. The white frosted glass splattered with crimson. You turn up your nose at the stench of death all around you, though it was starting to become a normal smell for you. Making your way through a hallway to the elevators you see one of them moving up, stopping on the 4th level of 7.

"Let's head up the stairs so he doesn't see the elevator coming." Leon suggests moving to open the door. As he swings it open shots were fired, Leon ducking out of the way, his right arm being grazed with one of the bullets. Leon lets out a hiss of pain, standing behind the open door. You wait for the gun fire to cease, hearing the magazine being clicked out of the gun you step in the doorway, gun extended, this was the guy. You shoot his right thigh and rush in to kick him in the chest, sending him into the wall. walking over to him you kick his gun away and kneel over him, pressing your left forearm against his throat, your handgun held to his cheek.

"Why are you spreading the virus?!" Your tone was angry, Leon walking up behind you holding his right bicep, blood dripped down his arm and off his fingers to the ground.

"Hehe.. to create a distraction.." The man hissed out in a chuckle.

"What?" You were confused, what did he mean by- You suddenly feel a sharp pinch in your side, pulling away from him he was holding an empty syringe, the Umbrella logo on the side of it.

Leon's eyes widen as you hold your side and fall to the ground. He kicks the syringe away, it smashing on the wall aiming his gun at the man's head. "What the fuck did you just inject her with!!!??"

"An experiment." Was all he said as he started to foam at the mouth, gasping for air he chokes on foam and spit.

"Shit!" Leon notes the name on the man's lab coat. He then kneels down by your side, blood covered and non-blood covered hands cup your face. Turning your face towards him you were starting straight through him, your body shivering at random intervals. "(Y/N)!! Stay with me! I'll get you some help!"

He presses his earpiece, causing it to ring as he scoops you into his arms. Taking you to the elevators he lays you down on the ground gently.

"Leon? What's going on? You've been radio silent for-"

"(Y/N)'s been injected with something! The guy said it was an experiment, his lab coat said O. L. Albrecht. I need to know if there is any information on a new strain of the t-virus, or g-virus. Anything!" His voice was panicked as he sprints down the stairs to the information board he had seen. He desperately looks for a lab. 5th Floor!

"I can't find anything on a new strain of virus or parasite. Whatever she was injected with must be new. Our intel has nothing on Umbrellas experiments." Hunnigan also sounded panicked.

Leon runs back up the stairs scooping you into his arms once again as he waits for an elevator door to open. Stepping inside he takes you both to the 5th floor. It was a series of lab rooms, one of them housing many serums and tubes of floating parasite-looking creatures.

He places you down on a metal table at one side of a room with a computer and many different equipment's that seem to house syringes.

"Leon, what's happening?" Hunnigan asks still on the line. She could hear your gasps and groans as you shiver in the background of Leon's earpiece. 

"I'm searching through the data base to see what this could be and if they've made a cure for it." He said searching through data banks and files. He had no clue what he was doing or looking for, but he had a small idea. Which was enough for him to try.

"Le-on..." You rasp out, head turning towards him, your left arm slipping from your stomach to hang off the edge of the metal table he had placed you on.

"I'm here." He turns around seeing the pure fear in your eyes. "I'm not going to leave you." He turns back around to the screen and then flicks passed something that catches his eye. 

Pulling up the file once again he scans through the report. "This could be a virus they've called the P+T-Virus. Strains of the Tyrant virus have been injected into spawn of a parasite, but it doesn't say what parasite.. Damn it!" He says searching through more documents.

There was a loud thump behind Leon, causing him to turn around, you were on the ground, your skin covered in a red vein. Your normal eye colour had now changed to a dim colour. Yellow starting to show through your iris as they dulled.

He winced seeing your state and walks over, lifting your body up again, you didn't seem hostile, not yet. But he wasn't going to risk it. Strapping you down with the material built into the metal table, your waist, neck and hands restrained. Though he did make sure it wasn't tight enough to hurt or choke you. Looking down to you on the table, you were gasping, your body doing it's best to stay alive. Fighting internally as you stare at the ceiling, your body wriggling around.

