#oc: spaghetti meatball

[trash-city-radio]

u guys would never guess what her name stands for

[thegentleartist]

[golden--doodler]

See More Seymour's Week Day Three: Original Character Day

I knew for the OC day of @seemoreseymoursbayweek, I just had to draw Alexis, my precious baby child. I ended up having the incredible opportunity to Commission @jae-is-drawing for the occasion, and god, they completely knocked it out of the park!!

I actually just asked for one drawing, but they came up with the amazing idea to make my Commission into a mini comic, and it came out so adorable. I can't get over the Lady and the Tramp reference 🥺❣️

Thank you so much, Jae!! I shall be staring at this forever.

[ID]: Digital fanart of Gene and an OC from Bob's Burgers. The OC, Alexis, is wearing a purple shirt and black jeans, whilst Gene is wearing purple overalls with a bright orange undershirt. What can be seen is a mini comic where the two are sitting across from each other at a table, eating spaghetti and meatballs. They're both slurping on the same spaghetti noodle and can be seen gradually getting closer until they eventually kiss in the biggest panel. Once they pull back, Alexis looks shocked and flustered, whilst Gene is laughing with an amused expression. The two can also be seen holding hands.

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 31

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/149765467

Chef Ecco had arranged for them to be picked up from the restaurant in the morning and they were driven to Bronte’s mansion in several horse carriages. She watched her colleagues, each looking more nervous than the other and she herself felt nervous, too. This kind of job was a career changer – evil or not, Angelo Bronte was an important man and he had invited a plethora of important guests, the biggest names in the city. It was the perfect opportunity to make an impression. But...somewhere in the very back of her mind she had begun to wonder if she really wanted to make one. 

She had barely slept the night before, anxious about the frutta martorana she had crafted, anxious about being around Chef Ecco, and (despite putting up a brave face about it to Arthur) anxious about being around Cosa Nostra. But there was a splinter in her, somewhere deep and hidden, that she felt now itching, needling her and she picked at it relentlessly, curious what she was concealing from her own self.

For a while now she had been struggling with doubts regarding the direction of her career. As much as she enjoyed crafting food at Antoine's, a part of her was listless about it. For one thing, her experiences at Antoine's had soured her ambitions to climb up the ladder of social strata. Food was her passion but this kind of food - expensive, fine food inevitably pushed her closer to folks that were...well you could say of a certain kind. Most were nice enough, true, but some were also inevitably people like Bronte and Ecco: men who could build you up or erase you with a flick of their wrists. Was it really possible to stay out of their orbits, stay out of their influence and still make a career in this field, especially as a woman of her background? It seemed less and less likely.  

The second reason was more complicated, more subtle and evaded her grasp for a long time. She had grown aware that something was missing from her work at Antoine's, something vital and essential. Like salt from a meal or cold missing from ice cream. Then last week she had taken a bowl of spaghetti with meatballs over to Jack and he had jumped with joy and it had hit her: no matter how masterful, how creative, how stupendous her food would be at Antoine's, nobody there would ever be as excited to eat it as Jack was. She had walked back to their tent mulling over this and sat watching Arthur slurping the noodles like some savage and had asked him if he liked her food or he simply ate it because it was there. 

He gave her an incredulous look. "Course I like yer food," was the flowery prose of a retort. And then, as he was piling himself an enormous second plate: "Gonna ask me if the sky is blue?" She contemplated that until he forked one of the meatballs she had been pushing around on her plate to get her attention and threw it in his mouth. "Ya spinnin' in yer head again?" Savigne shrugged. "I'm just...wrestling with some things." His eyebrows shot up with amusement. "Ya keep poutin' like that, gonna have to wrestle me later." "God, you're insufferable," she snorted. "Settle down." "Don' look so damn fine then," he chewed with a grin.  "That's the last thing on my mind right now," she grumbled.  "What ya said yesterday," he drawled. "Think I changed yer mind on that." "Seriously, Arthur?" "The day before, too." She pursed her lips and ignored him.  "And before that," he said smugly. "Christ on a cross! I'm thinking about my career right now." He hummed and slurped his spaghetti. "Why, don' like yer fancy job no more?" "I wouldn't call it fancy," she chuckled. "I'm just a cook. Dime a dozen," she mumbled and winced when the phrase made her skin crawl.  "This ball makin’ ya twitchy?” "No. Maybe. I don't know," she ran her hands over her face.  Then she rose to stand behind him, flapped open his napkin and tucked it into his shirt. She squeezed his shoulders before she took the fork off his hand and the untouched spoon. “Observe, my love.” His head swiveled slightly in her direction with the endearment but he watched her twirl the pasta on the fork against the spoon without splattering it. “Just in case it’s served in a posh place. Or…you know…you want to eat it without wearing it.” He took the cutlery from her and gave her a scrutinizing look as she came around to sit on her chair again. "Gonna tell me what's goin' on with ya? Been goin' on with ya?" He said as he practiced the move. She thought of Arthur telling her to look away and striding to the Murfree, a blade at hand and a storm in his eyes. Nobody cared about a Murfree, but Chef Ecco? The whole city would go wild; it might even make the national news! Maybe he could evade the law regardless as he had done all his life. But maybe this would be the time he bit off more than he could chew and it would be her fault. You can never tell your boyfriend Sarah whispered in her mind. "Maybe I'm tired of Saint Denis," she sighed and cupped her chin, watching him eat. "Maybe that cabin needs to be far, far away from here." "Fine by me. Long as it ain't Tahiti," Arthur grumbled.  "Tahiti? What's in Tahiti?" "Rest of them fools," he said, jabbing his head to the gang behind him.  She laughed at that. "That's the plan? Even for Dutch, that's crazy."

But that night she had lied in bed, thinking about their conversation and it occurred to her how many people were pulled in the wake of the nonsense of charismatic men. How easy it was to laugh at Dutch and all the fools who would follow him off a cliff when she herself was allowing herself to be dragged into ever deeper waters by Ecco. I can't let this happen, she thought. I didn't come this far and work this hard so I can be humiliated and hurt and discarded by some monster. If Arthur has broken free, so can I. 

She pushed these thoughts away as the carriage slowed and they arrived at the mansion. They were guided to the kitchen like baby ducks in a row and she gawked around, stunned by the wealth. It felt like she had been transported into a different world. The kitchen was almost the size of Antoine’s and spotless. There were a number of cooks running around, preparing lunch and dinner for Mr Bronte. They weren’t assigned to help with the food for the ball – that was the job of Ecco's team. 

They were introduced, familiarized with the kitchen and the available tools and where everything was, then they had to wait a bit for lunch preparations to be over before they could go in and start the food for the evening. 

Savigne didn’t have much to do on her end – her frutta martorana had to be prepared ahead of time and she had done most of the work. She just had to put in the finishing touches so the colors would stand out vibrant when the time came. So she helped others with their assignments.

Chef Ecco arrived a lot later, towards late afternoon and she spotted him walking about in the garden with Mr. Bronte from afar. They seemed to be having a jovial conversation and she soured on him even further. It was unclear if he was just being chummy with Bronte for his own career advancement or if he really liked the guy, but there was no doubt in her mind that they were more alike than apart. 

