#i write this as I drink my expired milk

[sparkles-oflight]

Leonor! I just realised that there is a (high?) chance that we get to see/hear Kris singing ngvot live in Madrid with our own eyes and I'm...not okay

I just remembered I still need to buy bus tickets 💀

Honestly, I will melt if that happens, but I also want you to be next to me so that I can hug you during ASTP and cry

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Talent [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@lavendair) Center (@hotchs-big-hands) Right (@muresetivoire)

Prompt: An inebriated Aaron finds out that the readers has a hidden talent and they offer to show him it later. When they get back to his apartment, more sober, Aaron apologizes, feeling awkward for getting them into this situation. They (the reader) honestly asks Hotch if he would let them do it anyway? 

Pairing: Hotch x gender neutral reader. The reader uses they/them/their pronouns 

Catagory: Hurt/comfort/smut 

Word Count: 6.8K 

A/N: Content warnings below the cut. This is a NSFW story. Minors DNI. 18+ only readers for this one. Please respect this boundary. A few things here so please bare with me. This was inspired by a little conversation between @softhairedhotch and @hotchs-big-hands That conversation can be found here (link)

I loved the idea and I got this wrote this. As usual, my writing got a bit more somber than I expected. Maybe that’s just my style idk? One last thing before you can actually read this thing, I insinuate that Hailey cheated on Hotch later in their marriage. I think this is an assumption the show makes, but never explicitly states. I don’t mean to slander Hailey in any way. I think she’s lovely and loved Aaron to the best of her ability. I did this mostly to make Hotch have self-doubt. I stan Hailey in my house. Lastly, this is only my third time posting smut, so forgive me it it’s not perfect. If you enjoy this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! I hope y’all have a good evening - Levi. 

Content Warnings: Sex (slight hand job and blowjob [Hotch receiving]), slight size kink, sex and body doubt (Hotch), Foyet and the stabbing incident mentioned (mentioned that the attack was possibly psycho-sexual), blood, reference to a gag reflex, drinking (the team gets pretty intoxicated), sex life mentioned (reader and Hotch), Aaron is touch starved, cheating mentioned (Hailey). If I missed any, please let me know. 

List will all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_y/c/h_ = your color hair

_y/f/a_ = you favorite actor/actress 

_h/l_ = hair length 

_h/c_ = hair color - aka brown hair, black hair, blue hair ect. 

_d/h_ = dominant hand 

Hotch nearly choked on his sip of beer. He tried to hide his coughs by putting his arm over his mouth. He had certainly not expected to hear Penelope, who was seated on Rossi’s rug with many other members of the team, to say, “But you know I might have thrown up because the milk was expired, but _y/n_ wouldn’t because they don’t have a gag reflex.” Aaron watched as _y/n_’s face turned crimson. _y/n_ moved over to Garcia and jokingly shook their friend saying, “Pen, why would you talk about my sex life like that? You see, this is why you can never, ever meet my parents even though you keep asking. We’ll have, like, two drinks and then you’ll start talking about what position I like best.” Upon hearing this, Aaron couldn’t take it anymore. He moved from the living room to the kitchen. He was trying very hard not to think about _y/n_ an array of sexual positions and acts, but he was failing. He was also trying to remember why the team had moved from the couches to the floor. A comment of Spencer's about the rug being comfortable and warm next to the fireplace that was roaring in the center of Dave’s living room might have been the reason. It was all a blur really. They were all drunk at this point. The team didn’t normally do this when they were together, but it was Friendsgiving and the last few cases had been relatively easy by their standards. The team had a few days off, and shockingly they were all going to be in town, so Rossi had invited them all over to celebrate Thanksgiving as a unit. Everyone had brought something and it was nice to just relax and be together. His intoxicated brain circled back to the rug and to the topic of sex and he thought, ‘Oh god, no, no, no,’ but against his conscious brain he began to picture himself having sex with _y/n_ on that soft shagged carpet. In his mind their back was arched, and they were panting as he thrust deeply into them. Aaron was startlingly pulled from his fantasy when his name was called. He looked up and flushed further. It was _y/n_ leaning against the marble countertop. To his credit, _y/n_ also had a flush to their face, and they asked, “What’s got you so flustered over there Mr. Hotchner.” Aaron tried to come up with an excuse, and he opened his mouth, but his brain couldn’t supply a reply, so he just closed his mouth. More mortified now than he may have ever been in front of a member of his team. 

 _y/n_ walked closer to him, and they placed their hands on the edge of the counter. _y/n_ leaned back on their strong arms which could be perceived in a sensual way. Hotch swallowed, and _y/n_ looked him over. They noticed the bulge in Aaron’s well-fitted black trousers, but they averted their eyes quickly for his dignity, so that they didn’t start getting wild ideas. _y/n_ was grateful that Hotch was a little too disheveled to have noticed them checking out his groin. Finally, after an awkward silence, _y/n_ asked openly, drunkenly, “It’s not what Garcia said earlier that has you so riled up, is it?” There was that small undercurrent of desire in _y/n_’s voice that had Aaron feel a flash of heat rush through him again. Hotch wouldn’t have to answer. His blown-out pupils, arousal, and micro-expressions were enough to tell _y/n_ what they wanted to know. Even drunk this was obvious to them. Aaron gave a small nod, yes, anyway. _y/n_ let out a small laugh before saying, “We see such horrible things in the field and my sexual abilities are what's causing your brain to reboot?” They were teasing him, and Hotch couldn’t help but say, “Well this isn’t the field.” He moved toward _y/n_ and placed his hand on their hip. _y/n_’s exhalation of breath and flush of their skin told Aaron that the touch wasn’t unwanted. He’d never initiated anything romantic or sexual with _y/n_. The small part of his brain that was still functioning normally was screaming at him to stop. That he might regret this when he was sober. But his id was stronger than that voice. As his other hand moved to _y/n_’s other hip, he looked down at them. _y/n_’s eyes were wide and shining with a type of desire he’d never seen on their face before. _y/n_ breathily said his name; “Aaron.” Without much more to think about he asked, “Is what Garcia said true? Or is she just making stuff up again?” _y/n_ flushed and acted askance and replied, “Why Hotch, that’s not a nice thing to ask someone.” Aaron bit back a sigh and applied a gentle pressure to _y/n_’s hips. Their body moved with his touch and _y/n_ truthful answered, “It is true though. It’s my hidden talent that’s rarely used.” _y/n_ looked up at Hotch and the desire, the hunger they saw on his face left them reeling for a second. They knew this was crossing a hundred lines, but in that moment the very feeling of his hands on their body was such a rush that they didn’t fight it. The idea of Aaron’s large hands elsewhere had them boldly state, “I can show you later on if you let me come to your apartment?” 

That image actually made Hotch groan. It was quiet, and Aaron was eternally grateful that no one on the team had come in yet to refresh their drinks. Maybe they had all assumed what _y/n_ and he were discussing and were intentionally not entering the room. Aaron asked, surprised at _y/n_’s offer and their willingness to accept, “You’d do that for me?” There was that soft throaty laugh again, and _y/n_ said, “Of course I would Hotch.” Aaron swallowed again and replied, “Okay. But only if you really want to. You don’t have to do anything for me like that if you don’t want to.” _y/n_ moved their hand, patted his shoulder and said, “I promise that you will get enthusiastic consent from me before it happens. And if either of us changes our minds, we can pretend this little conversation never happened. 

After this, they headed back to the living room. If the team had been intentionally avoiding them, they hid it well. The members of the BAU  seemed to be engrossed watching Spencer speed-read Rossi’s well-worn copy of Critique of Pure Reason by Kant. As _y/n_ sat back down next to Emily, they whispered, “Why are we watching Spence read?” Emily listed slightly toward _y/n_ and said, “We’re going to have Rossi test him on the concepts of the book. Or see if the genius can remember some especially long passages. We want to see how much he can remember when he’s this drunk.” _y/n_ chuckled at the concept. They were now also invested. An hour and a half later the team slowly started saying their goodbyes. At this stage, _y/n_ and Aaron were more in control of their faculties. They were the third party to leave, and they both shared an Uber back to Hotch’s apartment. Because neither of them knew how much they would be drinking that night, they had shared a ride over to Rossi’s together. _y/n_ only lived two blocks over and Aaron promised to walk them the rest of the way home. On the short ride back, _y/n_ and Hotch both gained more clarity, and Aaron was starting to feel uncomfortable with what he had said two hours earlier. His desire for _y/n_ was still there, but he knew he shouldn’t have said what he did. Suggested what he had. As it turned out, Aaron’s desire for his younger agent rarely, if ever waned. 

When _y/n_ had joined the team a few years ago, he had quickly found himself drawn to them physically. Hotch didn’t believe in love at first sight, but he couldn’t deny that he had experienced lust at first sight with _y/n_. It was like _y/n_ had been made for him. When Hotch first thought this fully -- not just with the small voice he used to stifle unwanted thoughts with -- he realized how much of a narcissist it made him sound like. It was with that thought that he buried all feelings about _y/n_. He couldn’t risk going there, even in his mind. But with there still being a slight buzz in his head, his mind wandered to how the slope of _y/n_’s shoulders was gentle yet angular. How their _y/h/c_ looked during golden hour, the way their eyes had held his gaze earlier that evening when they had offered to show him their talent. Aaron shifted slightly in his seat to try and readjust himself. His body was having ideas of its own again, and he didn’t appreciate it. Aaron looked over to _y/n_ who seemed to be in their own type of reverie. It hadn’t helped that he found them attractive and that they were such a good person. 

On the team, _y/n_ was smart. They could come up with ideas as fast as Spencer and the duo could be often found at precincts and their hotel rooms bouncing ideas off each other at a mile-a-minute pace. They were also fiercely protective of the team. If someone questioned the team, or specifically a member of the team, they were there to professionally correct and support either the team or the member being targeted. He had seen them do it for JJ, Garcia, and Morgan which was funny because Derek could generally take care of himself. But that hadn’t mattered to _y/n_. They had stood up for and comforted Derek in their way. _y/n_ had comforted him too. It was more polite than with the other agents, but they had done it all the same. Aaron knew that _y/n_ felt similarly about him as he felt about them. It was clear in their actions and demeanor around him. _y/n_ hid it well most of the time, but every now and then, he would get a hint that those desires resided in _y/n_ too, and he had to fight his feelings all over again. It was all a mess, and now they would have to talk about tonight. The conversations had been mutually intimate and yes, having his subordinate offer to perform fellatio on him broke about a dozen rules and regulations, but he had continued the conversation. He could have walked away, lied, or done ten thousand other things than being honest and accepting the offer. Aaron stifled another groan of annoyance and embarrassment. He knew he was fucked, or perhaps not fucked, in loads of ways. At least their conversation had been consensual. There was a small mercy in that. 

As the car moved down the quiet streets, _y/n_ could feel Aaron near them. They chose to look out the cars window instead of at their companion. _y/n_ needed a few minutes to settle their thoughts. To say _y/n_ was mortified about their behavior during the evening was an understatement. Their attraction to Hotch was undeniable, and they saw the tells on their boss as well. That didn’t make what they had done that evening right. _y/n_ had been shocked by how quickly and hard they had been attracted to Aaron. _y/n_ didn’t know they could feel so intensely until they met him. Of course, there had been teen idols. And they had rewatched a few movies with _y/f/a_ a few hundred times. But that was an actor, and Hotch was a real man in flesh and blood. To mention the fact that he was their boss didn’t help the matter either. In all honesty, everyone on the team had said something more personal than they would have sober during the night, but _y/n_ was certain what they and Aaron had revealed was the most intimate. The street lights continued to pass by in a blur as they approached Aaron’s apartment. _y/n_ knew that things would come to a head when they got there, and _y/n_ couldn’t help but think for one second, ‘Is my desire for him so wrong? God we both feel it. Why couldn’t life be easier? Why couldn’t they just give in for once?” These were the thoughts that swilled within them, between them, as they sped toward their destination. 

When they arrived outside of Aaron’s, the two stood outside of his stoop in an awkward silence. Aaron broke it first by saying, “I never should have said anything in the kitchen. I never should have put my hands on you. I sincerely apologize for my actions, _y/n_. I never meant to make this uncomfortable between us. I value your contributions to the team and I’d never view you as a sexual object. I was drunk and it was a mistake.” Hotch realized that he was rambling, and he looked to _y/n_ for their response. They looked back and him and replied, “I started it. Well, Garcia started it. It was out of line for me to approach you like that. I respect you, Hotch. I apologize.” They both stood in the frosty air, under the light of a lone streetlamp. The wind picked up and both parties seemed unwilling to leave the conversation where it was. _y/n_ shuddered against the cold and used a voice they rarely did with Aaron. _y/n_ asked, “Can we go into your apartment for a minute before you walk me home? I think I need to warm up from a minute before you walk me back.” The voice they used was one-third needy, one-third empathetic, and one-third pleading. Though Aaron could be reading into the pleading part of it. Perhaps he just wanted that to be the case. _y/n_ had only spoken to him once before like that and it was when he had gotten injured on a case. _y/n_ had asked him to slow down in the same tone and just like back then, he couldn’t refuse them. Hotch pulled out his keys and unlocked his front door. As they moved inside, he turned on the light above his sink and then he took a few large strides to turn on some lamps in the living space. Aaron gestured to the couch and offered _y/n_ a seat, which _y/n_ took. Aaron moved toward the sink and asked over his shoulder, “Would you like a glass of water?” _y/n_ closed their eyes at the thoughts bombarding them and said, “Yes, please.” Aaron grabbed two glasses from his cabinets and added some ice from the freezer before filling them with water. When he turned back to _y/n_, they had their _d/h_ pinching the skin between their eyebrows; their face in a half grimace. Aaron moved quickly toward them and asked, “_y/n_, are you alright? Do you have a headache?” _y/n_ let out a nervous laugh before removing their hand and saying, “Not yet. But it’s sure to come in a few hours. I’m not a college kid at a pre-game party anymore. I can’t do that kind of drinking without the consequences.” Aaron chuckled at _y/n_’s response. Given that he was a good deal older than _y/n_ him, he could only imagine how bad it might be for himself in the morning. He added taking some Advil before bed to his mental notes. He would do that as soon as _y/n_ was safely home. Even though things had been odd between them for the last half of the night, he would still ensure that they got home safe before he returned to his space to re-wrangle the thoughts that had fought their way back to the surface again. He let out a soft sigh, as he watched _y/n_ take a sip of water. 