"H...lp." You gurgle out before letting out pained screams. Your entire body felt like it was on fire. Gasping for air between shouts.

Leon walks back to the computers, he couldn't concentrate, this can't be happening! Not to you, not like this. 

"Leon, I found something on the guy. His name is Obert Lee Albrecht, working for the Umbrella Corp. after his laboratory was destroyed in Scotland a few years back. Hold on.." She says cutting off her own sentence.

"What?" Leon asked as he continued to search through the data files on any type of experimental antidote. Your screams and cries of pain made everything 10 times more stressful, his brain starting to shut down.

"He was part of the eradication of the Lab (Y/N) was sent to deal with 4 years ago. Seems like he ended up getting a job in Umbrella to create new dominant species of the Plaga." There was no response from Leon, only your pained sounds rang through Hunnigan's ear. "Leon?... Leon! Focus!"

Leon was currently leaning over the computer, your shouts tearing away at parts of his soul. Every gasp of air made his chest tight. Then suddenly you went silent. His heart dropped, turning to you with the speed of lightning he rushes over to your side. Taking your hand he searched your face, your eyes were closed, no shivering or muscle spasms. You were completely still. Apart from the rising and falling of your chest, your breath sounding like the death rattle as you inhale and exhale.

Running over to a glass screen on the wall he starts searching there, maybe because it was beside the vials and syringes it would have something. Searching he finds the file for the P+T-Virus and presses on the button reading "Exp. Suppressant". It was his best bet, if he could suppress this, maybe he could get you the help you needed back at the hospital.

A syringe moved from were it sat in it's sterile casing, filling with a purple liquid. It the is sent down a tube to be collected. Leon takes the Syringe and walks over to you, taking your hand once again he looks to your motionless figure, then the syringe in his right hand. Covered in his own blood he sticks it into your stomach and inject it.

There was nothing for a moment, then Leon could hear Hunnigan in his ear. "Leon! Answer me! Can you hear me?"

"Y... Yeah I can hear you."

"What's going on!? Talk to me!"

"I.. Injected her with an experimental suppressant.."

"You did WHAT?!"

Leon winced at her tone, the exact same words were in his own head, what was he thinking?! He had no clue what he was doing. But there was no going back. You were now injected with this purple serum, your left hand being held tight by Leon's as he waits for results. He watched the red veins across your skin starting to slowly vanish, this was a good sign. He stands over you, a hand coming to your shoulder giving you a slight shake.

"(Y/N)... Hey, wake up." He says gently. Hunnigan was also waiting for a response, sitting in her chair looking down at her desk.

Your eyes open, half lidded as they lazily look around. Your head turning to look up at Leon. "hey.." You say weakly.

"How do you feel?" Leon asks gently peeling hair off your sweaty face.

"As good as I can be.." You try to sit up. "Am I restrained?"

"Yeah, sorry I had to be sure you weren't going to bite or attack me." He explains as he starts to unbuckle the restrains around your neck.

"This type of thing should be kept private." You joke, this made Leon relax even more as you were cracking jokes. This meant you were indeed okay and he needed to get you out of here and to a hospital.

Part 1 | Previous | Next

🏷️: @phoenix666stuff @maehemthemisfit @greywardensaywhat @growingupnrealizing @starcrossedreaders

[hyenabeanz]

My in depth reactions to the names and logos. First overall is: I don't hate any of the names. They're all okay. 🎉

Minnesota Frost: The name is fine to good. It's going to make a killer arena chant. "let's go frost" is three syllables so will avoid the sing song of four, and ending on a hard consonant? That's gonna sound goooooood in the X. It'll be like the "we want the cup" chant since we swallowed the third "the" syllable mostly anyway and damn it was a kick. @hsavinien also pointed out "killer frost, killer frost" which mmmm tasty. The logo is.... Okay. My main problem with it from an artistic standpoint is they gave it a long tail which is clearly making it a bitch to put on merch and stuff. It looks off center on a lot of things. They need to smush it up a little. But I'm not super worried about logos because those are more easily changed than names. I require a yeti mascot