It was her first time seeing Mr. Bronte and maybe it was knowing what he was and what he had done regarding Jack, but she immediately grew to dislike him. He had that grandiose, bellicose air to him that most men of his stature did but he also seemed to be overdoing it. His mansion was a reflection of him – big and showy but to the point of drifting into tacky, self-aggrandizing, everything for the distinct urge to impress others. She recognized the fellow immigrant in him always trying to compensate for the fact that he had arrived on a stinking ship like everyone else and was now obsessed with proving to folks that he was just as good, if not better than them.

She startled when Sarah chirped next to her: "Are they arguing?"

She turned to the two men, gesticulating in Italian. "Unfortunately no," she said drily.

A moment passed as the women watched the two men. "Are you okay, Savigne?"

"Not really," Savigne said, unable to look at her, feeling that weird shame again as if somehow what was happening was her own fault. 

Sarah didn't say anything but inched closer until their shoulders touched. 

"Some men," the blond girl sighed, looking out the window, "just want to take something from you and that's all they want. Then they're done. They move on to the next thing and they let you be."

Savigne watched the jovial back patting as the two men headed down the garden path. "Not everything is theirs to take," she droned. 

"If such men are told no, then they want to take everything from you," was the careful response. They both looked on even though the garden was empty now.

Savigne shrugged as if to say 'so what'.

"Did you hear about Estelle?"

"No, what happened?" Savigne blinked out of her stupor. 

"Heard she couldn't find a job in Saint Denis. Not even as a dishwasher. A few places accepted her but then...she was mysteriously let go the next day."

Savigne thought on this. "America is a big country."

"Sure. But some men have a long reach." Sarah turned to lock eyes then. "Don't think less of me for saying it. You're an excellent cook, that's why I'm here talking to you. Be careful."

She went back to the kitchen and focused on her job and before she knew it, it was evening and the buzz in the kitchen intensified. Savigne was used to it – there was always stress in the kitchen with the arrival of mealtime. Things had to be pre-arranged so everything could roll out smoothly and on time, because if there was an cardinal sin in this business, it wasn’t so much the taste of the food they were serving, but the nerve to waste some important person’s time. 

She pondered if she would run into Arthur and the rest and dismissed it as unlikely – they were going to be with the guests and she wasn’t going to step out of the kitchen for the most part. Still, she was curious. And apprehensive. Whatever the Van der Linde gang was up to, it could be safely surmised that it was no good and she hated the fact that Arthur, in his ripe old age still hung around this nonsense. She knew at this point he had his doubts about the whole thing, she knew he harbored some resentment for what the gang was doing and she knew he meant to leave it all behind, but he sure as hell was taking his sweet time about it! They all were. Even Hosea, who was the most vocal about the state of things, was still hanging around, idling about in Dutch’s shadow instead of putting his foot down. 

She eyed the time. The ball was going to start soon but the general air in the kitchen was collected. Things were moving about quickly and the staff Chef Ecco had brought over was used to the hectic pace of a kitchen and nobody was running around like their head was on fire. 

She went to the fridge and looked over her frutta martorana. It looked excellent to her, especially that mandarin that she had constructed, half peeled and looking as real as the fruit itself, but self-doubt was always close to her heart and she bit her lip, eyes crawling over the pastry with apprehension.  

“They look magnificent!” Chef Ecco proclaimed behind her and made her flinch. 

His arm swung around her back, patting affectionately. Savigne scurried out of his reach, trying to be subtle about it but he saw her panic and rather than surprised or angry, he was amused. 

“They’re excellent, Savigne. You have outdone yourself. Don’t be surprised if you get some calling cards delivered to you after tonight.”

She nodded politely and closed the fridge door. 

“How are things upstairs?” she managed to break the awkward silence that set in.

“People are arriving. It’s going to be a big one.”

“Where do you want me?” she cleared her throat, eyeing the kitchen. 

“You’ll find something to do,” he mused, smiling at her. “I know I don’t have to order you around.” His tone implied that he enjoyed doing it anyway.

She was about to step away when he said “Tell you what,” and glided into her personal space, “why don’t you take a break at some point and just go up and see what they think?”

“Would that be…appropriate?”

“Sure!” he waved his arm about dismissively. “Why not? You’re not a servant, you’re a cook! My cook,” he said eyes hungry. “Take your cap and apron off and go up and walk about the tables, see what folks are saying.”

She looked down at her pristine uniform. With or without a cap, she wasn’t really dressed for the occasion. 

He guessed what she was thinking and laughed. “Don’t have to attend the ball!” he grinned. “Just go about and see what it’s all like. If anyone tries to usher you out, you better take their name. Nobody pushes my staff around." Another pat on her back, the palm on her shoulder blade lingering a tad too long, and he was gone. 

Savigne exhaled with relief and rolled her shoulders to shake off the residue of his touch.

A few hours later the ball was in full swing and the kitchen was even calmer than before. Everything that was to be served had been prepared and was now just being carried upstairs. Bronte’s own staff was handling the serving, so there wasn’t much left to do for the cooks themselves. Ecco was right – this kind of event was in a way easier. It was front loaded and required a lot of preparation, but once that was done, the pace dropped off very steeply and there was a lot of time for rest. 

Having tasted food all day she didn’t feel hungry, but she was now eager to stroll upstairs and see what a ball was like. She removed her cap and her apron, smoothed her dazzlingly white, clean uniform and decided to take the offer. 

Upstairs was a a completely different world. The entire mansion had come alive with light and laughter. She walked among the guests, a little stupefied, absorbing the splendor. It was as if every beautiful person in Saint Denis was here today. Tuxedos pristine, dresses sublime, hair shaped meticulously, just the right amount of make-up, voices tuned to that polite, low tone interspersed with the tinkling of laughter here and there… She glided through the crowds, feeling invisible and, in a way, liberated because this way she was able to observe people she rarely encountered as if they were an exotic species while they hardly noticed her. She grew a little bolder and snatched a glass of champagne from one of the tables and strolled along the long laid out table, checking on the food to see what had been eaten the most and what remained relatively untouched. 

The buffet tables were regularly visited by the patrons and her frutta martorana was in the center of the spectacle, displayed like a work of art. She saw several people looking at it, pointing at it, almost afraid to touch it. It put a grin on her face and a surge of pride swept through her. 

“Miss Ricci?”

She turned to her name and for a moment had no idea who this man was. He looked very different dressed up, hair slicked back, beard trimmed down. Then it came to her: “Mr. Dunham?”

He grinned, showing his perfect white teeth. He stepped closer to extend his hand. His aftershave was excellent – noticeable but just the right amount of subtle. 

“Well at least I made an impression,” he said. She laughed and shook his hand, looking him over. 

“You would have made one today if you hadn’t already,” she complimented him. A light shade of pink dusted his cheeks and she thought it cute. 

“Should have known the excellent food meant you were in the kitchen,” he said. His grey eyes were twinkling, reflecting the lights around them. 

“I only made the frutta martorana,” she responded, brushing her skirt and taking a sip from her champagne. “Can’t claim ownership of the excellent food.”

“Which one is that?”

