#if/when i make this post for real it will be less disgruntled and more thought through

[loveofdetail]

one of these days maybe i'll Post about why gale's good route in act III doesn't work for me thematically. basically it boils down to, those scenes are the ones in which mystra comes across the most sinister and simultaneously the scenes in which the game most expects me to take her side. what.

frankly some of tara's writing gets in on this too (i know! i know, we all love tara, i'm sorry) but "he was contrite"? excuse me??? for what, exactly??? was contrition really what was needed after All That? was contrition really the best path away from his deliciously/colossally ill-conceived godhood plan?

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

hello hi idk if you're taking asks but. but I am fascinated by your watcher headcanons and I would Love to hear your thoughts about listeners *pleading face*

HIIIII I AM ABSOLUTELY TAKING ASKS. also i saw what you were talking about in the reblogs of that post and also really enjoyed your whole thing about the war i love when minecraft lore is relevant to this stuff.

everyone be so thankful mobile lets you do read more nowadays because this would be a nightmare if it didn’t.

also!! brief discussion of eye trauma below the cut! it’s nothing in depth but it is right there.

ok so we’re splitting the listeners talk into “full” and “partial” listeners again because it’s the best descriptors for these categories i’ve got even though i think it sounds stupid.

full listeners account for 99.9% of the listener population. listeners, unlike the watchers, cannot be born because of the circumstances of their creation. if you don’t know, the listeners were created when some watchers observing and running evos got particularly disgruntled with how the other watchers were running things (this is explicitly cannon!). to me, this group started with small stuff then realized they could get real weird with their rebellion and did just that.

full listeners, in order to create themselves, have to completely cut off their sight in some way. sometimes they've gouged out their eyes, sometimes they're wearing permanent blindfolds, sometimes they straight up don't have eyes! oftentimes no matter which option it is they wear the blindfold anyways, just because they recognize that without it they’re very off putting to look at.

both full watchers and listeners lack the senses of touch and smell, and even taste is more of an abstract concept than an actual sense for them, leaving only sight and hearing. the listners cut off one of their two real senses in an attempt to cut themselves off from the watchers and while this definitely works, it also makes existing far harder. mcyt is not made for listening to, let's be honest.

listeners, like watchers, feed off emotions, but they require far more to sustain themselves to compensate for the lack of sight. they don't try to avoid eating negative emotions, like a partial watcher might, but they don't usually try to create more to eat, no matter how delicious they may find them. this is less because of any care for the players and more due to the fact that listeners are less powerful than watchers by default. they should have full access to the same power set the watchers have, and they do, but because so much of their food and energy goes towards just sustaining life, they find it much more difficult to do what the watchers do. this is compounded even further by the fact that the watchers don’t want them to do their thing and are actively pushing them out. this doesn’t mean getting things done is impossible for them, far from it! but it does mean it’s significantly harder, and they don’t have time or energy to waste on making people sad right now.

full listeners can be created out of players, but the listeners don't usually go looking to create them, because numbers isn't what they need just yet. right now they're just trying to figure out an actual plan of action to take against the watchers. however, they know they'll need the numbers eventually, so if you ask, they're not going to turn you down. becoming a full listener, as is the case when becoming a full watcher, very quickly distances you from everything that made you you when you were a player. you lose your ability to connect to players rather quickly because everything about how you exist is so radically different, and your memories of ever being a player are quickly overtaken by the constant information intake being a full watcher or listener mandates.

full listeners interact more frequently with players than full watchers do, but find it harder to influence them and to bridge the gap between the planes they exist on to make their speech not rhyme and be actually comprehensible. the listeners talk so weirdly because it takes up too much energy to do it another way.

partial listeners... are not supposed to exist. and maybe they don't? they'd theoretically function how partial watchers do- a player who can still interact with the world(s) as a player, but also has some of the powers of a listener. however, listeners don't really have powers other than whatever the "moving between the place they live and the place the players live" thing is. listeners also don't really want partial listeners, as they find no use for them. their entire deal is working against the watchers, so what could they need with someone who, in their eyes (heh), cannot understand the watchers in the same way they do?

however, while you can request/be convinced to become a listener or watcher, i think there’s also an option to brute force it. technically, if someone was powerful and stupid enough, they could force their way into being a partial watcher or a partial listener... for fun? again, you have to be a little stupid to do this because it is insane person behavior, but it's fun to leave the option open. (whenever i think about the time sausage said that he definitely wasn’t a watcher when he was memorializing liml and then followed it up with a remark about how we just need to listen i think about the partial listeners thing. if anyone would brute force their way into this it would be him.)

[essektheylyss]

🍭💎📡 for the writer asks please? (don't feel like you have to do all of them either)

🍭why did you start writing?

I started writing because I read a lot as a child and I had a really cool third grade teacher! We had a period everyday where we had some amount of time to do a bunch of writing assignments, which were all different formats and genres and changed every month, and so long as you turned in that month's assignments at the end, you were free to use the time to write that or any other creative writing you wanted. (I was real disgruntled when the school implemented a banal essay-specific writing curriculum the next year, which was probably a contributing factor to why I dug my heels in and continued doing creative writing on my own, and only begrudgingly wrote essays until late high school/college when I got the freedom with them to enjoy them.)

💎why is writing important to you?

I think a lot of my thoughts for this one were answered here, so in an effort to not repeat myself, I will refer you to that! Tl;dr, writing is like... the overall formation of my worldview and how I engage with anything, so it's really important.

📡why is writing and sharing your writing important for fandom?

SOAPBOX TIME. To preface, I think fandom lurkers are great, and I think they are a vital part of the fandom ecosystem. This is not about that.

That being said, there has been a few trends in recent years in two opposite directions, first of fandom content being increasingly thought of as a commodity for consumption, and also a push to only make fandom content for oneself without worrying about engagement, and I think both of these are unhelpful!

I do think that making art for metrics alone is a losing battle—you should have a connection to what you're making! But everyone in fandom does, and I think that "to engage with the fandom conversation and other fans" is a perfectly valid and actually important reason to make creative fan work! Even when it comes to shitposting or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, more academically-leaning meta, I'm certainly posting more because I find it fun to contribute to the conversation and having discussions. I think fandom is in large part about that kind of discussion, even if the form that takes is everyone contributing to the dash by making their own posts with their own spin on the media.

(This is also why I personally really dislike fandom areas where everyone's working with the same headcanons and parameters, and stepping outside of that or even expressing a different headcanon will get you shunned at best. It takes the conversation and the creativity out of it! What is the point! Are you trying to make a fun little sandbox to hang in or a cult!)

But the thing is, as much as fandom on tumblr is a bit of a parallel play situation, where we're hanging with our mutuals reblogging our silly posts, all of those posts are made by someone, and those people are also in fandom. Every single post is made by someone in the fandom!

Which goes back to the commodification—there is, increasingly, even purely among fans, something of an artificial distinction between "content creators" and "consumers". And no one has to create something in order to be a part of fandom, but everything that is thought of as fandom is created by someone, down to shitposts and gifsets (which I include here as an example because they are so ubiquitous and take work and skill to put together, but I think are often seen less as someone's creative work and more as a commodity unattached to the op)—which I think is a lot of why the decrease in engagement can be so disheartening. Because if no one is sharing their own work, and people aren't then sharing other's work, then there is no fandom.

And I know this question is about writing in particular, but I also consider meta as "writing." I consider shitposts as "writing" even if they take a lot less time than a whole fic. Writing and sharing your writing is incredibly valuable to fandom because it is the foundation upon which we're all participating in community, but I think this is a discussion that can't be limited to only one artform, because in this case it's more about community than the creative work itself.

[burnedbyshoto]

kacchan, kaacchan, kaachan

— “Your real fucking Kaa-chan is going to fuck your brains out and make sure that you can’t say that stupid fucking nickname to Bakugou without getting hard and remembering what I’m about to do to you, Deku,” you practically snarled into Izuku’s ear as you rut the silicone veined cock between his ready, supple cheeks. “Now, what’s my fucking name?”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: midoriya izuku x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, mommy kink, dom!reader, sub!izuku, pegging, jealous!reader, degradation, anal fingering, begging, crying, marking and biting, best friends(?) bkdk

word count: 6,520

a/n: I have transcended. im sorry, this is now my favorite fic. im... ohhh mama, I just froth at this idea so much, please if you aren’t so utterly disgusted by mommy kink or bkdk pray you read this. p l e a s e.

kinktober day 13 main kink: pegging | kinktober masterlist

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“I fucking hate them,” you growled, temples throbbing in your anger, fingers clutching your drink. “I’m going to kill Izuku and his stupid fucking Kacchan.”

You met Midoriya Izuku before high school. At the time, you had been a sweating, nervous middle schooler who was applying for Yuuei, who was sitting right next to him during the entrance exam. Despite the way your hands were shaking the entire time you were taking the test, and the way your stomach felt seconds from exiting your abdominal cavity and falling straight onto your lap, you smiled. You kept watching the green-haired boy next you continue to fanboy over the smallest of things. 

Through this, you had also met Bakugou Katsuki. You had initially thought the two of them were friends, well with the rather weird nicknames they had for each other, and then the small disgruntled comment on not being able to work together with friends. 

After being dismissed to go change out of your school uniforms, you had tapped on the green-haired boy. He was muttering a storm under his breath. He wasn’t much taller than you, and his green eyes were shot wide when you thanked him for making you less nervous. He didn’t say anything back to you, a red blush bright on his face as you wished him luck before racing off.

So on the first day of high school, on the fated orientation day, you had been surprised to see that Midoriya and Bakugou nearly fought. They weren’t friends, you quickly figured out, a small frown on your face as Aizawa-sensei dropped Bakugou from his capture weapon. It didn’t take much for you to become friends with the initially timid, but entirely confident Midoriya Izuku. The two of you were fast friends, and before long after watching countless times where Midoriya and Bakugou would be at each other's throats to only be okay within the next few hours.

It confused you entirely.

Eventually, one day on your way home together one night, you finally asked Midoriya.

Midoriya had frowned, his eyes looking out of the speeding window as he slowly explained his relationship with Bakugou to you. He explained that he and Bakugou were childhood friends, having first met when they were three years old. They had been good friends, best friends if it was possible to have one back then. Then, their quirks appeared, and Bakugou received endless praise and awe — it was a changing point in their relationship since Midoriya explained that he was a rare individual who only manifested his quirk within the last few years. So while Bakugou had never put him down for being quirkless, a single moment happened when they were about six years old, wandering in a gated woods area, and Midoriya went to see if Bakugou — who had fallen from a great height — was okay. From that moment on, something flipped inside Bakugou, and he lashed out. He smiled sadly, admitting without a lick of doubt that Bakugou was a jerk to him, a real asshole.

As if to save Bakugou from an ill opinion from you, Midoriya quickly imputed that Bakugou was still one of the lesser antagonizers he had in middle school and at the end of grade school. Most of his other classmates had been his bigger bullies. Still, because Bakugou was just different to both him and the school as a whole, the few times he antagonized Midoriya, it seemed to wave into ripples that turned into tsunami wave crashes. Midoriya had explained that he had gone too far in a single instance and that it still hurt thinking about it. He would like an apology from Bakugou but didn’t know how or if it would happen. After all, Bakugou hadn’t bullied or antagonized him at all for the last full year.

You had taken it all in, watching the small green-haired boy look both sad and determined as the metro pulled into your station.

“You still want to be friends with him, huh?” you asked, ignoring the people clambering out and in of the vehicle. 

Midoriya had looked at you with wide eyes and his teeth bitten, swollen lips pressed into a flat line, his head dropping, “Is it weird that I do?”

Chuckling, you shook your head, moving to leave the metro, “A little, you guys definitely will have to put some work into it, but hey, as long as you know that he’s done you wrong before, I think you deserve to find out if you two can make it work again.”

That had happened at the end of your first month of school.

At the end of your second year of school, you had confessed your feelings to Midoriya Izuku, who thankfully, returned your feelings.

At the end of your third year of school, you had watched with bright eyes and a great smile as your boyfriend hugged his childhood friend Bakugou Katsuki as the graduation streamers and confetti still swirled in the air. You and your entire group of female friends, who for the past two years had been trying to get both boys to confess that they were best friends with each other, seemed to have succeeded. They had obviously been friends by the end of the first year; both boys have gotten to speak on their many different feelings and thoughts at the end of the first year. But it had taken seven girls, two more years, and a late-night discussion between you and Izuku for you to figure out that no matter what happened with his relationship with his Kacchan, he would be at peace with it. He had chased him for so long, for such crazy lengths and obstacles that the moment when they found peace, he had accepted it.

But you knew what would happen if you had gotten the ever so annoying, permanent tsundere of Bakugou Katsuki to admit where the lengths of their friendship were at currently. You had guessed correctly because Izuku was absolutely sobbing as Bakugou hugged him. It could have been an awkward moment between them. The two of them never touched one another unless it was because they were roughhousing, training, or assisting one another in the middle of a fight. But your heart warmed at the sight of your boyfriend, entirely built and tall as he was now, blushing as he still does, scarred fingers and arms holding his Kacchan tight, the happy tears on his face rushing down his cheeks as Bakugou seemed to be blinking up a storm.

You have succeeded.

Best friends, you squealed internally, grabbing the girls and walking away to take some photos together. You had finally gotten them to admit that they were best friends again.

It should have made you happy, and for a while, it did make you glad to know your loving boyfriend was over the moon happy to have this small detail confirmed with him, but two years post-graduation, it was straight up annoying and made you somewhat... livid. 

It started when your classmates began to whisper about how strong you were to let Izuku and Bakugou be that close. Then reporters asked about how you felt about the Wonder Duo’s relationship outside of the field. Fans straight up saying that they liked them better than you and Izuku, fans asking if you felt lesser than Ground Zero in Pro Hero Deku’s life. At first, you had always expressed your truths, you didn’t care what others thought because you knew the truth, but they must have been annoying you for so damn long that you were beginning to feel doubtful, just the tad bit anxious. 

Izuku had asked if you wanted to go to a bar for a night of some drinking. Well, with the both of you not having work tomorrow, you had agreed. It had been a while since the two of you had been able to do anything. So a night at the bar the two of you frequented a lot was a great start to a long night the two of you were undoubtedly going to have if the lace panties under your skirt had anything to say about it. You thanked the gods of every deity every night for making your boyfriend such a stupid pervert that a single whisper of what you were wearing would have him turning red and stumbling out of the bar to get you home immediately.

Well, that was the plan.

But no, nope, nope, nope, nope.

In the middle of your flirting session with Izuku, who still could not keep up with your quick, slick tongue, his phone had rung. It wasn’t abnormal that it went off, he was an incredibly gifted hero, and with his recent sort of permanent team up with his Kacchan to form a hero duo, they were hot shit.

But it wasn’t a work call.

No, it took two seconds to figure that out because Izuku had placed his phone to his ear, his cheeks pink, and eyes sparkling as he immediately chirped out: “Kacchan! Hi!”

And just like that, your flirtatious mood had been stomped on and stabbed over into one of annoyance.

Your boyfriend was a hero otaku; that was something you knew the very moment you met him when both of you were merely fifteen. From that moment on, when your crush was formed on the excitable, blushing otaku, you knew that should you become his girlfriend, there would only be two people above you.

Midoriya Inko then All Might.

Both of those people were completely understandable.

Inko was the best mother in the world, and as Izuku’s most significant and first support system, you didn’t mind losing out to her. She was a fucking sweetheart, after all.

All Might was a slightly annoying one, but as your boyfriend's mentor and father figure, you understood. Plus, the scrawny man was also a sweetheart who flustered over Izuku almost as much as Inko did.

But, you didn’t and couldn’t believe that Bakugou ‘Kacchan’ fucking Katsuki would be challenging your place as third in the most critical person in Midoriya Izuku’s life. You wouldn’t sit idly by on it.

Taking another long, deep chug of the heavy in alcohol percentage drink in your hand, your anger seemed to be at an all-time high. 

Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan.

That stupid fucking nickname seemed to pour like liquid gold from Izuku’s mouth.

Kacchan this, Kacchan that, Kacchan yes, Kacchan no.

You knocked back yet another fucking drink, slamming the glass onto the bar counter, demanding another one as Izuku’s deep stupid voice seemed to turn airy as he laughed at something Bakugou Katsuki said. Bakugou Katsuki, who didn’t ever tell jokes because everything he said was stupidly not funny and hated being not serious even for a single second, was making your stupidly thick, built, and strong boyfriend giggle like a schoolgirl. Izuku only laughed like that around you?!

Oh, fucking, no, you realized, your back straightening, your eyes blazing into Izuku’s side profile that still illuminated the deep, intensity of his blinding happy smile. 

“Kacchaaannn!” Izuku suddenly whined, his lips pressing into a pout that wouldn’t form because of his stupid, irritatingly handsome smile. “That’s not fair!”

Growling under your breath, you grabbed the new drink presented to you by the bartender and began chugging.

Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan.

Kacchan, Kaacchan, Kaa-chan.

You spluttered, your head light and fuzzy with the inhibiting alcohol as you heard Izuku still rambling on the phone to his dumb fucking Kacchan.

‘Did he just?’ you thought, entirely unprepared for that name to whisper from his mouth.

Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan.

You stopped a broken moan from spilling from your mouth at that word. Despite the coursing alcohol in your veins and the way it typically made you hornier slower, that slightly whiny, entirely Izuku’s tone when he said what your horny brain to be interpreting as Kaa-chan, your panties became wet immediately.

“Izuku,” you breathed — almost whined — into his ear. Your chest pressed against his muscled arm—your mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to the back of his ear before biting down on his earlobe. 

“Y-Y-Yes, y/n?” Izuku stammered, his face flushing, mind entirely lost at the feeling of your breasts pressing onto his arm and probably his stupid Kacchan’s voice in his other ear. 

“I’m wearing those panties you really, really like,” you moaned softly into his ear, your teeth nibbling on his earlobe.

You never heard Izuku hang up so quickly on his Kacchan as he downed his drink and quickly followed after you, a puppy at your heels.

The two of you made it home, mouths pressing fervently together, fingers in each other’s hair and clothes. You giggled when you managed to push your much larger boyfriend into the door the moment you both managed to enter your apartment. 

His scarred fingers had invaded the underneath of your skirt, already pressing his fingertips to the lacey fabric. He moaned against your mouth, his hands pervertedly gripping your full ass in his large, hot palms. 

“Call me Kaa-chan,” you suddenly moaned, your mouth tearing away from Izuku’s reveling in the fact that he tried to chase after your mouth. It was at moments like this that being so much smaller than your skyscraper of your boyfriend helped — the third year of high school had made your entire male classmates grow an additional near one hundred centimeters, fucking ridiculous. 

“W-What?!” Izuku spluttered, his eyes wide but still entirely glazed over with his lust.

“Kaa-chan,” you slur, the alcohol in your veins and his kisses on your lips, making your brain mush. “Call me, Kaa-chan, please!”

“I-I can’t? I’m not going to call you, Kacchan! T-That’s so weird? You don’t even look like him, and even if you did, I’m sure that would be entirely not okay! That’s Kacchan’s nickname, and for me to just use it in bed would make me think that I’m having sex with Kacchan, and I bet you’d agree about how not okay that would be! Imagine that! That would be not okay, but if there’s anything else you want me to call you in bed, although, you do have the best reactions to me whenever I call you—” Izuku rambled, his eyes searching the dark hallway for something to focus on. His face red with slight humiliation and his muttering tongue speeding so fast you could barely keep up with his sentences with your drunken brain. 

“Not Kacchan,” you roll your eyes, your hands pressed to his side, trapping him between your arms — something that was a hilarious sight. “Kaa-chan, Izuku-chan, Kaa-chan.”

“O-Oh.”

You pulled away from the wall, your eyes bright with what you thought would finally be the tipping point in your biggest kink finding a spot in your sex life with Izuku.

But Izuku begins laughing, his head shaking quickly, the laughter so loud that you watch literal tears form in his eyes as he stands there. Your cunt suddenly feels dry.

“I-I can’t do that,” Izuku finally manages to press through, his hand on his stomach as small laughs still manage to breakthrough. “Oh, god, no, I can’t. I’ll always think of Kacchan when — if I call you kaa-chan.”

Your lips pressed together, anger flushing through your blood as you nod your head once.

“Fine.”

“Y-Y/n!” Izuku bawks, his eyes wide as he quickly understood that he hurt your feelings with that outburst of his. “W-Wait, I mean—”

“No need,” you cement over, lips pursed in your shaking anger. “Give me some time alone, please.”

Izuku can only watch with wide, tearful eyes as you guide him out of your apartment, and you don’t look at him when you close the door, too afraid of what those puppy dog eyes would do to you. You needed time after being laughed at like that; your pride demanded it.

.

..

.

It took less than five hours for you to forgive Izuku. He had stayed in the hallway of your apartment. Sitting outside of your door, waiting for you to message him of some sort about wanting to talk. You hadn’t precisely forgiven him, just wouldn’t allow your more often than not perfect boyfriend to be trapped outside, sleeping in a terrible position on your day off. So at nearly two am, your eyes refusing to close and fall asleep, you trudged to your front door and demanded he gets in or else he’d sleep in the hallway.

Izuku had looked up at you with tired, sad eyes, and your throat tightened as you looked away with a huff. He had gotten to his feet and walked into your apartment, kissing you softly as the door closed behind the two of you. Despite you having been the one to kick him out earlier, he carried you to your room as you began to cry again. He undressed to just his boxers, and the two of you cuddled each other before the both of you fell asleep, feeling slightly better.

Although you hated to admit it, everything was back to normal the following morning.

Well, that is until the fateful day when you were straddled across Izuku’s waist, his thick, long cock stretching you out as much as it felt that first time you fucked, riding him until his hands left bruising prints on your hips. You knew what made Izuku tick, moan, and go absolutely feral in bed; you knew him so well, and if the indicating throbbing of his swollen cock had anything to say, was that he was seconds from cumming.

Again, this was a fateful day.

His work phone suddenly screeched at the nightstand, and you both screamed at the horror.

What was happening?!

Not bothering to unmount from his cock, Izuku grabbed his phone and placed it to his ear.

“Hello, Deku, speaking!”

You pouted from on top of him, still rather pleased that his cock was still firm within you, and you watched his face, ready to send the blood in his cock right back to his head and get him out the front door if it was an emergency.

“K-KACCHAN?! THIS ISN’T AN EMERGENCY!” Izuku screamed, his face pounding red as his free arm collapsed over his eyes.

You were going to kill motherfucking shithead, Bakugou Katsuki.

Your eyes narrowed, and with the fury of being cockblocked by your boyfriend's stupid best friend in a whole new way, you began to shift your hips against his cock. Your hips rising and falling as you continued to fuck Izuku, uncaring that he was on the phone.

Izuku, never having been good at being secretive, let out a strangled choke and a moan, his hand thrown over his eyes trying to get a solid hold on your hips to keep you from fucking yourself against him. He froze, his face exploding with heat the moment you forcibly clenched around his thick length, “I-I-I’m at y/n’s apartment! Kacchan! NO! We were having sex!”

Rolling your eyes, you knew he was going to blab that secret out.

“We are having sex right now, K-Kacchan!” Izuku whimpered, downright hilarious of the brick wall of a pro hero could do. “Kacchan, that’s not fair! You called on my emergency-only phone! Of course, I was going to pick up!”

Red bled into your vision as you realized that Bakugou undoubtedly was talking shit about your ability to fuck your own boyfriend. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku groaned again, but you were far past the point of being okay with this situation.