_y/n_ set their glass down and looked up at Aaron. They asked a question that had undercut the whole night for them. They asked because at this moment having to fake disinterest felt like too great a burden to bear, and because they knew they were already in trouble, so why not face the full consequence? _y/n_ said what was really on their mind with, “What if I wanted to show you anyway? Apart from Pen’s comments? Apart from the fact that I was drunk when I said what I did.” There was a silence and Hotch’s eyes blinked at what they said, trying to register the words; what was being offered. He felt the hitch in his breath as he said, “_y/n_ I…” They cut Hotch off saying, “Aaron. I see how you look at me. And I know that you see how I look at you. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep pretending to not care about you. To not want to give you more.” Hotch blinked a few times rapidly, trying to clear this head of images. Even now that he was in full control of his mind, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering. Aaron closed his eyes and said _y/n_’s name in desperation. In shame. They looked up at him and said, “Tell me that I’m wrong. Tell me that I’m wrong and I’ll stop immediately.” As hard as Aaron tried to say no, he couldn’t bring himself to. _y/n_ stood and half maneuvered Aaron to sit on his couch. They knelt and pushed his knees open. Hotch groaned and said, “You can’t possibly want this?” _y/n_ ran their hands over his inner thighs and said, “I’m in full control of my faculties, Aaron. If I didn’t want to do this, I wouldn’t be here. _y/n_ looked over his seated body. He looked so prone like this; exposed. They often wondered about Aaron. How he felt about himself, and his strong body. _y/n_ had noticed that he wore more layers after what had happened with Foyet. The textures and materials of his suits had changed as well. Half of the time _y/n_ was sure he was sweating under all that fabric. _y/n_ gently dropped to their knees and asked Hotch, who was looking at them with trepidation, guilt even, “Aaron, are you alright? What’s going on in that head of yours?” 

For the last year or so, after Foyet, Hotch had been physically cutting himself off from close contact of any kind. It brought up too many painful memories of Hailey before she and Jack had to flee to witness protection before she divorced him. When he was younger he had been so passionately in love with her. It was the most he had ever felt in his life, and with his childhood the way it was, there was a great comfort in that. When he and Hailey had met again as adults, those feelings were still there and they persisted throughout his time in law school and his short stint as a prosecutor. But when he had joined the BAU things had changed. At first, there had been a thrill for both of them. But with time, Hailey seemed to grow tired of his constant comings and goings. His late nights in the office under Gideon. Their sex life had changed and what used to be passionate and loving sex turned into less passionate more need-based sex from either himself or his wife. Then Jack happened, and Gideon’s incident in Boston which left even less time for him to spend with his wife and newborn son. Again sex changed for them because Hailey needed time to heal and Jack took up most of their time when Aaron was home. When they had been intimate at that stage it felt different. It happened rarely and he could feel Hailey withdraw from his touch sometimes. A few months later when he started to assume that she might be acting unfaithfully to him he started to understand why his wife was so hesitant to be around him. Aaron didn’t want to believe it was true. He wanted to think that it had something to do with him. Some shortcomings of his character or body. When it came out that she had been seeing someone else, Aaron forgave her. He still loved her deeply and he knew that he had his own issues; being around was the chief one for his wife. Some part of him understood why she had sought comfort in someone else while he was away even though he would never do that to her. A part of Aaron still thought that there was something wrong with him, his body, and his performance in bed. And the last time he and Hailey had really, intentionally tried to be intimate, his own doubts and the thought of her with another man had not allowed him to finish. Aaron didn’t assume that was the death knell of their marriage, but part of him factored it in. 

Then Foyet had physically assaulted him, his body. Hotch never told anyone, and the team didn’t say anything, but he had wondered if Foyet was seeking some sort of sick sexual release with the knife as a subsite penis. Aaron had passed out from blood loss before he could know the answer to that question. Aaron was grateful for that to this day. So the idea that _y/n_, the kind and caring person they were was interested in him sexually was rather unbelievable to him. It had been so long since he had been sexual. He even stopped allowing himself to touch himself if he woke up aroused. He felt like he deserved it. He didn’t know how he would act, or perform if he accepted _y/n_’s offer. Thinking about it made him nervous. And yet, his desire for _y/n_ persisted. 

Hotch swallowed and he suddenly felt like he needed ten glasses of water instead of the one he had just consumed. He looked down at _y/n_ and replied, “I shouldn’t even be sitting here. These thoughts… they.” Aaron felt embarrassed at himself and looked away, not really knowing what to say. It had been so long that he had felt a desire this strong. It had been even longer that someone had been this intimate with him. Even to have his legs spread and _y/n_ looking up at him with such care. They hadn’t even fucking done anything yet. Aaron closed his legs and _y/n_ let him. They wanted Hotch to know that he had full control of his body. Of what happened, if anything did end up happening. _y/n_ stood and leaned close to him. With a tender care, _y/n_ took his chin in their hand and directed his face to look at them. _y/n_ said, “Desire isn’t a sin Hotch. There isn’t some cosmic scale weighing whether you looked at some girl crossing the road five years ago. It’s a natural feeling; and it’s not wrong to feel it. If anything you’ve been restraining yourself. So have I. I care about you too much to just keep dreaming about you at night. It feels like I’m using you. So now you know how I feel. Now would you please let me do this for you?” Aaron had to blink back a few tears at _y/n_’s statement. It was so honest that he could hardly see past it. It was blinding in its sincerity. To know that _y/n_ felt like him in that way made him feel warm in a different way than his body responding to theirs. As a last half-assed defense, he said quietly, “I’m your boss.” The chuckle _y/n_ let out had his eyes on them in an instant. Laughter hadn’t been the response he had expected. _y/n_ was wearing their ‘color me surprised’ face. And Aaron laughed at the expression too. It was no surprise to both of them. But this wasn’t about power dynamics, it was about tenderness and longing, and when _y/n_ asked, “Would you let me take care of you?” He nodded his head yes and then verbalized that he wanted it too. 

With his consent given. _y/n_ pressed into him. Their hands found traction on his biceps, and they moved their mouth over his neck. _y/n_ could feel his steady pulse under their mouth. At the contact, Aaron let out a sigh. His body reacted almost immediately. He shifted slightly, closed his eyes, and moved his head to the side a bit to give _y/n_ better access to his flesh. When Aaron had gotten in the apartment, he had discarded his suit jacket and tie to be more comfortable. His shirt however was still buttoned tightly. _y/n_’s hands worked at the top two buttons, but they were struggling as they tried to keep their mouth on Hotch’s skin while doing the buttons at the same time. _y/n_ was both kissing and sucking at the sanative area. Aaron moved his arms to slide between their bodies, as he undid the troublesome buttons. _y/n_ hummed their thanks, and as they moved to treat his clavicles and breast bone, they breathed hot and heavy over his neck. The semi-excited state of his cock grew quickly. _y/n_ moved over the area with a reverence. While their mouth worked over his partially exposed torso, their hands also moved. Their right hand was tracing the lines of his muscle on his stomach and the other was slowly trailing up and down his left thigh. When _y/n_ placed their hand over his hardness, shielded by his pants and briefs, he groaned -- loudly. He felt embarrassed, and _y/n_ looked up at him and said, “It’s okay to feel. I want you to enjoy this.” With how large he felt under their hand, _y/n_ was excited to see his manhood.

They moved back to their knees, and this time, as they pushed his thighs open, Aaron let it happen. _y/n_ set one hand on his hip and the other moved under his linen shirt, wrinkling it. _y/n_ started kissing at his knee and slowly moved up his thigh. As they got close to his arousal, which was throbbing hard against his underwear and the zipper of his pants, they moved to the other leg and began the process again. Hotch let out a shaky breath. Whatever hesitations he had been having at the start were as far away as Neptune now. The slow buildup was driving him insane. Finally, _y/n_ made it to his groin and kissed over his erection. From what they could feel, he was large. Long and wide. As _y/n_ made their tactile observations with their mouth, they thought back to the dreams they had had of Aaron. He was always well endowed in them, but now that they were here, he might even be bigger than they had imagined. _y/n_ thought, ‘Of course he’s big. This is Hotch we’re talking about.’ They refrained from laughing but did let out a small breath. Their thought might be funny to them, but it might come off very differently to Aaron. They didn’t want to think they were laughing at him. They never wanted that. Once they had kissed up the tip which was being held down by his belt, _y/n_ moved their face away and started to undo the buckle of his belt. The metal was cool under _y/n_’s fingers. Once the belt was slipped through the front two belt loops and the two at his hips, _y/n_ shifted forward and grabbed the hem of his shirt. They moved the stranded weave fabric up, exposing his stomach. _y/n_ leaned in and kissed over his belly button. Their tongue licked over the well in his form, and Aaron moaned again. _y/n_ then moved to kiss one of the exposed scars on his body. He looked down at _y/n_ like this, and he wondered what it would be like with him in her mouth? He stopped himself from bucking up at the thought. While _y/n_ had been working over his body, his breathing had picked up. At this new sensation, he whispered their name. _y/n_ made quick work of the buttons and zipper of his pants. They were careful that there were no unintended snags as they tugged the small pull down. _y/n_ looked over his cloaked member. They kissed the shaft and then moved their hand to press against it before slowly stroking it through his grey briefs. _y/n_ used their pointer and little finger to stimulate the sides, while their ring and middle finger applied pressure to the front of his penis. _y/n_ didn’t tease him with their hand too long. This wasn’t the pleasure Olympics. They didn’t know how much stimulation Aaron was used to, and _y/n_ didn’t want to overdo it for him. Before _y/n_ removed the final layer of clothing, they looked up to Aaron again to ensure he was still on board with this last exposure. Hotch looked into their eyes, the question evident to him. In a deep voice, one full of need, he said, “Yes. If you’re willing.” _y/n_ replied in the affirmative, saying, “I want to.” 

With consent given, _y/n_ tugged at the elastic band of his briefs. Aaron put his weight on his feet and lifted his hips for them. _y/n_ pulled down the fabric and revealed his member for the first time, as it rested on his body. He was large and as Hotch settled back down on the couch, they looked over him with pleasure. _y/n_’s hand circled the base, and they started pumping up and down with a steady pace and pressure. They praised him saying, “You’re very impressive Aaron.” Their praise and the feeling of their hands moving over him had him squirming and breathing heavily. He was starting to sweat now, and he had never imagined it would be like this. Because if he had, he would never be able to let go. But now that it was actually happening, he couldn’t care about the complications. He felt so good with _y/n_ rubbing their hand against his cock, and he muttered, “Fuck, _y/n_. You’re so good.” They smiled, and he cursed again as _y/n_ used their other hand to stroke and circle the base of his member. _y/n_ didn’t spend a very long time with their digits, after all, they had promised to show Aaron their talent, and having him cum in their hands was not on the agenda. So _y/n_ removed their _d/h_ from the shaft and Aaron’s eyes grew wide with the sudden loss of contact. He felt like he might explode if didn’t have that stimulation moving over him. He was about to say something, but the breath was forced from his body as _y/n_ took the tip in their mouth. _y/n_ shifted on their knees a bit to be able to best take Hotch in. The carpet under their legs was decently comfortable, but the wood floor underneath was solid. _y/n_ paid attention to the tip first, suckling it and running their tongue over the slit on the top. Aaron tried to take a steadying breath, but he was falling apart at the sensation of pleasure rushing through him. When _y/n_ was comfortable with the feel of him, and had built some confidence at being able to take him in, they pushed their tongue down and hollowed their cheeks. Carefully covering their teeth, _y/n_ moved their mouth further down his length. At this, Hotch tipped his head back and moaned again. _y/n_ wasn’t even halfway down him before some precum leaked from the tip. _y/n_ pulled up and sucked the briny ejaculate off his cock. _y/n_ swallowed it quickly and moved back to working him over. They would think more deeply about the taste of Hotch’s cum later, but for now, they wanted to keep hearing Aaron mutter their name, or try to keep his breathing even. They could feel from his reactions and the throbbing of his cock that he wasn’t in control at all, even if he was trying to be. _y/n_ momentarily wondered how long it had been since anyone had done this for him. 

Aaron's width not only filled their mouth, but his length, even though they didn’t have a natural gag reflex, was still a bit too much for _y/n_ to fully cover with their mouth. About an inch was left exposed to the cool air. Before _y/n_ moved their free hand to make up the difference, they looked over Hotch. The sight of him, head tipped back, mouth open sent a wave of pleasure through them. _y/n_ noticed Hotch’s hands gripping the side of the couch with white knuckles. As _y/n_ continued to move over him, they used their free hand to grab Hotch’s left hand from the couch cushion and to set it on the crown of their head. Aaron looked down at _y/n_ as they moved his hand to the back of their head. He hesitated. He was desperate to take what was being offered on top of what was already happening. On top of the bliss and heat, he was feeling in his cock. _y/n_ patted his hand on their head giving him a non-verbal “It’s okay.” Aaron couldn’t help himself, and threaded his long fingers in _y/n_’s _h/l_ _h/c_. _y/n_ continued to move up and down his shaft, and then covered the base of his cock that couldn’t be inside their mouth. With Aaron fully enveloped, he bucked his hips up and as _y/n_ had said, the extra pressure didn’t cause any gag reaction. If fact _y/n_ hummed their satisfaction at his action. He trembled under _y/n_ and thought about what they had said earlier in the night about feelings not being wrong. And moving his hips had felt so, so, blindingly good that he did it again. And then again, and again, and again until he was sure he could feel himself ready to cum. _y/n_ was intently focused on his pleasure. Aaron’s member was lined with a few thick veins running down the side and back. As Hotch started to take control of his own pleasure with gentle pressure to their head, _y/n_ lifted their tongue up and down those ridges on his cock. At this new sensation and the slight sucking that _y/n_ was doing sent him over the edge. Aaron’s hand tightened in _y/n_’s hair, and he came with a shudder. He let out a loud moan and pulled _y/n_’s head off of his cock. They had only taken a bit of his semen in their mouth. _y/n_ wondered why he hadn’t let them swallow his ejaculation, but didn’t ask now. There were still so many things to know about him. Things they hoped they could learn together with time. _y/n_ stroked his thigh softly as he rode out his orgasm. Seeing him so out of control only wanted to make them care for him more. 