She pointed to the display with her champagne glass and almost chocked on a mouthful of it when she spotted Arthur there, staring at her with the ghost of a grin. He looked…well immaculate. She had to admit he cleaned up extremely well, and somehow a tuxedo looked even better on him than his usual clothes did, which was saying something. His hair was shorter and slightly combed back with pomade and the beard was trimmed professionally. The way his broad shoulders sat within the sharp corners of the stiff jacket and his trousers hugged his slim hips did something funny to her stomach. All in all, he looked like one of the heroes Mary Beth’s stupid books fawned about for pages. She stared at him, mesmerized all over again by that animalistic quality, that magnetism he had, the way he filled space and had a weight to his presence and thought no wonder I fell for him. Even if she hadn't known who he was, seeing him here in this setting where he stood out like a tiger among cats, it was near impossible to not notice him.

“My my,” she heard Dunham and felt his shoulder brush against hers as he walked around her to approach the display. She blinked away from Arthur’s gaze, closed her mouth and followed. 

“Well this is quite something!” Mr. Dunham said, circling the pastry table and Savigne tried to concentrate on him and ignore Arthur who was standing just a few feet away. “What is it?”

“Oh,” she said lightly, wetting her lips and trying to get her pulse rate under control, “it’s sweets made of marzipan. It’s very popular in Sicily. Traditional. We thought Mr Bronte would enjoy something from back home.” The way her heart was speeding up with his silhouette in the periphery of her vision, you’d think she wasn’t sleeping next to this man every night. 

“Miss Ricci?”

“Hmmm? I’m sorry. My mind went…”

“…somewhere else for a moment,” the lawyer finished, grinning again. “I remember.”

She chuckled. “Sorry. I do that.”

He waved it away. Somehow even his wave was elegant. 

“I was asking how you made it. This looks…well, spectacular!”

“Oh,” she grinned. “Thank you. It’s just…more sculpting than baking to be honest.” In the corner of her eye, Arthur stepped closer to them and her heart did a jolt. 

“But see here,” he pointed to the mandarin she had crafted, half peeled, the peel standing away from the fruit to show the inner slices, down to the detail of white flesh webbing, “you’re telling me this is desert and not a fruit?”

She laughed and shrugged in humble confirmation. 

“Well I can’t eat that!” he protested with mock outrage. “It would be a crime!”

“But…” she objected, the compliment shading her cheeks. It had been a long time since a man had earnestly complimented her. Sure, flattery was a simple and effortless thing, but there was a reason why it worked - everyone liked to be buttered up a bit now and then. Receiving it from him now so abundantly when she rarely got any from Arthur or Luther made her head spin a little.  

“Oh no I couldn’t,” he said, enchanted by her shyness.

“‘Scuse me,” came from beside them as Arthur’s big hand closed on the mandarin and retrieved it to plop it on his plate. 

She froze with surprise. Mr. Dunham was about to turn around to assess whose hand that had been when Savigne quickly spoke up: "You know," she said, giving Arthur a 'what are you doing?' look as he shot back a 'what are you doing?’ one of his own. "In some cultures food is served just as a spectacle, not even meant to be eaten."

"Interesting.” The lawyer followed her as she stepped down the line. 

"Yes. There are formal Japanese meals for example that are insanely pretty. They're paraded around and served but are meant to just be looked at. Sort of to show off the skill of the cook and, by association, the wealth of the host who can afford him."

"Why, that's fascinating," Mr. Dunham said, his grey eyes locked on her. 

"Try the grapes," she suggested. 

Arthur advanced and plucked the grapes away to stack them on his plate, too.

She gave him an incensed  'Seriously?' look. He responded with that brash and unfazed azure gaze. 

Mr. Dunham turned again to see who it was but before he could, she quickly touched his arm to divert his attention back to her. "So you're back in Saint Denis!"

Savigne was relieved when it worked. "Oh yes! I actually travel back and forth quite a bit now. Lots of business here and business is good for us lawyers."

She took a sip from her drink, gave Arthur a withering gaze over Mr Dunham's shoulder which was promptly ignored. She moved down the table further and the blond man followed and, to her chagrin, so did Arthur.

“How’s New York?”

“New York is New York. It’s the heart of this country and I daresay, the world. But…there’s a charm to Saint Denis I’ve grown quite fond of.” His eyes danced with bold mischief.

She feigned ignorance, bowed her lips and hummed. “How about that.”

They glided down the long table but he barely sampled anything, intensely focused on her.

"You didn't call on me, Miss Ricci," he said at last, voice a little more somber. "I have to say I was disappointed about that."

She smiled. "I was busy. I remember warning you about that.”

He grinned as if caught in a lie. "You did. But, guess I was hoping anyway. Are you still busy by any chance?"

Before she could respond, “So Miss,” interjected Arthur from behind him, his tone denoting that he had enough of the playful banter between them, “heard ya say you made these.”

Savigne blinked at him, caught off guard. She managed a late “Yes.”

Mr. Dunham turned and scrutinized Arthur, who stood at least a head taller and twice as broad. “Brilliant, isn’t it?”

Arthur threw one of the grapes in his mouth, chewed on it thoughtfully, then gave Savigne a long, intense look while he ran a tongue over his teeth.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Well? Do you like it? Sir?”

“Reminds me of somethin’,” he said. “Tryin’ to remember where I ate it.” He licked his lips. “Think I had somethin’ similar…”

She sipped her champagne, amused.

“…in the Bayou.”

The champagne shot out of her nose as she coughed violently. Mr. Dunham quickly came to her side to politely pet her shoulder which, of course, did nothing. 

Arthur broke into a grin and shouldered him aside. “Here, lemme.” His big hand slapped on her back not quite hard but hefty enough to dislodge the champagne that had gone into her airway and she wheezed and swallowed, recovering.

“Thanks,” she croaked, eyes watery. “It’s an…acquired taste,” she coughed, placing her glass on the table to brush the droplets off her skirts. His palm remained on her back.

"In the Bayou, you say?" the lawyer picked up the conversation. "I really can't imagine they have anything there that can compare.”

"There's this little bird..." Arthur began.

"Please, try one!" Savigne hastily urged Mr. Dunham, voice still raw.

Mr. Dunham picked a peach. She tried to inconspicuously push Arthur’s southward gliding hand away as they watched the lawyer carefully slice a piece off, fork it into his mouth and chew with narrowed eyes. 

“It’s marzipan and sugar,” she explained.

The blond man hummed, thoughtful. “Very…interesting.”

Savigne carefully slapped at the hand that had resumed its journey to her butt. “It’s a little old fashioned, I know.”

“Very unique, I must say,” the lawyer stated. Then his eyes glided up to Arthur at Savigne’s side. “I’ve never been to the Bayou, Mr…?

“Kilgore,” Arthur said smoothly.

What a name, Savigne thought and bit her lip.

"What's to do over there?"

“The fishing is good. Gotta use the right bait of course.”

The grab on her butt cheek made her jump and dance away as she shot Arthur a glare of warning.

“You, Miss Ricci?”

"Me what? Sorry."

"Have you been to the Bayou?"

“Once,” she said curtly.

“If ya ever wanna go again…” Arthur said to her with a smug grin. “…’m yer man. Would be a…” his eyes crawled over her body, “…pleasure.”

It was inexcusable, the way he was looking at her - so bold and unapologetic that even Mr. Dunham noticed it and took a step closer to her. 