Grabbing the phone from Izuku’s hand, you slammed the phone to your ear, listening to the chortling laughter of Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

“You fucking piece of fucking shit, try calling this number again without a proper fucking emergency next time, and I’ll kill. you!” you spat into the phone, your blood boiling as the laughter on the other side of the line stopped, only for you to be met with an irritated and challenge-accepted growl of Bakugou Katsuki, who was seconds from responding back with his own threat and challenge. But you hung up, chucking the phone into the corner of the room before setting your sight on Izuku who’s eyes and pupils were blown wide.

You couldn’t even begin to process that your words had turned Izuku on; you could barely feel his throbbing, twitching cock buried deep in your womb because your inner walls held a vice, unbreakable grip on him. Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan. You had finally heard that stupid fucking nickname in bed, and still, the way it was said and who it was for wasn’t for you, and you were absolutely frothing.

“Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan,” you spit out, fury and animosity, your hips still slamming down on his cock, Izuku’s scarred hands once again reaching for your waist. “Is there any other fucking name you can ramble in bed?!”

Izuku cries out, his hips snapping up to meet yours, the echoing slap of your meeting sexes still not loud enough to tune out your angry, abhorrent thoughts. 

“N-No?!” Izuku stammers out, confusion heavy on his tongue, and you know why, but you don’t care. “I-I-I don’t! What else am I supposed to sayyyy oh my god, baby! What am I supposed to call Kacchan?!”

A cold shiver runs down your spine, and you smile slowly. You wait for green eyes to open and lock on you before your smile becomes cunning, altogether ferocious, and biting as your hand reaches out and grabs the curls at the nape of his neck. You yank on the hair towards you, watching as his neck arches, and you coo at the breathless gasp that spills from his mouth as your lips are at his ear, his cock threatening to slip out of your boiling cunt at this new angle. There’s a growl on your tone, your lips brushing against the soft cartilage of his ear. “Say Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan. Since you fucking want your damn fucking Kacchan so badly that you can’t even indulge in my little nickname, I’ll make sure to ruin the damn fucking nickname for you forever.”

You pull away, your hissing words sitting heavy in his ears as you slip off his cock and stumble to the closet for your toys. 

Izuku lets out a needy noise, his breaths pathetic gasps as he looks at you and away, unable to fully comprehend just what you were planning on doing to him.

Slamming open the closet, you grab the plastic tinted box in the closet, throwing it open and grabbing three items.

One: your pretty green harness. 

You had bought at a sex shop store you frequent whenever you were bored and alone. About six months ago, this particular sex shop had obtained rights to sell Pro Hero styled lingerie and sex toys. This harness was modeled after Izuku’s costume, and you bought it to surprise him with whenever you two got into pegging.

Two: the bottle of lube.

Also purchased from the sex shop. Apparently, it was a lube that was both super cold and hot — obviously modeled after Todoroki. It would start off as cold on the skin before warming up to temperatures that were guaranteed to make people shriek and moan like porn stars.

And last, but definitely not least, your ace up your sleeve: the strap on dildo.

At the same sex shop, they had released a limited quantity, a one-week available dildo that was nearly impossible to accept was a thing. Along their wall of many, many different shapes and sizes of dildos had sat seven limited dildos made from the cocks of pro heroes.

One of which being Ground Fucking Zero: Bakugou Katsuki.

You’re not sure what possessed you into buying it, but you did. The dildo modeled after Bakugou’s own cock was now something you possessed, something you hid from Izuku’s sight at all times. The cock was about eight, nearly nine inches, maintaining a fat, swollen head and base, with thick veins running through its length. 

The dildo itself was completely minimalist, jet black with only the Ground Zero’s logo painted to the bottom of the curve, but if you were to do this, Izuku wouldn’t know it was his best friend's cock until you were done with him. 

Throwing your legs through the harness, you turn your head to lock eyes with Izuku’s bright eyes that are taking in your every move. You fasten the ties, making them just a tad bit tight around your thighs and waist because you knew that Izuku loved seeing the divot in your skin. 

Your eyes are peering through your lashes to look at him, your frown becoming a confident, biting smirk as you attach the dildo, immediately covering your hand with the cold lube before slicking up the silicone cock. Izuku watches you with shaking thighs as you climb back onto the bed, your eyes dark, dangerous, as your fingers drag down his toned and muscled calves.

“Get on your fucking hands and knees like the fucking good boy you are,” you growl out the command, your fingernails digging into his skin. “Show your cute fucking ass to your Kaa-chan.”

Izuku let out a heavy moan as his body quickly shifted over, he got up onto his knees, but he went a step further by pressing onto his knees, letting his scarred back curve beautifully for you. 

You groan at the sight, Izuku's large, muscled ass on full display for you. His body trembles and shakes with every breath he takes and how his muscles are tight with his nervousness. His little asshole clenching and tightening at the air, undoubtedly ready to have you press the cock into him. You groan, your hand that's slick with the lube becoming warmer with the intended promise of the lube, and your grin when you grip his supple asscheeks between your hands, delighting at the way his flesh molds within your hands.

“You have such a pretty little ass, baby boy,” you moan, your index finger circling around the rim of his pert, tight hole. You lean in closer, your hot breaths spilling across his muscle that sends it spasming in its attempts to clench around nothing. “What do you want your Kaa-chan to do?”

Izuku stammers, his mouth unable to form any sort of coherent sentence as you lather your fingers in the cold lube, and without much of an introduction, you slide your slick, cold index finger into his hole. Izuku cries loudly when you move your finger inside of his ass, and you smirk at the sight of his twisted with delirium face before you. Eyes crossed, tongue hanging out as your finger dives into his ass. 

“Does this feel good, baby?” you ask, finger curling deep within his ass.

He can’t find the energy to speak, but strangled noises of approval are made, and his hips shift back onto your thrusting finger.

You enter a new finger, stretching out his tight muscle even further, your two fingers reaching a further depth and more manageable pace than you had before. You grin at the way Izuku begins to fuck himself against your fingers, his asshole looking as if it swallows your fingers as your dildo ruts against his leaking cock. Izuku's chest collapses onto the mattress when you glide your free hand against both the dildo and his cock as you continue to finger his ass — a third finger eventually joining.

“God, your ass is so fucking slutty, sweetie,” you groan, absolutely obsessed with the pink haze on Izuku’s cheeks and the growing moans. “Is your Kaa-chan making you feel good? Kaa-chan promises that she’ll protect you through everything!”

Izuku spams, a loud cry of your name as your fingernails scratch at his walls, and his hips buck further into your fingers deep in his ass before rutting back into your hand, stroking his cock. You coo at how he is clearly enjoying it, chest-thumping with how he clearly wants more, and how you intend to give him more. A sadistic smile carved onto your face as his rambling begins to take shape begins to actually have meaning behind it except the whining, pitiful cries.

“You are!” Izuku finally manages to gasp, his ass slamming back onto your curled three fingers. The lube is now hot as it can grow, and Izuku is obsessed with the heat in his ass. “You’re doing this to me, y/n!”

You freeze, fingers freezing in his ass as Izuku once again refused to call you Kaa-chan.

Well then.

Freeing your fingers from deep in his ass, your upper lip curled into a snarl as you doused the Ground Zero dildo with the ice-cold lube, your blood roaring in your ear. It just seemed that you were going to have to take that nickname by force.

Slapping the lube coated dildo between the valley of his pretty, beautiful asscheeks, you grabbed his head of curls, snapping his head back so that his ear was a lick away. “Listen to what I’m about to fucking do, I-zu-ku,” you accentuate his name, your free hand gripping his slick cock, and fisting it slowly, your grip tightening whenever he tried to rut into your grip. “Your real fucking Kaa-chan is going to fuck your brains out and make sure that you can’t say that stupid fucking nickname to Bakugou without getting hard and remembering what I’m about to do to you, Deku,” you practically snarled into Izuku’s ear. Izuku freezes for a second, deep flushed red exploding on his face before he moans loudly, face burying into the mattress as you rut the silicone veined cock between his ready, supple cheeks. “Now, what’s my fucking name?”

“Kacchan…” Deku’s mouth fumbles, unable to find that distinction even like this, but that’s okay, you got time.

“Again, Deku,” you snap, watching as a shiver slams down his spine at the nickname, and you press the head of the cold, lube coated dildo against his ready, clenching asshole.

“Kaa-aachan!” Deku moans loudly, and you press the head of the black dildo into his ass, watching as his slutty little ass swallows the head without a single problem. His back arches further, and his ass shakes as you keep him from falling further on his Kacchan’s cock.

“Are you having that much fucking trouble distinguishing who’s fucking you right now, Deku?!” you practically seethe, your fingernails digging into his firm, plump ass before beginning to drag the cockhead away.

“No!” Deku sobs, his ass pathetically following after your exiting cock. “I’m not Kaa-chan, I promise!”

Oh, the golden words you’ve been looking for.

With a widespread, near-feral grin, you slammed the whole cock within him, not stopping until you couldn’t see the black of the dildo, and your thighs were pressed against his ass. The noises that spilled from Izuku’s mouth with sinful, lewd, and made you think for a second the hot and cold lube was in your cunt. His mouth continued to speak at a speed you couldn’t understand, his ass greedily sucking the dildo in with no thought to return it.

“I-It feels so good!” Deku cries, his ass slapping backward onto your strap. “Your cock is so good!”

“Damn fucking right it is, Deku,” you laughed, hands gripping his hips and with a determined show to make sure he knew just who the superior Kaacchan was, you began to rut your hips back up again his. 

Your pace was a lot faster than Deku’s, thighs crashing against his ass with every successive pound of your hips. Deku, who’s always been so good about being responsive in bed, is crying and moaning like a bitch in heat. His moans are endless and delightfully loud, his ass slamming backward to meet your rutting hips, and you can't help but land a loud spank against his sweet ass.

“How is this feeling, Deku? Tell your Kaa-chan how your shitty little hole is feeling?” you laugh, your body leaning over his, your lips and teeth marking up his sweaty, scarred back with bites marks and hickies. “Tell your Kaa-chan how it feels to have your shitty asshole fucked like this?”

“It feels sooo good, Kaa-chan!” Deku sobs and you shiver at the power behind that stupid little nickname. “My Kaa-chan is making me feel so good, so loved! Kaa-chan’s cock is stretching my ass out so good, her cock makes my stomach and ass feel so funny, but I d-don’t want it to end!”

His back is arched, and his fingers can no longer clutch the fabric of the mattress, and it’s all overwhelming as you fuck into him faster, more demanding, with more intention to have him be yours forever.

“My precious little Deku looks so fucking cute when he’s crying for his Kaa-chan,” you pant, your thrusts becoming sloppier with your heightened pleasure, knowing just whose cock he was crying for. His stupid Kacchan could never do this. 

The raw noises of wanton pleasure rip from Deku’s throat and his ass comes down to fuck back on your strap on with greater power, faster speed. You keep up, though, you have to prove your worth, you’ll fuck his brains out until the only thing he can call you is his Kaa-chan. You grip his hips, your knees shifting as you find a new angle, a better angle as you drill the cock in faster and further in, bottoming out in him with every stroke of your bucking hips. 

“Fuck!” he screams, his knees almost wholly giving out on you as you drive against his prostate. The cock and angle you had quickly allowing you such a pleasure as you fuck into him faster. And upon the tenth slam against his prostate, Deku is shouting. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Kaa-chan!”

Drool is pouring onto the bed, and you feel on fire as Deku continues to whimper, continues to cry your name, claiming that his Kaa-chan has never made him feel this good before. Your hands move from his waist and find themselves latched onto his curls and fisting his cock again. The power that hums through your body makes you see stars as he cries at the pain of having his hair yanked backward, and having your fingers press against the head of his weeping, pre-cum drenched cock.

“Oh, poor pathetic Deku,” you snarl despite the grin on your face, sweat drips down your temple, and you laugh. “Does your pathetic fucking cock need to cum? Do you need to cum while your Kaa-chan’s cock fucks you?”

“Y-Yes Kaa-chan!” Deku screams, his tongue falling from his mouth, his eyes dazed in his hysteria. “Yes, Kaa-chan! I want to cum on your cock, please let me cum on your cock!”

Your cunt throbs from your arousal and lack of stimulus, but the apparent slick in your lips that is slowly dripping down your thighs, makes your next train of thought seem worlds apart hot. The hand in his curls fists his hair harder, snapping Deku closer, making his back arch further. The hand around his cock pinches his cock head together, a pain you had discovered that never failed to get him to cum. And your hips, the hips that drove the Ground Zero dildo further into his tight, greedy asshole, slammed viciously and barbarically into his pretty little asshole.

Deku praises your cock again, his eyes fluttering shut as he cries for his Kaa-chan’s cock, and in a blind fit of victory, your lips press against his ear and whisper to him the truth.

“I’m actually fucking you with your Kacchan’s cock,” you admit, feeling Deku go rigid beneath you. “I know you know what I’m talking about, Deku. So yes, I bought it just to fuck you with it, and look! It’s Kacchan’s cock, but it's your Kaa-chan who’s making you feel so. good. with it!”

And with one last driving slam of Kacchans cock into Deku’s slutty, needy hole, you can feel his cock spasm within your hold, and the way his ass tightens beautifully around the dildo, and he collapses with a pitiful, pathetic: “Oh my god.”

Your hand is coated in his hot, heavy load of cum. You pull away from him, and you laugh, watching as Deku moves onto his back, his eyes fluttering with a million emotions as you bring your hand to your mouth and lick his musty cum clean from your hand. 

“Now,” you cough, slipping the harness from your waist and thighs and climbing back onto his awaiting, still semi-hard cock. You moaned at the feeling of his cock hardening back within your crazy soaked cunt. “Kaa-chan wants you to suck your Kaa-chan’s tits, and then you’ll be rewarded for being. So. Good.”

His eyes swim with uncertainty before he blinks, his hips rutting up to meet your cunt, and his mouth latching onto your needy nipple.

“Anything for you, Kaa-chan.”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Bonus!

Due to Bakugou calling on Izuku’s emergency-only phone, Bakugou had come over with an apology dinner made for the two of you. You sat at the table, Bakugou sitting in front of you, Izuku, to your side in the square table Izuku owned. 

Bakugou was already frowning, his body language trying to hide the apparent surprise that went through him when Izuku opened the door and greeted him as ‘Bakugou-kun!’ 

Had you known his reaction would be that pathetic, you wouldn’t have bothered to accept his dinner. You would have sufficed with that moment being caught on camera instead.

But no, Izuku loved Bakugou’s cooking, and you were now sitting here, glaring at Bakugou, who was glaring right back at you.

However, you knew Bakugou wanted to understand why his childhood nickname had suddenly been abandoned, and you had strategically placed Izuku’s favorite drink near the empty seat. Closer to you than it was to Bakugou because you knew that asshole was quicker than most.

“Oh, Kaa-chan, do you mind passing me my drink?” Izuku asked before flushing at the realization of what he called you in front of Bakugou.

But Bakugou didn’t notice, how could he?

Because both of you had made for his drink, and you just managed to snatch it before Bakugou did as you watched in evil elation as Bakugou quickly placed two and two together. Handing the glass to Izuku, you smiled, as he stammered out an embarrassed thank you.

“Sorry, boys, I’m actually needed somewhere tonight,” you lie, rising to your feet as Bakugou’s eyes rage with something you can’t name but love nonetheless. “I’ll leave you two alone, I’ll be back!”

You don’t let Izuku’s embarrassed begs for you to say deter you, your fingers grabbing your boyfriend by the chin before kissing him deeply, shoving your tongue into his mouth for good measure as you look at the still, void Bakugou when you break away.

You don’t know what happens as you leave, but the way that Izuku’s less superior Kacchan snaps his name makes your toes curl with pleasure.

Oh, you really liked this.

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Relic Coffee Shop

Prompt

.

.

.

Prompts:

1: Lemm finds an odd fellow at the Blue Lake. Normally he wouldn’t bother to approach a stranger out of nowhere, but something in his gut urges him to take action. Quirrel, feeling the effects of age on his body, stares incredulously at the bearded face of a stranger who apparently wants to have him over for coffee. 2: Lemm sets up shop in an abandoned cafe. It’s roomy and pleasant at first, but there are _stacks_ of these disgusting old bitter coffee beans clogging up the rooms. It doesn’t help that bugs keep coming in to order a drink even though he’s posted signs to _KEEP OUT!!_ However, once they start offering Geo be begrudgingly takes it as an opportunity to achieve funds to pay for relics. 3: At first, the coffee was just an excuse to get Geo to pay for relics, but Lemm’s begun to notice that bugs who wandered into his shop with the telltale early symptoms of infection no longer have them on their return visits. He tells himself he’s not an altruist. He’s _not._It’s just a waste to throw out old coffee when someone just needs a pick-me-up.

By @bluwails​

------------------------------- By @hydrochlorinate​

“Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Else.”

Those were the words that came out of the grumpy barista’s mouth that fateful day. One’s that you completely ignored, as you had already been drinking what could only be the drink of HIgher Beings, with just how heavenly it tasted.

Grinning like a lunatic, you give him 45 geo, not a small sum. If anything though, it was hilariously cheap for a drink that was this good. The bug doesn’t complain about the amount though, so he’s probably fine with it. Wings fluttering in excitement, you leave the shop, ready to tell any remaining survivors about the amazing drink shop you just found.

===============>(Coffee Shop AU)

The next time you come in, the store is absolutely packed. Denizens from all across the ruins of Hallownest are here, ranging from some uninfected moss knights to that one ladybug that you had a dance off with a while back. There's even a noble here, and- is that a mantis?

Anyway, it looks like your very subtle method of giving publicity to this cafe by talking about literally nothing else to whomever you talked to over the following week paid off. Good, this place deserves all the atte-

“You.”

Oh? You snap out of your thoughts, and look towards the counter, where the barista is levelling a glare at you that could instantly wither those delicate flowers that have been spreading around recently.

You stroll on up to the counter, a grin stretching across your face. The barista narrows his eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep this a secret? Why is my establishment filled to the brim with bugs? Who are these people?!”

...huh. Did he tell you to keep it on the down low? It seems in character from your limited interactions, but you don’t remember exactly. Oh well, time to play it off. You tell him that, well, what can you say except you’re welcome.

You’ve never seen a bug go from “Irritated” to “Ballistic” as fast as this barista. Usually they make a stop at “Angry” or “Absolutely Livid”.

“YOU’RE WELCOME?!?!”

No, see, he’s supposed to say thank you.

“THANK YOU???”

You tell him he’s welcome, before laughing. No, really, you tell him, look around, the place is packed! Business is booming! The barista (you should really ask for his name) manages to bring his volume under control, taking in a deep breath.

“That’s part of the problem. I’m a relic seeker, not a-” He gestures around the cafe, as if looking for the right words to use. Barista, you suggest.

“Exactly. I’m not made to brew coffee-” Oh, that’s what it was called. “-or to be dealing with customers all day long.”

Sure. That’s why he decided to allow people to keep purchasing coffee, or why he decided to put on a cute green and white visor.

You didn’t just come to check in on your new favorite bug though, you have coffee to order! Taking out a sheet of paper from your bag, you begin to read out both your order, and those of your companions. Even with the end of the infection, the leftover damage to hallownest’s caves and architecture makes it dangerous to travel alone.

As you begin to read out your order, the barista shifts from crotchety old bug to attentive worker. You really wish you had come back earlier, instead of letting some of your other traveling buddies pick up the coffee for you. Something about the atmosphere here is… relaxing, despite the amount of people.

After your order is finished, you leave the cafe. Back to the real world bucko, as an old friend of yours would always say.

...Wait a minute you never got the barista’s name.

===============>(Coffee Shop AU)

It’s been 3 weeks. You think. Time gets a little funky down here, what with the sudden influx of void. Sure, most of it has cleared out by now, but every so often your exploration party comes across a tunnel that hasn’t quite been fully illuminated, the shadows just a bit too thick to be natural.

You enter the coffee shop again. It’s gotten a lot quieter as time went on and bugs started coming in on a schedule. There’s still plenty of other customers here, but it’s nowhere near as packed as the first couple of days. Lemm (yeah, you finally got his name) stands at the counter, still slightly disgruntled, but a lot less so than he was at the beginning. In fact, he’s actually talking to someone right now! An actual conversation too, not just an exchange of witty remarks. You can’t see their face, but they appear to be a pillbug wearing a blue hood. 
As you step up to the counter, you can hear their conversation a bit better.

“...of course, I couldn’t just leave it sitting there right? So I move to pick it up, only to find out that the desk I dropped it on was magnetized! So here I am, trying and failing to pick up this one plant hanger for a solid 10 minutes.”

They both laugh at this, before noticing you. The unknown bug turns to face you, allowing you to see his mask.

“Oh, hello, I don’t believe we’ve met before!”

You greet him back, introducing yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Quirrell. I’m… well, I can’t really call myself an explorer, because I’ve already been everywhere! I’m more of a wanderer, really.”

Ahh, a free spirit, you see. You point out that just because he’s been everywhere doesn’t mean he’s seen everything. After all, who knows what could’ve gone down during Hallownest’s peak. Both Quirrell and Lemm get amused by this, for some reason. Seeing your confused look, Lemm decides to speak up.

"He probably knows more about Hallownest than everyone here, having lived here since before the infection and all."

Your eyes widen, and your wings begin to flutter. Truly? An original denizen, and not someone else trying to piece together its history? Quirrell waves off the words, though.

"I wouldn't go that far…" He begins, but Lemm cuts him off before he can go any further.

"Hah! Next you'll be telling me that you weren't the head assistant of the kingdom's best scientist!"

Giving off the equivalent of a blush, Quirrell rubs the back of his head. Lemm turns back to you.

"I'm sure you didn't come in just to chat, though. What can I get for you?"

It's nice to see him making friends.

------------------------------- By @schyrsivochter​

Lemm wasn’t a sociable person. That was a fact. He wasn’t good at talking, or at being friendly. (It wasn’t like he needed it, anyway. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed conversing with another bug.)

No, Lemm was much more of a person for reading. Deciphering the journals of the long dead, the writing and languages, was something he thoroughly enjoyed. Other artefacts spoke differently: the materials from which they were made, the way they were worked, the artistic style. It was a different kind of reading; some might say a more figurative one. But it was just as interesting.

Of course, architecture was part of that. It had not been a coincidence that Lemm had set up camp in Hallownest’s abandoned capital. When he’d arrived, he hadn’t dared to think that he’d ever finish exploring and finding new things. And it was true; he’d only explored a little bit before he’d realised that collecting and gathering relics was no use if he never took a proper look at them, instead letting them gather dust on the shelves, the tables, and the floor of the long-abandoned shop he’d moved into. So he’d decided to stay there, poring over his collection. His picture of the world of Hallownest in times past grew ever more detailed, more complete.

He’d opened the shop because people did not seem to stop wanting to sell him relics, and it never hurt to appear a little professional. And it had been a reliable source of new artefacts; new knowledge. He’d never sold anything, of course. His collection was his, and his alone.

And then came the dark. The cleansing void. It had taken him by surprise; he’d been working, and only noticed that anything was amiss when the light dimmed and he was finally bathed in darkness. He must’ve fallen unconscious at that point, and there’d been no telling how long it had been until he’d awoken. It hadn’t been until later that he’d learned that this was what had obliterated the plague, leaving in its wake hundreds of confused survivors and thousands of dead. No, the next thing to happen that told him things were not as usual was that a bug had come in, asked if he was open, and, upon his affirmative answer, asked for a hot drink, holding out a piece of ten.