New York Sirens: Sirens is neat for the ability for it to play on city noise, goal siren, and ferocious sea monsters. I know some people are cringing because of that last one because siren can be a little gross applied to women on a mythological level but uh, I'm here for owning the powerful man eating sea creatures. The logo is not awful. I think New York's text logo is the best one, that echo effect on it is cool. I'm less into the NY but idk it's growing on me. If their mascot isn't a rat mermaid they're wrong

Ottawa Charge: my other favorite team. Oh babies, what have they done to you. The name is fine. The logo is not. It evokes the Flames. It's kind of just awkward and abstract looking. It looks like a logo for a group home. I really liked their black and red, it did not need yellow. Uffda.

Boston Fleet: eh it's ok. I truly think Wicked and leaning into witches would've been cooler. Fleet is a generically interesting name I guess. The logo makes sense. to me it's safe, kind of boring, but inoffensive. Which is fine, and the vast majority of sports logos. I am glad I don't have to be tempted to get a Boston jersey like I would've if it was witches lol 😏

Montreal Victoire: RIP the pronunciation outside of Canada. Cool name though. Logo is a little busy for me but is evocative of a but of heraldry which is always neat and fitting (no one's jerseys are cooler than the German national team, for example.)

Toronto Scepters: the name is ... Fine. It is no longer problematic to women so that's good, but I feel like they went with a slightly more colonial than necessary team name. Scepters aren't unique to European culture, but combined with the logo and styling it does evoke that particular type. It is unique though. And Reign would've stung, because I know Minnesota will want to still casually use purple reign. I don't like the logo. I loved Toronto's clean blue and white, and that yellow is not it. I in general don't like that text logo style even though its classic. It also is just the St. Thomas logo with a holy hand grenade on the top instead of a shield, in worse colors. And as a Katie, mortal enemy of the Tommies, there's just a natural visceral dislike there. 😏 But it's not the torch. So. Win. 🎉

So, my Minnesotan based review: could be worse.

[kd-heart]

Fairy Queen, elderflowers and lime cupcakes    

With the solstice and the new episode, last week, and Sânziene on the 24th, the Fairy Queen was practically asking for her own cupcakes.

I'm still not sure if the flowers in the new logo are elderflowers, or not, but they sparked the inspiration for these cupcakes - they're associated with the fae, with transitions, with protection, but also with curses, so it's a pretty versatile plant as far as folklore goes. They felt like the obvious choice for the Fairy Queen.

Recipe on ao3 and under the cut

 Ingredients

125g flour

1.5 tsp baking powder

1/4 tsp salt

100gr butter

200gr sugar

2 large eggs, separated

125ml elderflower soda

juice of 1/2 lime

Preheat oven (Gas Mark 4/180° C/350 F)

Separate the eggs

Beat the egg whites, gradually adding in 100gr of sugar, until they form stiff peaks.

Mix the flower with the salt and baking powder in a cup

In another bowl, beat the butter and the other 100gr of sugar

Mix in the yolks

Mix in the lime juice

Gradually mix in the flour mixture and the elderflower soda, alternating between them

Add the egg whites and fold them in carefully.

Spoon the batter into the muffin tray and bake for about 20-25min.

Turn off the oven and leave them for 10 more minutes while it cools (door ajar) so they don't completely deflate.

Take them out and let them cool.

 Frosting:

250gr mascarpone

2 tbsp elderflower syrup

1 tbsp Cointreau

4 tbsp sugar

Mix everything together until stiff

 Sprinkles

[hamilgodd]

tag me when you write that 44/16🙏🏽

Lol, sorry i am so late but here, a part of my 44/16 fic. If you have ant suggestions about what kind of scene would you like to read with them, just let me know please.