When the waves of pleasure subsided, Aaron relaxed back into the couch cushion. He closed his eyes because he was afraid of what he would see in _y/n_’s eyes if he opened them. He wasn’t fully sure how to cope with what they had given him. A soft touch of his thigh did eventually made him see _y/n_, and they were looking at him with a care he had rarely seen in his life. He swallowed back some tears, and he patted the couch next to him. As _y/n_ got up from their knees, and sat next to him. He pulled his underwear over his nakedness. His cum was staining his shirt and pants and he would need to launder and shower after he talked to _y/n_. _y/n_ sat and gave him space, but he needed to feel them close to him. To have this living, breathing care in his arms. He turned to face _y/n_ and asked, “May I hold you?” _y/n_ nodded, and Aaron moved his arm to rest behind their lower back. He pulled _y/n_ close to his side, and they turned toward him softly. _y/n_ placed their head on his broad, muscular shoulder. There were a few moments of comfortable silence before _y/n_ said, “You don’t ever owe me anything, Aaron. You know that right?” The question lingered until Aaron’s hand moved to the back of _y/n_’s head, gently running his digits through the smooth hair. A different kind of touch than what he had been doing a few minutes before. Now that he had been sated, he feared that a gulf would form between them. But _y/n_’s comment gave him something to think about, to still his nervous mind. Finally, he replied, “But I do owe you things _y/n_. I owe you safety on the field, and professionalism in the office, and privacy. I feel like I owe you more than those things as well.” _y/n_’s hand was back on his thigh again and they replied, “Okay, valid point. At the job, you do play a different role, but we’re both adults Hotch. We’re not teenagers trying to shag in the high school gymnasium. Given how long we’ve waited for something to happen between us, I think we can keep it together at work.” At this statement, Aaron chuckled lightly. _y/n_ was certainly true about that. After a beat, _y/n_ continued saying, “But is it so impossible to believe that we couldn’t do both? That we couldn’t care for each other outside of work?” Aaron pondered the question. He thought about what they had said. About the profound pleasure _y/n_ had brought him; and not just physical pleasure, but an emotional cover as well made him consider his words wisely, carefully. When _y/n_ was with him like this, it felt like his many flaws disappeared. That he had a clean slate. Hotch closed his eyes and rested his head on top of _y/n_’s, as he said, “I willing to try.” 

When it was appropriate, Aaron quickly cleaned himself, changed, and then walked _y/n_ back to their apartment. Before _y/n_ went inside, Hotch placed a hand on their lower back and leaned down to kiss _y/n_’s forehead. They had both agreed to take a day and see if any other feelings, questions, or concerns that might arise once they were apart. They scheduled a meeting of sorts for Sunday to talk more deeply and thoroughly about what this relationship might look like. When they parted for real, Aaron walked down the quiet street. It was late in the night, but he didn’t feel tired. As he walked, he considered how physically closed off he had been the last few months. Close off to the team and himself. But _y/n_ had helped him see the sky again and no matter what happened after this, he would always be grateful for that. 

On Monday, _y/n_ went to see Garcia. To honestly say, “What the hell Pen?” However, the technical analyst had been watching _y/n_ and Aaron pine for each other for two years and even though her comment at Rossi’s had been a Freudian slip, she still noticed how the pair spent a long time in the kitchen. How they had both come back flushed, eyes wide. Once _y/n_ stepped into Garcia’s space, Penelope could see that something happened and did a little happy dance in her chair before getting up and dragging _y/n_ into her office, closing the door. Once they were alone, Pen said, “_y/n_ tell me everything.” _y/n_ flushed, a bit exasperated, and said, “The answer is, I may never tell you anything about my sex life again. But thanks, Penelope.” _y/n_ winked at their friend and left the office with a smile on their face. Garcia gave a little excited scream of happiness as she moved back to her desk. Sometimes when things didn’t go to plan, it still worked out.

Text Break Banners by @cafekitsune

Taglist: @criminalskies @tgskitten @geminitapestry

Want to be added to the taglist? Please see My CM Taglist Post (linked)

[fumikomiyasaki]

"H-hold on a second... these Rollerblades are... ACK-!"

Also making my contribution to @twst-the-night-away Event.... I might make two but first here is Carol. She wanted to help but forgot she never Rollerbladed in her life... hence she probably will exchange them for normal shoes soon and maybe then things be better. At least she has good memory for orders...

Voice lines under the cut:

Summon: "I only came here to help but... they could have told me about rollerblading around..."

Groovy: "Just let me change into my sneakers... then it works..."

Set Home: "Why do they still tolerate my mistakes... and why is there suddenly that many male customers here?"

Home Idle 1: "I feel the Rollerblades just make mistakes programmed in... how do you balance the plates like that... and seeing Ace be that smug about it makes me want to get revenge on him during next tutoring."

Home Idle 2: "Oh no, there is like 5 of my crushes here at once... Calm down... just breath and take their order..."

Home Idle 3: "I do like the outfit on me actually... its at least less emberassing than the maid one but somehow... I felt more confident in the maid outfit..."

Home Login: "H-hello... this is the old sage dinner... can I help you?"

Home Idle Groovy: "I am doing much better since the shoe switch, well I work as fast as the others now... finally I feel more confident about this."

Home Tap 1: "I accidentally spilled a milkshake over Henry and Barry... you really see how much more sweet Henry was, he not only calmed me but even left some extra money... while Barry was just... as sour as expired milk..."

Home Tap 2: "Ellis and Keres also seem to struggle... I am glad I am not the only one yet... they seem so much better at hiding it... I need to learn from them.

Home Tap 3: "Elias told me some tricks before being a waiter and... I think thanks to him I really did improve the more I thought about his advices."

Home Tap 4: "Keisuke stopped by to write his poems, I am glad I didn't disturb him even if it was close with that drink... I was so distracted a little cause I was curious but maybe he shows me what he wrote the next time we meet."

Home Tap 5: "I wish I could take it as professional as Kimiko... she looks so easy going doing these orders..."

Home Tap Groovy: "Oh right I did promise Adam once the shift is done to leave some of the donuts that haven't been eaten by customers for use to finish. I am glad they don't let me cook or it will look horrible."

Mentions of Characters: Ellis @starry-night-rose , Keres @terrovaniadorm , Elias @twsted-princess , Keisuke @sakuramidnight15 , Kimiko @slumberingprincessblog , Adam @silent-dragon

[dutifullyshamelessearthquake]

Cyno Thought I had at work today- 5 times Cyno ate something he shouldn’t have and didn't get sick as a dog, and one time he flew too close to the sun…

this isn’t a request or anything it’s just something I thought would be funny to think about lol. The various things through out their relationships that Cyno has eaten and tighnari is just…waiting for it to destroy him. Maybe checking in on him extra cuz “there is no way he ate that gas station sushi and feels fine??” Or! Like with each example, he gets away with it but with more and more side effects? Like the first two he Eats something sus and is fine no issues. The next one, he’s fine, but like maybe a little bloated, but he’s fine and it doesn’t seem to bother him. The fourth one he actually feels kinda gross after but it doesn’t make him sick at all and he’s still cracking jokes even tho Nari is like plz just rest??? And then ofc the fifth one is where all hell breaks loose. Idk I feel like there could be many shenanigans here to play with 🤣

also know you mostly write modern au but i could also see this working in canon au. Through out his travels Cyno comes back to nari and they do their normal check up post mission. Cyno reports what he’s had to eat and nari is just *surprised pikachu* sometimes the stuff he eats(old rations, bugs, mushrooms that probably are safer Cooked but I guess he gets away with it??) has him not having much of an appetite later or other minor symptoms but like..he doesn’t have the massively negative response Tighnari would be expecting. Until the fifth case, where Cyno stumbles home practically green…

I think it would be funny too if he’s fine eating all this weird stuff for survival, random plants and insects or whatever and the thing that gets him ends up being something very normal 😅 nari is ready to prepare all the antidotes for the surly hyper toxic mushroom he ate but nope. He just ate some bad tofu or something

there are Honeslty so many possibilities as to how one could tackle it too!! But that’s all for now byeeee

Alright I absolutely love this! It fits my interpretation of Cyno so well, it's so silly, but I love it. The thought of Tighnari just growing increasingly exasperated because Cyno's repeatedly getting away with eating the most bizarre things.

"Did you really just drink half a carton of expired milk, Cyno you're literally lactose intolerant??"

I love that. And I love the idea of sometimes he's fine, other times he might feel a little off or have a minor side effect, but he's still okay. ...until he inevitably isn't.

It's like his body decided "okay I'm done taking all the weird crap you put in my, I'm going to angrily rebel now."

Tighnari is torn, because he wants to gently scold Cyno and tell him I told you so, but he also just. wants to comfort him. because Cyno is really not feeling well.

He definitely gives him a gentle bonk when he's recovered though, and Cyno has to sit through a lecture about being more careful about what he eats. (But does he actually learn? Maybe for a month. Then the risk taking starts again, because this is Cyno we're speaking of.)

Also THAT LASR SCENARIO!! Modern au is my speciality but I absolutely adore that concept and I will be thinking about it a ton. Poisoning attempts, strange plants and insects, the most questionable shit, Cyno's body weathers them all, but a case of regular old food poisoning is what bests him.

I want to scream about this more but it is getting very late where I am and I should go to bed if I want to not feel like a corpse at work tomorrow. But I will rant about this again because I absolutely love this silly boy and his silly life choices and the consequences they come with.

[koheletgirl]

27, 39, 41!

27. about how many hours of sleep did you get?

ummm i went to sleep at 3am? and woke up at 8? so 5

39. do you use lip balm?

i use this nuxe lip balm thingy. it's probably expired but i love it

41. how do you take your coffee?

i take. a lot.

so the thing is a drink my coffee in a 600ml bottle. so that's 4 teaspoons coffee*, one teaspoon sugar, a little bit of hot water to melt it, and then cold water all the way and a tiny bit of oat milk. i drink at least 2 of these a day. so that's. not great

*i'm realizing as i'm writing this that youre american. and to my understanding you do your coffee very differently, but i don't know what it is that you do. do all of you have coffee makers?

weird asks

[badwolfweightloss-blog]

2-14 the good and the bad

Started the morning happy. I weighed in at 199.4. That's progress. I'm happy to see the 100s again. But I don't trust the process this week, or my work with it. I binged on Superbowl Sunday. When I look back at it, it was about disappointment about my "treat" that I made for myself essentially sucking while the treats I made the kids were kickass amazing. Then, hubby called for a favor that was something I truly didn't want to do. He left all of his work stuff at home and needed it, which meant I had to stop what i was in the middle of doing - cooking for the kids and me, and trying to salvage the superbowl when the truth is he took any chance of me enjoying it when he decided to work overtime. Hell, when he decided to keep working in this job even though he could have retired 6 years ago. But the truth his, he doesn't want to retire. He doesn't want to live a normal daytime week with me now any more than when we were first together. I've just been in denial for our entire marriage and he's been lying to me for the whole thing too. I feel so stupid for ever thinking we were going to live this life together. I feel like I put in my 20 years as a cop wife and now its finally my time. But he's taking away any hope of a normal marriage by making this decision. And yes, like my therapist says, I feel heartbroken. And rejected. And it hurts. it hurts that I feel like I have wasted my life with someone that doesn't love me the way I wanted to be loved, and the chance is over now because I am old and fat and wasted and expired. No wonder he doesn't want to retire. Why on Earth would he?

Yea, so anyway, that all lives below the surface all of the time. And during times like this, when he all of a sudden wants me to drop everything and help him and once again I have to get the shitty end of the stick, I tend to binge. Which is exactly what I did. I ate all of the food that i was serving the kids. And the day after I was "good" and was under my daily - I counted around 900 calories. This morning I had my 199.4 weigh in. But today is Valentines day. So, I ate too much sushi, which I tried to not have because I really love it, but hubby wanted to make me happy. (which is why I guess he bought me a wine opening set - to really drive home the fact that I should be drinking wine again. codependent much?) Anyway, I had 11 points of sushi, 7 points of lunch and breakfast - putting me at 18. Then I also had 2 meatballs for 2 points. And with 3 points left, I had almond milk in my coffee, and a quick snack tonight of peetos and a half of banana. Also a few bites and nibbles here and there, but nothing crazy. So I am closing out the day. And I am proud of the fact that I stopped the binge to write this. Because, truth be told, I was going to binge. I was ready to finish the peetos and move on to the next snack, and the next. And look for the dark chocolate I just opened. I think that was the trigger - hubby asked me to give it to the kids. And I feel depressed and tired and like I've disappointed my parents again. I had to cancel Thursday and she got off the phone right away like she was pissed at me. But the kids are busy and honestly, I don't want to go right now. Also, she is getting posessive - i had mentioned my nephew might go to college near me. So, she got on the phone today to recommend colleges elsewhere because she doesn't want me to ever have any regular relationship with hubby's family. Its exhausting. But I have to get to a point where I don't care. Where I can call her out for being a posessive bitch and move on with my life. I'm 45 years old and she needs to cut this shit out already.

Then my kids keep coming in and annoying me and I want them to stop. I want time to myself, but not just a little time - a LOT of time. My daughter has severely damaged hair from the time I let her try to dye her hair herself. Its multiple colors and dry and brittle and frizzy and so terrible. She also wants it straightened. She has extremely curly hair. She will never have super straight hair like the girls in her school. She will never look like the ones that are pick me girls. She needs to come to terms with that, and I can't do it for her. i wish I could take away her sadness, but I can't. I'm also a terrible motivational parent, and that's what she needs right now. All I could muster is, well, it'll grow out. Hair isn't forever. But she needs more than that. I just never know what to say. To her, to anyone really. So, inadaquate and a failure at the most important relationships in my life, I turned to food again tonight to take away that pain. Cause it does, normally. For a single moment, for a bite in time while I chew it all away, all I can focus on is flavor and crunch, texture and the comforting feeling of swallowing and putting more in. God I love that - the feeling that there is always some more waiting on my plate, on my fork, and that I can keep feeding myself what I need. What I really need is a family that does dishes. A propensity to be able to speak to other humans in an acceptable and successful way. A husband that loves me for the person I am and not the way I suck his dick. Parents that honor the adult I am without making inappropriate side comments that call into question my competency. A talent to sing and a place to show everyone the feelings that bubble to the surface begging to be expressed in music. A job where I can be respected, and well paid. A body that hasn't aged beyond repair, and a gender that doesn't get me discarded because a woman's shelf life is no more than 45 years. A history that doesn't haunt me in the dark hours when I try to sleep but can still remember the taunting and bullying and torture and abuse.

Well, I don't want to binge anymore tonight, so at least there's that. I dealt with the rise in emotions by writing, and the tide had a safer space to come in and now wash away. I need exercise. I think I'm going to change the bike seat tonight and get back on the nordic track. I need to pedal away my feelings.