Taken by surprise, he’d offered to make tea. He’d immediately regretted it, since it meant the bug would be staying for a while, probably without selling him relics, but it was easy enough to do and would get him geo, his supply of which had been running low. So he put a kettle on and took the money. The bug had thanked him profusely, while he had elected to remain quiet.

Not long afterwards, the same bug and four others stood in the doorway. Whether they had relics for him, he’d asked. They’d looked amongst themselves, and one had asked, ‘Is this not a coffee shop?’

‘I suppose it might’ve once been,’ he’d said. ‘Now it’s mine.’

More confused looks and standing around, and then the bug he’d seen before asked if he’d make more tea. He’d said no, not unless they paid him twice as much as the last time and stayed quiet and didn’t disturb him in his work. To his horror, the five bugs had agreed, and so he’d dug out cups from the coffee shop’s former stock and afterwards found himself a little richer in geo but with a significantly worse mood.

He had his peace afterwards, though. At least for a while. Now a bug had arrived, taller than the others, wearing a headscarf. Lemm had mentally prepared for the bug to ask for coffee, but the bug had halted in front of one of the tables that Lemm had repurposed for his collection of relics.

‘Admiring my collection?’ Lemm asked.

’Yes, quite!’ the bug answered, chipper and friendly. ‘I’m curious how you managed to get a hold of so many texts in such diverse languages! These are journals, are they not?’

‘They are,’ Lemm acknowledged. ‘From all over Hallownest.’

‘But most of them aren’t any Hallownest language.’ The bug put a hand on his mask. ‘I suppose they’re from travellers that came to the ruins and perished?’

‘Quite right,’ Lemm said. He had to admit, begrudgingly, that the bug standing before him was sharp and knew his history. A trait not many others shared.

‘Can you read all of them?’ The mask turned towards Lemm, inclined in question.

‘No,’ he answered truthfully, making his way around the counter to stand next to the bug. ‘I haven’t had the time to decipher all of them yet. But I’ll get around to it eventually.’

‘Interesting,’ the bug said. ‘I can—huh?’

He turned towards the entrance, and Lemm followed his gaze. Lemm was about to ask what the problem was, when a bug appeared in the entrance. The one that he’d made tea twice for. Ah yes, he thought. A customer. Two of them, in fact; one of the others from before had joined the one who’d taken a fancy to paying Lemm to make tea.

‘I don’t suppose,’ Lemm said, ‘there is any way to convince you to find tea somewhere else?’

The bugs shook their head.

Lemm sighed, and muttered an apology to the tall visitor. Time to get it over with.

He went to the back room to prepare the tea, and overheard the two visitors conversing in the front.

‘What’s this, anyway?’

‘Historical documents. Journals of travellers.’

‘What’s it doing here?’

‘I think the shopkeep collects them.’

‘That’s correct!’ Lemm called. ‘I’m always buying, if you have anything of historical value.’

He grabbed the cups and walked back to the front. ‘That’s fifty geo. Unless you have relics.’

The bugs complained under their breath, but paid up, and Lemm could direct his attention back to the visitor.

‘So is this what you do?’ they asked. ‘Opened the coffee shop again and collecting relics in your free time?’

Lemm was dumbstruck for a moment. Then he remembered to be outraged. ‘No! I am not opening this place as a coffee shop! People just keep coming and demanding tea and I cannot let an opportunity to earn easy money go to waste!’

‘Relic business not exactly booming, then, I assume?’

‘I’m—’ he spluttered, ‘It’s not a business! I don’t sell my relics, they’re mine!’

‘So you wouldn’t have any income if you weren’t selling tea?’

Lemm had the distinct impression that the bug was making fun of him. He didn’t answer, but simply walked up to the table, grabbed a random journal, and took it to his desk to try and get some work done.

He had not yet prepared his quill and ink when he was interrupted yet again.

‘You know,’ the visitor called, ‘that one is from a traveller from Greynest. Came here looking for his brother, never found him. No doubt said brother also perished in the ruins.’

Lemm turned around to see the bug standing in the doorway, having followed him halfway. ‘And how do you know this?’ he asked.

The bug shrugged. ‘I read it.’

Lemm regarded the bug. They didn’t seem to be joking.

‘You mean to tell me,’ Lemm began, slowly, ‘you know this language?’

‘Yes,’ they said nonchalantly. ‘I think I’ve been to Greynest? Must have been a while ago.’

‘Are you a traveller, then?’ Lemm asked. ‘You don’t seem the type.’

As soon as he’d spoken the words, Lemm became aware how utterly ridiculous it was of him to make observations about people. He didn’t like people, he wasn’t interested in people—

The bug laughed. ‘I am, in fact. I have travelled far and wide.’

‘Hmph,’ said Lemm, unsure what else to say. He turned back to his work, looked at the angular shapes carved into the stone, but now it seemed senseless to try and make sense of it when he knew that it was no mystery to the bug standing behind him.

At some point, he looked up and found that he was hungry and the visitor was gone. Oh, well. Time for a meal, then, and afterwards he might be able to find something else to do.

* * *

The next time the tea-drinker returned, they asked for tea and then asked Lemm about the relics, and he was in a favourable enough mood to talk about them. They asked some fairly stupid questions, but it seemed to come out of a genuine interest in the topic, so he indulged them. Plus, he had to admit that he enjoyed having a reliable source of geo. Not that he needed it much for buying relics, these days, but he supposed that his supplies of food – and of tea – would not last indefinitely, and he didn’t particularly fancy having to go back to scavenging, now that there were actual people living in the vicinity again. No, he’d rather find some place where he could buy what he needed fair and square.

The traveller with the headscarf returned, and it was an odd sort of feeling Lemm had about them. Like he actually liked having them in his shop and talking to them. And the perplexing thing was that the bug also seemed to enjoy conversing with Lemm. Which one one hand was absolutely preposterous, on the other … it was a refreshing change.

The bug introduced himself as Quirrel, apprentice to Monomon the Teacher, and Lemm could hardly believe it. Monomon the Teacher, one of the most brilliant minds of Hallownest? It couldn’t be! And yet it was not all too difficult to imagine. He’d seen stranger things in these lands.

Quirrel also was the one who later suggested Lemm officially open the shop as a coffee shop again. Lemm had thrown him out at that and gone back to work.

Now, a short while later, he looked up and Quirrel was back, standing at the counter, watching Lemm silently.

Lemm rose and went to the front, choosing to stare back equally silently. Lemm was good at that. Probably.

‘So,’ Quirrel said at length, his voice still as annoyingly friendly as ever, ‘have you thought about it?’

Lemm kept staring.

Quirrel held up his hands. ‘You need money, you don’t have much else to do, and besides’ – Quirrel shrugged. – ‘people like your tea.’

‘I certainly have enough to do,’ Lemm started. ‘These texts don’t decipher themselves. What’s so funny?’

Quirrel stopped his giggling and said, ‘They sort of do. Have you forgotten who stands before you?’

‘You don’t read all of these languages.’ Really, Quirrel’s ego was getting on Lemm’s nerves.

‘But most of them,’ Quirrel said, shrugging, ‘and most of the Archive’s records are intact. And we do have a nice section on language and writing.’

Lemm was silent for a moment, mostly because he could not think of a good comeback. Quirrel had a point, and Lemm did not like that in the slightest.

‘Let’s make a deal,’ Quirrel said. ‘I help you translate your texts and catalogue your artefacts, and you’ – Quirrel jabbed a finger in Lemm’s direction – ‘you sell your tea officially.’

‘Out of the question.’

‘You’re already doing it.’

‘I am not!’

‘Yes, you are.’ Quirrel said this with absolute certainty and no anger, and there was a voice at the back of Lemm’s mind that said: You really sort of are. And you could use the help. You don’t like the busywork anyway.

‘All right,’ Lemm grumbled. ‘Deal.’

‘Thank you,’ said Quirrel, audibly grinning.

‘I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’ Lemm asked under his breath.

‘I don’t think so,’ Quirrel said. ‘I’m curious – what else can you make? Tea alone is a bit boring, don’t you think?’

‘Shut up,’ Lemm said, ‘or I change my mind.’

* * *

Lemm did not change his mind, even though Quirrel didn’t shut up. It had been a while, and Lemm hated to admit it, but he enjoyed doing something different for a change. Customers were now plenty, and Lemm had a menu with more than one item, and his relic collection was no bigger, but more orderly and better understood than it had ever been, thanks to Quirrel’s – and the Archive’s – help.

Another thing that Lemm was not quite ready to admit was that people could be nice. The more he talked to customers, interacted with them, observed them, the more he began to appreciate them. He used to be content in reading historical texts and artefacts, preferring to learn about people that were dead and gone. Living bugs had never really interested him.

Nowadays, however, it seemed that people could be just as interesting to read as anything else. And, as Quirrel entered, greeting him, and he could not help his mood being lifted just by the prospect of learning something new and interesting that Quirrel learnt on his last trip to the Archive, Lemm supposed that sometimes, very rarely … people were something he could enjoy.

------------------------------- By @gardening-clown​

------------------------------- By @buglife​

Lemm was five seconds away from throwing someone through the window.

His shop was now occupied by five bugs of various species, talking, laughing, and sitting around when he could be in the back doing literally anything else. It took weeks of bugs thinking that his relic shop was a coffee one before he simply gave up and made peace with it. At least he got some geo from it to pay adventurers that did come by to sell legit relics. How they mistook his shop for a coffee one, he would have never guess.

All he had was a little brewer that was barely put back together that he scavenged from some random shop, but other bugs seemed to like it, for some strange reason. It wasn’t even good coffee he was making, but they seemed to accept it. After all, who else in this dead kingdom was even selling coffee? He had looted plenty of shops and took as many sacks of beans as he would when he first arrived, and there was no way he could drink them all, so he might as well do something with them.

But he was steadily losing his patience with the amount of bugs around him. They were talking and loitering. Loitering was probably the worst of it all as it made the loner bug feel his shell crawl with the forced social interaction. He just wanted them to leave. He couldn’t stand the feeling of a crowded space, which is why he went to a dead kingdom in the first place.

Hell, he had to take his beloved odds and ends down from the shelves to keep some curious bug from touching them all up with their dirty fingers and breaking something.

He found himself dreading the sound of the bell above his door, and when it rang he wondered if someone else was coming to ask him for some random drink or be an annoying thorn in his side.

To his hidden delight however, it was the little wanderer. They looked like a grub, to be honest, with a black body and a stark white horned shell for a head. The nail on their back seemed to be a little put together the last time he saw them, perhaps they visited the Nailsmith? He never asked for their name, he didn’t want to learn it to avoid attachments, but he found them oddly endearing. They liked to listen to him ramble about his theories on various relics they bring him, so they can’t be too bad. Plus they were quiet and polite, something he was immensely grateful for.

They bounced inside the door and came to a stop, looking at the five other bugs sitting around and chatting. They tilted their head to the side, watching the bugs for a moment before looking at Lemm. They stretched out a stubby arm from under their cloak and pointed at him.

Lemm sighed. Of course, the little Wanderer had been gone for a while, and obviously didn’t know what had become of his beloved shop. He gestured for them to come over, which they did and looked up at him expectantly.

“Bugs keep thinking that this is a coffee shop.” He explained. “So here they are, drinking coffee that I make on a terrible little brewer. I gave up trying to kick them all out all the time, it stopped being worth the effort.”

The little wanderer blinked a few times, looking somewhat confused. They pointed to the cup being held by the beetle on one of Lemm’s chairs and mimed the action of drinking it.

“Yes, that’s coffee they are drinking.” He raised a brow as he looked down at the grub. “Haven’t you ever seen coffee before?”

They shook their head.

“Really now? Hrm…” He wasn’t sure where the little wanderer had come from if they never saw coffee before. It was a fairly common drink besides tea. They must have grew up in a rather isolated place If they never saw it. He decided he might as well explain it, it would be better to do it now than later.

“Coffee is a drink that bugs like to drink to give them energy.” He saw them perk up a bit at the ‘energy’ part. “It’s rather bitter, so some like it with sugar. I like it plain. It keeps me awake when I am working.”

They somehow made a face when he said it was bitter, tilting their head and angling their eye holes to look affronted. Lemm squashed down a laugh at the expression and decided to get to business.

“Anyway, they trade me geo for it, which lets me compensate bugs that get me relics. Do you have any for me today?” He hoped they did, he needed something to brighten up his day.

The wanderer nodded, reaching under their cloak to pull out a black orb. Lemm recognized it immediately to be an arcane egg. He loved working with those. Peeling back each layer revealed new information and new discoveries. He was in fact, still working on the one he got weeks before. He needed to be careful with them, and he reveled in the intense focus and work it needed to discover it’s secrets. His day instantly got better.

“Very nice, I’ll be glad to take that off your hands for the usual price.” The old beetle held out his hand and the wanderer gently placed the egg it in. They held up a hand once it was free and shook their head, pointed to a cup sitting on the counter.

“Ah, you want to trade this for a cup of coffee?” He wasn’t going to say no to that. If the wanderer was okay with it, it was a perfectly reasonable business transaction. His suspicions were confirmed when they nodded and bounced in place, looking as excited as they were able to. “Well I can certainly do that.”

Thankfully, the two bugs occupying the chairs in front of the counter left, leaving behind their dirty cups and a few geo for the mess. They thanked him and he grumped out a ‘have a good day’ as they left, seemingly indifferent to his mood. Oh well, at least it brought down the occupancy to a more manageable level for his social batteries. He pushed the dirty cups out of the way and gestured to an open seat. “Here, sit down and I’ll get you a cup.”

They bounced upwards to take a seat, swinging their legs back and forth as they waited. It didn’t take Lemm long to throw some ground up beans and water into the grinder, watching the brewed coffee pour into a clean cup. He carefully carried the hot cup down and set it in front of the wanderer. “Be careful, it’s very hot. I’ll bring you some sugar, you didn’t seem to like the ‘bitter’ description.”

They nodded and watched as he pushed over a bowl of honey sugar and a spoon. It was the least he could do after they got him another arcane egg.  “There you are, help yourself.”

They bowed their head in thanks and took up the spoon, poking it into the bowl.

“Excuse me,” One of the bugs by the window got up, the one with a bent antenna and holding their empty cup. “Could I get a refill, please?”

Lemm held back a sigh and nodded, taking the cup and heading back to his brewer. He had to smack it a couple times for it to start working again, but in the end he got a passable cup of coffee out of it. He returned just in timed to hear said bug exclaim, “Woah there buddy, you must really like sugar!”

He looked to the wanderer, who had added so much sugar to their cup of coffee, that he could hear the sugar that couldn’t dissolve scrape against the ceramic as it was stirred. It looked like fresh cement, there was only a bit of brown to denote that once, it was indeed a cup of coffee.

He wordlessly handed the other bug their coffee, who took it and retreated back to sit by the window. He was about to say something to the wanderer, when to his horror, their head tilted backwards. A maw of sharp black teeth opened wide, and he watched, astonished, as the mix of sugar and coffee oozed into their mouth and to who knows where. A long black tongue lashed out to get every last bit of sugar out of the cup, before the mouth closed with a quiet click. They must have felt him staring, because they turned to look at him with their fathomless, dark eyes. He stared back, wondering what the hell was actually sitting in front of him.

They then bounced in place and gave him a thumbs up. They made a shape of a heart with their hands, a way that they say ‘thank you’. They seemed rather happy.

“Um…you’re welcome?” He managed, after he gathered his composure again.

They sat still for a moment, seeming to ponder on what they had just consumed. He figured that they were probably trying to figure out if they liked it or not. He doubt they even managed to taste the coffee from the sheer amount of sugar in that cup.

Then, to his horror, they began to vibrate. At first it was a few twitches, and then it steadily became more and more severe, until they were a literal blur. The chair rattled under the stress and the bugs that remained in the shop turned to look at the commotion.

It was then, Lemm realized he fucked up.

They suddenly dashed away, slamming into the shop door with such force that it caved outwards. There was only the short sound of shattering glass and the scream of metal before it flew off it’s hinges and rattled down the hallway. He could hear the hurried pitter-patter of the wanderer’s tiny feet, now fast enough to blur into one continuous sound, race down the hall and out of sight and hearing.

He just stood there, looking at the wreckage of his shop door, wondering where the hell is he going to get a replacement, if there even was a replacement. He looked at the three shocked bugs, standing and looking at the wreckage, and then he got himself an idea.

“Hey fellas,” He said, as he turned and looked at the bugs next to the window. “How would you all like some free coffee if you find me a door?”

------------------------------- By @radical-mudkips​

------------------------------- By @unregisteredcookie​

Lemm's 'shop' was empty.

Actually, no, that… that wasn't right. Lemm's shop wasn't a shop in the first place--it was a haven for relics and ancient knick-knacks, and the shelves were filled to overflowing with stone tablets and peculiar eggs that held unimaginable information. Not that Lemm was ever able to crack into the eggs' shells, but he knew--he knew there was more treasured information sleeping beneath. If only he were able to open it up without risking that information being damaged.

And that wasn't right, either. The shop being empty, that was. Right now, the shelves were empty, but that was less because of the absence of relics and more because they were all stowed away in the back room to be sorted. He had a notebook he was combing over, quill in hand as he scribbled out little bits of information that might relate to one another.

'Might', because Lemm wasn't really from Hallownest. So he didn't know for sure whether this smooth L-shaped contraption was a door handle or a piece to a lost work of art.

It was while Lemm was scribbling about in this journal bound in parchment (hand-made and flimsy, using the paper he found around the area that was clean and allowed to dry) that he heard it: The distant clattering of the elevator. There were about seven options he could think of off of the top of his head, each more dreaded than the last. It could be that scarcely-seen Nailsmith who seemed to know more about the history of this ruin than he let on. It could be the peculiar little silent bug that stared up at him now and again, the one that sometimes passed by with a relic to sell. It could be that talkative windbag, droning on and on in his droning voice, so grating and persistent that Lemm struggled to ignore him. He was probably the worst.

Lemm stopped writing, tilted his head, and listened for the telltale sound. The rattling stopped, and all that he heard for a while was silence. And then.

Ding.

He sighed, getting to his feet. A customer it was, then. How delightful. Here's hoping that the customer wasn't 'Zote the Mighty'.

He had a small moment of dread when he saw the horn, a critical blow of dismay that tempted him to retreat back into the back room and pretend to be out for a walk, but then he saw the second horn and breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, it wasn't the Zote person after all. It was… them. The other little one.

They looked up at him as he approached the register and looked down at them. Their eyes were vacant as ever, face impossibly unreadable. Lemm doubted that he'd ever get used to it.

Lemm liked this little bug, if for no other reason than they were quiet, kept their hands to themself, and brought him relics to purchase. They were the only one willing to sell these relics, and they were the only reason Lemm often said what he said next.

"Cup of coffee, or looking to sell?"

He never had much company in this place until the Nailsmith (Lemm never caught his name, never bothered asking, really) first came in looking for materials for his smithing. Almost took one of Lemm's Pale Idols from under his beard while he was noting in his journal. After the initial yelling that followed and a cup of coffee, the Nailsmith apologized by paying for the cup. And he did it again. And again. Until the mapmaker came in, saw, and bought a cup himself. Until the hooded pillbug came in, hummed, and bought one for himself. And then--

Well. And then he had a coffee shop.

Lemm wished he could say that he hated it, and he did, at first. But over time, he found the company rather pleasant. Besides, the geo paid for this little bug's relic collection well enough, so he wasn't complaining.

So. Did they want a cup of coffee, or did they want to sell their relics? Lemm didn't get an answer. Instead, they looked around at the empty shelves for a moment before turning their empty eyes back onto him, tilting their head to the side slightly.

It took Lemm a moment.

"Oh, I moved the relics into the back room," he said. "I've been needing to work on sorting them out and writing notes about them. Never would I have thought that I would have so many to study."

Satisfied, they reached into the confines of their cloak. Lemm leaned forward a little, watching as they rummaged about for a moment, heart skipping a beat as he pondered what sort of relic they were going to sell this time.

And then they withdrew their small hand, reached up, and dropped a fist full of geo onto the counter.

Lemm blinked and stared at the geo for a moment. Something wispy and thin clung to them, and when he picked it up and opened the register, it was sticky. Was this webbing? Lemm wasn't aware of there being any spiders in Hallownest, aside from maybe that red-cloaked bug he saw very rarely flitting about outside his window.

So. No relics today. Fine, at least he'd have more money to buy another one later.

"One coffee coming up," he murmured, rummaging around behind the counter. Underneath the register was where he kept the coffee pot, which he refrained from moving just so he could be prepared if a 'customer' came by. He busied himself with it for a few moments, filling the filter and checking the water, before clicking the button and letting it steep. Granted, he didn't know what kind of coffee they'd drink, but they didn't make it clear anyway, so he doubted that it mattered.

Besides. They seemed a little preoccupied by something else at the moment. After a few minutes, the coffee was finished, and Lemm poured them a cup. He chose a caramel-like flavor, because they seemed about the size of a child and a little bit of sweetness never hurt anyone. Lemm reached over the counter and held it out to them, which they took in their hands and stared down at for a moment. Lemm was about ready to head back into the back when it happened. A crack. It almost sounded like something breaking, but when he turned to look behind himself at the small knight, they still stood there. Another crack, one that made his fur stand on end and his body stiffen, and Lemm caught the glimpse of something sharp and white shifting beneath the bottom of their mask.

A mouth?

They tilted their head back. A jaw opened. Many layers of teeth glimmered in the dim light, cracking as they did so, the noise chilling him through his chitin and making his hemolymph freeze. Lemm stood there, stock still, as they lifted the cup up to their face, jaw extending outwards to drink it, and then-- --they set the scalding hot coffee in their mouth, cup and all, closed it, and crunched.

Lemm had never seen a bug eat a cup of coffee before. He could still hear the crunch, crunch, crunching, muffled and quiet and growing quieter, noise sounding like a particularly crunchy tiktik being eaten.

Lemm shuddered. When the knight looked back at him, he turned around quickly and went into the back room.

Okay. Suddenly they weren't the second most welcome sight for sore eyes. Suddenly Lemm wished that it was that talking, yapping Zote fellow who came in instead.

------------------------------- By @doodle-chris​

------------------------------- By @payasita​

There was no shortage of open real estate as far as the City of Tears was concerned. But that certainly didn't make every option an equally viable living space.

First, Lemm wanted something enclosed away from the rain, and insulated enough to stave off the humidity. That discounted anything open to the outside, as he wouldn't risk his relics to even the threat of exposure. A leaking roof dripping down onto crumbling tablets or fragile spider silk could devastate hundreds of years worth of history, so that also discounted any room without a few protective floors above it.

Next, it had to be out of the way of any and all shambling husks and infected critters. They weren't the brightest of creatures, so a room only accessible by elevator was ideal. He'd never seen anything plague-cursed have enough wherewithal to operate one, and the noise of it would give him plenty warning of visitors otherwise.

Lastly, he wanted someplace with plenty of shelf space. He needed little in the way of actual living space, so long as he had ample storage room set up in such a way that things could easily be organized.

All of these qualities described, in his opinion, the ideal relic storage and research dwelling. And in the end, he was lucky enough to find it.

Unearthing the previous tenant's belongings informed him that it also, apparently, described the ideal setup for a small café. On his first day in his new residence, he'd uncovered an antique coffee machine and a few other ancient tools, kept miraculously free of rust and wear. The room's conditions must be far better than he thought.