“Would you like to take a walk in the garden, Miss Ricci?” he said, offering his arm.

This displeased Arthur greatly and she saw the amusement drain from his eyes.

“I should probably head back to the kit-” she started.

“What time ya done?” was Arthur’s drawl as his eyes flicked to her.

“Excuse me sir, that’s awfully direct,” the lawyer said frostily.

“I care ‘bout what ya think, I’ll ask ya,” was the hard response.

“You’re making the lady uncomfortable. I feel obliged to-.”

“Oblige somewhere else.”

The speed with which the amicable interaction dissolved rendered her speechless for a moment. A tension shot up between the two men as she looked from one to the other, nervous where this was going. It was very unusual for Arthur to act this brash but there was no doubt in her mind that he had recognized Dunham from the train station and had a bone to pick because of it. Mr. Dunham, on the other hand, had barely noticed Arthur back then so the odds of recognizing him in his current attire were slim to none.

"I think it's time I head back..." she tried, but the men had advanced to a stage of the duel where she was merely a prop for their stupid power play, so they ignored her.

“You're quite forgetting yourself, Mr. Kilgore," the blond man huffed with indignation and offered his arm to her again. "Miss Ricci?

“Ya stick that twig out again, ‘m gonna break it.”

Both Dunham and Savigne gaped at Arthur for a moment.

“Gentlemen…” she sputtered when she found her voice again.

“There’s clearly only one of those here!” was the lawyer's smooth interjection.

“Ya got the ‘gentle’ part right, tell ya that,” Arthur growled as he drew himself up and gave the other man a dismissive head to toe.

“You sir are a brute. That’s no way to behave around a lady.”

“Lady ain't complainin', is she? Go on, take yer fancy ass outta here.”

“Ar- Mister Kilgore!” she gasped, scandalized.

“How inappropr-” tried the lawyer.

“Bag it.”

“Sir, I’m about to call someone.”

“Who? Yer mommy?”

“Jesus!” Savigne muttered and nervously ran a hand over her forehead.

“That’s it! I invite you to step outside with me!”

“Thought ya’d never ask,” Arthur said and roughly threw his plate on the table.

“Absolutely not!” Savigne stepped between them. For a lawyer, Dunham seemed surprisingly stupid. Arthur could crack this man’s skull with one hand while playing cards with the other. She glared at Arthur. “I will be very cross if there’s a fight,” she hissed, pressing on each word.

He never looked away from the other man as he rolled a shoulder. “Won’ be much of a fight. Miss.”

“Erik, please!" She was hoping that the use of his first name would compel the lawyer but all it did was irritate Arthur whose eyes now blazed at her.

“Miss Ricci, I assure you, I’m not a meek man.”

“Pushin’ them papers made ya this big?” was Arthur’s tease.

“I'm quite good at boxing!”

He got a snort as a response. “Might wanna have these then,” Arthur fished his black velvet gloves out of his pocket and flung them at the other man’s chest. “So ya don’ crack yer pretty nails.”

“Gentlemen!”

She never thought she’d be this happy to see Dutch stroll over and almost sobbed with relief. 

“What’s going on here?” was his smooth question.

“This...man was bothering the lady,” spat the lawyer as if leaving the 'gentle' out was some great insult. “We were about to step away.”

“Nobody was bothering anybody,” Savigne seethed, giving both men a heated look. “And I don’t think either of you gave a damn about me.”

“Tacitus, shame on you,” Dutch drawled. “We can’t brawl here, this is not a saloon.”

Arthur flexed his fingers. “Man here wonders what Saint Denis cobblestone taste like,” he said mildly, “‘m obliged to help.”

“Really unfortunate how all manner of folk get invited to these events now,” sniffed the lawyer.

“Ya hear this mewlin'?” Arthur asked Dutch.

“I think we have more important things to attend to,” Dutch said and glared at her as if she was responsible for this nonsense. He gripped Arthur’s arm but the bigger man refused to move.

The hiss of “Tacitus” was ignored.

“Goodbye,” was Dunham’s gloat and Arthur’s face darkened.

“You know what - I’ll see myself out. Good night to both of you,” Savigne spat and practically stomped off. Before she walked back indoors she looked over and Dunham was watching her with disappointment while Dutch had managed to wrestle the bigger man away.

“Unbelievable,” she hissed to herself. Silly peacocks, all of them, strutting around and sporting their tail fans at any given opportunity. 

Things tapered off and Savigne changed her clothes and headed out so she could sneak away before Chef Ecco turned up. The hour was late and even bustling Saint Denis was somewhat empty. She cringed at the idea of riding back to camp this late, through all those dark forests and deserted paths. Maybe it was better to stay in a hotel in town today. But she hadn't told Arthur and if she didn't turn up he would surely come looking for her. She crossed the street and a dark shadow detached itself from the rest of the darkness under a store awning and glided closer. 

She waited, apprehensive, until she recognized his gait and relaxed.

“Was just thinking about you,” she said as he walked closer to stand in front of her. He smiled and placed a hand on her lower back. “Maybe we can stay at a hotel.”

He jerked her forward roughly and she stumbled into him, next thing she knew he was kissing her. Not a chaste kiss on the cheek either - a passionate, full on one that she would never expect from him in the middle of a city street - regardless how sparsely populated it was at the moment. She reflexively pushed against him and of course putting up that kind of fight just made Arthur more eager to overpower her. He swung her around and her back was pushed against the wall as he deepened the kiss, boxing her in between his arms, his body flush against hers.

Breathless, she relented, retrieving her hands and placing them on the wall in a show of surrender. It worked, he softened the kiss and eventually pulled back, but his hands glided down her chest and palmed her buttocks, implying that his reprieve was temporary.

“What was all that nonsense earlier?” she panted.

“Should be thankin’ me,” he sighed into her neck as he left a trail of kisses. “For savin’ ya from that prick.”

“Thank you for saving this helpless maiden,” she sighed dramatically.

“That’s better,” he kissed her. “Now to my reward.” He took her hand and walked her through the dark streets of Saint Denis, to the background music of drunken yowling, ranting and peals of laughter.

They arrived at a hotel that was still lively with lights blazing and music drifting from the main hall.

“Gimme yer best room,” Arthur slapped his billfold on the desk. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Certainly sir,” the man flipped the book around for Arthur to sign. “We have a room with a double bed and extra large private tub ensuite.

Arthur grunted in approval as he grabbed the key. Then he paused and asked “The bed have a headboard?”

“Of course,” the clerk scoffed as if the alternative was unthinkable.

Arthur grabbed her hand again and pulled her up the stairs behind him. Several of the rooms had chatter and laughter drifting out as they walked past them. And a few of them lusty moans and cries of pleasure.

“Wow,” she cleared her throat.

“Ya can sing better than these fools,” he grinned at her. She opened her mouth to argue but he was faster: “And, believe me, ya will.”

She shook him awake early next morning. “Arthur.”

He grunted to say he’s awake.

“I need you to get me something.”

His brows furrowed. “What ya need?”

“There is this thing called beigel, I need one.”

“The hell is that?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“It’s like a pastry, but savory.”

He cracked open an eye. “Ya want breakfast, we can order room service.”