[oldgooddaysoldgooddays]

61

A touch of mental illness coats my Saturday as I wilfully ignore the fridge door that came off at its hinges in my studio, force myself to drink oat milk on the brink of expiration and consider somehow reselling the 6 cans of Canada Dry ginger ale I had shipped from America at a profit I also sing, without stopping, the song “Everything’s Alright” from the 1973 rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar to soothe myself, despite never having seen a performance of Jesus Christ Superstar. Instead I Shazam’d it from rewatching the final season of Transparent because it sounded familiar. I start to believe Andrew Lloyd Webber is one of the greatest living songwriters. The verses of Everything’s Alright are antidepressants, if antidepressants came in a 5/4 time signature. The backing vocals are restrained, gentle. I learn that it’s supposed to be Mary Magdalene singing the most comforting parts. Since art school I’ve loved the iconography showing her covered in thick, red hair, often with her breasts exposed A woman writes in to the guardian’s weekly advice column about her teenage son being exposed to porn for the first time, seeking counsel on how to manage his relationship to it. I always read the comments on these things, where personal anecdotes tend to enter the thread. One commenter offers the following verbal reasoning: that porn is to real sex as action movies are to real life. It’s lit, cast, scripted, financed, there are stunts, and the behind the scenes goings on are likely both more boring and more depressing than one sees on screen. I nod along knowing I’m far from qualified, since even the most alternative or newfangled “ethical” porn makes me profoundly sad. Once when I thought I was going to sleep with a very old man, I forced myself to watch geriatric porn to prepare for what ageing skin does during intimacy On ageing skin, my granny calls for a debrief on her school reunion, seemingly hurt that her old friends don’t love the extent to which she says “fuck”. She tells me she had such a bad time that she got drunk on the train home with a group of men attending the horse races. She left her iPad at the reunion and i buy her another so she can Google restaurants while my grandpa - possibly suffering from covid - compulsively monitors his own oxygen levels. She tells me she worries my gambling uncle, newly equipped with a modicum of emotional intelligence, still talks like a CEO. I send her a link to Grey Gardens, not only because she needs to see it, but because I need to see it too

[waitimcomingtoo]

The Proposal ~ T.H

chapter one: the proposal 

Series Masterlist

As editor in chief of the most renowned book publishing company in the UK, you had a lot on your plate. Lucky for you, you had an assistant who fulfilled your every need.

“Assistant?” You called from your desk. “Where’s my drink?”

“Right here, miss.” Tom hurried to put a Starbucks cup in your hand. He watched you nervously as you took a long sip.

“No eye contact.” You reminded him, and his eyes quickly fell to the floor. “Not unless I initiate it first.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Sorry.”

“Did you read the manuscript I sent you last night?” You asked once you seemed to approve of the drink.

“Yes, miss.”

“All of it?” You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Tom took a large stack of papers out of his bag and carefully placed them on your desk.

“I highlighted the weaker paragraphs and put tabs on the parts that drag.” He explained as you flipped through the stack.

“Color coded tabs?” You asked.

“Pink for parts that need editing and red for parts that can be cut all together.” He nodded. Your lips tugged into a smile as you stopped touching the pages.

“Good boy.” You said without looking at him. Tom gulped and looked up at the ceiling so you wouldn’t see how flustered that made him.

“Thank you, miss.” He said weakly.

That was how your relationship was. You were the boss, and he made sure you were happy at all times. You had fired 15 assistants before you found Tom. Most ran from you in fear, but Tom had been putting up with you for two years now. It was hard work, but he enjoyed it.

“What did you think of the writing?” You asked him. Tom swallowed a little before giving you his answer.

“His dialogue was strong but it got preachy towards the middle.” He began. “The scene between Genevieve and Edward sounded like he was rewriting a past experience with an ex.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” You smirked. “Nice work, assistant. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you.” Tom bowed before turning to leave your part of the office.

“Wait.” You called, making him freeze.

“Yes, miss?” He asked nervously.

“Why does my cup say “Tom” on it?” You asked as you turned the cup around to show him where his name was written.

“Um, that was actually my cup.” He explained. “That’s why.”

“And what happened to my cup?” You tilted your head.

“I spilled it.” He admitted. “I’m sorry, miss. It won’t happen again.”

“So you drink a matcha latte with soy milk and foam?” You raised your eyebrow. “Because this is the same as my order.”

“I do.”

“I thought you drank tea.”

“I drink that too.” He nodded quickly. “I just like matcha in the morning.”

“Do you?” You laughed a little, but it came off as a scoff. You liked to you with Tom because of how easy he made it.

“Of course.” He said. “I don’t just drink the same drink as you in case I spill yours. That would be crazy.”

“No one suggested you did.” You said flatly, and Tom realized he was caught.

“I…um.”

“Right.” You waved your hand. “Get out of my office, assistant.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s a great idea.” Tom gave you a thumbs up and quickly ran to his part of the office. He sat down in his desk and snuck a glance at you as you read over his work from the night before.

“Did you need something else?” You asked without looking up at him. Tom flushed again when you caught him staring and cleared his throat.

“Yes, miss.” He began. “I was wondering if you received my request to take next week off. I was going to go home to see my family.”

“Oh, right.” You remembered reading his email. “Do you really need a whole week?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I haven’t seen them in a long time and it’s my little brothers birthday.” Tom explained. “It would mean a lot to them if I was there.”

You let out a loud sigh as you continued to read the manuscript, never looking up at him.

“I also haven’t taken a vacation in two years.” He added quietly. “Just to remind you.”

You finally looked up at Tom, who was sitting meekly with his hands folded on his desk, and let out another sigh. He was a great assistant who never talked back or asked for anything. He deserved a little time off.

“Fine.” You agreed. “You can go home. But I want the revised edits of the My Girl manuscript by the time you get back.”

“Yes, miss.” He broke into a smile. “Of course.”

“Now stop staring.” You commanded, and he quickly looked away.

You and Tom worked in silence for the next hour until he got a phone call.

“Miss L/n’s office, how may I help you?” Tom cheerily answered the phone. You snuck a glance at him as he nodded along to whoever was on the other end of the line.

“Yes, sir. Right away.” He said before hanging up. “Miss?”

“What now?” You sighed.

“You have a call from upstairs.” Tom explained. “They want to see you right away.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back in your chair. A call from upstairs meant the head of the publishing company, Mr. Reynolds, wanted to see you.

“All right.” You stood up and smoothed your skirt. “You know the drill. Get me in ten minutes with a call from-“

“Mr. Paxton.” Tom finished your sentence with a smile. “I know what to do.”

“Good boy.” You nodded at him. “But don’t cut me off again. Or I’ll cut that pretty little paycheck I give you. Got it?”

“Yes, miss.” He answered as you walked out of the office. You made your way to the office upstairs and threw on a smile before opening the door.

“Good morning, sir.” You greeted. “How can I help you?”

“Good morning, Y/n.” Mr. Reynolds smiled tightly. “Look, there’s no way to sugar coat this. You’re being deported.”

“What?” Your smile fell. “Deported?”

“We got a call from the IRCC.” He sighed. “Your visa is expired.”

“But I put in a request for a renewal.” You explained as you tried not to panic.

“It was denied.” He told you. “Apparently you haven’t filled out your paperwork in months. You missed several deadlines.”

You let out a loud sigh and sat in the chair in front of his desk. Me. Reynolds watched you sympathetically as you rubbed your face.

“So what happens now?” You asked sadly.

“You stayed in the country past 30 days of your visa expiring. That means you’ll have to leave the country for a year and apply for citizenship.”

“A year?” You exclaimed but quickly collected yourself so you didn’t look frazzled.

“That’s...that’s not problem.” You forced a smile. I can work from home. Most of what I do is online anyway. It’ll be fine.”

“I wish it were that easy.” He sighed. “You’re the best editor in chief we’ve ever had and it would kill us to see you go. But if you’re deported, you can’t work for an UK company. It’s not allowed.”

Before you could answer, Tom knocked on the door and stepped into the office.

“Excuse me, I have a call waiting for Miss L/n.” He smiled. “It’s from Mr. Paxton and it’s urgent.”

“Not now, assistant.” You waved him away in annoyance while you tried to think of what to do. Tom didn’t understand that you didn’t need to be saved from this meeting, so he went on with the plan.

“I can see that you’re already engaged but when you have a minute, Mr. Paxton really needs to speak with you.” Tom continued. Your head snapped up at his choice of words and suddenly, you had an idea. Tom looked at your curiously as you got out of your chair and motioned for him to come over to you. He reluctantly walked over to you and kept his distance, but you immediately pulled him closer and wrapped your arm around his.

“Mr. Reynolds , you don’t have to worry about replacing me.” You said. “I can assure you, no one is getting deported anytime soon.”

“Why’s that?” He asked. Tom looked at you in confusion and you gave him a sweet smile in return. You slipped your hand into Tom’s and rested your head on his shoulder, making Tom’s entire body tense up.

“Because Tom and I are engaged.” You lied through a smile.

“You are?” Mr. Reynolds asked hopefully.

“We are?” Tom sputtered with wide eyes.

“We are.” You said through gritted teeth, never losing your smile. “We are getting married. To each other. Out of love. And passion. And stuff.”

“Yeah. What she said.” Tom faked a smile as well as he tried to understand what was happening.

“Wow. Congratulations.” Mr. Reynolds applauded you. “I had no idea you two were together.”

“Well, we are.” You squeezed Tom’s hand and beamed. “We’re so excited. I can’t wait to be Mrs....”

You trailed off and looked to Tom for help when you realized you didn’t know his last name.

“Holland.” He finished your sentence.

“Holland.” You nodded. “Mrs. Holland. That’s me. Soon to be, anyway.”

“Well this would certainly solve the deportation issue. Just make it official and you’re in the clear.” Mr. Reynolds told you.

“We will. Bye now.” You waved and pulled Tom out of the office by his hand. You quickly dropped his hand and your smile as you walked back to your office.

“What was the about?” Tom whispered. “What deportation?”

“Keep your mouth shut and keep walking.” You seized his arm and pulled him to your office. You pushed him inside and shut the door behind the two of you, letting out a loud groan once you were alone.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” He asked you.

“No.” You said simply as rubbed your face.

“No?” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

You glared at Tom for a minute as you reminded yourself that he was your only hope. You hated being vulnerable in front of people, but you desperately needed his help. Knowing there was no other option, you hung your head in shame and got ready to tell him the truth.

“Look, I’m not a UK citizen.” You admitted. “I came here on a student visa and I got it extended once I started working here but the embassy denied my recent request for another extension.”

“Okay. Great.” Tom said sarcastically. “What does that have to do with my hand in marriage?”

“I can’t work here without citizenship or a visa. But I could stay here if I was married to a citizen, like you.” You said like it was obvious. “And watch it with the sarcasm. I’m still your boss.”

“Sorry, miss.” He slipped back into his submissive role. “But why would you have to marry me? Can’t you just apply for citizenship?”

“Do you have any idea how long that takes?” You sighed. “And I’d have to leave the country for at least a year because I overstayed.”

“Where are you being deported to exactly?” He wondered.

“Canada.” You mumbled sheepishly. His cheeks puffed up as he tried to hold back laughter. He knew it wasn’t funny, but he had never seen you so vulnerable before. Something about you needing his help made him want to laugh.

“Are you laughing?” You sternly raised your eyebrows at him.

“No.” He said quickly. “I’ve never laughed. Not once in my whole life.”

“This is serious.” You raised your voice at him. “It’s my job. And it’s your job too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re my assistant.” You reminded him. “If I’m fired, so are you. That means all the work you’ve done to get to where you are will go out the window and you’ll have to start over.”

“I can’t start over.” Tom panicked. “I put my whole life into this job.”

“Then you know what you have to do.” You shrugged.

“But we can’t just get married.” He laughed at the ridiculous situation.

“Why not?” You said dismissively. “We can just sign the papers at city hall and get divorced when this is all solved.”

“Are you forgetting this is a felony?” He asked you. “We’d be committing fraud.”

“Then we’ll just have to be extremely convincing.” You gave him as tight smile.

“And what if we’re not?” He asked as he got closer to you. “I could go jail. Why would I risk that just so you could stay in the country?”

You put your hand on your hips and stared at him, realizing he had a good point. He had a lot to lose if he helped you, so you had to level the playing field.

“I’ll make you editor.” You decided.

“What?”

“Thats what you want, right?” You asked. “What you’ve been waiting for?”

“Yes. I want it very much.” He said quietly.

“Then I’ll make you a deal.” You proposed. “If you marry me, I will promote you to editor.”

“You will?” He asked hopefully.

“I will.” You promised. “You earned it. And you’d be doing me a huge favor.”

Tom stared at you for a long time as he decided what to do. He was risking at least five years in prison for committing fraud, but that was only if you got caught. If he could convict the IRCC that he was your husband, he could become the editor at his dream job.

“Please.” You said softly when you sensed his hesitation. “You’re my only hope. I need you.”

Tom’s lips twitched into a smile as he came to a conclusion.

“I want a proposal.” He decided.

“What?”

“If we’re getting married, then I want a proposal.” He shrugged. “From you. Right now.”

“I am not proposing to you.” You scoffed.

“Then you’ll have to find a new husband.” Tom said simply. He turned to go back to his desk but you grabbed his arm.

“Wait.” You looked at the ceiling in annoyance, knowing there was no way around this.

“Yes?” He asked sweetly.

“Will you marry me?” You asked through a tight smile.

“Uh uh.” He said. “That’s not a proposal.”

“What am I supposed to do?” You whined. “Get down on my knees?”

Tom tweaked an eyebrow up and you took it as a yes. With a loud sigh, you got down on both knees in front of him and took his hand.

“Tom Holland,” you forced a wide smile, “will you please marry me?”

“It’s a pretty sight.” He smirked. “You on your knees.”

“Is that a yes?” You raised an unamused eyebrow.

“Yes.” He smiled. “Yes, I will marry you.”

Tag list 🏷

@awesomebooklover17​ @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling @weirdr-artiest​ @serendipitous-amor @dummiesshort

@foreverxholland​ @lavender-writer​ @michaela072796​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​ @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @justcallmehitgirl​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human @mara-twins​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @maryjanee23​ @geeksareunique​ @emmamarshmellow​ @unbelievableholland​ @flixndchill​ @sovereignparker​ @thisisthebiplace​ @spideydobrik​ @every-marveler-ever​ @undiadeestos​ @caelestii-e​ @eridanuswave​​ @itscaminow​​ @fiantomartell​ @solarxmoonchild​ @canyouevencauseicant​ @illwritetomorrow​ @thehappygrungelife​ @saysomethingspiderman​ @smilexcaptainx​ @quaksonhehe​ @kelieah @kickingn-ames​ @seasidecrowbar​ @lovelessdagger​ @love-sick-blues​ @electraheart-3174​ @unbelievableholland​ @yourtypicalhotmess​ @spideyanakin​ @horanxholland​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​ @marshxx​ @heyheycharlatte​ @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie​ @tomshufflepuff​ @cookiemonstermusic258​

@maybemona​ @alexxcorona113​ @lethal-wisdom​ @xo-spidey​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @pandaxnienke​ @theincredibledeadlyviper​  @thestylestour​  @officialsimppage​ @mrvelscaptains​ @peterbenjiparker​ @itsemohours​ @okkulta​ @parkerlovebot​ @jungkxxkk​ @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ @whatthefuckimbisexual​ @olixerwxxd​ @starkbrain​ @creatorofthegalaxy​ @thatwilbursootsimp​ @ilovefrogs1000​ @itstaskeen​ @itmatteredatthetime​ @wrendermeuseless​ @amazinggracy​ @iprobablyshipit91​ @magicalxdaydream​ @whereismytelephone​ @theonly1outof-a-billion​ @leilanixx​ @namoreno​ @bi-lmg @dracoswhore007​ @tomhollandloml​ @avengers-hamiltrash​ @sunshinepeterparkr​ @gh0stgurl​ @so-very-asleep​ @veryholland​ @white-wolf1940​ @spideycheles​ @firwproof​ @fanficaddict13125​ @pinklxmonade​ @thebestqueenoftheworld​ @nowayhomeparker​ @willowestelle​ @imobsessedzs​ @spideyspeaches​ @bookfrog242​ @hihiweezing​ @mathletemadison​  @chipot-lol​ @mackenziejanine​ @dhtomholland​ @peterstommy​ @insomniac-nerd-posts-things​ @prancerrparkerr​ @aayaissaa​ @loudthoughts-softspoken​ @starknik22​ @hallecarey1​ @tom-holland-is-bae​

[alexismalfoy]

[ request ] draco and reader are those type of best friends that are always sarcastic and always laughing. one day, one thing or another happens and reader ends up owing draco a kiss on the cheek. but just when reader was about to give it to him, his face turns to the side and they peck each other on the lips

This is such a cute idea!