He'd dusted his findings off and set them back up on the counter, having quickly deduced where they'd once been put to use through old nicks and rings left on the shellwood by years of service. Lemm had felt a small swell of pride at finding this small bit of the city's history, and began a set of notes on his theories about this tower complex and its surrounding culture from everything he found around. Perhaps the whole place had been a shopping centre.

On the second day, he pried open the crates in the back room, and they had spilled forth bags upon bags of beans and teas. There were so many of them that he was able to rationalize cutting one open and examining its contents without much guilt. The beans were coffee, that much was obvious at a glance.

Biological samples weren't exactly his area of expertise, but smell and texture alone all but convinced him that they'd been perfectly preserved in their airtight prisons, well dried and perfectly edible.

Most likely.

For the sake of research, and because the bag was already open, he put them through the machine. He committed some time to studying the machine beforehand, as he was afraid mishandling it may destroy it. But an hour of trying to figure the damn thing out was frustrating enough that he finally reasoned that if he did break it, he could at least take it apart and examine its insides for anything interesting. Lemm was a relic keeper, not a tinker. So he winged it with a bit of rainwater and the beans, and got wet beans and hot murky water all over the counter to show for it. He figured out the grinder and filter after his second attempt, and by the third, he had a mug of fresh coffee to show for his efforts. The scent that filled his shop and the outside corridor must have been nothing Hallownest had experienced in centuries. Lemm had little taste for the stuff himself, but in his experimentation he'd gone and made a whole pot. So he supposed he needed to acquire a taste for it rather quickly.

Luckily for his health, that turned out to be unnecessary. The smell, perhaps amplified in the ever-present petrichor, quickly attracted guests of the still-living variety. There turned out to be far more travelers and treasure hunters bumping around this old city than he'd initially expected, prone to tucking himself away in solitude as he was. Introverted or no, he happily gave the coffee away rather than waste it or risk giving himself a coronary. There were even a great deal of disposable mugs stacked away that just made it all the more convenient.

Just over the course of an hour, Lemm was graced with a fair amount of odd characters intruding on his doorstep. There was a surly fellow wielding a metal shield of some foreign make, who announced his intentions towards finding and conquering Hallownest's old colosseum. He was convinced it was still in operation somewhere. Lemm decided that if it was, the place was more than likely not populated with the sorts of honorable warriors this poor bastard was looking to prove himself against, but he kept his thoughts to himself and sent the boy off with a steaming cup of acrid bean water. Next came another traveller who gave off a more scholarly air than the first had, and who carried a more conventional weapon at his hip. The pill bug certainly acted more like a student than a warrior, all bright-eyed and curious and talkative. But no doubt he must know how to use that nail of his to have survived this far down and still be so cheerful. His stay wasn't entirely unpleasant; the two actually talked a short while about Hallownest's history and their shared learnings. The bug even tried to insist on paying, but Lemm was adamant that his reliquary wasn't a damn breakfast nook, thank you, keep your geo. But if he really wanted to pay, Lemm would certainly take any interesting artifact or trinket the bug happened to pick up on his travels. They eventually came to an agreement: A journal pilfered from a shrine somewhere in Greenpath for an extra cup for the road. Lemm's next visitor was, of all things, a cartographer. This one was far too involved in his work for much conversation, which was fine by Lemm. But he did manage to barter a cup for a map of the city. It was incomplete and bare of any landmarks, much to Lemm's disappointment. Finally, an odd little wanderer walked in almost soundlessly. They did not speak to Lemm, nor did they give any indication that they were here for any specific reason. But they had acquired an old city crest and a King's idol on their path, and Lemm had a more typical exchange of geo for relics with them. And then because it was the last of the coffee in the still warm pot, and because the little wanderer did not refuse, he sent them off with a cup on their way out. Thankful to be rid of all the blasted coffee and done with the uptick in social interaction, he then washed the pot and continued with his normal studies. It was nice and quiet, now.

But then the next morning, the pill bug returned. And he was surprised (and clearly disappointed) to see the coffee pot empty. It was a shame, he'd said. For he'd gone and found himself another journal, and considered a relic he couldn't use for a hot morning's drink to be a fine deal indeed. Lemm was inclined to agree, for how it saved him his geo in case of a more potentially significant find down the line. He turned the machine back on at once at the prospect. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to brew just one cup, and was still rightfully intimidated by the old, fussy contraption, and not inclined to mess with what worked. So he made another full pot, and talked shop.

The pill bug wasn't the only one to return that day. The would-be gladiator came back, still not having found his destination, and had the gall to just expect another drink. After the deal he'd just made, Lemm was feeling markedly less generous than he had been the day before, and informed his nasally guest that he'd have to barter something old and interesting for it.

The ant grumbled and left, but returned a few minutes later with a guardsman's crest. He'd apparently seen old treasures all over the place, but had found it beneath him to go and pick them up." A warrior has no need to weigh himself down with baubles," he'd sneered over his cup. Lemm privately thought that the plague-crazed beasts who were doubtlessly running the colosseum now would soon show this haughty kid what they cared for his warrior’s creed in due time, so he said nothing.

The silent wanderer came later. This time when they held up an ancient journal, they made no move to take the geo held out to them. They only stared at Lemm, with their little mask so perfectly unmoving he could easily think them a sudden corpse. Then his hand drifted towards the pot, and the creature set the journal down on the counter.

"...News of a relic keeper bartering goods for coffee has already spread among your lot, then? I suppose even wanderers must have a rumor mill," Lemm talked to himself while pouring their cup. Predictably, they padded away without an answer, drink in hand. Lemm would soon learn how right he was.

- The coming days were more lucrative than his business had ever been. All the travellers he'd met before all came back with various oddities found around Hallownest, as did anyone new. Though not everyone quite understood what constituted a relic, and Lemm had to turn down more than a few shiny rocks and petrified lake detritus. But they all got the routine down soon enough. And, well, Lemm did have an extraordinary amount of coffee that'd just go to waste for another thousand years otherwise, so, may as well.

The pill bug, Quirrel, came to be his best "customer", though Lemm would be twice damned before he ever said the word aloud. Either way, Quirrel often stayed long enough just chatting to warrant a second cup.

"I ought to have you bring double the treasure," Lemm griped once while handing that second cup over. Quirrel's response was a good natured laugh.

"Perhaps elsewhere, that'd be fair. Coffee was a luxury in some lands, and remains so to this day, but by my understanding it was quite in abundance here. Though I couldn't tell you where in the world they must have been growing it," he mused. Lemm raised a brow, wondering once again where in gods' names this bug was educated. But as asking would be an invitation to hear his life story, Lemm deferred.

"Is that right?" he asked instead, "I don't care for the stuff myself, luxury or no." "Really? Not an uncommon opinion, I suppose. I picked it up as a habit at one point... Though, I couldn't tell you when, now that I think of it," Quirrel trailed off, adjusting the oversized mask over his head. Lemm found it an odd choice of protection from the rain, though he supposed it was better than nothing. He only shrugged, "I hear many students do make a habit of caffeine. Your sorts can never get enough hours out of the day."

Quirrel stared at him for a brief moment, and then huffed a laugh again. "Student? You mistake me, sir. I've only ever been a traveller for as long as I can remember."

Lemm didn't bother to mask his surprise, and Quirrel's eyes crinkled. "You're right on that second part, though. So much to see, and never enough time." He took a sip.

-

The mapmaker came back one day with an order for two drinks. He had no relics, but offered an extra inkwell and quill instead. Lemm found equipment for keeping good notes was lucky to come by, and reluctantly made the trade, much to the old bug's gratitude.

"Thank you, the second is for my wife running our shop surface-side. It was her suggestion you might want materials for your research."

Lemm cleared his throat, blustering slightly under his beard.

"Ahh. Hm. I can appreciate that, then."

"Oh, on that note, have you any sugar you can add in for her?" The bug peered over Lemm’s shoulder, which rankled him for some reason.

"...I did find a jar back here somewhere, I think." Though he couldn't promise it was good. Could sugar go bad? It still just looked like white sand.

"Thank you. ...Err, actually, is that a box of tea on the shelf, there?"

Lemm paused in his rummaging, and looked back at the open storeroom door. The room now made a good home for his relics, though he never bothered unpacking the open crates.

"...It is," he eyed the bug neutrally.

"Ah. Iselda enjoys her coffee, though I quite prefer a good cup of tea myself. ...Erm, if it isn't too much trouble, of course," the bug grinned politely over folded hands.

Lemm, to his credit, did not sigh. There was indeed a kettle back there, too. And at least he knew how to brew tea without making an entire day's worth of it.

He brought up the jar of sugar, and leveled the bug with a grumpy look.

"Fine. But next time, you bring relics."

The cartographer acquiesced immediately, and that was the point where Lemm realized he'd invited them both to expect a "next time".

-

The silent wanderer came back again, on the tail of a group of treasure hunters who came in and left up the elevator. Shortly after, there was the sound of struggle above them.

This had become commonplace. Anyone who showed up had to contend with the violent husks above and beyond the shop, and some were more prepared to deal with the dangers of Hallownest than others. Lemm only poured the wanderer's cup in bored silence, tuning out the thumping and shouts above. "You know this stuff stunts your growth, right?" Lemm asked flatly. The wanderer only ever stared.

"Dehydrates you, too. You active types probably ought to stick to water. Imagine having to deal with the horrors of rotting sentries and whatnot with a diuretic sloshing about in you." Unbothered, they leaned forward and took their cup in both hands, still staring up while he spoke. Lemm honestly had no idea if they even understood him, and considered the possibility that their muteness was compounded by a language barrier. But they at least always made the effort to appear attentive.

There was a thundering crash above them that made Lemm flinch, and then a silence that kept him tense. The voices started up once again after a few seconds, and the sound of footsteps hurrying away as fast as they could. By his guess, his last customers had just had a very close encounter with a belfly. He'd likely not be seeing them again.

He turned his attention back down to the wanderer with a sigh.

"...Let me see what you have, then."

The tiny thing set their cup carefully down by their feet, and fished a genuine void egg from the depths of their grubby cloak. Lemm was struck with the brief impulse to give them the entire coffee machine for it.

-

There was a new visitor one morning, just as Lemm brewed the pot for his regulars. He rarely got anyone so very early, and was guiltily nursing his own cup of acrid sugary heart disease before anyone would be around to see. Alright, so he'd acquired the taste for it. It was hardly unreasonable with how much time he spent around the smell, and it helped him make up for lost time studying his relics later in the night. Perfectly understandable, and so he definitely did not freeze mid sip like he was caught in a crime when the door opened unexpectedly. The red-clad stranger who walked in wore a wicked-sharp needle slung across her back, and fixed him with an even sharper gaze.

"...I hear you sell tea." Her voice was quiet enough, but cut clear without the normal hesitant lilt of a question.

Lemm slowly put down his mug, and the soft thunk it made against the countertop sounded awfully loud in the morning lull.

"...I don't sell anything. I buy," he insisted.

The altogether frightening lass glanced between him, the full coffee pot, and the kettle sat next to a stack of assorted loose leaf teas. Then back at him.

He grunted, hiding an inane flush of indignation behind another swig of his drink.

"...I seek artifacts. Relics of this place's past, and anything that may help me understand it, for geo. ...Or for a cuppa, for those who'd rather." He shifted behind the counter, nearly trailing off into a mumble. But at this point, there wasn’t much use in fighting his reputation.

The girl just scrutinized him until she seemed to come to a decision. She then turned and left without saying anything else, opting to hop down the elevator shaft rather than waste a moment calling the lift.

Lemm rolled his eyes and gulped down the dregs of his coffee, vaguely annoyed. By this point, he was used to the rude and half feral sorts of vagabonds that only came by out of curiosity. At least she was quick about leaving.

All the better for him, as far as he was concerned. He doubted such a young thing would have anything of note to share with Hallownest's foremost historian.

[dorminchu]

Armistice

Summary: Annie returns from a very disintersting two months in the Karanese Military Police Brigade to room up with Eren in the mountains; Eren is just happy to see her again. Okay, maybe more than that.

Rating: M

Whoops, I did it again. Wanted to write something sweeter for a change, because it's a real novelty in AoT, especially with these two. Then it got out of hand because apparently I just cannot write ANY sex without plot. So this is more of a side-story in the same continuity of ALL THESE THINGS THAT I'VE DONE. Keeping this as a one-shot for now, but there may be another chapter if demand is high enough.

[Ao3 Link]

By the middle of May the skies were clearing up. The transition between spring and summer remained temperate but promised hotter weather. Eren had spent so long used to the quiet that the absence of another person was humbling. The solitude brought him back to a grimier tenement in enemy territory; cheap rent, cheaper alcohol. The sound of men gambling on the second storey and every couple days there'd be someone pissed or having sex and even to a man of his height and demeanor there were battles that couldn't be won. The older veteran who had his own radio blaring at 06:00 hours was his wake-up call.

Now it was just the forest and his own shadow. Nature's general indifference. A hell of a lot less stressful than Marley but somehow not quite peaceful.

He kept up correspondence with Annie through letters. Most of it was pretty dry in order to avoid the possibility of interception by outside forces but she would occasionally slip in something like, apparently they've done away with ODM gear so now we all have to wear mandated uniforms or even thought of you today, it's been raining non-stop and I hope the weather's nicer for you, or on leave, see you in a few days. Naturally the cadets in his class all noted his changed mood and would discuss their theories amongst themselves out in the hall, assuming he was out of earshot.

 "Morris said he's nineteen," said a red-haired boy named Heinrich. "And getting letters. He saw him at the post office. You think he's trying to start another war?"

"That's a load of nonsense," said his fellow cadet Ophelia, a darker-haired Marleyan girl turned Paradisian, "I'll bet he's old enough to be my dad. He's probably just sending to a lover or something."

"What're you two talking about?" A blonde boy came over.

"Oi, Morris, great timing. It's about Prof. Jaeger. You saw him at the post office a few days ago, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Ophelia thinks he's got a girlfriend or something."

"It would make perfect sense and it's far less contrived than him starting another war," said Ophelia.

Morris shrugged. "I think she's onto something."

"Oh, you're going along with it as well?"

"Look, just hear me out all right? Professor Jaeger never smiles. Not even in the photographs. I saw him there clear as day. He was smiling to himself the way my older brother does when he's getting his mail from his wife and he's been married for four years, before the attack on Paradis happened. It's not that difficult to believe."

Ophelia looked over and noticed Eren on the sidelines. "Heinrich, we should get going. We're going to miss lunch."

"Yeah, but I don't get it. Why would he be so out in-the-open about his plans if he doesn't talk about himself?"

"He's just a private man," said Ophelia, hooking her arm under his to a disgruntled—"Oi, what's with you?"—and looking over at Eren with increasing exasperation, "now come on we're going to miss lunch."

Morris had caught on and said, "Actually I just remembered I have kitchen duty see you guys later," and pivoted himself down the hall into the courtyard.

"Come off it! All I said was he's probably up to something," Heinrich called after him. Then he shook his head, to Ophelia, "What is he talking about kitchen duty for? Inspector Jarvis is never going to let him hear the end of that one."

Eren said, "I'd tell him that's great news for his brother, but you'd all best put the same amount of effort into the upcoming exam."

Heinrich blenched, but it got a pretty good laugh from the other students passing by.

That same evening he got up the mountain and down the path who did he see but Annie Leonhardt with her freshly-shined boots and uniform. He embraced her with one arm to which she smiled into his cheek.

"Turns out I'll be here for a week," she said. "Hope you don't mind."

"No! No, I'm glad to see you again. How was it in Karanese?"

"There's not much to say. A lot of paperwork mostly. They're cracking down on old gangs and emphasizing street patrols. I was a pretty easy pick for officer because I had experience in combat as well as reconnaissance." She looked over at him. "It's not run by the same old group of overpaid idiots as when I enlisted, so I'd call it an improvement."

"Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Military service?"

"Not at all." She removed her boots at the door and set them aside. "But now that things are getting serious, I can respect what they're working towards." Shrugging out of her jacket, folding it neatly. "This drawer all right?"

"Yeah. I'll make room for you if you like." He came over and moved some of his old shirts into an old trunk by the foot of the bed. She set her clothes and bag aside and said, "How are things with you?"

"Uneventful. Some of the cadets have noticed I'm getting letters."

"Did they?"

"Yeah. They think I'm planning another war."

"Obviously."

"I know! Well, one of them seems to be under the impression I've got a secret admirer."

She chuckled. "I don't know how you can put up with them."

"They're just kids, Ann."

"We were kids, and we had a little more sense than to speculate in public."

"You did, maybe."

"Hm."

She'd crashed on the bed. Eren walked over to her. "You all right?"

"Fine."

"You look pretty tired."

"I'll be better if you lay down too."

The bed creaked slightly to account for his weight. "It's not just paperwork. They're training the cadets that were supposed to graduate before war broke out. But I don't mind as much." She looked over. "You'd like it."

Eren shrugged, self-conscious. "We've settled on different career paths."

Annie paused. "Is it easier getting on by yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Now that I'm here. It won't be as quiet with another person. I used to hate rooming with others in the MP dorms." She hesitated. "Not with you, though."

"No, I get what you mean." Smoothing back her hair. "But you can stay as long as you need to, I don't mind."

"All right."

He paused. "I've been thinking about you. What I'd do if one of us…"

She looked over, frowning slightly. "You don't know what will happen."

He stopped mid-caress. "I meant that we could get married." Annie went still. "Would you?"

"Marry you?" Annie looked elsewhere. "I guess I'd rather be stuck with you for a few more years than anyone else. And you've had enough time to change your mind." Eren nodded but didn't smile. She glanced over. "You don't want to marry?"

"It's not… I just wonder about my own mom. What my dad put her through. They must have loved each other at one time but not when I was around, not in the same way. Given his journal, I think they were only together for my sake. But they loved me, so what, doesn't make it right—and I don't want to do that to you."

"But you want to get married."

"Who else am I gonna ask?"

She rolled away from him. "Someone normal."

"The more I think about it, I just come back to you. To be honest it's not exactly what I had in mind as a kid, I thought I'd be dead on the field outside Wall Maria, but now… everything is different." He looked at her. "You ever feel that way?"

Annie was looking at him carefully. She pulled herself closer to him. "Stay with me."

Annie dozed off under his arm while he lay still looking up at the ceiling. Everything about her had been relegated to memory for so many years; to have her in-the-flesh again was a little intoxicating. Strangers weren't so intimate. Most of these civilians on the streets lived among each other but they were not soldiers, lacked the same camaraderie. The kids in circulation would never comprehend the experience of his own generation, struggling through the almshouses on the behalf of an underfunded, unprepared government where a loss of eighty percent was understood as necessary evil, not dwelt upon. Shoulder-to-shoulder after the draft, preparing potato stew, fixing ODM gear, swapping stories about which instructor was the worst during study hours, playing cards, training every day only to be eaten alive right before their coronation. Their war against the world beyond the Walls ended as a formality. But heroes they were still, if the gravesite was anything to go by; Eren still hadn't been.

His thoughts were settled on the new guard, young and soft enough to be swayed by propganda at its core no different than Marley's, and their inherited victory, paid for in so much innocent blood. They looked at him as a war hero and occasionally a soldier derelict and mad, but they'd been told as much in the papers, from the mouths of friends and family who could not understand such sacrifice beyond the final verdict on the radios and their Queen.

He looked at Annie, sleeping. Her face relaxed. What had he done to deserve this armistice?

She sucked in a little breath. He caught her shoulder lightly. "Annie? Are you—?"

She turned to face him. A tense expression dawning into one of familiarity. With her voice a little raspy from sleep, she said, "The bed smells like you."

"Oh." His shoulders relaxed. "Did I wake you?"

She threw an arm around his neck and kissed him warmly on the mouth. Eren, half-surprised, caught her by the waist, cradling her smaller body in his hands. He rolled onto his back and ran his fingers over the back of her head. Her hair came down to her chin now. She'd have to cut it soon. 

Annie stopped kissing him to add, "You're hard."

"You're on top of me."

She sat up, palm on his chest. Just gazing down at him like he was an ant under her thumb. She reached over and her fingers grazed the edge of his eyepatch. "Can I take this off?"

"Why, does it bother you?"

She unfastened the patch, set it aside on the end-table. "No. I want to look at you."

"It's not—I'm not gonna heal back the way like I used to."

"I liked you before. It doesn't make any difference to me now." She was unbuttoning her shirt; he swallowed thickly. She met his gaze directly but there was a bit of color in her face. "I really hate these new uniforms."

"Yeah, you always went buttonless back when we were training."

"Yeah, I did." She shrugged free. "It's nice of the military to give a damn but sometimes I miss the simplicity of the previous administration."

He reached up, cupped her face. "I think you're pretty no matter what you're wearing."

Annie pressed her mouth to the butt of his palm. "You're just saying that because you want to have sex with me."

"I meant it."

Annie kissed him again. His hands steadied on her waist. She pulled back, stripping herself down to skin, watching him sit up and follow suit. He put his arms around her waist and drew her into a tight hug. She pressed her head into his neck and said, quietly, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

She pulled back slightly as he drew closer. His mouth grazed her chin. Hands running up down her arms to take her at the waist. Bowing to kiss her collarbone, pushing her brassiere down. She kissed his throat and settled herself back against the headboard and wall, expectant. He could look at her awhile and die a happy man. Instead he took her nipple into his mouth, and she was running her hands over his head, taking her other breast and kneading. He kissed her sternum and watched for a little while, until she said, "Why did you stop?"

"Hm?"

She huffed and pushed him away, shoved down her chinos. Folding them, setting them aside. She looked back at him curtly. His hand was already on her thigh, caressing upwards. She was wet enough by then to take a couple fingers; when he pushed against her walls she bit back a gasp. Eren nipped her jaw, murmured, "That good?"

She caught hold of his wrist and her thumb bit into the bone. "Don't stop." 

Eren leant on his arm, drawing rough little circles inside her; Annie's breath was turning sharp, uneven. She pushed her hips into his hand until he chuckled. "You should tell me what you like more often."

She blinked. "What?"

"Now we've got a little more time to—if you're enjoying this, so am I."

She opened her legs a little more. Reaching down to guide his wrist, pressing his fingers deliberately into herself where the give of wet flesh turned rougher. "Right here." Obliging, Eren looked at her. Her brow furrowed. There was a flush on her cheeks and breasts and stomach. Her eyes averted to his mouth and he closed the distance, biting her lip, sucking on her tongue. She groaned, her hips pivoting into his stomach, her breaths coming shorter and panicked until she spent with a strangled gasp over his hand and the sheets, resting her forehead against his.

"Damn," he murmured, stroking her hip.

Annie opened her eyes, looked down and paused. "It's been a while." 

"Yeah, I can see that." He wiped his hand on the sheet.

"I can go again," she said.

"Sure?"

It didn't take much for her to get her hands on him and he was happy to let her take charge for a while. Settling in his lap, Annie braced her palms against his chest. "You're tall," she muttered. Her nails dug slightly into the skin. She rose and fell a couple times, deliberately slow. Too slow to be enjoyable but she was solid, all flesh and sinew in his arms, better than any half-fevered dream or his hand, glancing down at him idly through her tresses. His patience elapsed and he thrust up into her. She grunted and her nails bit into the meat of his stomach then relaxed. He caught her by the hips, angling for the little spot that had made her lose control before. With a smirk she threw her leg over his shoulder and almost kicked him in the chin; Eren caught her by the ankle.

"What're you doin'?"

"Helping you help me."