—Five things I need to say.

+1 "I'm yours. Sorry no refunds" (Monaco)

When they return to Monaco two days later, the lights of Charles' apartment remain off until it's time to leave again; on the other hand, Lewis' apartment receives a new tenant.

There is a red hoodie with the Ferrari logo on the back of the sofa and Roscoe has a new human that he loves too much. There are a couple more keys on the entrance table and a cup that has coffee instead of tea as well as a couple of books in French and a postcard from Paris that was a gift from Pierre to Charles in the last secret Christmas exchange.

On the dining room table there is a heart-shaped cake that has a cut piece, on the white frosting there is a written message that it can still be read easily. Lewis cleans Charles' cheek, where there is a small stain of the sugary cover; both are in the sofa curled up while thinking about the future.

Both think of a hidden engagement ring without knowing that the other has exactly the same idea. That's why they are both surprised and delighted when they whisper the same thing almost at the same time.

"Lewis, marry me"

"Charles, please give me the honor of marrying me"

Laughter fills the place but next to them there is a "yes" that is the preamble to an incredible life.

[akumastrife]

I Didn’t Wish For Snow, But It’s Better With You {Les Mis: CourFerre  // Fic Advent: Day 21}

It was Sunday. Sundays were for meeting with the ABC for the cause of the season. This Sunday was thwarted by approximately two feet of cold, white bullshit.

{Part 4}

Courfeyrac pouted and slid lower in his chair.

All of it was so commonplace, Combeferre didn’t even bother to look up.

“E and R are having a movie night,” Courfeyrac said, thrusting his phone across the table for Combeferre’s perusal. “You said the weather was going to cancel the meeting.”

“Hence, they’re not having a meeting,” Combeferre said, flipping a page in his book.

“Ferre, I don’t think I can study anymore. Every time I read something it just spills out of my ears like spaghetti. I would like to watch movies.”

Combeferre sighed, but pushed his current book back a little and checked the time. Used Courfeyrac’s phone because it was still under his nose, and then took it rather abruptly.

It was… much later than he expected. 

He’d planned on getting there early, cramming as much as inhumanly possible, and then beat it out of the library before the storm hit in earnest and they were forced to make a bed and campfire from books (only the damaged ones, of course, headed for the bin anyway.)

Instead he’d spent the whole day at this tiny table in a cramped corner, surrounded by too many empty coffee cups, and Courfeyrac. The very sweet Courfeyrac who hadn’t complained once while sitting with him for six hours.

“Is that really the time? Gracious, Courf, I’m so sorry,” as he jumped up and began organizing his papers and books in earnest.

Courfeyrac’s fluttering fingers appeared under his nose, slowing his hands physically and helping. “Ferre, settle, it’s alright. Really. I needed it too. And I’m only mildly wasting away from starvation, really, easy enough to fix.”

Combeferre frowned, but when he looked up Courfeyrac was smiling at him, not a hint of malice, just fond exhaustion. He was owed that, Combeferre supposed.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Courfeyrac smiled wider and winked at him, standing to gather his own possessions.

Predictably, Combeferre blushed, but that wasn’t new, either. “I just have to return these to the reference desk, and then we can go.”

“Excellent.”

There wasn’t anyone at the reference desk, so they just stacked their various tomes behind the lip on the counter.

There wasn’t… anyone anywhere, really. The halls were quiet, the computers all idly bouncing around the city logo screen-savers.

Descending the main, winding staircase found no one else. Not a giggle or shriek from the children’s area, not any sulking teens in the lounge, not even late afternoon stragglers in line at the coffee cart.

“Ferre…”

Ferre knew. It hit him all at once with a creeping sort of icy dread that matched the horror on his face reflected in a frost-coated window.

He pulled on the main doors. Once. Twice.

Several more times in quick, panicked succession.