☕︎︎Bet☕︎︎

Summary: Draco makes a bet with the reader and if she can’t fulfill it she has to kiss him.

Warnings: None.

Draco Malfoy x Reader

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

Draco had made a bet with you today.

A bet that could change everything.

The big change wasn't the bet itself it was the consequence if you couldn’t fulfill it.

However, it was a change you both wanted. Draco liked you and you liked him. The problem was neither of you knew that (even though it was embarrassingly obvious). You were both too scared to be rejected.

Especially from your best friend.

You and Draco’s relationship was full of pranks and jokes. So naturally, when Draco had said that if you didn’t drink the glass of expired milk you’d owe him a kiss you thought he was being sarcastic.

He wasn’t.

He had said this in front of all your friends so there was no backing down.

Draco had given up on giving you subtle hints. He would constantly have to stop himself from being too touchy or romantic with you, fearing you wouldn’t like it.

It was all he wanted. You.

So today he decided that he would make a move.

That’s how you got in this position…staring into the cup of sour milk.

The smell was potent and you could see chunks floating around. You almost hurled right there.

Draco was hurt that you even thought about drinking the milk instead of kissing him. Something you both desperately needed.

Your friends were sat all around you two and went silent when you put the cup down.

Your cheeks went red and despite the cocky smirk on Draco’s face, his nerves started to kick in too.

“Fine.” You said rolling your eyes, leaning towards his turned head. To kiss him on the cheek.

Or so you thought.

Within seconds Draco turned and your lips hit his.

Both of your eyes went wide, yet neither of you could pull away.

There were wolf whistles around the room as you two melted into each other.

After a few moments, you pulled away and looked up at him, mouth agape. His smirk reappeared.

“I never said where.” He said cockily.

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

Hey guys I really liked this idea and I hope my writing isn't getting redundant! (let me know if it is)

Taglist: @marrymetheonott

(Contact me to be added to my taglist!)

[lexa-lives-in-us]

Saving Tips for Hard Times

I found this old document where I collected a series of tips to save money. This is all part of my experience of when I was near homeless, and some work depending on where you live, some don’t. Here we go.

BILLS:

1. The optimum temperature for refrigerator operation is 5°C, and -18°C for freezer operation. As a rule of thumb, for each additional degree of refrigeration output about six percent more electricity is used.

2. Unplug your appliances. Lamps, microwave, tv, computers etc. They don't need to be plugged until you use them, and it saves energy to keep them unplugged. Therefore, money.

3. Do homework for phone companies and internet plans. Call them! Often they are toll free and if you mentioned that you were already with them or thinking of going with them and then found out another company had a better deal, they could offer you deals for lower prices. I had to do it all the time for my phone, until they couldn't really offer anything better.

4. BIKE. Invest in a used bike if you can, especially for the warmer months. It offsets the transit costs and better your health.

5. WALK. That's the same as the bike, honestly.

6. Pay your bills on time, you will avoid late fees which can up to HUNDREDS of dollars wasted over the course of a year. If you can, set up automatic payments so you don’t forget.

FRIDGE:

1. Every time the refrigerator door is opened, cold air escapes and warm ambient air enters. To compensate for the temperature increase in its interior, the refrigerator must then use energy to bring the temperature back down. Always avoid opening the door unnecessarily and for too long.

2. When defrosting frozen food place it in the refrigerator. Not only does this ensure that the food is carefully defrosted, its presence cools down the refrigerator interior, reducing the amount of work that the compressor has to do, and therefore lowering energy consumption.

3. Never put warm food in the refrigerator as this will heat up the interior, as well as other stored foods. Hot food should always be allowed to cool to room temperature before placing it in the refrigerator

MONEY:

1. Keep all the containers like glass bottles, juice bottles, jars, cans etc. Look for your Return-It depot and have trips to return them. They give back coins for laundry, small expenses etc

2. Use that junk mail. Go through it, find coupons for food, for essentials like toilet paper or shampoo.

3. CHECK. THAT. DOLLARSTORE. They often have things like pasta, ketchup, toilet paper, batteries etc for literally 1 dollar.  Pasta is pasta, toilet paper is toilet paper. Seriously. Don't need to spend 5$ on a shampoo bottle when you can have it for 1/5 of the price.

4. Do homework and check with different banks for which one offers a better plan. Some of them are willing to help out. Sit down with their advisors, find the best solution!

5. Use the envelope system! For example, one envelope with a label “food” the other with “entertainment” the other with “bills”. Then set the right amount of cash for each. That’s what you’re allowed to spend each month. If you realize you need more for food, grab it from the entertainment envelope. Adapt and arrange as needed.

6. If you can, set up an automatic saving (example 50$ every paycheck) for both regular saving AND an emergency fund.

7. Use the 24-Hour Rule. Avoid purchasing expensive or unnecessary items on impulse with a self-imposed 24-hour rule. For any non-essential item, wait 24 hours before purchasing. It’s perfect for online shopping where your items can simply be added to your cart to purchase later.

8. Make a grocery list BEFORE going to the grocery store and STICK to it. You’re going to avoid buying things you don’t really need.

9. DO. NOT. SHOP. WHILE. YOU. ARE. HUNGRY. Or you’ll end up buying food that you actually don’t need just because you feel snacky!

10. Only use ATMs from your bank, or you get charged small fees.

11. Set a “No Spend Day” per week, where you consciously DO NOT spend any money for that day.

12. Ditch the paper: Cutting out paper towels and using cloths and napkins that you can simply wash and reuse is a simple way to save.

13. After you wear clothes, hang them outside your wardrobe, on a door or something. You can air them out a bit, then stick them in the closet without washing. You can basically reuse the same clothes two or three times without having to wash them, sometimes they just need a bit of air and they won’t smell AT ALL.

14. If you don’t own or want to spend money on an iron, hang whatever blouse you need to iron in the bathroom while you shower. The steam will humidify the fabric and straighten it up.

15. Hang stuff to dry. Really don’t need to spend money on the dryer.

16. Sign up to the library. They have so many books and DVDs nowadays. You can also just go, sit at the library and stay warm for a while, so that you don’t have to sit at home and either suffer the cold or use money on your own heat.

17. Budget, budget, budget. Get a lil notebook, write down the monthly expenses, cut what you don’t need. It gets easier with time.

 FOOD:

1.       Make a meal plan. Write 10-14 days worth of dishes that you can do (lunch, dinner, everything you need). You can then toss them around as you go on with your week, but that way you have a pretty clear idea of what you use and the food you go through for how long. It also reduces the risks of getting take out since you already have plans for what to eat.

2.       Cook double! Seriously. Make that dinner and double it up. Leftovers can be frozen or put in the fridge for the day after.

3.       Meal prep. Once a week, prep a bunch of different recipes. Let them cool down, stick them in the freezer. At that point you’ll already have all these meals at the ready to just thaw/microwave or oven up.

4.       You don’t need pop. You don’t need alcohol. You most likely don’t need milk, but go for it if you wanna. Just remember dairy products go bad WAY more quickly than non dairies, so consider getting food and drinks with no dairy in them. Mainly, though. Water. Just drink water. Lots of it too! Sometimes our brain can’t tell the difference between hunger and thirst. You think you’re snacky? Drink some water instead! It’ll quell your hunger.

5.       Freeze fruit! If you think you’re not gonna be able to eat fruit in time, put it in a Tupperware or a ziplock and slap it in the freezer. You’ll be able to then use it for smoothies.

6.       Use the Italian saying “Colazione da re, pranzo da nobili, cena da poveri.” Which quite literally means “Breakfast as a king, lunch as a noble, dinner as a poor.” Breakfast should be very filling, carbs, protein, vitamins. It carries you for the whole day. Lunch should be quite filling too! But supper doesn’t really need a lot of it, and if you REALLY have to skip a meal, skip supper. Your body doesn’t need that much sustenance while sleeping.

7.       This is for the desperate times but I’ve done it, and I would do it again if I ever had to. Go to markets that have like… Fruits and veggies. Talk to them. Ask them “HEY, can I have the fruit/veggie that you have to throw away?” Ask them if you can have the ugly produce, the one that doesn’t look pretty enough to be put out. Or ask them to have whatever extra they have to dump because is past the expiry date. EXPIRY DATE IS USUALLY MUCH LONGER THAN WHAT THE LABEL SAYS. I wouldn’t risk it with dairy stuff or with things that are VERY expired, but one or two days? Totally fine, I promise. And if you have to? Dumpster Dive. Especially at markets with fruit and veggies that have to be sold on the same day (because it’s not considered “fresh” past that day.) Or behind pizza places like Dominos or Panago or whatever chain. They get pizza orders wrong all the time. Just give a peak behind these buildings and look inside their boxes. You have no idea how many times I found perfectly fine pizzas. For free! IF YOU DUMPSTER DIVE, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE GLOVES, A MASK AND PLASTIC BAGS TO PUT YOUR STUFF IN. ONCE AT HOME, DISCARD GLOVES AND WASH PRODUCE THROUGHLY. Also check tumblr for your divers community, they usually know the best spots.

 CLOTHES:

1.       Thrift shop! So many GOOD used clothes are out there! Honestly! My whole wardrobe is thrifted and everything looks brand new. It takes a bit of research and maybe that shirt you liked is not in your size, but you can find EVERYTHING, from socks to bras, at a thrift store. Don’t thrift underwear though. You want to go new with those.

2.       Invest in some needle and thread, then open youtube. There are SO MANY tutorials that teach you how to mend holes in socks and underwear. And really, no one will really notice if a mend is perfectly done or not. After a week, you’ll forget it too! But that prevents you from throwing away clothes that could just be mended a little.

3.       Something doesn’t fit you? Too small, too big? YouTube, homie. They have tutorials on how to fix these kinda things! All you need, again, is needle and thread.

4.       Organize clothes swaps with friends and/or neighbors. Everyone brings clothes they don’t need, put them in a pile. Go through the pile and grab whatever there is. There’s no money exchange, one could go home with 1 item and one could go home with 50 items. Who cares? The extra stuff… DONATE IT TO A SHELTER.

Feel free to add more, and stay safe!

[mxrcayong]

part of @nct-writers​’s cafe resonance collab!

genre: fluff, a more UK-based pov of university

summary: jisung, a college student now looking for a job, has decided to apply for a job at the local café. he thought being friends with the manager and its employees has it perks; from unlimited free coffee to whatever pastries haven’t been eaten by the end of the day. needless to say; the perks must end somewhere. 

word count: 2317 words

note: i didn’t make the divider!!

College students practically live by coffee shops. If university was a religion, the on-campus coffee shop would be the bible. Daily, college students’ breath in the coffee beans like oxygen, feel the permanent imprint of coffee mug or a ‘to go’ cup on their lips. They’re surrounded by the smells of different fruity pastries and savory snacks, and the sounds of students either chatting or typing away on their computers. 

It’s no wonder that the university coffee shop was practically a hub of activity. When you sit down to work at Café Resonance, it’s feels like you’re a part of a bigger and collective community, stressing for assessments or just taking a break from their hectic university schedules. It’s especially hectic when you’re a full-time student and work part time.   

“Do I really need to get a job?” Jisung sighed, scratching his head as he leant against the barista’s counter. His six closest friends were working behind the counter: using the coffee machines and decorating the pastries. “Can’t I just use your employee discount on everything?” 

Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows. “You know I want to, my little mouse.” He teased as he placed another order on his tray, “But I can only put the café employee discount on so many things.” He practically sung as he left, heading to a table to bring another set of students their own cups of their own ambrosia.     

From the cash register, Haechan had just finished taking the orders of the last bunch of the line and immediately replaced Jaemin’s place next to Jisung. “You can always just become a sugar baby.” He suggested, coming over to the display case to grab one of the pastries to heat up per the customer’s order. “Or a pole dancer… aren’t you a good dancer?” 

Jisung immediately protested. “Firstly, no. Secondly, is it even legal? I literally only became an adult this year.” 

“Actually…” Haechan started to counter, only to be interrupted by Mark approaching with a raised hand and a dirty mop. 

“Stop telling everyone to become a sugar baby.” Mark chided as he ducked to get back behind the counter, drudging the cleaning supplies with him. “You do realize that if someone does become a sugar baby, they aren’t entitled to paying for your shit either.” In response, Haechan grumbled under his breath as he gave the bewildered customer overhearing the odd conversation their fruity treat. 

Jisung has visited his closest friends enough to know that working at the café is like a beautifully choreographed dance. It moves like clockwork; with the six doing their roles diligently and without question. So, it’s not unusual for his friends to come and go during the conversation – all taking part whilst separating themselves at the same time. 

“Why don’t you just ask Chenle if you could work here?” Renjun suggested, coming out from the back room where he started baking some more pastries – obvious through his powdered apron. “We all work here already, and we can go through the ropes with you.” 

Jeno immediately stepped in and basically rejected the offer. “Do you remember the last time we hosted an event and Jisung wanted to help?” He prompted, before chuckling. “He tried to wash the food with dish soap…and he broke the broom when cleaning!” 

Almost as if the thought of teasing Jisung summons him, Chenle came out of seemingly nowhere. “Didn’t he leave the broken broom on the floor and just started playing video games?” Jeno, Haechan, and Renjun nodded – remembering the mess the 00-line apartment was that night.  

“Not the best party we hosted.” Jaemin commented, going around the counter to make his own drink now that the list of waiting customers is gone. “But, still, Jisung learns fast. I think he could work here.” 

Chenle let out an introspective hum, before leaning over to whisper to Haechan. With a questionable look on their faces, Chenle decided to call Jisung into the back room and in his makeshift ‘managers office’ (a perk of being family with the owner of the university café). “I’ll consider your application, but I can’t do any nepotism.” He started, “so, you must go through the whole application process.” He paused. “You must come up with your own recipe.” 

With a rule to not discuss recipes with his ‘potential future co-workers’ – which Chenle weirdly specified as everyone but Haechan, Jisung had to get straight to work. In all honesty, he had no baking experience nor ever made a drink without a guiding recipe.