He glanced aside, folded her leg over his shoulder. "What, this?"

Annie, breathless on the next thrust, put her arms around his neck. "Just like this."

He pivoted her back slowly against the sheets. "You're comfortable?"

Annie scowled at him. "Jaeger."

He kissed her on the mouth. Taking it slower than she'd done with him, until he could feel her whole body tense with frustration, and if he looked over he'd probably crack a grin. Thrusting hard enough to make her moan, shunting the bed a little. With a hand under her back and on the bed to brace himself he rumbled, "You know, that desk is probably sturdier." Annie breathed out shakily. "Oh, you want to—?"

"Later." She glanced up and there was that shine in her eyes that made his chest ache and his balls tighten. "Finish me like this." He let his palm slide up the length of her spine, over old scar tissue, across her nape, into her hair. Leant down, kissing the corner of her mouth until she reciprocated, jarring her back into motion with his hips. "Eren," she gasped, and he reached over, thumbing her clit until her jaw slackened, too distracted to kiss. Annie let her head fall aside into her arm, panting.

"You can take a little more," he purred, "can't you?" Gradually losing rhythm, not thrusting but rocking steadily with her. Nothing else existed but the heat of the room and her quickening pulse adjacent to his own. Kissing her breast, side of her mouth, "'Course you can, shit, you're so good like this—" losing his train of thought when she squeezed around him, he had enough time to catch himself as he spent, gasping "—ah, goddam."

Annie sucked in a little breath that could as easily have been a huff. Regaining his composure he kissed her briefly on the mouth and pulled out of her and she sat up while he cleaned himself off in silence. When he looked over her eyes had softened a fraction. "You're cute when you talk."

Eren's face felt warmer. "Thanks." He got up and opened the window. "It's pretty hot in here. Hell, it's not even summer yet."

"Is it?" He came back over to her. She let her head fall into his shoulder. "I guess you're still pretty warm." He put an arm around her. She squirmed easily out of his grasp and threw on her shirt and chinos and said, "I'm going to draw some water."

Eren fixed his pants, threw on the old shirt, pulling his hair into a loose bun for good measure. "All right, I'll come with you." Annie paused in the middle of putting her boots back on. "Generally it goes along faster if there's two of us."

She shrugged. "Fine. Let's go."

[jawllines]

Sorry to be annoying but I asked awhile ago and I think tumblr ate my ask but did you ever do tattoo Harry blurb? I love them and I miss them:( I’ve looked through your tags and there isn’t any on there if you have posted one

I CAN POST ONE I WROTE A WHILE AGO RIGHT NOW :D I DONT THINK I POSTED HERE BUT LET ME KNOW HERE YOU GO PET 

i.

“Baby -- baby, c’mon!”

It was rare that Harry ever woke Y/N with more than kisses and cuddles. Maybe an abrupt shoulder shake if the both of them slept through their alarms (and, considering that they are the only ones with the key to open up their own respective stores, they never typically arrived late facing happy employees -- or in Y/N’s case, employee -- Niall, in particular, was always more of a grump in that situation than Riktor even), but even that still managed to be tender, and soft. He always treated her so delicately, as if she were made up of porcelain in the morning and it was imperative to speak in a low, soothing voice with careful touches or she might shatter. And she really didn’t think it was because she was an absolute terror to wake up -- Y/N did quite well, even as early as 5 AM she was still in somewhat of a pleasant mood, certainly nothing to be fearful of -- she thinks he’s just gentle in the morning. He’s gentle all the time, but for some reason or another, he’s extra soft with her then.

They had both had a bit of a busy day, so by the time that they made it back to Y/N’s flat (Harry said he liked it there best because it smelled like her, and -- well, he softens her up and calls her Darling when he wants them to go over there, so it’s hard to say no), both of them were ready for bed. Neither of them could barely keep their eyes open as they scarfed down the burgers they’d picked up on the way home, and once they’d finished and brushed their teeth, they toppled into each other on the mattress. Y/N would reckon they both fell asleep before their heads had even hit the pillow -- she doesn’t even remember crawling beneath the blankets.

Apparently she had though, because now as her brain tunes in with the world around her and she realizes that the distorted voice that had begun to prod her dreams was actually a grumpy, dry throat Harry, she’s cuddling herself closer in the covers. This only makes him grumble at her more, “You’re such a blanket hog,” he whines and Y/N finally blinks her eyes open, being greeted with Harry’s disgruntled, pouted face illuminated by the sunlight beginning to slip through the blinds, “I’ve been trying to unravel it for like ten minutes, but you’re all wrapped up! I’m cold.”

Y/N smiles sleepily at him, not understanding the gravity of the situation entirely as she begins to un-burrito herself from the covers, “G’morning, beautiful,” she murmurs as she does so, finally disentangling from the blankets and while she was a little less warm, Harry was quick to wiggle in beneath them, “Sorry.”

“Don’ be sweet when m’tryin’ to be angry with you,” she puckers her lips at him dramatically, and though he sighs, he leans in and presses their mouths together softly, “Your kisses aren’t g’na sweeten me up, m’still grumpy, blanket hog.”

She can only hum as she cuddles closer to him, “Sorry,” she repeated, this time adding, “Like to swaddle myself like a lil’ baby. Reckon you weren’t holdin’ me well enough last night.”

An offended gasp leaves through his lips soundly, enough that it startles her, but his arms worm around her waist and draw her closer to his body, “Brat,” he grumbled, dipping his nose into her throat, “I held you so well and you just wiggled right out of my arms and took all the covers with you.”

“Like a worm -- I wiggled out like a worm or somethin’,” she tried to sit up but his arms tightened around her, “This worm has to pee though and she’ll soak the bed if she isn’t allowed.”

His arm loosens around her, “This worm sounds like she’s a sleepy sort of delusional that requires about two hours more of rest.”

Y/N stumbles toward the bathroom in her room, “Noooooooo,” she whines, frowning at nobody, not bothering to swing the door shut before she plops on the cold toilet seat to relieve herself, “We’re supposed to go get hot chocolate, no more sleep.”

“Baby, it’s 6 AM and I’ve been up the last 30 minutes freezing my bits off!” He calls back to her and she giggles some, her eyes trying to accommodate to the bright white lights of the bathroom, “Sleep just a bit more and we’ll get the hot chocolate when we wake up next.”

She waits until she flushes and washes her hands to respond to him, and though she knows that she is definitely going to crawl back in bed and fall asleep, she stands at the foot of it with her hands in fists at her hips. He had let his eyes flutter closed by then but she thinks he could feel her eyeballing him, so he looks up past the mountain of blankets now covering him so she could only see his eyes and his nose, “What’re you doing?”

“You’re telling me, you don’t wanna go at 6 AM, three hours before the kiosk even opens to get hot chocolate with me? You must really hate me, don’t you?”

He huffs a sharp breath through his nose which is how he usually laughs in the morning, when he can’t muster up the strength to have a proper giggle, “Absolutely loathe you, baby doll, but could you please come back to bed so I can loathe you in the warmth?”

It takes little persuading -- as she said, she knew she was just going to crawl right back in beside him -- and instead of relying too heavily on the blankets to provide her warmth (like wrapping up half of it around her so she was cocooned entirely. . .this is what she normally does, and she would say that’s probably why Harry almost never has any of the covers in the morning), she relies on him. Picks up his arm so that she can fit herself underneath it and lies her cheek on his chest, “Your pits better not be smelly.”

“I make no promises.”

.                             .                         .

“I love your hair.”

“Stop it, Sweetheart, I’m g’na start blushing.”

They had slept for four more hours rather than the two Harry had originally suggested, but that always happens with them. Y/N would say that they are just too content cuddled up with one another that they milk it for all it’s worth. If one of them wakes up before the other, then they just settle their head back down and close their eyes again. Unless they had somewhere to be, of course, but Harry had a free Saturday (no clients schedule, even though Saturday’s could often be some of his heaviest days) and he’d elected to spend it with her -- whether they were awake or asleep didn’t much mater, they just liked to be near each other.

When they finally did wake up, they lazily got dressed into about thirty layers so they wouldn’t freeze outside. The weather had grown frigid quite quickly this November, and neither of them stood the cold very well, but there was a park lined with little pop-up kiosks with hot chocolate, sweets, little holiday goodies, and an obscene amount of knitted blankets (it was a clever marketing tactic, Y/N thought -- everyone is more willing to spend money on a blanket when they’re freezing cold - she and Harry had certainly fallen for it today). Y/N bought them shoe warmers to keep their toes at least not numb, and Harry lets her borrow a pair of his gloves because she keeps forgetting to buy some of her own. They both have hats fitted over their heads too, and since Harry’s let his hair grow out, his curls stick out from beneath the pumpkin orange print and Y/N can’t stop staring at it. She’s always loved his hair, she told him as much one of the first nights they’d sat on her bookstore’s floor and talked about just a bit of everything. Back when she barely realized she had a crush on him. . . .when she didn’t know that in just a little time, she would be over the moon.

And she’ll never forget that people used to make him feel like shit about his hair, so she maybe overcompensates by telling him every time she has thought about loving it. Which means today, in the span of a short three hours they’d been awake, Y/N had complimented his hair about twenty different times. If she was running her fingers through it, fixing his beanie, or just staring at him, she let him know just how much she adored his curls.

“I hate to tell you this, Button, but your cheeks are already red as apples,” she shifted the paper cup of hot chocolate from her hand closest to him to the other, so she could reach up and tuck them behind his ear, that had reddened from the cold, “The air has you more bashful than I ever could.”

“Not true,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he knocks closer to her ear, “I always blush when you go down on me.”

“God,” Y/N shakes her head, “You’re too much, d’ya know that?”

He laughs, nudging her with the cold tip of his nose, “You want the peppermint bark? We’re coming up on the seller.”

“Of course, I want peppermint bark,” she reaches for her wallet, “I’m stocking us up for the next hundred years or so.”

Harry slows for a moment, sliding his gloved hand into her own and squeezing, “Hey,” he begins, his voice soft, somewhat reflective and it brings her attention to him at her side, “Y’know when -- you remember how you said you just get random flushes of love for me and s’a whole lot and you just don’t know what to do with it?”

Y/N nods, “Yeah, like every waking minute practically. Why?”

He smiles shyly, “I’m having one of those moments.”

“For the peppermint bark?” She teases, but his brows furrow and he swats her shoulder playfully, “Hey!”

“I’m trying to be sweet on you, and you’re still going on about this bloody chocolate,” he rubs the arm that he swats, even though Y/N has so many layers on plus the blanket that she bought wrapped around her, that he made no real contact with her body.

Y/N pulls him in for a hug, narrowly avoiding a child running past them as she does so, “Oh, you know m’only kidding. I love you too, Bug, more than words can describe and ten times more than the chocolate I reckon. . .well, unless it’s made really well this year.”

“I’ll leave you here, blanket hog.”

[dickwheelie]

this is a few days late but it’s still technically Hanukkah, so! here’s a fic about Jon and Martin celebrating Hanukkah in the safehouse (shhh timelines aren’t real) because I like to project and I really like the idea of Jon being Jewish. a lot of us are having weird holidays this year, away from friends and family, so the boys having a weird one too seemed appropriate. in particular, Jon not having a menorah because I don’t have one this year either :(

the stuff in this is based on my own experiences celebrating Hanukkah growing up in a pretty secular household, so if you see anything that’s “wrong” then that’s why, lol. the prayer is accurate as far as I know though, it’s the same one my family and I sing every year.

(also this is not a good representation of how to make rugelach! if you really want a good recipe, hmu and if you ask nicely I might share my mother’s 😁)

enjoy and Happy Hanukkah!! 💙🕎✡️💙

___________

“I just feel bad,” Martin said, watching from the sofa as Jon put the challah in the oven. “You’re doing all this cooking, and I’m just sitting on the couch like a lump. And this is supposed to be your holiday.”

“Martin, for the tenth time, it’s fine. Besides, the holiday doesn’t actually start until sundown,” Jon called, cheerfully enough, from the kitchen. Jon liked cooking, Martin knew, and he didn’t really see it as a chore in the same way Martin did. Still, this was a special day for Jon (well, eight days, really), and Martin wanted to be of some use. He’d offered to do everything from peeling potatoes to rolling matzoh balls, but Jon, ever the control freak in the kitchen, had stopped him at every turn. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about not helping out as Jon bustled about, trying to make Hanukkah dinner for the both of them.

More than helping out, really, Martin just kind of . . . wanted to share this with Jon. The way Jon talked about it, it sounded as though he’d had more Hanukkahs alone than with friends or what little family he had. Martin wanted to make Jon feel like he didn’t have to be alone this year, and even if Martin was new to this, he was game to learn. Jon had already told him about the holiday and all the different foods he was making, but there was still some distance there, a disconnect, that Martin knew Jon wasn’t putting between them on purpose. It seemed to Martin more like a force of habit than anything else.

After setting the timer for the challah, Jon nodded, satisfied, and came over to join Martin on the couch. He slouched against him comfortably, and Martin automatically put an arm around his shoulders. Jon had a bit of flour on his nose, and Martin gently swiped it off, which made Jon’s face wrinkle up like a disgruntled cat. Bloody adorable, Martin thought.

“I get a bit of a break before I have to start on the latkes in a few hours,” Jon said. “Got to make those right before dinner so they’re fresh.”

“Can I please help with those?” Martin said, half-joking.

“Fine,” Jon laughed, “yes, Martin, you can help with the latkes.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Is there dessert?” Martin asked, offhandedly. He hadn’t noticed Jon getting out any sugar or making anything sweet that day. “Do people eat anything sweet on Hanukkah?”

“Well, there’s gelt,” Jon says. “Chocolate coins. But the grocer’s didn’t have any. Unsurprisingly.”

Martin laughed. “Yeah. Probably not a huge priority in the Highlands.”

“People also make rugelach, sometimes.”

“Arugula?”

Jon laughed, not unkindly. “Rugelach. Different from the vegetable. Very different,” he said. “It’s a pastry. A kind of holiday cookie, I guess you could call it. Sweet dough with chocolate or cinnamon inside. It’s simple to make, but I didn’t buy the right stuff for it, and honestly I have enough cooking to do.”

“Yeah? How d’you make it?” Martin asked, innocently enough, though an idea was brewing.

As Jon explained, he waved his hands in the air, miming the process. “You just roll out some pastry dough, cover it with chocolate or cinnamon or walnuts or whatever you like, cut it into strips, and roll them up.” He thought for a moment. “They look a bit like seashells.”

“Huh,” Martin said. “Seems easy enough.” He’d never made dough before, but how hard could it be, really. The hardest part, he figured, would be actually making the things in their tiny cabin and even tinier kitchen without Jon finding out.

Soon after that, the oven timer started beeping, announcing that the bread was done. Martin took advantage of Jon busying himself in the kitchen to slip out the door, giving him some offhand excuse about wanting to get some air, to which Jon waved him off.

In the baking aisle at the grocer’s, Martin quickly realized he was out of his depth. He stared at the display of flour and sugar and baking powder and all sorts of other stuff, utterly at a loss as to what one needed to make pastry dough. He tried, once again, to Google a recipe on his phone, but once again, there was no service and no wifi.

Well, there was always pre-made, frozen dough. Not ideal, but it’d probably work in a pinch. Much faster to make, too, Martin thought as he dropped a couple cans of it into his basket. The filling, at least, he knew he’d be able to handle; he grabbed a few bags of baking chocolate and a shaker of cinnamon, and brought everything up to the checkout counter.

Martin didn’t even know which lucky stars to thank when he arrived back at the cabin to find the kitchen empty, and Jon passed out on the bed in a post-challah, pre-latke cooking nap. Martin gently closed the bedroom door and immediately set to baking.

Going by Jon’s vague descriptions, he rolled out some of the dough into a flat oval shape, but the pre-made kind wasn’t meant to be used all at once, and the end result was a sort of lumpy mass. Digging around in the cupboards, he was able to find some flour, which helped make the dough less sticky, at least. Eventually, he was able to get it flat enough to cover it with the filling, like Jon had told him. Half of the dough he covered in cinnamon, liberally shaking it out all over the dough. The other half he covered with the baking chocolate, which came in little chunks, but he figured it would melt in the oven just fine.

Next, just as Jon had described, he cut the dough into even strips, thin and rectangular, and rolled each of them up, so the filling made a little spiral shape inside. The chocolate ones were a bit chunky and awkward-looking, but, well, it was the taste that counted, wasn’t it.

Martin turned to face the oven, realizing he had no idea how long they ought to bake for, or at what temperature. He checked the instructions on the tins of pre-made dough, deciding to go by whatever they suggested. It wouldn’t do for the dough to be raw, he figured.

Soon enough, the pastries were in the oven, and Jon was still dead to the world, none the wiser. Martin felt quite satisfied as he cleaned up, mentally patting himself on the back for a job well- and stealthily-done. He’d hide them in the oven, he decided, until after dinner, and then he’d surprise Jon. Smiling, he went to join Jon in bed, curling up next to him as he slept, until he fell asleep himself.

Martin woke groggily several hours later to Jon gently shaking him awake, telling him it was time to make the latkes. He’d already got the batter done, a thick, floury mixture of potato and onion, and a pan of oil was bubbling on the stove. Jon showed Martin how to drop spoonfuls of batter into the pan, patting them down to shape them into little fist-sized “pancakes.” He let both sides brown in the oil until they were nice and crispy, before transferring them onto a paper towel-covered plate to cool. It was simple enough, and Martin was able to finish up the batch as Jon set the table, bringing out the challah and matzoh ball soup he’d made, as well as sour cream and apple sauce to dip the latkes in.

Once the latkes were done (and Martin was quite proud to say they’d come out very nicely), Jon retrieved some red wine he’d gotten in the village and poured them both a glass. Then, as Martin was getting ready to sit down, Jon glanced around sheepishly, gesturing at an empty space on the kitchen counter.

“I, ah, normally I’d have a menorah to light. But obviously I didn’t bring one when we came up. And out here, well, it’s the same as with the gelt. No real place to buy one.”

“Oh,” Martin said, heart sinking. He reached out to squeeze Jon’s hand. “That’s a shame. I’m really sorry.”

“Really, I just wish I could show you,” Jon said, shaking his head as he took his seat at the table. “It’s really lovely. You light a new candle every night, and when they’re all lit . . . I’m sure it’d look nice here, especially.” He gestured at the space in front of the darkened kitchen window.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, wistfully. He’d seen photos of menorahs before, and he could just picture it, he and Jon gathered around, lighting candle after candle as the eight nights passed.

“Well,” Jon said, turning back to face Martin at the table, “we may not have a menorah, but I can still do the blessing.”

“Blessing?”

“Yes. You’re supposed to do it while lighting the menorah, but, well. I’m sure this will do, given the circumstances.” Jon reached his hand across the table, and Martin took it.

“Alright.” Jon cleared his throat, almost self-consciously, and then began to sing in Hebrew, a melodic, practical tune that sounded comfortable and familiar on his tongue, like a well-worn shawl. “Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu, l’hadlik ner, shel Hanukkah.”

Martin couldn’t really sing along to the words, but he nodded along to the melody, and when Jon was done he looked up at him and smiled, and Martin beamed back. They both raised their glasses and drank.

They ate heartily, or at least Martin did, because Jon kept shoving second and third bowls of soup at him, and insisting he finish off the latkes. Not that Martin was complaining, of course; it was all delicious, and Jon did praise him for how nice the latkes had come out.

They left the dirty dishes for later (or, knowing the two of them, tomorrow morning), and after dinner they went straight for presents. Though his options were limited without online shopping or anything outside of the tiny village, Martin had managed to find an adorable little painted china Highland cow in a local antiques shop.

“I know you think they’re cute,” Martin said as Jon lifted it out of the box.

“How did you know,” Jon deadpanned, but he grinned as he brought it up to his nose and stared at its little painted snout. “I love it, Martin, thank you.”

Jon had gone the homemade route, and knitted Martin a scarf. And a pair of mittens. And an entire bloody sweater.

“Oh my god, Jon,” Martin said, staring in disbelief at the mounds of knitwear before him. “How did you find time to do all this? How did you find time to do all this without me knowing?”

Jon looked away sheepishly. “I, uh, I’m a fast knitter.”

Martin shook his head fondly. Unbelievable. But he immediately took off the sweater he’d been wearing and pulled on the one Jon had made. It fit rather well and was as cozy as it looked. “Thank you, Jon,” he said, feeling the sleeves, knowing that every loop and stitch of the fabric had been purposeful. He could practically feel the care and love Jon had put into each one of them. “I love it,” he said, leaning over to kiss Jon at the corner of his eye.

“Well,” Jon said, cheeks darkening, “Happy Holidays, then.”

“Oh,” Martin said, rising from the sofa, “I’ve actually got one more thing. Sort of a last-minute gift.”

“Hm?”

Martin went over to the oven and took out the trays of rugelach. He’d checked them earlier to see if they were cooked through, but hadn’t gotten the chance to taste one yet. “Tried my hand at a bit of dessert,” he said, selecting a couple nice-looking ones and putting them on a plate for Jon to try.

Jon had followed Martin into the kitchen, and was staring at the pastries lined up on the trays. “Oh, well, thank you,” he said, surprised, taking the plate Martin handed to him. “What are they?”

Martin cocked his head at him. “Rugelach,” he said. Wasn’t it obvious?

Jon’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Ah,” he said, voice strained with positivity. “Of course. Right.”

Martin was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Gingerly, Jon took one of the rolled-up pastries, and bit into it.

Martin tried one as well. It was one of the chocolate ones, and it was . . . crunchy. Very crunchy. The chocolate, it seemed, had only partially melted in the oven, and the pastry dough itself was a bit hard to bite through. Besides that, it wasn’t very sweet, the chocolate being too dark and the dough being too salty.

He tried a cinnamon one. Again, the dough was crunchy, and the cinnamon was overpowering without any sweetness to it. Martin considered the possibility that perhaps he ought to have added sugar.

Jon, for his part, was doing his best impression of a person who was very much enjoying the pastry they were eating, honest. “Mmm,” he said, demonstratively, as he swallowed one of the cinnamon ones. “Thank you, Martin, these are . . . delicious.”

Jon was actually reaching for seconds, which Martin knew he was only doing to make him feel better, so he reached out a hand and placed it on Jon’s, stopping him short.

Jon looked up at him. Martin shook his head wordlessly. Jon cracked a smile.

“They’re not good,” Martin said, putting them back on the trays one by one.

“Martin--”

“It’s okay,” Martin said, smiling back at him, “I know. They’re rubbish. I didn’t even use a recipe, of course they were gonna turn out--”

“Well,” Jon said, stubbornly, “you tried. It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, Martin, really,” Jon said, bringing up Martin’s hand to kiss the back of it. “It was very sweet of you to put all this effort into it.”

“Next time, I’ll look up a recipe,” Martin said, bringing one of the trays over to the kitchen bin. Jon was quick to assist him.

“There’s seven nights of Hanukkah left,” Jon said, after a moment’s thought. “We can always try again. Tomorrow, we’ll get more ingredients, and I’ll show you how to do it properly. It really is easy, you just need . . . well. Sugar, for one.”

Martin laughed as he tossed the last of the batch away. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“I mean it, though,” Jon said, looking at him fondly. “Thank you. For this, and for the cow, and for sharing the holiday with me. It’s . . . this has been really . . .”

Jon was gesturing in the empty air, struggling for the proper word, but Martin understood well enough. “Yeah,” he said. “And thank you, for sharing it with me.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.

“Happy Hanukkah, Jon.”