“No I want beigel with lox.” He took a deep breath and rose on his elbow to look at her as if she had spoken in tongues.

”Please?” she pleaded, pulling the covers up to her chin.

“Fine,” he sighed and rose to sit up at the edge, the covers pooling around his waist and exposing his naked chest. “Ya dream ‘bout it or somethin’?”

“I guess. I’m craving it something fierce.” He paused and gave her a look over his shoulder. “Think it’s because I’m going to bleed soon,” she explained, a little abashed.

He cracked his neck and got on his feet and started to get dressed. “Where they sell this thing?”

“The Jewish quarter. Three blocks up, an avenue over.” She watched him dress in his tuxedo from last night. “I want extra onions.”

He hummed as he reached for his satchel. “Ya sure they open on Sunday?”

“Yeah, it’s the Jewish quarter. It’s this round thing with a hole in the middle, they sell it on sticks. Don’t get the wrong thing!” she called quietly as he headed to the door. “With lox! And extra…”

“I got it, woman,” he grumbled and added “Don’ take a bath without me,” as he exited the room and headed for the stairs.

Saint Denis was calm and quiet under an overcast sky and the drizzle of rain. He decided he liked the city better like this. He passed people walking by quickly under the mist of rain and missed his hat. It was chillier now that Fall was here but perfect weather to him. He strolled up the avenue as the city slumbered around him, not yet ready to recover from the lively Saturday celebrations and he wasn’t the only one stumbling around in their nice clothes from the previous night, either.

Once he arrived at the neighborhood which was livelier than the rest of the city, he asked around and was guided to a small hole in the wall shop and proceeded to buy three, curious what this food was. 

As he was heading back to the hotel a store window caught his eye and he crossed the street to look at the jewelery on display. It surprised him to see a man behind the counter at this early hour but he took it as a sign and entered.

Arthur walked in, rolled his shoulders and looked around. His eyes adjusted to the dim interior and glided over the assortment of pendants, necklaces, tiaras, brooches, swaying and clinking softly in the wake of the breeze that followed him in. It had started to rain in earnest and he was the only customer. It was, by all accounts, too early for this kind of shopping.

The man behind the counter didn’t push and merely glanced over before he dived back into his newspaper. There was a strong, warm smell of coffee in the air.

“Late night?” observed the man, looking over his tuxedo when Arthur approached the counter.

He grunted and dug into his satchel and retrieved the slender ring and carefully placed it on the counter.

“Don’ need this no more,” he sighed.

The man placed an oversized lens in front of an eye and picked it up and took his time inspecting. “Charming,” he nodded thoughtfully before the big owl eye behind the lens blinked at him and a polite “I’m sorry, son” was added at the implication. His tone was more neutral when he continued: “I can take it off your hands.” He went to the cash register but he saw something in Arthur’s eyes and shuffled back over. “Anything else you need, young man?”

“Need another ring,” was the gravely response. 

The man hesitated. “She didn’t like it or…?”

“No. That business is over. Need a new one.”

“Ah I see. Well…what did you have in mind? Something similar?”

“Different.”

“Anything specific she likes? A certain color…a certain gem?”

He thought on this for a moment.

“Somethin’…Italian.”

The man hummed and scratched one oversized ear. “That’s not a request we get every day. But I do have some interesting rings.”

He went to the back and was gone a while and Arthur watched people through the store window running around under their umbrellas, trying to jump around puddles. Horses clopped by, their legs and underside splattered with mud. 

When the man shuffled back in, he had a tray at hand. The navy velvet underlining was old and dusty. On it, two dozen rings displayed like artifacts.

“We have old, we have new, we have diamond or white gold. Anything catch your eye? I have more in the back.”

Arthur bent over and gave the rings a cursory inspection. They looked like any other ring to him. He staightened, dissatisfied. 

“Something more…unique.”

The store owner gave him a narrow eyed hum and took the tray back, then returned with another. He wordlessly places the tray in front of him and withdrew a little.

The blue eyes carefully glided over each, then paused on one. “What’s this?”

“That there is a cameo,” the man said, pulling it out of its clasp and dropping it into Arthur’s large palm. 

“What’s that?”

“A carving of seashells. It’s very Italian. Romans used to wear these.”

“Ya got more o’these?”

A nod and the man shuffled off again. Arthur held the ring against the dim light from the large store window. Rose colored background, on it the ivory profile of a woman with gentle lines and wispy details. It looked very pretty and quite different from the rings he had stuffed into the camp box over the years.

“How about these, son?”

The tray held only five rings but that was four too many. His eyes immediately snapped to the second to last on the row. “That one,” he pointed.

“You have good taste.” It was dropped into his palm and he returned the other ring. An oval head, about the size of a corn kernel, deep blue background. The band slim and elegant. On it the ephemeral white image of a lady and a horse, the mane of the horse flowing and her skirts slightly blowing as she was reaching out a tiny hand to pet it.

“This one,” he said, voice raspy with fascination. “Perfect.”

The man nodded, pleased. “I’m obliged to admit that it’s not very valuable,’ he said. “In case she…gets disappointed. Cameos rarely are unless they’re antiques. But it’s very pretty and unique.”

“She won’ care,” he said, turning it between his fingers. “Seashells, huh?”

“Seashells. The value is the craftsmanship.”

“Italian. Horse. Ocean blue. Seashells…” he noted and looked up to the jeweler to clarify: “She came on a ship.” He was astonished at his luck and at this point, tempted to call it fate. “It’s made for’er. I’ll take it.”

The man nodded and produced a small box and placed the ring in it. “I still owe you the difference,” he said and moved to the cash register.

“It’s fine,” Arthur said dismissively and pocketed the ring. 

“How about a ring for yourself instead then?”

“I got one. From before.” He hesitated. “But…thinkin’ might be better I get a new one.”

“I agree,” the man said. “It's a new journey. Requires a new vessel.”

The store owner offered his congratulations when he left and headed back to the hotel, grinning for no apparent reason. He marveled a little how that elusive thing he had thought was forever beyond his reach was here now, so close he could almost taste it:

Family.

And not one cobbled together out of circumstances or convenience, but a proper family - chosen. Asked for and accepted. After thirty-six years of living and doing, it was maybe the only mark he would leave in this world, the only deed he could point at and boast about. Six months ago he was telling Hosea it wasn’t in the cards for him and today he had bought a ring. Sure, some of it was luck. But this was no whimsical luck of a bullet missing by inches - he had chased it, fought for it, clawed at it, so it was as much an accomplishment as it was luck and yes, he was proud of it. Don’t fuck this up, he thought. Not again. Just hold the course. Don’t do nothing stupid. If he held steady, surely she would accept.

He was superstitious about counting his chickens before they hatched, wary that allowing himself to daydream about it would invite the ire of the universe and with it, all the bad luck he was owed for the life he had led, but couldn’t resist the temptation today and very carefully, almost shyly allowed himself to revel in the feeling of being loved and wanted. Of being needed. Someone in this world loved him, wanted him - the concept seemed absurd. Not because he was a skilled shooter or a loyal enforcer, not because he added money to the box or took risks - someone loved him despite those things and didn’t expect anything from him but his company. 