“They’ve locked us in,” he whispered.

“We’re going to die in here,” Courfeyrac whimpered. “What are we supposed to do? Ferre? I don’t have any cash for the vending machines. Do we break a window—”

“No!”

“-call the fire department? Go upstairs and see if they have any vintage porn on VHS?”

Combeferre yanked on one of his curls quickly. “All your ideas are terrible.”

“I don’t hear you coming up with any. This is your natural habitat.”

“Let me think.”

Courfeyrac quieted obediently, even if he pressed his face to the doors and whimpered to the outside world at large.

Even they did manage to get the doors unlocked, or find a particularly forgotten and unsecured window, the snow was already thigh high with no signs of stopping. They’d be lost in a winter wasteland before they made it to the main road.

“Well, I think there’s really only one thing for it.”

“Hmm?”

“We have to call the Mayor.”

Courfeyrac squawked.  

[fence-macabre]

Nightmare Before Winter’s Veil RETURNS!

Winter is upon us and the howling shrieking cold lets us know that spooky season doesn't end in October. For Fence Macabre, it's YEAR ROUND! Get creepy, get weird, and get ready to rock hard at the biggest RP Rock Event of the Year!

Date: Friday December 16th 2022 Time: Grounds open at 5PM PST Concert starts at 6PM PST Phase: TBA Day-Of on Discord

Activities

💦 Polar Bear Plunge Prove how hardcore you are by taking the plunge into the icy Northrend waters! Cleanse off the filth of the year and get reborn more badass than ever. What doesn't kill you, makes you STRONGER!  

🔮 Fortune Telling Get your burning questions answered and find out how much chaos your inner demons are causing in your life.  

❄️ Sleet Sledding Step onto an enchanted rune to feel the bite of unforgiving frost under your feet so you can shriek down the hills and across the water like a banshee.  

🏔️ Path of Winter Mount a spider steed and follow your guide to explore the strange manifestations of the Isle of Spears.  

🌯 Concession Stand Satisfy your ravenous hunger and thirst with our wide range of offerings.  

🛍️ Swag Booth Grab shirts with the logos of your favourite performing bands, autographed vinyls, or whatever else fell out of the wagon.  

🌌 Cable Car Ride Warm your hands around a cup of cocoa as the steady creaking of the cable car accompanies you up into the night sky while borealis dance. 

🍪 Cookie Decorating Bite the head off your own fantastic gingerbread person creations.  

🎸 Performances Are you ready to rock? Are you ready to scream? Are you ready to THRASH? Good, we'll see you for live performances at the stage!

🎨  Art Raffle

 What's that? An art raffle featuring some of our awesome guildies? It wouldn't be a Fence event without the generosity of our members.

Our Art Raffle is free to enter, but you must be present to win! While donations to For the Familiars aren’t required, they are encouraged!

See Discord for full rules! 

For the Familiars

Every year Fence Macabre runs a charity fundraiser to raise money with FOR THE FAMILIARS! Our charity kicks off starting with the Haunted Hootenanny and concludes with Nightmare Before Winter's Veil.

Passed on to us by the Shattered Spooktacular from retail, we are pleased to continue the tradition for the third year in a row. 

Our members donate their time, creativity, and talent to help as many animals as possible have a warm home this winter.

For The Familiars' chosen charity every year is the Best Friends Animal Society. The BFAS was founded on a simple but effective platform. No animal should be homeless. Fence Macabre has a deep affinity for critters hoofed or clawed, furred or scaled.

We owe a lot to our collective familiars, great and small. For every tax-deductible dollar donated to our Tiltify campaign, you can complete the most rewarding daily of all - a good deed.

By utilizing Tiltify you can rest easy knowing that your donation is going directly to help those many animals in need.

Tiltify Campaign      Twitter       Discord      Event Carrd

See you Friday, December 16 2022 - grounds open at 5pm PST, and look for the phase announcement day-of!