[dumbfuck-mojave]

Warm: To Do and To Feel

Characters from the Buffyverse (Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel: The Series) 

 Main Pair: Angel and Spike (Spangel) 

Also Featured: Wesley, Gunn, Fred, very disgruntled mall worker, tired™ apartment receptionist.

Warnings: It’s just that good ol’ fluff. Spike is himself but it’s really nothing serious. Way too much italicizing and use of “onto”. Switches POVS but it’s made clear when it does. Retconning but it's expected in fanfic let's be real.

A/N: A gift for my beloved friend @highonbandcandy as part of the @buffyversegiftexchange . When I found out it was you, I freaked out. Then freaked out a little more knowing I couldn’t tell you for a whole month. Anyways, this was such a fun event and I’m so glad it got organized. Gif made by me, also posted on my own gif blog (@sidgifs) because I made a few extra goodies for this :). 

Word Count: 1,834 

-Spike POV-

Thank God for 24 hour shopping malls. Or, in actuality, thank God for the store employee that was letting Spike roam around the store 9 minutes before closing. She was getting more and more agitated as Spike hummed to some 80’s song playing on the retail radio, completely ignoring the time and stretching his head up to see the novelty items lining the top shelves. Wasn’t his fault the mall opened during the day.

“What?”

“Hey, can you just make a choice already so I can close up and go home.” She hissed near the end of the sentence, but Spike didn’t even look her way when answering. 

“What? Don’t have the night shift?” 

“We’re in a 24 hour mall, love. Perhaps you didn’t realize that.”

The girl looked at him with a confused “Are you stupid?” expression, “ This isn’t a 24 hour mall.” 

Spike turned around then, “What.”

“Uh, yeah. This store closes in 5 minutes and the whole thing closes about a half an hour from now.” 

Spike smiled, “Yes, I did. Thank you for the enormous amount of help you didn’t give me.” 

Spike paused for a moment, then jumped to swipe something off the top shelf. He picked up the various bags on the ground surrounding him. Walking up to the counter, he placed a wooden craft owl down. 

The worker sighed, “Did you find everything alright.. after you spent 40 minutes in here-”

“Didn’t know who you were shopping for. I was being ignored for Run-D.M.C featuring Aerosmith on the radio.”

“Is that book store down a way open any later than you are? Need to pick up somethin’ I saw earlier.”

“You going to annoy more retail workers?” The woman handed him a neatly wrapped box, which Spike put into one of his bigger bags, “They’re open until the mall closes and knowing how long you took here, you better get a move on, less you become distracted by a shiny bookmark or something.” 

“You’ve got spunk, I like you.” Spike paid and made his way towards the door, “Also, it’s lest. Lest you forget that.”

-Angel POV-

Truth of it was, Angel was deeply upset with the way things were in the present. He wanted Spike, desperately. In the romantic sense. He tried to articulate it into words but every time he fell flat. The sentences were too short. He got flustered too easily. Blah. 

Since Spike had become corporeal again, he and Angel had been sharing an apartment. Angel can’t quite recall how it was agreed upon, or any of the details after for that matter, but it was nice to have Spike around. Despite it all, it was nice to have someone who’s seen all of you there. All of you. Angel cast that thought out of his mind rather quickly. They both got along just fine, despite the tension.

Which is why, of course, Angel was in the kitchen struggling to finish up a romantic meal for Spike’s homecoming. 

The gang had come over a bit earlier, just after Spike had left, trying their best to help their inarticulate friend not make a fool of himself. He wanted it to be perfect. A perfect dinner and a perfect confession. He’s had Spike in the past, but this time he wanted it to be different. Needed it to be different. Which was what he was trying to explain to Wesley as Fred and Gunn started cooking those fucking onion things Spike loved so badly. 

“I know we don’t technically need to eat but I just think-”

“Angel, that’s the third time you’ve said that. I know you’re nervous, but trust me. We’ve all noticed what’s going on between the two of you. Quite frankly, it’s surprising nothing has happened before this. Even for you and Spike.”

“The will they/won’t they is getting embarrassing at this point.” Gunn piped in, just as Fred screeched, “She dropped it into the fryer too fast.” 

“Sorry.” Fred shot an embarrassed smile towards Gunn, who smiled back at her. She stepped back and took a seat at the table, “I think it’s going to go great! Oh, maybe you could write some poetry for him! Wait, maybe he won’t like that, are we not supposed to talk about it? I know you told me about it, but that was before he actually came back and I don’t know if it would be appropriate if I suggested that. Unless you just took the credit, which I assumed you would do anyway. Not like that! Not in that bad way…..I’m rambling, I’ll stop now.” 

Wesley was looking at Fred with a small smile on his face, then turned back to Angel. 

“It’s going to be alright.”

-Spike POV-

It was almost pitch black out by the time Spike returned home. On his way back from the mall, he may have gotten a bit distracted by a few more stores. Just a few. Okay, he bought a full backseat worth of gifts between them and the mall. Wasn’t his fault he wanted the best for his man. 

“And I keep ignoring you! Now come on, help me with this.” 

“Axel, my main man, can I get some help with a trolley!” Spike poked his head into the front door of his apartment building. The receptionist looked up, noticing the pile of presents near pouring out of Spike’s car. 

“I keep telling you not to park your car in front of the door.”

One long trolley packing period later, and the removal of Spike’s car from almost being in the front lobby, he stood tapping his foot impatiently while bright red letters changed before him. 

Thoughts whirled through his head. What if he says no? What if he laughs at me? What if, what if, what if. It was almost too much to bear. But he couldn’t back down now. After years of aching to have Angel back, he finally did and this was the time. The perfect moment. Maybe after he gets showered with his thoughtfully picked out gifts, Spike could take him out for a blooming onion. Yeah, this was about to be the best night ever.

At last, the elevator dinged and opened onto his floor. The sound of the wheels on the trolley rolling was dampened by the thin layer of carpet laid in the hallway, only to fade out completely as it rolled to a soft stop behind him. Standing right in front of his door, he took a deep, unnecessary breath before gripping the door handle. Now or never. Would be really embarrassing if the door was locked right now, he didn’t bring his keys. He began to turn the knob.

-Angel POV-

As he heard the door start to open, Angel fumbled with the lighter in his hand. Quickly slapping it down onto the kitchen counter, Angel turned right as Spike entered their shared apartment. 

“Surprise!” Angel exclaimed, shaking his hands over the table for dramatic effect. A full meal was laid out on the kitchen table, with candles replacing the normal lighting. Soft music played from somewhere hidden, and Spike stood frozen in the living room. Well, this was unexpected. 

“Do you like it?” Angel’s voice wavered, eyes looking to the side awkwardly. 

There were a few more moments of poignant silence until Spike started laughing out. Laughing hard, so hard that he started skipping breaths and had to focus on slowing it down. Angel was staring in shock as Spike straightened up and met Angel’s eyes, a bright gleam in his own. Then, he moved towards the kitchen, only stopping when he was mere inches away from Angel, who had just knocked a fork to the floor with his shocked stumbling. It clanged on the tile as Spike smiled up at him. 

“You, you-” Spike gave up on words, instead opting to smash his lips onto Angel’s own, one hand coming up to hold his neck while the other wrapped around his middle. Angel snapped out of his trance then, his own hands slowly wrapping around Spike as well.

 In that spot they stood for what felt like eternity, illuminated by the low light of the candles scattered around the room. They could’ve stayed like that for much longer, theoretically, but Spike pulled away suddenly, Angel trailing after him. Spike moved his hand slightly up and grabbed the back of Angel’s head, pressing their foreheads together. 

“I had a whole speech planned.” Angel whispered. 

Spike chortled breathlessly, looking a little surprised himself, “Me too.”

He gestured to the door, “Was gonna present you with those, give a whole lovey-dovey speech about how much you matter to me, whatever, see how it went.”

Confused about what Spike was pointing at, Angel looked at Spike and noticed his brow starting to crease. He put his hands to Spike’s cheeks, rubbing his thumbs on his prominent cheekbones, “Hey, look at me. This is fine. This is perfect. God, I can’t believe this actually happened.”

Spike looked into his eyes once more, and how beautiful they were. Like two blue gemstones, Angel wanted to look into them forever. Until Spike sniffed and those eyes snapped past him. 

“You made blooming onions?!’ Spike smacked himself on the chest, “A man after my own undead heart.” 

“Anything for you.” Angel said sweetly as his hands loosened from around Spike’s chest. Spike moved to sit down at the table and gestured for Angel to do the same. Everything seemed settled until Spike shot up, running to the still open door and rolling in the large trolley of gifts. 

“Oh, no. No!” Angel shook his head as Spike grinned and mimicked his earlier hand action. He reached into the top bag and pulled out something, holding it behind his back. 

“Jus’.... I want you to see this one at least.”

Angel sighed and held out his hands, waiting for his gift. Spike nodded towards his eyes, and he closed them. He felt something get pushed near his hands, gripping the weight accordingly. 

“It’s special editions of Sherlock Holmes. Gold pages, leather cover. I know you like them.” Spike shrugged. “I love them, I love you. Thank you.” 

“Okay, open.” 

As candlelight entered his vision once more, he looked down at his hands. Three books, neatly bound together. He moved to the table, setting them down and pulled the binding away. 

Spike leaned in for a quick peck and pulled away smirking. He looked at the table.

 “Well, let’s tuck in then. Then, we can have some more ~fun~ after.” Spike wiggled his eyes as Angel rolled his eyes and sat down, a small smirk on his face. 

Later that night, when all the presents had been opened, the money spent chastised, and at least parts of original confessions whispered quietly, Angel laid in bed with Spike in his arms. Warm. Somehow, two dead bodies made each other warm. Maybe it was the souls. Regardless, Angel never wanted this feeling to go away. It never would. 

[my-sherlock221b]

Supernatural Rewatch Ramblings: Bloodlust

2020-21 has been a huge transformative time for many of us. Whether we wanted it or not, we have been forced to stop, switch gears, rethink, reflect, let go, make new priorities, discover who we really are and who we want to be in the face of adversity.

One of those transformations for me has been giving up on control and finding a way to surrender to the power of the universe. Another has been to not let perfection be the enemy of good.

You may well wonder---What does all this have to do with the Bloodlust rewatch and review??!

Probably nothing LOL except for the fact that I still have to write up my review on Bloody Mary and have been unable to write for various reasons. And then because the Bloody Mary review was still incomplete I could not write about the next one etc etc etc.

So when we watched Bloodlust two days ago in the continuing re-watch, I decided that I am going to re-start the review, and from exactly where I am right now!

If time and life permits I might fill in the gaps later. If not, well, life is unpredictable and weird and we keep calm as it carries on….Thank you for coming to my Philosophy talk….:)

Read below for the Boodlust  review, Season 2 episode 3 and look out for the post from @soulmates-for-real​ on this rewatch too!! 

The opening scene is the perfect switch and bait because we as an audience have been trained to latch on to types and identities and representations.

Woman in white night gown screaming and running--victim

Person who brutally beheads her—villain.

A few minutes into the episode we realize that we were wrong.

A good few minutes later we realize that we were wrong about being wrong.]

Haha.

We are idjits, swept away on the eddies and currents of this masterfully written and directed episode. Thank you Sera Gamble and Robert Singer!

The acting and the mesmerizing beauty of the two leads is worthy of an entire essay of its own but in order to have a life and finish this review I shall only say this—Oh my goodness HOW gorgeous is Jensen Ackles?!!

It is sometimes impossible to look at him in this episode because my eyes didn’t know where to land! That perfect face? The lips? Those eyes?? The quirk of the eyebrows? Those micro expressions that are constantly weaving across his face? The smile? The way his lips move when he talks?? His hair? The Samulet?

And then the shot pans out and includes his hand and the ring and honestly it’s a miracle I could follow the plot at all.

So the images I am going to include in this review, much as I love Sam Winchester and Jared Padalecki, are all of Dean Winchester. It’s a criminal waste to not do so when the man is just an ode to perfection.

*

Sheila O’Malley’s review of this episode is in itself a work of art and a thing of beauty so I will direct you most enthusiastically towards it and only add here my little pennyworth bits. Do click on this link but be prepared to sink into a one hour read which will make you feel like you were dropped into the episode itself.

https://www.sheilaomalley.com/?p=87187

Here is a quote from her review which is so insightful.

These are the details that a director like Robert Singer never misses, and at this point his relationship with Ackles and Padalecki would be almost telepathic (it’s probably 100% telepathic now). He has said before that he and Kripke were such a good team because Kripke’s primary concern is Plot/Gore/Horror and Singer’s primary concern is Character/Relationship. And they both end up in the same place. It’s a good mix. If Singer were also Plot/Gore/Horror focused, we wouldn’t have the depth of relationship which is the real point of the show, its real hook.

*

For a much briefer and far less technically adept and analytical review, read on here!

*

The opening of this episode shows us the Impala from every possible angle. Gleaming, gorgeous, road -worthy. This is mirrored by Dean. He is also gleaming, gorgeous and roadworthy. He is in a happy mood that not even Sam’s little brother snitty comments can deflate.

Here is the soundtrack of this episode for those who are interested.

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0835248/soundtrack

Here is some random but fun trivia:

Dean tells Sam in one scene "If it's     Supernatural, we kill it." One of the rare times the title of the     show is actually spoken in the dialogue.

This is the first episode where Sam began parting his     hair down the middle, the hairstyle he'd keep the rest of the series.

( I didn’t like his hair too much in this episode honestly but then again I could barely see anyone beyond Dean :D)

During the filming of this episode Jared injured his     hand when he fell badly during a stunt. He thought it was merely sprained     and went straight into filming the next episode without having it checked.     But it got more and more painful and finally he went to the doctor and     discovered that his hand was, in fact, broken. Because he had already     begun filming, he couldn't bandage the hand until filming for that episode     was finished. The writers ended up writing in an accident for Sam and his     line "I think she broke my hand" to explain the fact that for     the following few episodes he would be wearing a cast.

When Dean kills a vampire, blood is sprayed on his     face, mostly on his right cheek. In the next shot the pattern is     different, and notably the right cheek is almost clean. Furthermore, his     mouth was agape when he made the kill, risking the blood getting into his     mouth and turning him into a vampire. While the brothers didn't yet know     how a vampire is made at that point, Gordon did and should have been     alarmed that Dean might have gotten some of the blood in his mouth.

*

A random behind the scene shot from the episode:

Guess who she is? Apparently this is Jensen’s sister in a super brief role in Bloodlust!

* 

On to the review, or rather some of my thoughts during the re-watch.

The first scene with the Sheriff they are interrogating him about the cattle mutilations is hilarious. The way they bluff their way into the morgue is hilarious. Dean always leading and Sam following.

Random trivia: When Dean enters the morgue with Sam and sees the name tag of "J Manners", it has been thought the name was to honor Jeffrey Dean Morgan and series producer Kim Manners. Dean guesses "John" - Jeffrey's character name - and the intern corrects with "Jeff"

*

It a testament to the way Supernatural has trained its audience that we barely blink when they pull out a decapitated head in the morgue, squabble over who is more chicken, dig into the mouth and eventually discover vampire fangs.

Yes, of course they do.

*

Next scene: Two hot guys walk into a bar…..

…….where the adorable Benny, who is not Benny in this episode but a random dude ( spoilers—later we find out the dude is a vampire), gives them directions/ mis- directions to a possible vampire nest.

We see the first glimpse of Gordon Walker, amazingly played by Sterling K. Brown, and making us worry about and dislike him almost right away. The way he is shown with the light and shade bars on his face from the window blinds is so menacing.

The next few scenes continue to build that sense of unease where the Winchester brothers, apparently telepathically, decide to double back and catch him following them, then he shows them his car and his weapons, where he references their dad and then refuses their offer for help.

The scene where he shows them his car is like a painting. (The car by the way is just as inconspicuous as the Impala –which is to say NOT AT ALL!! How do these people stay below the radar of the regular law enforcement is a mystery….).

The dust highlighting the rays of light, the two brothers on one side of the car and Gordon at the other, it’s all so consciously set up for a few seconds worth of screen time. Impressive!

Next comes a truly brutal kill, at Dean’s hands, which we don’t even see except as a spray of blood on his face. Poetic! But it is Dean’s expression that makes my stomach clench. His eyes are dead and he is somewhere deep that even Sam can’t reach, as we can see from the distress on Sam’s face.

Gordon of course is all chipper and full of bonhomie and offers to buy them drinks.

That following scene is the one which gives Wincest brother-wives vibes like 100%.

*

Sam plays the role of the disgruntled ‘wife’ to perfection. No one but hubby is allowed to use the nickname. He hates the male bonding going on with Gordon and the more Gordon seems to slip into Dean’s inner circle, the more uncomfortable Sam gets, until he finally decides that he just cannot physically be there any more.

Dean’s smug expression when Sam tells Gordon off for calling him Sammy, his instant worry at Sam going back alone, his hand raised in exasperation to convey to Gordon—look what I have to put up with-- the tossing of the keys to his car----it is all a symphony of Dean playing his part in the brother-wives orchestra.

The last line?! ‘Remind me to beat the buzzkill out of you later.’ And Sam’s expression at that? That’s exactly the way a bullying /abusive husband would react to a nagging wife who doesn’t like his toxic friends and wonders how he can be so blind as to not see them for the bad influence they clearly are.

( Bad Dean!!!)

Sam goes back to the motel and does his due diligence by checking with Ellen, gets kidnapped by vampires, released and on his return is disgusted to find Gordon inside their motel room.

*

The next scene is where Dean erupts, having clearly had enough of the shifting power dynamics between them over the evening. Sam has been silently judging him since the kill and Gordon has managed to ‘other’ Sam and make Dean feel validated in his own bloodlust as a hunter.

Dean clocks Sam one.

Wow. I did not see that coming. And what shocked me at this re- watch is that Sam just takes it.

Like an abused wife, he just takes it. Not only that, sometime later in the episode he tells Dean to hit him again if it is going to make him feel better.

NO Sam! NO!!! This is NOT healthy and this is NOT the way to deal….ugh. Sigh.

*

Then the second half of the episode swings in and the moral dilemma they face becomes clear when the victim and villain switch roles and Dean is shook enough to question his dad’s judgement!

Dean is still kind of trying to give Gordon the benefit of the doubt even though he sees him literally torturing the vampire. But of course all bets are off the instant he touches Sam. Dean pulls his gun on him. I was surprised that he didn’t shoot him just on principle later simply because he hurt Sam even if it was a small cut.

That is Dean’s definition of monsters-- Anything that hurts Sam. 😊

*

We don’t know it at this time, and spoilers ahead, but maybe Dean has been so annoyed and violent with Sam at the idea that he is standing up for MONSTERS is because he might also be one….and the way he looks at the end when he realizes that his whole life’s philosophy has been upended.

There are the details about the vampires who drink cattle blood so they don’t harm humans and therefore want to be treated as the good guys. Of course it is all about the inherent struggle between who you are and what you do—something that shows up hugely magnified in the later seasons when Sam is struggling with his own demon blood addiction and the knowledge of the demon blood inside him.

He needs desperately to believe in this as the utmost foundation stone of his life and its purpose—what you DO is more important than what you ARE!

So even if you are a monster, if you don’t behave like one—that is your redemption.

But it’s not just anybody whose faith he wants in his struggle to prove to himself that he is not a monster. He needs it from Dean.

Remember the dialogue from the panic room “Don’t you say that to me. Don’t YOU say that to me.”

And the fake voicemail set up by Zachariah exploits this at the time of the breaking of the last seal.

*

Of course he doesn’t know any of this yet, but that’s Sam fucking Winchester for you –always purer and better than his circumstances allow. Always struggling to do better, be better.😍

*

It is fascinating how the visuals and the roles these two play are of rugged handsome men, badass heroes-- Dean of course super macho role playing all the time. But there are so many layers upon layers and honestly if it wasn’t for Jared and Jensen’s fine nuanced and impeccable acting adding depth to the characters, the show would not have held our interest for this long.

We are shown Sam as the brains with his lore and research, but then in the very next episode (Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things), we see Dean connect dots faster than Sherlock Holmes.

Dean is shown as the instinctively violent one with the gun under his pillow, trigger happy, and in this episode even that brutal kill of the vampire on the docks. But then please remember the way Sam kills Gordon finally. Or the insane way he bites himself to get blood for drawing sigils. Or the way he just simply shoots the crossroads demon point blank!

We see Sam as the soft hearted one and he does rescue kids once in a while, but he is never shown to bond with them even a fraction of the way Dean does—so effortlessly. Also the ladies of course, all of whom have a soft spot for Dean. The exceptions being Sarah and Madison, both of whom completely ignored Dean. Oh and that doctor from Sex and Violence.

Dean has had his share of bad dates of course with Cassie, the woman who gave birth to his magical superfast growing daughter ( who was killed by Sam), and the whole Lisa arc, but somehow we are shown Sam as the one who is invested in relationships. Hello?! Sam was planning to marry Jessica without having told her a thing about his life while Dean told Cassie the secret as soon as he thought he was in love and wanted a relationship.

So anyway, just to say that a rewatch is so brilliant because we know more about them at this point than they do and the character arc is such a thing of beauty to see unfolding!

*

That last scene where Dean is in a thoughtful frame of mind, the sun is rising overhead ( as a metaphor for him seeing the light, maybe?)--that insanely gorgeous shot of Dean with the ring of fire and light and his absolutely perfect face in a close up…sigh.

Then he thanks Sam for pushing him to see this grey area and for the first time in that episode Sam finally smiles.

His big brother is back with him.

And then he commits to Dean too. Ah…how it warms my heart to hear this dialogue!

 DEAN I wish we never took this job. It's jacked everything up.

SAM What do you mean?

DEAN Think about all the hunts we went on, Sammy, our whole lives.

SAM Okay.

DEAN What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us...

SAM Dean, after what happened to Mom, Dad did the best he could.

DEAN I know he did. But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things; and man, I hate 'em. I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it; hell, I even enjoyed it.

SAM You didn't kill Lenore.

DEAN No, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill 'em all.

SAM Yeah, Dean, but you didn't. And that's what matters.

DEAN Yeah. Well, 'cause you're a pain in my ass.

SAM Guess I might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then.

DEAN Thanks.

SAM Don't mention it.

Transcript here http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=2.03_Bloodlust_%28transcript%29

 Guess Sam does stick around for the next 15 years to be a pain in the ass 😊

Some quotes from the writers about this episode: 

·  "The episode was really about what Dean would become if he didn't watch out: that Gordon was Dean in ten years if Sam didn't ask the difficult questions and keep him from getting too militant." - Executive story editor Sera Gamble

· "We set out to create a monster episode where you weren't entirely sure whether these monsters should be killed." - Eric Kripke

· "For me, the show is at its best when the supernatural story reveals something new about the brothers, or forces them to change in some way. Sam and Dean's realization that they've basically been raised as 'monster racists' was really meaty stuff. Exploring these characters' flaws is just as important as showcasing their heroism - these are the things that make them human, that make us invest in them." - Raelle Tucker

Check out this site for more amazing trivia and stuff

http://www.jonescave.com/supernatural/Episode/Episode.php?s=2&e=3#PopCulture

I have already finished watching the next episode ‘Children’s Shouldn’t play with Dead Things’….so let’s hope I get around to writing a review sometime soon !

[ayo-cowbelly]

Anakin Everlasting

read on ao3 here

wowww look at me, posting writing two days in a row... here’s to being productive

again, blame discord. those amazing angst-lovers keep inspiring me to write and make everyone sad.

hope you enjoy!

p.s. pretty sure it's a thing that jedi live a lot longer than average people, usually over 100 years. so that's why that's in there.