While his six closest friends were out of the equation, he had another friend he could reach out to; Y/N. 

You were in his freshmen orientation group earlier this year. Not going to lie, you initially thought of each other as familiar faces who you’d occasionally wave at or nod in acknowledgement when you walk past each other. However, you later found yourself eating in the same hall cafeteria…and then the same hall pantry…and then, it clicked. You two lived only four doors away from each other in your university hall. 

Needless to say, you two ran midnight McDonald trips basically on a weekly basis. You became integral to Jisung’s daily routine; from waking each other up for breakfast to storming into each other rooms, armed with complaints and rants about the shitty professor who made you read 300 pages for one night. Even on your busiest days, you two would always pick each other up for the hall provided breakfasts and dinners. 

So here you were - Jisung was slouching down on your desk chair while you were resting on the bed, your back against the wall and a pillow in your lap as you tried to help Jisung solve his current problem. “Well…did Chenle give you a prompt or anything?” 

Jisung shook his head, groaning back. “It’s not like we have a kitchen to try and bake either! We only have fridges and a microwave and a….” He tried to recall what was on the floor pantry. 

“Just a fridge and a microwave.” You added. “That means pastries are off the table…how about a drink?” 

Jisung groaned again. “I have a hard time making pre-made coffee!” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle; you remembered that day. It was a scary time for you; your credit card company sent you a text about a fraudulent use of your student account. Not only did you end up stressing to the point of crying, but you also learned it was a false alarm. Luckily, while still reeling from the anxiety inducing news, you ran into Jisung as he was leaving his room. He then took you to the pantry to try and cheer you up with coffee…however, a fire alarm went off and practically deafened the whole university housing cohort for hours. 

And poor Jisung…Jisung was just an awkward little mouse, trying to look innocent as he saw his exhausted neighbors clamber out into the park due to his attempt of making pre-made coffee. 

“Well…you have me. This isn’t hopeless.” Climbing off the bed, you pretended to dust yourself off. “So, let’s go to the pantry? Another one of our…”

Jisung quickly furrowed his brows, interjecting while you still spoke “I don’t think this can be considered snacking…”

“Pantry-time dates.” You stuttered, obviously unsure of the title. Usually, you call them ‘cup noodle dates’ or ‘popcorn dates’; a joke that ran through your small group of friends as well as the resident advisors at the university hall. 

No one likes being in the pantry. Especially the second floor. For one, things always get stolen; from cutlery to a six pack of coke. Secondly, the few times people use the microwave to heat up their meals, they tend to leave the leftovers to rot on the windowsill. But you and Jisung sit there together; maybe because something about it feels open and comfortable, despite the terrible smell. Plus…the two of you placed bets on who could be the thief when people awkwardly clamber on by, and if on one of these ‘dates’ you catch the thief obviously taking something that isn’t theirs? Even better. 

But today… you two will have to be the forsaken thieves. 

“So someone put chocolate powder in the fridge…” You commented incredulously, especially as this fridge is known for freezing things into ice in minutes. “There’s some…expired milk.” Jisung watched as you searched through the fridge for any hidden treasures; feeling more and more unsure of himself as you listed more and more ingredients. “Oh, okay, some non-expired milk. That will be useful.” 

“We can make a latte?” Jisung offered, now on his phone searching up popular café drinks. 

“Yes!” You enthused, finally feeling like this trip to the pantry isn’t useless after all. “But…we should probably write an apology note to the people we’re stealing from.” 

It’s been almost five hours in the pantry. Countless of people came in (however, this time you tried not to place bets as you knew who the real thieves were tonight) and would just stare at the two of you, arguing over a kettle of milk. Even your neighbor Victor came in; having sat and watched you two for a good while (which made Jisung extra cautious; he’s had a theory about him being the forsaken pantry thief for a while). Victor, however, said you two should have a cooking show, to which you scoffed while Jisung basked in the compliment. This very same compliment crossed Victor off of Jisung’s “potential criminals” list. 

Eventually, you had a drink in front of you. A chocolate latte that Jisung insisted on putting salt in, as “Modern Family said it was a good idea”. Admittedly, the first ten versions of this drink were absolute failures; making you go to the bathroom numerous times to vomit out the thick and almost flour-like texture.  

So, for your final check, the two of you grabbed the non-eaten pastries Jisung brought home from the café. Hopefully, this will act as a palette cleanser; especially since tasting all of the failed drinks probably have messed with your taste buds and lowered all sorts of expectations. 

After taking bites into the Suh-ndwitch and Henpretzel, you two finally took sips of the drink you attempted to make since 10pm – with Jisung making far too many references to the Powerpuff Girls opening theme. 

Alas – the taste that flooded their senses wasn’t at all bad, no. Nor was it ‘a little bit of sugar and everything ice’, but it was something you’d expect from Starbucks. You two immediately squealed out of excitement, ignoring the fact that you probably woke the neighboring rooms up at three in the morning. Jisung immediately went over to hug your waist, spinning you around as fast as he could; before something unexpected happens. 

You felt his lips on yours; tasting like chocolate and leftover ingredients that were remnants from his palette cleanser of a sandwich. The feeling was foreign; you never expected to kiss Jisung. He was your best friend, your neighbour; but his lips were soft…and something about this felt right. 

But then the door slammed opened. A zombie-like RA came in and you two immediately jumped to different sides of the room. “I know you two always do your pantry dates, but…” The RA started, obviously sluggish from being woken up at 3am. “We got noise complaints.” 

Jisung awkwardly coughed, apologized, and ran away; leaving you confused in the corner of the pantry. 

Café Resonance were never busy Friday evenings. People were most likely out pubbing or preparing for their weekends of antics. So when Jisung stormed in with a recipe in hand, he wasn’t afraid to celebrate as loudly as if he had just won the Olympic World Cup. “I got the recipe! Can I please have the job?” He practically pleaded, dropping the piece of paper with messy handwriting and the sample drink you two whipped up again the night prior. On top of the page with chocolate colored stains were the words; “Hamji Choco Latte” with (served hot or cold)  at the bottom.

“A recipe?” Everyone but Haechan and Chenle looked confused; with the latter two smirking in the corner of the room. But as soon as Haechan cracked and let out a loud laugh, Mark turned around and immediately recognized the culprits of this misunderstanding. 

“Bruh,” Chenle let out throughout his charming ‘dolphin laugh’, “You had the job – I was just messing with you.” 

Haechan pouted, approaching Jisung to ruffle his hair. “My sweet, small, dumb idiot…how much I love you.” He placed a sloppy kiss at the corner of his head, making Jisung immediately try to scrub it off. 

Jisung scowled, upset he let himself get fooled by his best friends. “At least I got a girlfriend from it…” He mumbled, more to himself, but forgetful of how Jeno’s ears can pick up on anything. It was from my ASMR stint, Jeno would say. 

“WHAT!?” He exclaimed, as if Jisung getting a girlfriend would happen the day pigs would fly. 

“I sent you to make a café recipe, not a love potion!” Chenle cackled even more; while his fellow friends made him explain what happened. 

By the time the store closed, Jaemin gave Jisung the ‘talk’ and warned that although they spent nights in each other’s rooms before, Jisung and you must be ‘safe’ and ‘protected’. 

People always say the first people you become friends with at university don’t always stay friends for life. People tend to clash, find their hobbies, and go different ways. But Jisung was lucky. He met you; his best friend and now his other half. And despite the annoying prank Chenle made that wasted hours of your time, Chenle was right; the Hamji Choco Latte was basically a love potion as it brought the hidden infatuation you had for each other to light.  

Now, every time he picks you up from your lecture hall, he brings one extra-large chocolatey drink to share. 

“Email sent out to residents of NCU Hall: 

Dear residents of the second floor, 

The person who has been stealing cultlery and food has been identified. Victor Cho will be coming by to return any items that may have belonged to you.”

Jisung screamed at the top of his lungs when he got this email. “I TOLD YOU SO!” 

[stupidbinglebongle]

I'm bored and I really want to write stuff so here's my Tribetwelve headcanons (I don't support shitdick)

First is my favorite, Millie asher

Uses she/her pronouns (made Milo trans because yes) and is also bisexual

Her hair is way too soft like it is so soft all of the time

Wears lipstick sometimes and also doesn't wear way to much make up

She has a bunch of stuffed animals and I mean a lot

Wears either super comfy clothing or sort of fancy clothing

She is an age regressors because she needs a coping mechanism and also Marys a bitch

Her favorite color is yellow because I said so

Really likes Disney movies and I mean she loves them

She is autistic and also because I said so and her special interest is Disney movies like she could talk about them all day

Kevin haas

Uses they/them pronouns and just doesn't know what their sexuality is yet so just goes with unlabeled

Literally the funniest person you'll ever meet

Probably is one of those people with those backpacks with like a million pins and keychains on them

Draws a lot in their spare time, mostly just doodles and nothing too complex but can draw animals really well(they used to be a furry in middle school)

Just has an army of squishmallows on their bed

Favorite color? All of them they like almost very color except for olive green

Way too much energy but is somehow super patient

Alright now firebrand

Smells like burnt food

Uses he/it pronouns

If you just poke him or just touch its body in anyway you'll get set on fire

If fire had a body and was emo

Everytime he talks you can a small crackling sound like when fire burns wood and stuff

Smiles way too much, like so much it will make you uncomfortable

Gets called "Crispy" by observer

Cannot be in snow, he will melt

The observer(I like them)

Has way too many eyes (It has eight eyes in total) and also uses They/it pronouns

Listens to Nicki Minaj unironically(and yes you can hear Nicki Minaj playing sometimes in the background of its videos)

Had an argument with Noah about if Nicki Minaj was the queen of rap or not

Will shout "NICKI MINAJ IS THE QUEEN OF RAP" Before running into something or someone

Actually broken the glass on Noah's microwave once because of running into it

It runs into a lot of things

And yes it does have tentacles and uses them to carry a boombox sometimes

Is the one that calls firebrand "crispy"

I have a few power headcanons for some characters so here's mine for the observer, they can make hallucinations and can also shape shift and cool stuff like that

Mr scars my beloved(or should I say Mrs scars)

Literally the sweetest thing you'll ever meet and also uses she/it pronouns

Smells like birthday cake and doesn't know how

Has no idea how to comfort people but tries her best

Falls asleep a lot in the most random places, like on a chair

Likes cats but mostly calico cats

Is actually blind in one eye

Has a collection of nerf guns because she thinks they are cool

Very strong like can pick up a couch with one hand while drinking her morning coffee

And yes she does like coffee

Alright last but not least my least favorite character, Noah maxwell

Has no idea how to comfort people

Anger issues

He also has no idea what pronouns are so when asked he says "The male ones"

The only things in his fridge are microwavable food, a singular apple, month old expired milk, an entire jar of pickles and some taco bell

Had lice 16 times during his childhood

Literally has the greasest hair ever

Smells like axe body spray and sadness

Allergic to cats and dogs and also the weirdest things ever

Ate dust one time

Finished all of my headcanons for tribetwelve for now so yeah here they are

[skunkes]

Okay hi I wanna pitch in here bc pregnancy and motherhood is one of my interests, and maybe some people do not know this if they haven't been in the community! But milk overproduction is a thing, as well as babies who won't drink, and many people pump for relief and then donate or sell the milk to their local community for parents who can't produce! Excess milk is also frozen, and in some households used as a milk or cream substitute before expiration. Also, while is rare for humans to, almost all placenta-producing animals eat their placenta (as far as I know, only aquatic animals, camels and humans don't), and chickens will eat their own eggs for nutrients when not fertilized (some chicken rescues use this as sole practice/leave the choice up to the hens or help feed it back). There is some medicinal and cosmetic usage of placenta, both personal and commercial, but I believe that's most common in Vietnam and China. Anyway, all this to say the blocks of eating our own stuff is cultural and due to our place in the food chain, but I think anthro culture would be a hybrid of animal and human cultures, so I think these would be practiced and not seen as weird, just perhaps more luxury or in-family items if it is a more ethical world that shares our reproductive cycles. But I'm sure they'd have their own vegan circles too, where they just might feel weird consuming from anything that close to them in the food chain. It's fun to think about, thanks for reading!

Yaaay thank you for this insight ^_^ i frgot overproduction cld be a thing❗i knew ab the chickens but more in the context of eating the egg shells (+ egg shells being used for gardening) vs the whole thing.

It is fun to think about and I like this ^_^ I agree about having their own sort of vegan circles! Whenever i write up ideas about furryverse I consider that maybe not all anthros would think a certain way about something so yes, maybe its generally Not Weird but there a few furs who have personal reasons for not doing so/general different opinions.

Tysm! This really fleshes out + helps with what I put out ^_^ I rlly like the thought of it being a casual + community thing (neighbor cld give you extra milk not being used, chicken cld do the beas/tars thing and do her best to produce good eggs to then sell batches of at farmers market, etc)

[publiccollectors]

From the discussion “Towards A Self Sustaining Publishing Model” hosted by Printed Matter.

Some things I have learned in over 30 years of publishing since my teenage days as a zine maker, administrating my project Public Collectors, and from working in the group Temporary Services and our publishing imprint Half Letter Press.

I have just ten minutes to speak. If only one or two things that I share are useful, that’s plenty! It took me decades to understand some of this stuff.

Use every exhibition invitation with a budget to print something. Use the whole budget to print something. Make something in a large enough print run so that you have something to give away and surplus that you can sell. Your publication can be a folded sheet of paper, a booklet, a newspaper, a poster, a book, or anything in between.

Be able to print at least something at home. Buy a cheap laser printer or inkjet printer, find a used copy machine, buy a RISO or some other duplicator, carve something into a potato or a piece of foam and print it. Being able to do at least some of the printing and production at home—even if it’s on a tiny scale—will compel you to print things that you might have convinced yourself not to send out or bring to a professional printer. Hopefully the ability to print impulsively and compulsively will result in good work. Figure out how to keep making things on every scale. Look for cheap used printing equipment on Craigslist. Team up with friends and buy equipment together that you can share. Start a printing collective in your basement.

Ideally your publication should cost 1/5th or 1/6th of the retail price to make. If you sell a $10.00 publication through a store, you are probably only going to make $6.00 or less after the store takes its cut. So ideally your $10.00 book costs $2.00 or less to make. Don’t aim to just break even. Aim to make a profit so you can keep making more publications and pay for your life. Publishing will probably never be your sole income but don’t lose money on purpose. Make things that are priced fairly and look like they justify what they cost to buy. The fact that you didn’t find a more affordable way to print something is not an excuse to sell something that feels cheap and shitty for a ridiculous sum of money. Good cheap printing is easier to find than ever before. Do your homework.