When he entered the room she was standing by the window, bed cover draped over her naked shoulders like a cape.

”You were gone for a while. Did you find it?” she said, running over. 

”Did,” he said as she practically ripped the bag off his hands and scrambled to sit at the table.

She fished out one beigel and bit into it, moaning with pleasure.

”The hell gotten into you?” he chuckled, peeling off his jacket.

”Dis ow yu luk wen yu eat,” she mumbled around her food and comically scrunched her face and chomped with exaggerated fury.

He laughed and sat across from her and they ate to the sound of the rain on the windowpane. The hotel started to wake up but slowly, lazily.

”Oh my god,” she groaned, caressing her tummy and leaning back on the chair when she had devoured the beigel, for the first time finishing a meal before he did. “That hit the spot. Thank you.” Then she found the third one in the bag. “You’re going to eat this, or…?”

”Go ahead,” he grimaced. “Think ‘m good.”

He got up and went to the connected room and started to fill the tub while he undressed, hanging his clothes on the hooks on the wall. When it was done and the temperature of the water adjusted, he sank in with a groan and she came in, threw the covers off her shoulders and gingerly sat between his legs. He sat back and lit the complimentary cigar placed on a tray beside the tub and she groaned with pleasure and leaned back into his chest. There were no windows in this room but there was a skylight and they listened to the rain drumming on it as he smoked and she dozed off and woke up intermittently.

“Quiet Sunday,” she mumbled at last. “Must be the rain,” and shifted to settle more comfortably between his legs.

His free hand untangled her locks and glided over her shoulders and her breasts as he smoked. He thought of the ring in his satchel and all the quiet mornings in the future. The sense of loss and rudderless drifting that always used to fill him at the idea of the absence of the gang, of Dutch and Hosea and Grimshaw and the conversations at the camp fire didn’t come. Maybe because he had been gradually weaned off it these past six months, or maybe because it felt due, earned like a deserved retirement after a lifetime of work, but he was ready for it - eager even.

Eager for peace and quiet and days spent in the unhurried pleasure of simple tasks. Eager to watch the sun set on his porch somewhere and listen to her preparing dinner inside. To set his own agenda instead of following one set for him. To come up with little chores around the cabin to keep himself busy. 

For as long as he could remember, he had coasted like a log in the river of life. Always moving, carried by the current. Sometimes caught in an eddy, a little enclave for a while, but eventually pushed out again to be rolled along. Always living off crates, sleeping in tents. He tried to imagine actually having a place of his own that was permanent and worth getting attached to. He tried to imagine waking up in the same room, looking at the same view out of the same window every single day and watch the seasons change. He tried to imagine things being in cupboards and shelves, hung on walls, his clothes in closets. He tried to imagine having a routine not for a week or a month but for years. To meet people in towns and to actually expect to meet them again.

Dutch always said there was freedom in the nomad life and there was. But he had been doing it for over twenty years now and it didn’t feel as illustrious as it did when he was younger. Hosea was right - this was a young man’s life. Maybe there was freedom in drifting, but there was comfort and peace in growing roots and he was ready, hungry to grow roots.

“This is nice,” she sighed, hands gliding up the incline of his thighs to settle on his knees. “I think you’re right - we do need that large tub in the cabin.”

He wiped the hair off her shoulder to kiss it. The rain intensified and they sat there until the water became tepid. Then they drained some of it and refilled it with hot water and sat some more. The cigar smelled woody and toasty, the soap bubbles fresh and floral. 

“Wish this day would never end,” she whispered. "It's perfect."

There was a quiet, delicious heat in his chest that he didn’t recognize.

"Wish that, too," he sighed. 

[twstfanblog]

Twist OC Fankid Info!

Draconia Triplets

**Malgona Draconia-Crewel**

Age: 18 (June 13th)

School: Junior at NRC. Captain of the discontinued girls spelldrive team and Diasomnia Housewarden.

Height: 6'2" (not counting horns)

Hair: Knee length straight black, curly in humidity

Eyes: Father's green eyes, glows purple when using magic.

Likes: Napping, gems, candy crush style games, hand to hand combat, wearing heels (she enjoys the click they do), bullying other students

Dislikes: Slime, being woken up from her naps, the fae council, the consequences of her actions, most modern horror films

Pets?: A new gen Roaring Drago. She calls it fat.

Fav Food: Spaghetti with meatballs and cherry tomatoes (Rubies)

Who's their Best Friend?: Sadiki Kingscholar-Bucchi

Dating/Crush?: Gilbert Flamme (Dating against the wishes of both their fathers.)

Comes across as a very serious person, but it is just her mother at her core. Speaks in formalities in public, swears like a sailor in private/with people she's close to. Lowkey hovers over the Chaotic Evil alignment. While evil at her core, she's been raised with love and understanding. So, to show that love, she's made the choice not to become an evil dictator until Malleus has passed.

To make up for her weak magic skills has become very good at hand to hand combat (WHO TAUGHT THE TANK JUDO????)

Is very open about her goal to overblot one day.

Gets periods like her mother. (Literally sends out a period ping to make her mother and Charsya start theirs as well before sleeping through hers entirely)

Unique Magic: Dragon's Hoard (Working Title). Though her magic radius is painfully small compared to her brothers, she's able to absorb the magic of offensive spells and use it as her own. Hasn't needed to use her own magic for a few years now. Discovered during a failed assassination attempt when the triplets were 8.

**Malathew Draconia-Crewel**

Age: 18 (June 13th)

School: Junior at NRC. Member of the Debate Club and Diasomnia Vice Warden

Height: 6'2" (not counting horns)

Hair: Shoulder length straight black hair, curly in humidity

Eyes: Father's green eyes, glows teal when using magic.

Likes: Stim slime, maps, learning languages, studying, playing charades, reorganizing files to the disadvantage of everyone else.

Dislikes: Being cold, grainy textures, energy drinks, blind obedience

Pets?: New gen Roaring Drago. Lost it in the castle library and cried for days until a servant found it.

Fav Food: Chunky Beef Stew (Eats Paper)

Who's their Best Friend?: Jabari Kingscholar-Bucchi (I know what you ARE...)

Dating/Crush?: Jabari Kingscholar-Bucchi (Neither seem...to realize they are just straight up dating)

The easiest to approach of the triplets. Loves talking to people and finding new things to connect over. More of a 'trap card' style fighter than direct attacks.

Chaotic Neutral to the core. There for a good time and kind of hates that Malgona makes him be the brain cell at times. Potentially has a crush on Jabari that he's purely confusing for friendly admiration.

Terrible at jokes. They either fall completely flat or get so out of control that a small nation is being destroyed in a civil war. This has happened TWICE. (Malacent: I can't joke with anyone...)

Unique Magic: Undiscovered. Unbothered and in no rush to figure it out.

**Malicent Draconia-Crewel**

Age: 18 (June 13th)

School: Junior at NRC. Member of the Gargoyle Research Society (Diasomnia base status).

Height: 6'2" (NOt counting horns)

Hair: Chin length straight black, curly in humidity

Eyes: Father's green eyes, glows green when using magic

Likes: Exploring, the wilderness, sword fighting, weapons, military strategies, flying with his siblings and dad at night.