***

Anakin wandered throughout the temple. Not the Coruscant one, as you might think- no, he was on Yavin IV now. Years ago, the Jedi had decided to expand and, seeing as there was an unused temple on a lush planet, a planet that was strong in the Force- it was perfect for a new branch of the Order.

He stared out at the greenery, so different from what he had been used to. Even though he came to this place almost 100 years ago, Anakin couldn't find himself getting fully adjusted to the new environment.

Anakin was now surrounded by greens, blues, and browns, so different from the golds and tans he was used to. Those colors represented everything he loved, everything he'd lost, and that which he could not bear to see taken from him. That was why, even if it was a bit uncomfortable, Anakin had moved to Yavin IV. He has lost so much- and Anakin had never been good with loss.

Yes, time heals all wounds, and of course he'd spent time meditating with Yoda, learning how to let go; Yoda was the only one who could even begin to understand Anakin's plight. Despite that, however, he still found his heart aching when he thought of his friends, his family, and how they had left him.

Padmé had been the first to go. She lived to be 97, and Anakin never stopped loving her. As she got older, Padmé had insisted on Anakin moving on, finding a younger person who could keep up with him, now that she was too frail to even leave the apartment most days. He knew she'd be gone soon, so he promised he'd try to find someone.

It was the only promise he'd ever broken.

"I don't want you to mourn the moment you spent with me for an eternity," She had told him.

Anakin, tears in his eyes, whispered back, "You are my eternity, Angel."

That, even 1000 years later, was still true. He loved her, as many others in the galaxy had loved someone; fiercely, eternally, even if she was dead. Anakin and Padmé had a love that would always be real, be true, as long as he kept her memory alive as he traveled across the stars.

Anakin cried for days when Ahsoka died.

His first and dearest Padawan lived to be 117, and she had been feisty until the very end (only Leia had been able to keep up with Ahsoka in that regard- oh, Force, Leia-)

When she left, laying in her bed with soft condolences and gentle teases and whispers of "Don't forget me, Skyguy," Anakin had thought that would break him, as he held her now-limp hand.

Obi-Wan was worse. Obi-Wan, the oldest family member he had left, had been gone for a long time. His brother had lived to be around 124 (or maybe not, Anakin seemed to be getting worse at keeping track of time the longer his life went on). Obi-Wan had lived a long life, a happy life; and when his time came, he learned enough of the Force that he could still visit Anakin, sometimes.

Every once and awhile, the two could talk (it used to be always, back when Obi lived- but Anakin would be the only one who would get an always). But it wasn't the same. Not even close.

He'd never admit it, but Anakin cried for over a week when Obi-Wan faded away. At that time, he was sure he would shatter; If Padmé hadn't broken him, if Ahsoka hadn't, surely his older brother would.

Obi's death had to be the worst, he was positive.

He was so, so wrong.

Nothing could compare to the pure heartbreak that came with the death of his children.

Luke, who was bright like sunshine and serene like water- and Leia, who was pure fire and somehow engulfed everyone she met. They were the brightest parts of Anakin's life, both in the Force and not. They were the best parts of him and Padmé, and he loved them so incredibly much. And, being twins, Luke and Leia spent almost every moment together since their birth. Throughout their lives, it was rare to see one without the other, for nobody was as closely intertwined as they; save for Anakin and Obi-Wan.

So, when Death came for his children, Anakin had to watch as they left together (there was no other way they could go). He'd had them for an amazing 156 years, years he would forever cherish.

Now he didn't have anyone. But somehow, he was still whole. He hadn't broken then, and he hadn't broken when his later Padawans had died (death was hard for Anakin to think about. Even though he somewhat feared it, he also wanted it, if it meant he could see his dearest ones again). But Anakin knew Death would never claim him, so he made the most out of his eternal life (but it was a half-life, for what is a life without love?)

He took other Padawans, trained other students and treated them as his own. Though he knew it was a bad idea, as nobody could stay forever, they became his family. Just as Ahsoka once had, when she'd stepped out of a shuttle on Christophsis.

Anakin also found he was good at storytelling. Every night, he made his way to the Crèche and regaled the younglings with his stories. The now-legends of a beautiful queen, a wise Jedi Master, a snarky Togruta (who had become a Master in her own right), an exasperated clone captain; and later the stories of a brave young man and his fiery twin sister, the smuggler she fell in love with, and how through it all were two droids who were the best of friends.

He told the next generations about their adventures, how they found joy while fighting a war, and he told them of how they had managed to discover and overthrow the Sith. He taught them how to find the Light, find love, even when hope seems lost.

The younglings loved the stories, ate them up until Anakin had no more, so he'd retell them again. He told them to the children, to the Padawans, to the Knights, and even the Masters (even if they were old, most had grown up hearing of Anakin's adventures). His only rule for those who heard the tales? Pass them on, so the memories stay alive.

He taught them a truth he had discovered: Nobody is ever really gone, as long as you keep on telling their stories.

Anakin forever would.

He made his way to a special room he had reserved for himself in the Temple, for as Grandmaster (now that Yoda was gone, Anakin had become the Grandmaster. Yoda's death, of all people... that had hit Anakin harder than he'd thought it would. When someone who seems to be forever dies, said death is shocking) he could do such things.

When he entered, he looked around the room. He surveyed the pictures and trinkets that lay there, waiting for him.

By Padmé's picture, there was the old Japor snippet necklace- along with a small flimsi paper flower he'd once made for her, onboard a Star Destroyer while thinking of how he missed her.

Beside Obi-Wan's, there was a lightsaber that hummed. It seemed to have a mind of its own now, and the buzzing got louder as Anakin approached- or rather, his own blade did. Just as their users were connected, these lightsabers were as well. There was also a small holo of Anakin and Obi-Wan on Cato Nemoidia, just after that "business" that Obi-Wan always said "didn't count". In the picture, Padawan Anakin is grinning widely, arm slung around a very disgruntled Obi-Wan's shoulders.

Next to Ahsoka's lay her two lightsabers and the golden headdress she'd worn since she was young. Anakin remembers how he'd gently lifted it off her head at the funeral, for if he couldn't keep his sister, his beloved Padawan, then he would keep this small part of her.

Alongside Luke and Leia's (their pictures were one and the same, since they almost never did something without the other) there were their own 'sabers and two drawings the twins made when they were toddlers. If Anakin remembered correctly (as time went on, he found it harder and harder to look at such things) the pictures depicted their family- which of course included Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Rex, R2 and 3PO.

The two droids had been shut down long ago, finally going out of use just after Padmé's death.

The room housed other pictures, which showed the rest of Anakin's Padawans- including Ahsoka, there were six in total; But even though he kept all their lightsabers, he only had trinkets for two of them.

Uchani, who had been his second Padawan about 40 years after Ahsoka died, had been a quiet but strong Zeltron. She was a calm person, but there was spunk in her that rivaled Leia's. Uchani was amazing at calming Anakin down when he was angry, the gentle waves of her Force presence dousing out the embers in his. She had become his little sister as well.

Then there was Myn. A young Tholothian, Myn was brave and outspoken, and him and Anakin fit well together. He was the sixth student Anakin had taken, and though he loved all his students, Anakin remembered Myn vividly.

In all his eternal years, Anakin had not been prepared for seeing his Padawan die young. In battle, no less.

Myn was slain by a Darksider in the catacombs of Akiva. Anakin had been too late, moments too late; after cutting down the enemy, he watched as Myn's life dwindled.

Knowing Anakin well after ten years of training, Myn had wheezed, "Don't- Don't do anything- anything reckless, Master." 

Anakin refused to look at the wound on his apprentice's stomach. "Myn, we need to get you to a healer-" 

"Master- Anakin-" Myn coughed, and Anakin felt the tears in his eyes overflow and run down his face.

"No, please, not you too," Anakin said, but he already knew what the outcome would be.

"It'll be okay, Anakin," Myn murmered, and then he was gone, just like all the others.  

Anakin shook off the memory of his last Padawan, and he sat down in the middle of the room. Rex's helmet (Rex, who had lived to be 105 once the accelerated aging was healed, had never stopped standing up for what was right. When his body failed him, he switched to words, fighting until the end. Anakin missed his twin so much), which Anakin had kept in as good condition as possible, stared back at him as he told his family of his day.

When he finished, he felt a presence behind him, and wasn't surprised to see the faint blue glow of Obi-Wan's ghost.

"It sounds like you had a good day, Anakin."

"I did," He said back happily. "But it's not over yet. I'm about to go see the younglings- care to join me, Master?"

Obi-Wan smiled softly. "I'd be delighted, Padawan mine."

[crushpdf]

Tumblr Etiquette Masterpost

Hi! Because I have (1) anxiety (2) been on tumblr for more than a decade, I have assumed the incredibly narcissistic position of making a post about how to interact with people on tumblr, since I think I’ve mastered the basic rules.

UPDATE: I started drafting this post a while ago. I'm not calling anyone out. I mostly made this because I realized I had a shocking number of followers who are new to tumblr.

In this post I’m covering Asks + Anons, Reblogging + Liking, Following, Tags, and ~Making Friends~.

TL;DR: tumblr etiquette is about social norms. These are the norms I have observed in my time here. You’re free to blog as you choose, but tumblr is a happier place when everybody is following the same guidelines.

Yes I use the words like “have to” or “rule” in this post. No, none of these are actual rules. Do what you want, but be prepared to face disgruntled users.

Let’s get started!

All About Following 

Rule #1: You do not have to follow anybody you don’t want to. You do not need to let someone follow you if you don’t want to.

Tumblr is technically a social media site. If you want to grow your social circle, follow your mutuals’ mutuals. The internet is like real life. You do a Group Hang, and then eventually you get to the one-on-one friendship. (Please refer back to Rule #1)

Some of your mutual-in-laws might feel slighted if you follow everyone except them. That’s okay. (Please refer back to Rule #1) You might feel slighted if you’re the one not being followed. That’s okay. (Please refer back to Rule #1)

Tumblr is technically a social media site, but it’s also a place to see the content you like, not just the people you like. You can be friendly with people you don’t follow, or who don’t follow you. Some users are amazing people who just post the wrong content. That’s okay.

If someone posts content you don’t like, unfollow them. If you don’t like someone’s personality, unfollow them. Don’t be an asshole, don’t hate-follow, and don’t stress yourself out.

Asks, Anons, Messages

I tried to organize my thoughts into paragraphs. I really did. But talking to people on tumblr is messy if you do it wrong, and I’m just going to bullet-point some etiquette guidelines.

Rule #1: You do not have to answer any messages you don’t want to.

Your 500 word message should not be the first time a user sees your name

.....Before you get Venting Privileges, a user should recognize you from the tags you leave on their posts, or the comments you leave on their fic, or the other shorter messages you’ve sent them, or from being mutual-in-laws, literally whatever. But it’s Not Cool to dump things on people who don’t even know you.

The anon button should be used in two scenarios only:

.....1, to send a positive message. Not neutral! Positive message, the kind of message you send with heart emojis.

.....2, if you don’t want to admit personal information about yourself. The Venting Privileges Rule still applies even if you’re on anon (ie: you can’t vent! Because they don’t recognize your username!) and “personal information” does not include unpopular opinions. I’m talking messages like “Saw your post about living in Houston, and I agree!”

.....(Okay, three scenarios: if someone specifically asks for anons for an ask game or something!)

If you don’t want it posted publicly, don’t send it over an ask. Send it as a DM. You can always kindly request that the recipient doesn’t publish it, but typical tumblr etiquette is that asks get published by default.

Personally, if I follow someone back I like to introduce myself! Many of these conversations end after the “hi” stage, and I never force friendship upon someone. But many of these conversations also work as ice breakers, and make it easier to send the second message, and the third. Don’t worry that you’re being rude if you don’t do this—it’s also totally normal to just keep blogging as usual!—but it’s helpful in making friends.

If you reblog an ask game from someone, it’s just common courtesy to send them an ask of your own.

Tags, Blacklists

Rule #1: You do not need to use any tags you don’t want to.

(Are you sensing a theme? But this one gets a...)

But, be prepared to face disgruntled followers over this.

Tags are useful in so many ways. They’re a great place to organize posts so you can find them more easily later on! They’re a great place to show off your personality! They’re a great (and quiet! More on this later) place to show appreciation for content creators.

They’re also so incredibly helpful for your followers to avoid content they don’t want to see. If you’re delving into a new fandom and are about to reblog twenty posts in a row, tag it. If you’re liveblogging a movie, tag it. If your post (especially your photo posts) contains any common phobias or unpleasant things (gore, spiders, etc) tag it. And if one of your followers asks you to tag certain content, even if you don’t really understand why? Tag it, or else expect to lose that follower.*

*This isn’t about your follower count, btw. This is about being a decent person.

On the other hand, use blacklists and filtering liberally! If a user does tag their content, you have no right to complain about their posting it. Just filter it.

Reblogs, Likes, Comments

Tumblr is a blogging site. It functions on reblogged posts. That’s just how it works. This is not one of those sites where you scroll for hours clicking the like button.

Here are what likes are for:

Showing support for someone’s personal posts

Showing appreciation for someone’s tags

Admiring content that doesn’t exactly align with your blog (different fandom, inappropriate, whatever.)

Saving a post to find later

Showing double the love!

Here is where likes are most disappointing:

The original fic, artwork, or edits of your fellow tumblr users, especially in your fandom

(If you’re someone who regularly reblogs things, I’m not talking to you. You’re allowed to simply “like” posts. I’m talking to those users in my notifications that, day after day, like 35 of my posts and reblog exactly 1 of them.

Just reblog shit.)

Also, remember how I said you can quietly show appreciation in the tags? Only comment directly on a post if you are sure you’re adding something worthy to the post. If you’re just saying “haha me too!” or “I remember this!” just leave it in the tags. (Reminder! You can do what you want! It’s your blog and I’m not the police! I’m just teaching you etiquette! And the polite thing to do is to leave personal commentary in the tags!)

Let’s recap:

Aaaaand: Making Friends

Start small. Introduce yourself after you have mutually followed each other.

Leave nice things in people’s tags. They notice.

Send ask game messages.

Show off more of your personality. This isn’t a one way street!

.....You can do this by, well, reblogging things. Also by tagging things. Also by just making original posts.

Do not go zero to one hundred. You wouldn’t sit next to someone in class and start talking about your trauma (even if you heard that they share your own!). So don’t do it online.

Like people’s vent posts, and their asks, and their tag games. Reply to them, too.

Honestly? Do more tag games! If someone says “anyone can do this and say I tagged you” take them up on the offer! Tag other people you want to get to know more.

Last but not least, you do not owe anyone anything on tumblr, and no one owes you anything. Ignore the rude message. Block the annoying tag. Follow the users you like even if they don’t follow you back. Do not tell people to post more of X. Do not tell them to post less of Y. Do not ask them why they don’t follow you.

It’s so much easier to press the unfollow button than to be a dick.

[jayeray-hq]

Deck the Halls

This is a re-post! I kind of wondered why this post got almost no notes, especially since you guys really seemed to like my How He Shows You Affection: Tsukishima version, the fact that it doesn’t show up in tags answered that I guess. I hope you enjoy it, even it we’re well after Christmas now 😭😭😭. Notes: 4

Warnings: None all Fluff

Character Masterlist

My part of the secret Santa collab for the Haikyuhagakure server! I had Rue-Rue @animeanxiety​ happy holidays and I hope you enjoy it!

Also quick but also huge thanks to everyone who looked this over for me you’re all amazing and I couldn’t have done it without you!

   “So where do we start?” you asked your boyfriend cheerfully, eying the boxes scattered around the room, nearly bouncing with excitement.

            “Anywhere is fine,” Tsukishima told you decidedly less thrilled than you were at the prospect of the task in front of you, “You know you don’t actually have to help with this right?”

           “But I want to help,” you told him honestly, “It will be fun.”

            He gave you an incredibly dubious look at that, but you were completely undeterred, “Come on Kei, where’s your Christmas spirit?”

             “Upstairs sleeping, the way I wanted to be,” he retorted with a huff, folding his arms across his chest.

             “It’s not that early,” you told him rolling your eyes at his petulance, gently tugging at his arms until he caved and unfolded them for you, twining your hands with his and peering up into his face as you scolded, “Don’t be a Grinch Kei, come on let’s have a little fun at least.”

             “Just what is so fun about Christmas Decorating?” he asked you a put-upon sigh, “It’s a whole lot of work to put it up, and then a whole lot of work to take down again.”

             “It gets you in the mood, the festive spirit,” you answered immediately ignoring the way he rolled his eyes and pressing on, “Besides it could be worse right? You could have to do this all by yourself, but instead you have me here to help you.”

             Tsukishima huffed at that, but didn’t argue, which you knew meant that you’d won. Honestly, you’d been looking forward to today a lot, having your boyfriend’s family invite you over to partake in their family Christmas traditions meant a lot to you. Apparently, his dad was American which meant they did a few different things and believed the holiday revolved more around family than it did around romance like most believed in Japan.

 That you’d been invited made you feel giddy and warm because it made your relationship seem that much more real and serious. Tsukishima wasn’t one to be overt in how he felt, but despite that you could tell this was something big and important.

 You really wanted to make a good impression on the rest of his family too. You hadn’t met them more than a handful of times, your relationship still fairly new, but you hoped they liked you. They’d certainly seemed welcoming, and even now his mom was actually in the kitchen, baking up a storm, including Christmas cookies that the kind older woman had assured you she was looking forward to having you try. The whole house smelled like warm cinnamon and pine needles from her baking and the tree, and it was incredibly pleasant. Now if only you could get your boyfriend into the Christmas spirit.

 “Oy,” he called, diverting your attention as he gently poked you in the forehead, “Don’t think so hard or you’ll combust. Come on, we’ll start with the lights.”

 “Okay,” you agreed as you beamed unable to help yourself, excited to get started and that he was finally showing some initiative. He scoffed and looked away from you, but you could see the faintest pink tinge to his cheeks, one that made your heart feel warm.

             “Oh! Do you have something we can play music on?” you asked, suddenly, reminded of something else that would add to the festive mood that you hoped your boyfriend would enjoy. The look he gave you told you exactly what he thought of such a ridiculous question, but he did show you where you could hook up your iPod.

             “You better not be playing any of the annoying Christmas carols, shortcake,” he warned firmly as you got things set up, though the warning was softened by the nickname he’d christened you with shortly after you’d started dating, the one that never failed to make you melt despite its teasing nature.

             “Would I do that to you?” you asked him innocently, earning a scoff in return that made you giggle, “Don’t worry Kei, I think you’ll like this.”

             He raised an eyebrow but didn’t object as you hit play, the upbeat synthetic tones of Manheim Steamroller’s Christmas album playing throughout the living room. Your boyfriend cocked his head for a minute, listening before nodding in acknowledgment, and gestured for you to follow him over to the tree that was set up neatly in one corner of the room. It was the only gesture of approval you were going to get, but it made you happy all the same, well aware he would’ve told you flat out if he hated it.

             Together the two of you worked together to put the lights up around the tree passing the cord back and forth as you hummed along with the music, earning an amused look from Tsukishima, though he didn’t comment for once.

             Once you had the lights on the two of you set to work getting the ornaments on. Tsukishima wasn’t all that enthusiastic, letting you do most of the work, even as he threw in the occasional snarky comment, and smirked at you when you weren’t able to reach the very top branches of the tree to decorate.

             “Hey looking good!” the comment distracted you from trying to hang your ornament and you nearly dropped it, bobbling it a bit before letting out a breath of relief once you had it safely in your hands again.

             “Ni-san,” your boyfriend acknowledged, looking a bit disgruntled at the new arrival, “Weren’t you supposed to be decorating outside?”

             “I finished,” Akiteru told him cheerfully clearly undaunted by his younger brother’s disapproval, “And I figured I’d come in and see how the two of you were doing.”

             “You mean mom kicked you out of the kitchen for snitching cookies, so you decided to come bother us,” your Kei sighed looking incredibly put upon.

             “You caught me,” His brother admitted with a sheepish laugh, completely unbothered by the accusation. “Looks like you could use a hand though, you haven’t even put up the fun decorations yet.”

             “Fun decorations?” you repeated curiously. Honestly, you’d just been following your boyfriend’s directives up until this point, letting him show you which boxes to grab things from and hanging ornaments where you thought they looked nice.

             “No,” Kei said his tone completely and utterly flat, though you could see the faintest tinge of pink on his cheeks, “This looks fine, there’s no need for more.”

             “Come on little brother,” Akiteru teased with a wide grin, “You can’t go leaving out the sentimental ornaments. They’re cute, and I’m sure your girlfriend would love to see them.”

             Both of them turned to look at you, and you couldn’t help the sheepish look you gave your boyfriend, unable to help your curiosity and clearly conveying that you very much would like to see them. He heaved an enormous sigh looking extremely put upon, but in the end,  he conceded to the pleading eyes you were sending him.

             You immediately bounded over to him and Akiteru who was absolutely delighted to share all kinds of stories, though your boyfriend was more than happy to pay him back in kind with what stories he knew about his brother.

             They both had several of the usual ornaments they’d both made as kids in class to give to their parents, along with a very cute baby hand and foot print set in plaster for each of them. However, the best were some of the ones your boyfriend had given his brother, most of which said things like Ni-san is the best, much to Kei’s complete and utter mortification, though he refused to respond to Akiteru’s teasing about it.

             The boys both had ornament collections too, ones that their parents bought for them each year. Akiteru’s were all different trains, something he’d apparently been fascinated with as a child, and your boyfriend’s were all dinosaurs. Some of them were more on the cool side, clearly from later years, but the ones from when he was a child were all cute, a little cartoon t-rex with a Santa hat. Apparently, his favorite had been a flying dinosaur that apparently your boyfriend had insisted was named after him when he was little, the Ar-Kei-Opteryrx, which you couldn’t help but find completely and utterly adorable much to his mortification.

             “Does the team know about the Ar-Kei-Opteryx?” you asked during a brief interlude when Akiteru had been called away by their mother to help with something in the kitchen, unable to help the giggles that spilled from your lips as you asked, thrilled that you’d actually managed to get something like blackmail on your normally cool and composed boyfriend.

             “No, and they’re not going to find out either,” he warned you firmly, giving you a thoroughly displeased look.

             “I won’t tell,” you promised sincerely, “Your secret is safe with me, even if it was really cute.”

             “Whatever,” he brushed off, his tone and face indifferent, but his red ears and neck telling a completely different story.

             You grinned feeling light and happy, as you finished putting the last ornament on the tree, and stepped back to admire your work. It looked nice, and you couldn’t help but feel rather proud of your work. Until you realized rather abruptly that something was missing.

             “Ah, do you have a topper?” you asked, surprised you’d forgotten what was essentially the pièce de résistance of a Christmas tree.

             “Here,” he told you, casually unboxing a rather gorgeous moon and star topper and passing it to you. You accepted the pretty piece gingerly, admiring it and the way it caught the light.

             “It’s really fitting for your family,” you told him, partly amused and partly awed at decoration in your hands.

             “I suppose so,” he told you with a careless shrug, before ordering, “Go put it on.”

             You moved to do as he said only to belatedly realize there was no way you were going to be able to do so, the tree far too tall. That and you didn’t want to risk breaking any of the ornaments. You turned to him, unable to keep the slight pout off your face, earning an amused huff from your boyfriend.