Figure out the cheapest and least wasteful ways to do everything. Ask other publishers where they get their work printed. Look for local printers so you can avoid shipping fees. Ask local printers if you can pay in cash for a discount. Ask printers if there is a cheaper way to do what you want to do by adjusting the size of your paper or the paper stock or some other small shift in form. If you print things yourself, buy the paper that is on sale. Design a publication around the paper that you found for cheap. Discount warehouses sometimes have good paper. Even dollar stores sometimes have good paper. I’ve even bought paper at flea markets. Costco sells an 800 sheet ream of 24 lb paper for $6.99. I use it all the time. It rules. I also recommend getting your jugs of organic olive oil there, but you can’t print with that.

Free printing is good printing. If you have access to free printing, use it. Free printing is like free food at art openings and conference receptions. It is one of those pleasures in life that never gets old. Come up with an idea that is based around the aesthetics of whatever free printing you have access to and make the publication that way. Eat the cheese and bread. Drink the wine. Make the copies at work.

Buy bulk shipping mailers on eBay. Find bubble wrap and other packing materials in the trash. Look out for neighbors who just bought new furniture—it’s usually wrapped in miles of packing material you can use for shipping books. Boycott terrible right wing fuckers like ULINE. Seriously, they give money to everyone horrible. Trump? Check. Ted Cruz? Check. Scott Walker? Check. ROY FUCKING MOORE? CHECK FUCKING CHECK! Tear up their catalogs and use them as packing material to protect your books. Make publications that have a consistent size so you can purchase cardboard mailers in bulk and get a discount on them. Buy packing tape in bulk. Buy everything in bulk. You can store your extra reams of paper under your bed or on top of your kitchen cabinets if necessary. Be like a wacko survivalist prepper, but for office supplies. Go to estate sales and look for the home office in the house. Buy the dead person’s extra tape and staples and rulers and scissors. I’ve been using some random dead person’s staples for years because I bought their staple hoard. Staples aren’t like meat and milk. They don’t expire.

I’m against competition. Try to avoid competing with other artists for resources. If you don’t truly need the money, don’t ask for it. Artists should have a section on their CV where they list grants they could have easily gotten but didn’t apply for because they are privileged enough that they don’t need the money as much as someone else. I almost never apply for anything but the one thing I do apply for and get every year is a part-time faculty development grant from Columbia College Chicago where I teach. It pays adjuncts up to $2,500 a year to fund their projects and seems to be completely non-competitive. My union negotiated to get us more money. I have used that grant to make over a dozen publications. The value of the publications I make and sell with each grant is about three or four times the value of the grant itself. Some years I make more from the grant than I do from the limited number of classes I teach. But I don’t depend on this grant to be a publisher and I’d still be able to make things without it.

Make things in different price ranges so everyone can afford your work, but also so that you can sustain your practice. Make a publication that costs $2.00, that costs $6.00, that costs $20.00, and make something special for the fancy ass institutional libraries that have a lot of money to spare and can buy something that costs $300.00. Likewise, make things in all different size print runs. Is there something you can print 1,000 of that you can keep selling and giving away for years, to enjoy that quantity discount that comes with offset printing a large number of publications?

Collaborate with people and pay them with publications (if they are cool with that) that they can sell on their own. Sometimes this ends up being better pay and more useful than an honorarium, and it helps justify a larger print run. But see what they need—don’t assume. Barter with other publishers and sell each other’s work and let each other keep the money. This helps with distribution. Sometimes it’s easier to sell their work than it is to sell your own. Help others expand the audience for their publications.

Fund your publishing practice by asking your friends who teach to invite you to talk to their college classes about your work. Use those guest speaker fees to print something. I sometimes tell people on social media: If three or four people will invite me to speak to their class, it could fund the entire next issue of X booklet series that you like so much. This has often worked. Also, sometimes their students end up ordering publications. Sometimes lectures about publications generate more income than the publications themselves.

Have an emailing list and write newsletters to announce new publications. Stay in touch with people who like what you do. Expect to spend a ton of time corresponding with people. Have some cheap things and cool ephemera on hand that you can send people for free when they mail order your publications. Reward people who support you directly with something nice that they didn’t expect. People like handwritten notes. It’s okay if they are very short but sign the packing slip and at least write “Thank you!”

Above all, know that publishing is a life journey and not a get rich quick scheme, or even a make very much money scheme. Enjoy the experience of meeting and working with others, trade your publications with other publishers and build up an amazing library of small press, hard to find artist books. Get vaccinated and travel and sleep on each other’s couches. Be generous with your time, knowledge, resources, and work. Tell Jeff Bezos to fuck off by never selling anything you make through Amazon. Find the bookstores that you love and work with them forever. It’s nicer to have deeper relationships with fewer bookstores than surface level interactions with dozens of shops run by people you don’t know.

Think about your publishing family. Bookstore people are your family. People that organize book fairs and zine fests are your publishing family. Other publishers are your family. People who follow your work for years on end are your family. Printers and binderies are your family. The postal workers that know you by name and that you know by name are your family. The person who doesn’t care if you make the free copies at work is your family. Over thirty years later, I’m still in contact with people I exchanged zines with through the mail when I was a teenager. In some cases I still haven’t met them in person. It’s fine! They are my family. Your students are your family—particularly once they graduate or drop out, as long as they continue making books and zines. Your family is your family, particularly if they value and support your publishing practice. And for this reason, this talk is dedicated to my late father Bruce Fischer, who let me use the company copier and postage meter when I was in high school, and to my mom who sat on the floor with me and helped me hand collate and staple my zines.

That’s what I’ve got for now. Stay in touch and with luck, and enough vaccines and masks and hand sanitizer, maybe I’ll see you at a book fair. – Marc Fischer • Thank you to Be Oakley of GenderFail for the invitation to present, to the other presenters Vivian Sming, Yuri Ogita, and Devin Troy Strother, and to the wonderful people at Printed Matter for hosting this! You should be able to find the video archived on Printed Matter’s YouTube Channel.  Presented on April 2, 2021

[heyitssmiller]

Chop It Like It’s Hot

Chapter 2: Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Fire

@lumosinlove Thank you for your lovely characters! This has been so fun to write. :)

Hope you guys enjoy!

Chop It Like It’s Hot Masterlist

Leo took one look one look at his co-star slumped at a table in the break room and changed his trajection to include a stop at the coffee machine. “Morning, Dorcas.”

“You’re not allowed to talk right now.”

He laughed under his breath, pressing the espresso button and opening the fridge to look for any non-expired milk products. “Talking is a big part of our job, you know.”

“Does it look like I’m on the clock right now?”

Leo hummed noncommittally, stirring some whole milk into the coffee before sliding it across the table to Dorcas. “Rough night?”

She grabbed the mug and took a tentative sip. Her shoulders relaxed fractionally and she let out a relieved sigh. “I forgot that you actually know how to make office coffee taste good.”

“I’m offended that you doubted me.” Leo took the empty seat next to her. “Now what happened?”

Dorcas looked down at her hands wrapped tightly around her mug, expression carefully neutral. “I broke up with her.” She laughed humorlessly. “I knew it wasn’t working for a while now, so I don’t understand why I’m so upset about it. Our schedules never lined up and we never really saw each other anymore. So I figured it was best to do it now instead of dragging it out.”

Leo knew she wasn’t one for physical affection, so he just sat by her side. “Still hurts, though. She was a big part of your life for a while now; it’s ok to be upset about it, no matter what the circumstances of the breakup are.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re going to be ok. Might not feel like it right now, but you’re as tough as they come.”

“Relationships are shit.”

“Breakups are shit.” Leo corrected gently.

“You know, sometimes people just want to feel like shit for a while. You don’t have to try and fix everything all the time.” She said, but her voice was teasing instead of accusatory. “How are you not emotionally exhausted all the time?”

“A lifetime of practice and sheer force of will.”

Dorcas laughed and shoved him away. “You suck.”

“If you want someone to just rant to, I can definitely make room for that tonight. You can experiment with your cocktail recipes, then get unbelievably drunk off them and trash talk all night.”

“You just want free drinks.”

“Consider it payment for the coffee and pep talk.” He said, rising to his feet. “Come on, we should get to the studio.”

She smiled and followed Leo out the door. “If there’s one thing guaranteed to cheer me up, it’s watching other people fail spectacularly at cooking.”

Dorcas got the cue from the director and started their cooking segment. “Recruits, today I’ll be showing you how to make perfectly-done mashed potatoes, and chef Leo will be teaching you how to make bone-in ribeye. Make sure you’re taking notes – you can use those when you attempt to recreate this dish later today.” There was a frantic flurry of movement as everyone took their notepads out and tried to find their pens.

“All right,” Leo grabbed a large slab of ribeye from the ingredients counter with both hands and heaved it onto the front table. Several recruits flinched back while others looked sick at the sight of their meat actually resembling the animal it came from. He bit back a smile and picked up a butcher’s knife.

God, he loved this job.

“So we’re just going to cut these and then you’re going to take a towel and just basically tear this portion of the meat off in one big piece. You see that? Then we’re going to add oil to a hot pan and drop the steak in.” The sizzling sound of the Maillard reaction filled the room. “We’re going to be basting this with thyme and half a stick of butter once the meat is cooked.”

A frantic whisper of “What the hell is basting?” rose up as Dorcas took over the lead, starting by bringing water to a boil and then waiting for it to reduce to a simmer. Leo watched as several of the recruits’ eyes glazed over, completely lost as Dorcas peeled potatoes in quick, practiced movements.

Leo recognized Logan’s voice as it carried from his spot in the crowd. “Do they have a medic on this show?”

“I hope so.” Finn murmured back.

“Our steak is done now. See the color on that?” Leo grabbed the steak with a pair of tongs and held it up for the recruits to see. “Now for our sauce. Have you guys ever flambéed anything before?”

“Lo, is that French?”

Logan’s microphone just barely picked up his little chuckle. “Yes.”

“Its literal translation means ‘flamed.’” Leo supplied, watching fear develop on their faces and trying his hardest not to laugh, biting his lower lip in the process.

This was only going to end badly, in a glorious blaze of fire.

“We’ve never had a disaster happen on the show flambéing something. Let’s try to keep it that way.” He grabbed the bottle of cognac at his station. “I’m going to take all of this cognac, add it to our pan with the sauce, and light it.”

He grabbed a lighter, flicked it on, and lightly touched it to the surface of the alcohol. Pink-red flames sprung from the pan, causing several of the recruits to shout and step back in alarm. “We’re just going to let it sit and burn off that alcohol.”

Dorcas grabbed her pan and added shallots to it. “I’m going to start getting my shallots sautéed, and –“

“Shallots?” A recruit asked, confusion etched on her face.

“Yes.”

“What are those?”

Dorcas turned and grabbed a shallot from the counter behind her. “This is a shallot.”

“Oh, so an onion.”

“No.” Dorcas said plainly, grabbing a hand mixer to blend her potatoes, butter, and cream. “Once the shallots are cooked, I add them to the potatoes and mix it all together. Then all you have to do is plate all this and you’re done.”

Leo grabbed his saucepan and spooned some out. “Don’t forget to add your sauce on top of the ribeye.”

“Now it’s your job to recreate this dish on your own. You have an hour to complete this challenge. And your time starts… now!”

Chaos ensued. Knives were waved around haphazardly, chopping skills were slim to none. One recruit was still trying to turn the stove on, while another had grabbed a pan that definitely wasn’t going to be big enough for a ribeye steak.

Leo shot Dorcas a horrified look. “Did we go too fast? I thought we explained everything pretty well, but now I’m not sure.”

“That’s just the way of this show.” Dorcas said with a shrug. “We need to see what level they’re on and what their strengths and weaknesses are before we can really start teaching. It gets better when we’re allowed to get out there and help them.”

Finn and Logan had cut off their own ribeyes first and were headed back to their stations. “Oh god I don’t remember anything they showed us.” Finn stressed, putting his ribeye directly onto the pan without any oil.

Logan looked down at his thyme and butter, seemingly at a loss. “Just look at your notes.”

“I can’t read it. You know I have terrible handwriting. Look,” he flipped his notepad around to show Logan. “That’s all I wrote down.”

“Does that say goat?” Logan asked, not bothering to strip the leaves of thyme off the stems and just throwing the entire sprig of herb into his pan.

Finn turned it back around squinted. “Maybe?”

“I like your smiley faces, though.” Logan said, pressing a quick kiss to Finn’s cheek. The redhead smiled broadly.

“Thanks, baby.”

Dorcas hummed by Leo’s side. “I forgot they’re together.”

“Yeah,” Leo absentmindedly fiddled with the bracelet around his wrist. “Must be hard. Hockey’s not known for being accepting.” He tried not to think too much about his memories of locker rooms, judgmental eyes, and the slurs of his own teammates from years ago.

A shout from one of the recruits snapped him back to attention. The recruit was halfway across the room from her on-fire sauce and refusing to go back to her station. Leo sighed. “Flambéing was a horrible first lesson.”

“Maybe. But it sure is entertaining.” Dorcas raised her voice to be heard by the contestants. “Don’t leave pans on a stove unattended, please!”

“Let it rain!” Finn shouted, throwing salt into his pot of cooking potatoes. Dorcas cackled joyously as she watched.

“How much salt are you going to put in there?” Leo called, eyes wide.

Finn repeated, “Let it rain!” as if it were an actual answer.

“I think he just put a cup of salt in those potatoes.”

Dorcas was wheezing now, hunched over as she laughed.

“Laugh now, but we’re the ones who have to taste that.”

She instantly stopped laughing. “Oh shit.”

“We’re definitely going to need those drinks tonight.”

***

Logan’s dish was up first. Leo looked down at his steak and fished out a thyme stem, holding it up for him to see. “When you’re working with thyme, you really need to just use the leaves. When the stems are cooked they get really tough and can be like swallowing fish bones when they’re like this.” He cut into the ribeye and took a bite. “But your steak tastes really good. It’s perfectly cooked and not too dry.”

Logan flashed them a blinding smile (that might have left Leo a little speechless, but he wasn’t planning on admitting that anytime soon).

“The potatoes have a good consistency, too.” Dorcas added when Leo didn’t say anything else. “Good job, Logan.”

After several raw steaks, burned steaks, and soupy mashed potatoes were tasted, the dish both of the chefs were dreading the most appeared in front of them.

Finn’s potatoes.

Dorcas looked to Leo, then met Finn’s eyes. “Now, I haven’t come across many things I’m genuinely afraid to eat. But these potatoes…”

Finn laughed good-naturedly. “Yikes.”

Leo’s eyes bulged as he tried the potatoes. “I think I’m dehydrated now.”

“I think I have a water bottle somewhere, if you want it.”

“I’m tempted to take you up on that.” Dorcas said, voice strained. “In the future, go light on the salt.”

In the end, they had to eliminate the contestant who gave them burned steak and didn’t serve mashed potatoes at all. The directors called cut shortly after that and people visibly relaxed, chatting with friends while the cleaning crew came through and started dealing with the mess. Leo felt like he should probably help with that; there sure was a lot to clean. The crew would be here until midnight at this rate. So he grabbed a disinfectant spray and a rag, turning to start wiping things down and almost running right into Logan as he did so.