Dislikes: Sour candy,being on bed rest, oversleeping, horseback riding, gargoyles (Most of them unsettle him. He would NEVER tell his dad.)

Pets?: New gen Roaring Drago. Takes it with him on his exploring trips

Fav Food: Spicy pan-fried chicken (Chews paperclips)

Who's their Best Friend: Beau Zigvolt-Vanrouge

Dating/Crush?: No time for that romance mess, hes got magic and sword fighting to learn. (Claimed he was going to marry Sebek when he was young. DON'T BRING THAT UP)

The friendliest yet pettiest of the triplets. Has cursed his classmates multiple times over small things like someone taking the last pudding cup at lunch or not saying 'bless you' when someone sneezes. Strong magic but prefers sword fighting, enchants his weapons in his spare time. Claims to be Lawful Good but is Chaotic Good at best.

Has an odd blessing on him that in dire times, he will always be lucky. No one is sure where the blessing came from.

Managed to snap one of his horns completely in half as a child. Because of that, the other horn had to be shaved down to keep his head level, so Malicent's horns are noticeably shorter than his older siblings. (Malgona tried to bolt cut her and Malathew's horns off in an act of solidarity, but Lilia managed to stop her)

Unique Magic: Undiscovered. Bothered and pouting about it since Malgona got hers.

And that's the Draconia Triplets! Next up, the Ashengrotto Twins!

[rayslittlekitten]

Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls

A/N: This is finally done! I swear I started this like two years ago inspired by a Writer Wednesday prompt and I kinda got stuck trying to paint the exact picture I had in my mind and I think I finally succeeded. Okay maybe a little less detailed, but it's got the point I wanted to make across. This is kinda like a villain origin story. I chose to pair him with an OC (who also has physical descriptions) instead of reader character because this is really all about Dieter and I don’t think the reader would want to be the OC anyways. Also thanks to the lovely @lovebarefootblonde for beta reading!

Rating: T/M

Word Count: ~4.5k

Pairing: Young!Dieter Bravo (18+) x Named OFC

Plot: Dieter stumbles into his own Hollywood movie, but it's not the ending he expected.

Contains: mentions of sex, recreational drug use, angst

The sun is starting to set and palm tree silhouettes sway in front of the pink and orange skyline. The Golden Hour. The light casts long shadows as the glowing star descends. Dieter quickly pedals, cutting through alleyways and side streets to avoid the rush hour traffic and tourists.

Finally, he bursts through the front door of his apartment holding a take out bag and sweating like he just ran a marathon. He pants and tries to catch his breath as he quickly makes his way to the kitchen and shoves the bag into the nearly empty refrigerator. After slamming the door shut, he jogs over to the bathroom where he passes his roommate on the couch.

"I brought home some leftovers if you want it," Dieter quickly mentions.

"Is it a cheeseburger?" his roommate asks, his eyes never leaving the television screen.

"No! It's spaghetti and meatballs!" Dieter shouts from the bathroom where he starts getting rid of his sweaty and smelly clothes from waiting tables all day after turning on the shower.

"There's a party happening downtown tonight. Are you going?"

"No, I got this gig last minute. I gotta leave in like 10 minutes," he replies before shoving his toothbrush into his mouth.

"Come on, there's gonna be so many women there!" his roommate comments.

Dieter rushes through cleaning his teeth and spits into the sink.

"I'm working the Titanic premiere at the Chinese theater," he shouts before jumping into the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm up. He shrieks at the shock of the cold temperature.

After Dieter's record quick shower, he throws on some decently clean clothes after giving them a sniff and then shoves his feet into his shoes.

"The Titanic premiere? Get out! Who the hell did you have to blow to get that gig?" his roommate asks skeptically.

"No one. One of my coworkers also works catering and someone dropped out," Dieter shrugs. "I'm getting paid to serve stars. I'm not passing up on that."

"Well, look at you, climbing the Hollywood social ladder. Next, you're gonna tell me you're the new Leonardo DiCaprio."

"You could be the next Leonardo DiCaprio if you actually went to auditions instead of waiting for someone to notice you," Dieter shoots back.

"You do you man. I have my own methods," he replies smugly.

"I gotta go. See you later. Please do the dishes before you go to this party," Dieter adds before grabbing an apple out of a fruit bowl sitting on the kitchen counter and taking off.

***

As Dieter races to the theater on his bike, riding as quick as he possibly could while weaving through traffic, he slows down for a moment when he sees the large crowd lined up by the red carpet outside of the beautiful iconic theater. His breath is taken away as he admires the glitz and glamor in front of him.

The Grauman’s Chinese Theatre is a place he’s gotten well acquainted with since moving to Los Angeles. It’s one of his favorite places to go in his free time, watching all the new film releases. Sometimes multiple times if he enjoys them that much. However, he’s never actually attended a movie premiere and the elegant transformation has him in a chokehold.

As he approaches the theater, he hops off mid-roll as he slows down and hears a loud roar coming from the fans barricaded off to the side. He can't see who it is, but a limo just pulled up to the front of the theater and the screams get louder as someone steps out of the car and walks down the red carpet. He knows one day, it'll be him walking down that plush red carpet and loved by fans.

He moves quickly to behind the theater where his coworker told him to meet her. He sprints when he finds his coworker right outside the back door appearing to finish putting on her uniform.

"Oh, thank goodness you made it!" She says as she buttons up her uniform vest.

"I got here as quickly as I could." He drops his bike and with his hands on his knees, Dieter pauses to catch his breath.

"We don't have time!" She tosses him his uniform vest.

Dieter instantly throws the vest on.

"Come on! We gotta run," she tells him as she takes off inside.

"What about my bike?" he asks as he throws his bag over his shoulder.

"Bring it in!" she shouts from the long hallway.

Dieter takes his bike with him and rushes inside, letting the door close behind him. He leaves the bike and bag somewhere and she gestures to him to hurry. As he follows her, he buttons up and stuffs his shirt into his pants. By the time they enter the kitchen, he's mostly put together as he smooths out his hair, slicking it back.

He doesn't even get a moment to catch his breath when a tray of hors d'oeuvres get shoved into his hands.

"Go, go, go!" the man in apron shouts as he nudges Dieter towards the swinging doors.

Dieter rushes out while trying not to tip over the tray. He gathers his composure and walks around offering hors d'oeuvres while taking in the celebrities and VIPs. He was so in awe of everything and everyone around him, being in the midst of one of the most important parties celebrating what he believes will be one of the biggest movies of the year. It’s James freakin’ Cameron!

Throughout the night, he continues to walk around with trays of food and beverages while taking everything in. He’s taking notice of what people are wearing, saying, who’s talking to who. Even though he’s not able to mingle with the stars, he’s just as happy that he gets to still, in a way, be in the middle of it all. He was even able to sneak into the theater a few times to watch the movie.

As he makes his way back to the kitchen with an empty tray, suddenly he’s blindsided by a swinging door.

“Oops! I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t know you were behind the door,” the person apologizes.

“You went out the wrong door,” he exclaims while picking up his tray off the floor.

“Are you okay?”

When Dieter looks up at the offending person, his face softens. She looks like a Golden Aged Hollywood star. Her long wavy hair cascades down her exposed back. Her floor-length shiny dress is slinky against her smooth skin, hugging her every curve and dip, and flaring out at her ankles. Her long fanned out lashes and cat eyeliner frame her piercing eyes.