             “You really are a shortcake, shortcake,” he teased with a smirk.

             “Kei, help please,” you begged, giving him the best puppy dog look you could muster, well aware he was a bit of a sucker for it, even if he would pretend otherwise.

             “Helpless shortcake,” he drawled, clearly amused, though he did move to a hall closet to pull out a small step ladder for you, bringing it over for you to use. Much to your surprise he didn’t move away once he set it up, lingering close, his hands hovering over your waist, not quite touching but close enough you could almost feel the warmth of them through your shirt as he made sure you didn’t topple over on accident.

             Carefully you placed the moon topper on the tree, ensuring it wouldn’t fall, and was nice and sturdy before turning to smile down at your boyfriend, feeling warm and accomplished. He huffed, but you could see the tiniest of smiles hovering by his lips as he carefully helped you down from the step ladder.

             “Wow, you must really like her, little brother,” Akiteru teased, announcing his presence once you were safely down on the ground again, which you were immensely thankful for as his sudden reappearance made you squeak in surprise.

             “Ni-san…” Kei tried to interject, only to be overridden as Akiteru continued.

             “He’s been the one to put the topper on, and insistent about doing it himself since he was about ten I think. You must be pretty special for him to surrender the privilege,” he declared with a pleased grin.

             “Really Kei?” you asked feeling both warmed by the idea and a little contrite, “you could’ve done it. I wouldn’t have minded!”

             “Tch,” your boyfriend clicked his tongue and turned away from the two of you, but he didn’t protest or deny it, instead brushing off the rather sweet gesture, “You wanted to, and it’s not that big a deal.”

             “You’re the best Kei,” you told him sincerely, seeing right through him, “Thanks.”

             “You’re too easy to please shortcake,” he told you teasingly, shaking his head in faux disappointment, though you could tell he was actually rather pleased himself.

             “Anyway, mom sent me to get you guys,” Akiteru informed the two of you, glancing between you with a content smile on his face, and something that looked a bit like mischief dancing in his eyes, “She wants our help decorating cookies.”

             Apparently, you weren’t the only one to see it either, given the extremely suspicious look your boyfriend shot his brother, but the two of you still followed obediently after him into the kitchen. It smelled absolutely wonderful, like sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon, enough to make your mouth water.

             “You’re just in time,” his mother informed you, offering you both a sweet smile, “Come on over and we’ll get started.”

             “Wait!” Akiteru protested immediately from his spot on the opposite side of the kitchen, where he was leaning against the counter. His golden eyes, so similar to your boyfriend’s and yet completely different at the same time were gleaming with mischief as the two of you both froze in your tracks, surprised by the outburst.

             “You’re forgetting something,” he informed the two of you rather smugly.

             You glanced at your boyfriend, completely puzzled over what he might be talking about. Kei however looked just as puzzled as you did, right up until Akiteru pointed up. Both of you followed his finger, only to find a clump of very familiar berries hanging above your heads, mistletoe. You immediately looked to your boyfriend, a faint blush on your cheeks at the implication only to find him glaring at his brother.

             “You set us up,” he pointed out flatly.

             “Come on little brother, it’s tradition! Don’t you want to give your girlfriend a smooch?” Akiteru teased, their mother watching on with an amused smile.

             “No,” your boyfriend snapped immediately, making your heart sink in your chest, a little stung by his quick and fierce rejection, “Not in front of you.”

             “Too shy huh?” Akiteru asked faux sympathetic, though you noted he did cast you a quick apologetic glance, “That’s fine! Guess I’ll just have to kiss her for you then.”

             Before you could protest that you would very much like a say in this, and didn’t particularly want a kiss from your boyfriend’s older brother you found your face held carefully between Kei’s large hands. You blinked up at him surprised, as he searched you for any sign of rejection. Finding none he dipped his head and pressed a quick, sweet, surprisingly gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling away abruptly and reaching up to yank the mistletoe off the door frame.

             “There,” he informed his brother snidely, the sharpness of his words a contrast to the enormous blush on his face as he threw the decoration at Akiteru who caught it, looking a little surprised but entirely amused, “Now keep your stupid mistletoe to yourself and stay away from my girlfriend.”

             “Alright,” his brother conceded as you blushed up a storm, a little shocked that he’d actually done it, and in front of his brother and mom too. Trying not to spontaneously combust as Akiteru fluttered a sly wink in your direction, you realized he’d egged his brother on on purpose. He had no intention of actually trying to kiss you, shooting your impression of him as the nicer of the two brothers all to pieces, “I won’t kiss your cute girlfriend little brother don’t worry.”

             Whatever he might’ve said in response to that was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and a call that let you know the last member of the Tsukishima family was home, followed by an exclamation of how nice everything looked.   

 “Did I miss something?” Kei’s dad asked hesitantly as he popped into the kitchen, glancing suspiciously between his two sons and your face, which was still berry red. Of the two Tsukishima parents he was definitely more like your boyfriend from what you’d seen, highly intelligent and calculating. It made him an excellent businessman, and also according to your boyfriend, meant he always knew when he or Akiteru got into mischief.

 “Welcome home dear,” his mother greeted, effectively distracting the man and saving you all from having to explain what had happened, “We’re just about to start on decorating Christmas cookies.”

 “Sounds good,” he told her as he smiled affectionately at her, the look in his eyes making it very clear how much he cared about her, and making you want to swoon at how cute that was. Clearly going along with her and not asking.

 The group of you quickly settled in, to make your cookies, your boyfriend not bothering to do all that much, spending far too much time on every cookie and Akiteru snitching several of them before they could be properly iced. He still occasionally teased the two of you as you worked, right up until Kei started firing back asking where Akiteru’s girlfriend was. It was a bit chaotic, but as Kei slipped a sly arm around the back of your chair you couldn’t help but feel warm and glad. Quietly you wondered if he’d be willing to participate in some of your own holiday traditions, feeling giddy and joyful as you looked at him and hoped there would be many more years to come of celebrating together.

 Bonus Scene:

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Hi again! I’ve been thinking about this one a lot, recently. How would romanced companions react to raiders kidnapping sole? I absolutely love your work! I keep checking your page to see if you’ve posted anything lol

(Enjoy! 💖)

Cait:

The very second she realized what happened, all she saw was red. Her anger was all she would allow herself to focus on as she took it upon herself to track your whereabouts down. She was aware it was a dumb decision to go alone...so she brought good ol’, disgruntled, smelly Paladin douche along with her to retrieve you.

He was a decent human shield and a big enough target.

Whenever she was finally reunited with your battered self, the red head crumbled. All that fury that had fueled her up dissipated in the form of a gut wrenching sob as she held you close.

Curie:

She just knew something was horribly wrong. When she came across a note promising your return for a hefty ransom..her heart dropped. How could she get you back?! There wasn’t anyway to get that amount of caps anytime soon...

So, knowing she definitely wasn’t much of a fighter, she employed the help of some very eager minutemen..unable to rest until they carried you all the way back home. As soon as she got you through the door she was examining you for even the mildest of injuries, hugging you

Danse:

It was such a bad idea. He knew it was too, but that didn’t stop him from loading up on ammo and bounding up to the raider’s hideout. Whatever comfort it was, you knew it was him just from the horrendous “clang” of his stomping. Regardless of how outnumbered he was nor how unlikely his chances or survival were, he found a way to tear through anything and anyone that stood in the way of his path to you.

Hell, he wasn’t proud of it but when he ran out of ammo, he simply crushed one raider’s skull without second thought.

The second he got you back home, he crumbled to his knees, laid his head in your lap, and begged for your forgiveness. Lord knows he wouldn’t forgive himself for letting that happen to you.

Deacon:

A piece of him was willing to bet you were giving the raiders complete hell....but despite his better judgement he couldn’t stop himself from racing to your rescue......by himself.

Somehow he was able to do it though, managing to sneak his way in by assuming the typical raider digs. He even had you fooled, allowing you to believe he was another one of those horrible people, escorting you away to “rough you up”. That is until he slipped you out the back door and cut your binds, tearing off his raider helmet before pressing a quick kiss to your lips...which resulted in you punching him due to you not realizing it was him.

Once he made his identity known, you were more than apologetic.

Gage:

Whosoever though this was a good idea had one hell of a storm coming their way. You don’t mess with his Overboss, you just don’t. Even if he wasn’t romantically involved, you bet your ass he’d fight tooth and nail to retrieve you.

That’s thing though. He loves you.

As soon as he figures out who was responsible and their respective leader, he’d rally the other two gangs and attack guns blazing- fiercely destroying anything that was stupid enough to try to stop him. All he felt was rage and he’d make sure to use all of it to absolutely decimate the people that betrayed you both.

Hancock:

You remember how he stabbed a person he knew quite well just for disrespected him and you? Yeah, picture that but 20x worse. You are his happiness. You are his sunshine. If you think that he’d just let that happen, you’re dead wrong.

Just to mess with the raiders, he’d show up with all the caps they demanded...before shooting the first one to approach in the face. After that, things were a blur, some people and close friends assisted him with the whole cleaning out job as he went to you.

Once it was all over and he had you in his arms, he swore to you that this would never happen again.

Macready;

In awful mix of emotions set deep within Mac’s being once he made the discovery. With an almost listless like way about him, Mac would ask Preston or Curie to watch your children, refusing to give an explanation before leaving in the middle of the night- waiting until his kids were asleep and kissing them goodbye. He hoped it wasn’t the last time, but he had to get you back.

Having packed countless rounds of ammunition, he made quick, silent work of your captors from his perch- only revealing himself once he was sure they were all bleeding out on the ground. Once he finally got to you though..oh nothing would stop the tears from spilling despite the joy he felt from knowing he was actually able to save you.

Maxson:

Whatever group of raiders did it were stupid, even for raider standards. Kidnapping a soldier of the brotherhood? Not a good idea. But..kidnapping the sentinel? Extremely bad idea. To top it off, the Elder’s lover? It was suicide.

It didn’t matter if they demanded ransom and promised no harm would befall you, all Arthur could think of was total annihilation. It took less than a day for a whole heavily armed troop to come to your rescue, mowing through the raider’s like they were nothing.

Just as you started to assume he stayed behind, a soldier equipped in unique power armour came bounding your way- whisking you up effortlessly before taking off it’s helmet to reveal the elder himself and his terrified blue eyes.

Nick:

While he wanted so badly to get you back fast, he knew better than to go in hotheaded like. As so, he’d be the only one to give what the raiders demanded- handing over the caps in exchange for his sweet love.

On the walk back he’d do the closest thing he could to crying, draping his coat around your shoulders and holding your hand.

Old Longfellow:

You initial absence didn’t seem to concern him, knowing you- you were just foraging for aster flowers. However when you didn’t come home by sundown he became worried, deciding to investigate until he made the horrifying discovery that you had been abducted.

Swallowing his pride, he’d rally some willing hands to help get you back. Fighting his way through with his fellow islanders with tears in his eyes at the possibility of losing you too.

After he finally got to you, he hid his tears behind a big smile- concealing any sign of distress by holding your head to his chest. It’ll take some time until he’s able to allow you to go foraging without him again.

Piper:

She’d flip her shit. Like for real, Lose. Her. Shit.

She’d just hope that your companions, and ultimately, her friends would assist her. Of course they would. So, as a big assembled brigade- she’d say her farewells to Nat before going off to retrieve you.

As soon as she found you she wrapped her scarf around your neck, putting a hand to your cheek as she looked into your eyes. She’d mutter something about being so scared that she lost you, to which you’d promptly kiss her to prevent her mind from wandering anymore than you knew it already had.

Once it was all over with, she’d suggest all of you to go celebrate a successful “retrieval” by going out for drinks...just to slip away to show you just how much she missed you.

Preston:

Welp, hope the raiders like having angry minutemen busting down their doors. It’s not just Preston they ticked off after all, it the whole minuteman army. So, it’s fair to say he wasn’t too worried- especially after seeing how quick the newly formed army cleaned them out.

However that isn’t to say he wasn’t also terrified, not only would he had lost his General- he would’ve also lost his love. As such, he found you as soon as possible and cried- unashamed of his tears even as you smiled and kissed them away.

Sturges:

The very moment he realized what happened, he ran straight to Preston. This time, he too would be on the forefront of shooting up some raiders. They’ve taken so much from him already, now this? They’re as good as dead.

Once Preston yelled for him, having retrieved you, Sturges ran as fast as his legs could manage to you- not even missing a beat as he took you into a breathtaking embrace, all while promising to never let you leave his sight again.

This was too much.

After this incident he’d practically beg you to retire the whole adventuring thing and settle down with him.

X6-88:

Heh. Fine. Guess those people enjoy death.

He had full confidence in your capabilities buuut, he took this as a personal slight. Within moments of noticing your disappearance, he hunted you down- locating the people dumb enough to steal you from him before doing what he does best.

He slaughtered them with the efficiency and precision of a grim reaper.

Upon finding you, all that scary courser exterior crumbled. He was just happy to be able to find you...unable to stop himself from pulling you into a tight, rare hug.

[cata-linaa]

hello hello!! my “haikyuu facts” post got WAY more notes than i expected since i wrote it in the parking lot of a wendy’s , and thank you so much! Anyway, I think Oikawa slander is my favorite thing (the jokes just write themselves, it’s so easy i dont even know how to beat around the bush about it it’s RIGHT THERE-) but yes, I do know he’s a complex character this is just for funsies ok  I try to be nice when writing him I promise. This is my first actual written out thing, so bear with me :)

Characters: Oikawa w a dash of Seijoh

Pairing: Milkbread and you 

Word Count: Enough

Grammar: All over the place, no editing, just shit out some content, the more I look at it the more i cringe so I might come back to edit it in the future. 

Tooru Oikawa is completely and hopelessly tone deaf. 

i just KNOW this mf cannot sing

you stans give him a little too much credit sometimes, seijoh is NOT a boy band

but he does all the time anyway

the funniest thing, though, was that iwa actually let him think he was good up until about his first year of high school

it’s not that he thought it was funny, that would be mean.... (but seriously, it’s just that he would say something about his voice being shitty, and he would just refute with the notion that “you’re just jealous of me hehe” so he let it go because he was sick of having the same argument every day)

and oikawa’s family was just like “oh 😬... uh, good job honey...” because he’s a kid what are you gonna say LMAO-

however, several years later when he decided to serenade the team on the bus ride to a tournament, makki and mattsun changed that opinion real quick

man couldn’t BREATHE that whole week without someone laughing about it and doing an impression of the voice cracks galore that occurred 

his voice is very nasally and off key, super loud and yikes 

very theatre kid who never got told he wasn’t the broadway-bound baby he thought he was and was in fact, just over-annunciating and screlting (if you don’t know what this means i am so jealous of you)

he’s so annoying and i hate him/hj

but you don’t seem to mind, do you?

You squinted as the sun peeked through the blinds as you woke up, tangling yourself further in several blankets after shivering from the AC unit going at full blast from across the room. Wait. I turn off the air conditioning at night, and these aren’t my blankets! And this is definitely NOT my hoodie! Glancing down at the fluffy white duvet, that was not the one you had at home. And you definitely did not play Argentinian volleyball, much less buy official team merchandise. Looking around further, you realized where you were. 

You had spent the night over your new boyfriend Tooru’s house for the first time, since the movie you guys had watched ended too late, and you had missed the last train home. Tooru had started another one, but all you remember is the opening credits. Guess I fell asleep? You thought, but where is Tooru now? 

“AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHIIIIEIEEIEIIIIIIIIIIIIIII” You got up with a start. What was that? Tooru? It didn’t sound good. Hopefully, he wasn’t hurt. His knee had been bothering him lately, and he did have a big game coming up. Throwing off the blankets, you ran to the source of the horrible scream. Panting, you scrambled to open the door and got to the kitchen. 

Tooru had his earbuds in, and he was frying eggs on the stovetop, no injury in sight. You look around concerned, wondering why he would make such a sound and then, it clicked when he opened his mouth once more.

This fucking idiot. 

“AAND I’LL ALWAYSZZZSS LOVE-” He took a deep inhale, but you yank the headphones out before he could even try to hit that note.

“Oh hey! Look who’s awake-” He tried to reach down to boop your nose, but you were not having it this morning. 

“Tooru! I thought you were hurt! This is your SINGING?!” You had never heard him sing before, but now that you have, you kind of didn’t want to anymore. He scoffed.

“I happen to be a very good singer, thank you.” You rolled your eyes at your ridiculous boyfriend. He’s certainly a lot, but you guessed breakfast could make up for it. He unplugged his earbuds and cranked the volume up on his phone. 

“You know the words, Prince(ss)*, sing with me!” 

“No.”

“You know you want to, here.” He reached out for your hand, with Whitney playing in the background. You laughed and took it, and his heart melted a little. This was so, so dumb, but what the hell.

 It was an awkward kind of swaying, as the song was slow but also so passionately singable. Simultaneously to the half-dance, half karaoke Tooru was putting his hand to his heart and just letting out those notes, however off-key he was, the attempt was there. With each passionate screlt, he pulled you towards him, as you were also holding the hands he was wildly pointing and gesturing around. Soon, the worried and disgruntled look disappeared from your face and was replaced with a smile, and maybe you sang along too. 

The rest of your morning was spent with sleepy giggles and loud singing, and he did burn those eggs, but he took you out to get something to make it up, singing the whole way to the coffee shop, ignoring the odd looks from strangers, because he did have tomorrow to wake you up to breakfast and a song, if you were willing to stay.

Needless to say, you heard a lot more of that awful for years to come, and honestly? you wouldn’t trade it for the smoothest and most beautiful of voices, because it was his, and he was yours. 

*pet names like “princess” or “bubs” or whatever make me physically recoil and want to throw up and  i apologize for using it because it made me cringe and it might make you cringe too, but i just know he would call his s/o some bullshit corny ass name like that. 

i really hope i got that characterization right, anyways, i’ll hopefully improve with more practice, and as of Jan 2021, requests are OPEN!

[petals-and-bullets]

Intimacy

Pairing: Izzy x Reader

Word Count: 1204

Info: Anon request! ‘Hello! I hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if you have time could you please write a fic where Izzy doesn’t want to have sex with the reader after she gives birth and the reader thinks it’s because he doesn’t like her body anymore and he thinks she’s ugly but the real reason is Izzy is scared of accidentally hurting her and he doesn’t think that she want to have sex yet and it’s a big misunderstanding but it ends with fluff please 😊💕’

A/N: Hopefully, we’re back in business and you can all expect regular posts! I’m proud of this one; I hope you like it!

The house was clean. The little one was finally down for the night – or at least for a few hours until he woke up and demanded a feeding – and Izzy was home. Sure, he was exhausted from the gig, but he was home. The pair of you had made a small home in an apartment that you were renting from your uncle in LA, and considering the pair of you had been joint at the hip since you were 10, it was unsurprising that you’d announced you were pregnant a few months into living in LA.

Unexpected. But welcomed.

Well, it was for you. The idea of it terrified Izzy; he was bouncing between bands and just narrowly avoiding getting arrested for dealing, but you were confident that he’d be a great dad. And you knew that as soon as Izzy saw little Andrew bundled up, you were right. He immediately warmed up to the concept of being a dad, and had even tried to reduce his drug usage; at least, he kept it out of the apartment.

The one thing that bothered you was that Izzy just didn’t want to be intimate with you. Sure, you’d only given birth around ten weeks ago, but you were ready to get back into the swing of your normal relationship – with the added benefit of having a little one to share your lives with. You smiled at the thought and gently placed the cup of tea down in front of him on the coffee table, before you perched carefully in his lap and brushed his hair out of his face.

“What are you after, darling?” He muttered, his arm slithering around your waist to hold you comfortably against his chest, his lips brushing along your jawline tenderly. You stifled a small laugh at the ticklish sensation, before you took his hand and gently guided it to your inner thigh.

“I’m not after anything, Iz. I just wanna have some fun. Andie’s in bed, and that means we have some peace and quiet and time to just spend with each other. And I think I know exactly how to spend it-“

“Records and cuddles.”

You blinked, your brows furrowing in confusion at how fast Izzy had answered you – and how unexpected it was. Izzy wasn’t innocent; he picked up on hints and innuendos faster than the crack of a whip, but suddenly he seemed to have not understood what you had insinuated. After a moment, you shrugged and slid out of his lap in order to place the needle down on the record on the record player, not really caring to change it.

“C’mere, doll. I wanna just have a break and relax with my favourite girl,” he murmured, before he patted his lap and smiled softly at you, and you were unable to resist the offer. Almost immediately you were curled up in his lap, his hand tangled in your hair as he leaned back against the couch, his eyes closed. He was significantly at peace, and you smiled to yourself at the sight. He’d been working almost non-stop ever since your son came into the world, determined to make it so your lives could be the best they possibly could be – and considering he’d decided to at least reduce the drug intake and ban the use of drugs in your home, you couldn’t hold him at fault. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your relationship had changed.

“Iz.”

“Mm?”

“… Am I not attractive anymore?”

He opened one eye to observe you quietly before he sat straight, furrowing his brows as he gave you his full attention.

“What?”

“Am I not attractive anymore? I mean, I’ve been trying to drop hints and god knows what else that I want to go back to how it was – sex included, and-“

“And the doc said that we should take it easy, doll. You’re the sexiest you’ve ever been - trust me – but I don’t want to run the risk of you getting hurt. You did just push a baby out of you no less than ten weeks ago.”

You blinked for a few seconds, your brain trying to comprehend just what he’d said to you. After a moment of just staring at his face, you burst out laughing and buried your face in his neck, your arms wrapped around him as you tried your hardest to calm down. After a moment, Izzy joined you in laughing, resting his head on yours before he gently patted your thigh.

“We should try and quieten down; don’t want to wake the little one,” he breathed out between laughs, and you managed to control your breathing enough to calm down. After taking a moment to clear your throat, you sat straight and nodded, wiping your eyes to rid yourself of the tears that had begun to build. Despite your efforts, however, a faint cry echoed from your son’s room and Izzy’s head fell back as he chuckled softly.

“I’ve got him,” he murmured, patting your thigh before he guided you off his lap and stood. Taking a moment to stretch, he winked at you before he walked out of the room and you listened carefully for Andrew’s whines of protest at the concept that he would have to fall asleep.

It never came.

Instead, the soft lilt of Izzy’s voice wound its way out of the room, and you smiled as you made your way down the hall and to your son’s bedroom, only to stop and lean against the doorway at the sight of your boyfriend leaning against the wall with your son cradled against his chest, his thumb rubbing his head gently. It was a tender sight, and you couldn’t help but smile – you knew that you’d chosen the right man to spend your life with, and despite his faults, he was a dedicated father and would do anything for his little one. You remained in the doorway for a few more moments before you turned and left your boys to bond, laying down on the bed with full intentions of closing your eyes for a few moments.

By the time you woke, sunlight had already streamed into the room through the parted curtains, and you scrunched your nose up in disgruntlement before you rolled over with the full intentions of waking Izzy with kisses. Although you quickly realised that his side of the bed was not only empty, but was clearly still made from the morning before. After a moment to just recollect yourself and wake up properly, you rubbed your eyes and slid off the bed and wandered out of the bedroom, only to stop when you realised that Andrew’s crib was significantly fuller than it had been the night before, and you smiled when you realised that Izzy had climbed in with Andrew. They were both still sound asleep, and you couldn’t help but quickly grab your camera to take a photo of the Isbell boys before you left them to sleep.

You may not have gotten what you were after in sense of normality in your relationship, but you knew that this new normal was far better than anything you could’ve ever imagined.