“Hey, chef!” Finn said from his spot next to the brunet. “Have your taste buds recovered yet?”

He laughed with a shrug. “I have a feeling they’ll be messed up from now until a month after this show ends. That might be for the best, anyways.”

“Why in the hell did you sign up for this?” Logan asked, head tilted in confusion. “You’re forced to eat awful food and watch a bunch of amateurs destroy this kitchen. Seems more stressful than anything.”

“I mean, watching you wave around that knife today just about gave me a heart attack-“ Finn interrupted him with a loud burst of laughter, causing Leo to smile as he continued, “But it’s fun teaching y’all. It’s a good change of pace. Doing just competitions gets old after a while.”

“Yeah, especially if you win all of them.”

Leo felt his cheeks heat up. “Not all of them.”

“Most of them, then.” Logan amended. “Don’t sell yourself short; you’re really good.”

“So are you guys.” Leo stammered a little, trying to think of the right words. “I – I just wanted to say it’s really cool that you’re both raising so much awareness for the need for diversity in hockey. It’s going to make a world of difference to a lot of people.”

I wish I’d had someone like the two of you to look up to when I was growing up.

He played with his bracelet again. It wasn’t a secret that he was gay – he’d talked about it a few times on various shows and competitions he’d participated in. That was one of the best things about the cooking industry. It didn’t matter who you were or what your secrets were; as long as you were a good cook, most people didn’t really care. Leo had realized at a young age that, no matter what he ended up doing with his life, he wasn’t going to hide any part of himself. He’d done that dance before, and he didn’t care to relive it any time soon.

Finn smiled, throwing an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “Well, thanks. It hasn’t always been the easiest, but we’re happy.”

Leo resolutely ignored the strange pang in his chest at those words. It wasn’t fair of him to be jealous. “I’m glad.” He glanced around and noticed the progress the crew had made. “I should probably go. We’ve still got a lot to do before we head out.”

“Do you guys need any help?”

Leo couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “Seeing that you made most of this mess, maybe we should have you clean up,” he teased Finn, who pouted. “But no, we’re fine. Thanks for the offer, though. Y’all have a good night.”

“You too!” Logan called over his shoulder. He leaned over to whisper something to Finn, who threw his head back and laughed.

Leo turned away and started wiping down the nearest counter.

***

Post-Episode Interview

Leo: *gives the camera a pained look* Is cooking really this hard for people? I want to get out there and help them so badly, but I can’t. We’re supposed to just observe for this challenge.

The video switches from Leo talking to footage from the earlier challenge: Leo grimacing and taking an aborted step towards a recruit getting his face way too close to the fire. Leo looking on in horror as another recruit wields a knife incorrectly and nearly loses a finger. Dorcas laughing as a recruit tries to grab her potatoes out of a pot of hot water with her bare hands while Leo reaches out and grabs onto the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip. “Oh god, this isn’t safe at all.” Dorcas ruffles his hair, standing on her tiptoes to do so. “Poor rookie. You get used to it.”

*Back to Leo in the interview room, pinching the bridge of his nose*

Leo: My hair will be completely gray by the end of this show.

[thesleepy1]

Spearmint Tea With A Teaspoon Of Milk And A Dash Of Honey

Tik Tok Writing Prompt

A/N: I saw this prompt on Tik Tok and have been thinking about it none stop for the past three days. I just had to write it. It may make no sense, but that's fine. I enjoyed the writing process for once. Completely unbeta'd because I'm lazy and this was written in a hurry before it left my mind. If you see any mistakes please let me know.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMdVg7jBL/

Pairings: No pairings

Summary: “You have been an immortal for a couple of centuries now. Today, you’re enjoying a drink at a nearby cafe, when someone approaches you and says, “Hey, remember me? Peru, 1821?”

Word count: 2,578

Warnings: mature, suggestive themes, wump, angst, derealizion, mentions of depression, more warnings to be added,

You have been an immortal for a couple of centuries now; if not more. After a certain set of rotations around the sun, you hardly bothered to keep track of exactly how many times you’ve been around the block. You were something of a myth, a feared, terrified, creature of torn legend, a monster that stole little weaning babes from their mother’s arms and spun silver out of corn! A beast that ate beating livers from stray canines, ordered temples to be built out of bones, a ghastly creation by a bored god with too much time on his irreligious hands. Frightful!

All this hearsay and word of the street, were tall and monstrous tales that were overrated in your educated opinion, when simply you required very little to be content with the ways and whims of the vast, wanton world. No new born lamb’s blood or poor, ill timed virgins sacrifices were necessary in your, for lack of a better word, creation. You were merely one breathing thing and then the next; though you’ve fallen out of the habit of remembering to breathe after a while. There was no shedding of skin, sweat producing prayer, or historically inaccurate rain dance that resembled the pirouettes of toeless ballerinas involved. You just were, and quite frankly, isn’t that enough? Existence is never enough is it, though? You just had to think, and speak, and do much more than simply exist; because no one can be happy with the mere existence of another; there just had to be more to it, had to be.

You still vaguely recall the moment where you realized that you were no longer tied down to the laws of the cycle of the unnatural thing called life; a thing like a dream someone else had and merely inflicted you with the useless knowledge. Still having no need for surplus of red blood cells or hastily made offerings of sweets to the traumatized gods; you recalled the transition and the fact that it was a boring process, with no set of rules, or instructions, or any way for you to fully understand exactly what happened. From one form of existence to a new one, like a crawling larvae to a flying insect with big beady eyes and a habit of crashing into windows.

You were in a battle field one moment fighting tooth and nail with a long sword, or a bow and arrow, or a scythe from your own garden, or a hatchet from your home; and the next, you watched your substantially short life flash before your eyes; when ebbingly, you realized that your wounds had closed up and the battle had unbeknown to you, ended. Something over nineteen years after your self assumed death, that is. Your body; with its two legs, two arms, two ears, and two perfectly functioning eyes; as long as it wasn’t pollen season, were still by fair means or foul, in tack. Much to your dismay, for you still felt cursed plague such as irritation, displeasurement, the action of rolling your eyes as an emotion, annoyance, exasperation, and worst of all a hankering for spearmint tea with a teaspoon of milk and a dash of honey. Unfortunately, only one of which was curable.

And while you contained a great many vapid opinions of the flutterings of wingless avians; one of their creations you could never develop a disdain for, for they were simply far too grand, great, and good, were cafes. Magnificent things created by an italian man, a french man, a german man, an Englishman, or a combination of the four, you hardly cared; were the very reason you still wished to see the light of day. Candidly, the comfort that came with cafes; roasting coffee beans with such sharp and acidic aromas, the tinkering of ceramic mugs with adorable little glazes, scrumptious sweeties and colorful pasties that settled against your mind like ringing gunshots to war torn innocent unimpeachables. Cafes were just delightful, there were no two ways about it; an unassailable fact.

That was why, today; sunny, cloudless, and boundless today with skies as blue as incest mutated eyes, you were enjoying a nostalgic drink at a nearby cafe. The coffee house was a mix between modern and vintage, though for a creature such as yourself, you could hardly tell the difference. Their teas and coffees, and assortment of beverages were made in the classic fashion from even as far back as your day, and that was saying something. The walls were painted with a deep maroon, a shade of fine wine on a brick of vinegar; except one, which was left a bare, textured concrete with growing vines and dangling fairy lights the color of loose leaf chamomile offering a soothing dim lighting. The tables and chairs and any sort of decor hung up on the ways were mismatched, not one thing belonging to another; not one round mahogany table with spanish carved to the legs matched with any neon cushioned seats that looked like something from a feverish dream. Four paned windows were like eyes towards the street front, small enough to see outside but with an air of privacy from the delicate handmade lace curtains that were tied up with a sash of the same design. You could see the wayward world beyond the door from the faux safety of your table; couples biking with helmets strapped on too tightly, dog walkers with malnourished dogs, and a quartet of friends that were so obviously in love with one another.

Their love for each other was so clear, the baristas behind the repurposed bar counter were making bets on who would be the first to cave and spill out their love like guts from a deep heat, blistering sword wound. The barista with dyed gray cornrows and nose piercings betted ten pounds on the tallest of the quartet, who couldn’t stop playing with something in his pocket; a nervous reaction to being around the people of his affections if you had to guess. The barista with the rigid scars falling like uncrossed tallies down her arms betted twenty pounds on the shortest of the quartet who seemed to be the glue holding the quartet together in the first place. You personally betted on the fellow trailing the group from behind, a brother of one of the quartet members; from the shared features, and an ex lover of another if you had to predict from the way he walked and looked at them with an unhealthy yearning. He was going to pull them apart and in return be left with nothing as they rebuilt what he had destroyed. You had an intuition for these sorts of things, the passing lives of strangers and what they decided to do with themselves with their limited time. It was game to you, their lives seemed to end in days like a good book that you can’t set down; and like a book, you could flip it close at any given time with a flick of your wrist.

Your attention was drawn back to the present by the sound of the cafe bell that rang out through the small room with high ceilings, the simple pulley system alerting the baristas and yourself of a new occupant. Your hand instinctively wrapped around your cup of spearmint tea with a teaspoon of milk and a dash of honey protectively. The heated ceramic warmed your otherwise cold skin, your whole body was icy to the touch; you had no need for impractical things like a respiratory system or body heat; they were merely things you did when you remembered to, a delayed afterthought.

Like socialization for one, speaking to others was not your cup of tea; quick compliments and orders were one thing, however holding conversations were another. You sat alone at your seat, a red velvet cushioned sofa pulled up against a square oak table. Not once have you attempted to make conversation or even make eye contact with any of your fellow cafe goers; when you know for a fact that you would have gotten along swimmingly, only you’re too afraid of starting anything that’s doomed to end. The immortal existence was a long one and it tended to feel more drawn out when you had no one to spend it with.

Too deep in thoughts; the depressing thing the living chose to lose themselves in; a subject that you have yet to be rid of, you didn’t notice when someone approached your table. Whoever stood in front of you stared at you for a moment as if to make sure you were real, something you had to do for yourself every now and again, before saying in an astonished tone full of life, “Hey, you look familiar. I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I?” You looked up to meet their eyes; taking note of a face that could blend in during any time period, during any moment; a dime a dozen, a face that could be recognized for hundreds of others. “Remember me? Peru, 1821?”

You were hard of memory despite the centuries of existence in your pocket; unable to ever recall important dates and places, or those deemed important by those who still pondered what after truly meant. No wars that had cost thousands if not millions of lives lingered in your narrow mind, no treaties that had never been written in the blood of the man holding the pen; no discoveries stolen from their true inventors and instead repurposed and rebranded. Naught of which mattered; were paramount enough to be stored in the file cabinets so old, they perhaps predated the university of oxford. Those with an expiration date, nitpicked which dates and places were worth keeping record of; which war really mattered to one side, but not the other, and most definitely not the third party who lost the most in terms of wealth during the whole skirmish. Which treaties were worth putting up an act of righteousness and which were lit to ashes the moment the feather left the parchment. Which discoveries to credit the inventor, or the distributor, or the man with the large enough pockets with lots of loyal friends with not quite, but still ever so deep pockets. You cared little for the whims of those who philosophized and wrote the inaccurate, hyperbolized tales of the lawless, anarchic children with graying hair, wrinkled skin, and groaning bones.

Instead, your quite narrow, yet wrinkled mind remembered the seemingly dull things in life that only an immortal and tired soul would recall. You remembered the estonian woman with thick curly hair who flustered when you commented on how her fetching silk blouse brought out the brown in her eyes, as if you had just seen her on your way here. You remembered the blazing, aged guinean sailor with hair as red as sedimentary clay layered with crimson and bone marrow, who tricked you out of the very last shining coin in your pocket that you had saved to return to the mainland; as if you had just spoken to him the week before last. You remembered the french street performers who gave you the most complexing, suspicious looks when you loitered as they tuned their instruments, your hands clapping and tossing coins into their open cases before they had even the chance to play their trip the light fantastic ditty; as if you had spotted them as you left your home for the day; perhaps because you had just spotted the cellist, violinist, and fiddler some hours prior.

But you just can’t seem to recall ever seeing the face in front of you besides that of the paintings reusing the same model over and over again. This person was familiar, that you knew for sure, but you couldn’t recall exactly where. 1821? Peru? You had gone to Peru before, you thought, you must’ve been everyone on the pandering planet at least once by now; statistically speaking. You existed during 1821, though you don’t recall much from the time besides some man being crowned king of some small islands, some paintings being painted, some lives being born, and some lives taking their last breath. Things that could have happened anywhere else in the woebegone world, during any time that your breathing counterparts inhaled and exhaled; a simple date and simple country rang no bells.

This person that approached you, must have known you, having recognized you and walked up to you free of will. Yet, as you stared at them, pondering how they must’ve known you after all these years, decades, and centuries without a mere mention of another immortal roaming the weak world; here you were, with another person just like you. It was astonishing, made your non beating heart skip a beat and stop again; because you’ve been so out of practice. It was almost unbelievable; a person with a limited mind would have fallen heart first into the claims and thought of them as gospel. You were not as blessed with the same ignorance that came as second nature to the rest of the parasitic population, because you recalled your trips to Peru; suddenly remembering just what you got yourself into in the year of 1821; you would have memorized a face like dozens of others; the similarities causing the sameness to be abstract. You would not have forgotten a face like that, a voice of naïve wonderment like the one you just heard. Immortality was not just something that was thrown like a swear, caught like a flu; there was no rhyme or reason to it. You would know; in the almost eight billion people in the wide, withering world you have not met another like you, and for this day, today; radiated, and diaphanous day with skies as blue as hypothermia stricken bodies; you were alone and had yet, still yet, to be proven otherwise.

You solemnly shook your head, having gotten your hopes up so far beyond the atmosphere; falling back down was misery like the first moment immortality had dawned upon you. This person must’ve mistaken you for someone else; a picture book with pages too bright to warrant your attention, a history book that pictured a person that shared your features or that of your long gone siblings who must have children because they were the type to yearn, and hope, dream, and live their lives instead of solely subsist; anyone but you. For you were alone on this endless path, just like how your life was now boundless, and had been for a while longer than you can remember. You cleared your throat, your voice unfortunately grating from years of hardly any use; hoping to make the interaction quick and to the point; something that was truthful and that would cut this painful conversation short so you could return to your envy filled hobby of assuming other individual’s lives because they had indisputable ends while you repeated in this endless pastime.

The person who claimed to share a curse with you, had a voice that rang out like a fencing rapier, cutting through the air with such precision that it hurt without even slashing against you; could stab you with words instead of metal, “I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I? Remember me? Peru, 1821?” And like a fencer running on the necessity for revenge for someone that wasn’t himself, you answered,

“No, I do gay porn.”