“I… yeah I’m… I’m good,” he stammers, swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth. “Um, can I help you? Are, are you lost?” He vaguely points to the kitchen doors.

“Say, you happen to know where I can powder my nose?” She asks curiously while tapping the tip of her nose with he satin-covered fingertip.

“Uhhh, the ladies’ room is that way,” he points to a general direction.

“You’re adorable,” she compliments with a giggle after a silent moment studying him. “This is your first time working one of these big Hollywood parties, isn’t it?”

“Uhhh… no?”

Something out of his eyesight catches her attention and she loops her arm through his before quickly swooping him away into a different direction.

“So, uh, what did you say your name was again?” She asks as she briskly moves them farther away from where they were, occasionally glancing back.

“I, I didn’t,” he stutters. “Where are we going?”

“You know where we can just get away from the crowd and maybe get some air?” She asks while scanning the place.

“Yes, I actually do. Follow me!”

Dieter stealthily navigates them both to a section for employees only and out through a back alleyway. She looks behind them and when she sees that nobody has followed them, she lets out a sigh of relief.

“Phew! Thank you so much,” she says to him.

“No problem. So who or what were we running away from back there?” Dieter asks her.

“What are you talking about?” She asks calmly.

“You wanted to get the hell out of there and you kept looking back like you’re checking to see if anyone was following us.”

She ignores his observation, walking off a few feet away to put some distance between them as she takes out a cigarette from her clutch.

“Are you in danger?” Dieter asks.

She scoffs and lets out a chuckle.

“No, nothing dramatic like that,” she responds right before she lights her cigarette and takes a drag.

He notices she doesn’t have a wristband or any visible credentials.

“Are you even supposed to be at this party?” He asks her with narrow eyes.

Suddenly the door swings open, knocking into Dieter and preventing it from opening further. He moves aside and pokes his head around the door.

“Hey, sorry, buddy. Did you happen to see a woman with long dark hair about this tall come out this way? She has on like a long shiny dress?”

“Uhhh…” Dieter glances around the alleyway on both sides and briefly notices the woman hiding behind the door with her back against the brick wall, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

“I mean, that could be anyone here,” Dieter responds to the man with a small smirk. “But no, I didn’t.” He shakes his head to underline his confirmation.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks with slight suspicion, noticing his uniform. “Shouldn’t you be inside working?”

“I’m just taking a break,” he shrugs.

The woman quietly offers Dieter her lit cigarette behind the door and he takes it from her without raising any alarms.

“A smoke break.” He shows the man the cigarette in his hand before taking a puff himself.

“Well, make it quick. if you see anyone matching that description, please let me know.”

And with that, he hands Dieter his business card.

“Will do, sir!” Dieter nods to him as he takes the card.

Dieter watches the man walk back into the building, and when he is completely out of sight, he looks over to where she is and notices she has started to tiptoe away.

“He’s gone,” Dieter tells her.

She stops in her tracks and turns around.

“Thank you for that. I really appreciate it.” She claps her hands together.

“You owe him some money or something?” Dieter asks, slowly walking towards her while taking another pull of her cigarette.

“Mm, I guess it depends on who you ask,” she replies coyly.

“What does that mean?” He tilts his head curiously.

After what he did for her, she feels she owes him at least an explanation.

“We had just met a few hours ago and I charmed him enough to sneak into this party but I got bored halfway in. I thought I’d be able to rub elbows with some important people, but turns out he doesn’t really know those important people here and if you don’t know anyone, you’d be lucky to even get to say just hi to the people everyone wants to talk to, so I dressed my best for nothing,” she replies.

Dieter checks the business card that was handed to him and it reads:

“Lights, Camera, Catering

Abner Bailey Jones

CEO”

“Shit, I think that was my boss,” Dieter laughs. “But that still doesn’t explain why he’s looking for you and why you’re avoiding him.”

“My guess is he’s expecting something in return for him getting me into the party,” she shrugs.

“Oooh,” he simply replies. “Wait a minute. So you got all glammed up and came here not knowing if you were going to get into the premiere?” He asks.

“You gotta fake it ‘til you make it, right?” She shrugs again as she struts back to him and takes her cigarette back. “So you ever gonna tell me your name? You can call me Beatrice.”

She takes a long drag while waiting for his answer.

“Dieter. My stage name," he explains. "It's a nickname my family gave me when I was a kid because I couldn't pronounce theater correctly which I loved going to all the time and it came out sounding like Dieter and it just stuck. The movie theater is where my passion for acting started."

“Of course you’re an actor. What’s your real name?" 

Dieter doesn't answer, but simply flashes a cheeky smirk at her, his dimple creasing deeper into his face.

"Hmm, suddenly so mysterious. Nice to meet you, Dieter.” Beatrice extends her gloved hand out and Dieter shakes it.

“You’re new in town, aren't you?" she asks curiously then drops the cigarette butt on the asphalt.

"Not really. I moved here about six months ago."

"Six months only? Oh, you are new in town," she comments. "Practically a tourist."

"Really?" he asks with a tilt to his head. “What makes you say that?"

"Your eagerness. You still got that sparkle in your eyes. You haven’t been jaded by Hollywood yet.”

“And you have, I suppose?”

Beatrice shrugs and flashes an award-winning smile, her turn to be a little mysterious. Her blood red lips make her perfect teeth even brighter.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here? Got a place we can go to just like, hang out?” she asks.

Dieter looks around to make sure she was talking to him and then stares back at her like a deer in headlights.

“M-me? You wanna hang out with me?” He points to his own chest, shocked.

“Yeah, why does that surprise you?”

“I mean you… you look like that,” he points to her dress. “And well…” He then gestures his hands to himself.

“You look like a star. I just didn’t think women who look like you would want anything to do with people who look like me,” he replies.

“It’s that kinda thinking that makes me want to hang out with you even more. You’re not full of yourself. You seem like a cool guy, Dieter.”

Dieter’s face flushes. “Thank you. You seem super cool too. Like way cooler than me. Oh! My shift ends in…” he glances at his watch. “Maybe another hour.”

“Oh, come on, Dieter!”

Dieter sighs, stuck between staying for the party or going with this beautiful woman in front of him.

“You’re not gonna leave a damsel all in distress, are you?” Beatrice fakes an exaggerated pout while batting her hazel eyes.

“You have a habit of following around strangers?” He teases.

“Strangers? You and me? No. You lied for me and basically saved my life. You’re practically my savior,” she corrects him.

“Saved your life? I thought you weren’t in any danger. ‘Nothing dramatic like that’, I believe you said,” he jabs back.

“You saved me from dying of boredom,” she smirks and it draws a small laugh out of Dieter. “So what do you say, hero?”

Dieter chews on his lower lip as he weighs his options.

“Come on, you really wanna work this boring party? I’m pretty sure half the cast left already,” she gripes. “Oh, I also got…”

Beatrice fishes inside her clutch and pulls out a small baggie.

“Weed! I don’t know if you indulge, but I’m willing to share,” she tempts him as she dangles the baggie. “We can chill out and talk about the movie or whatever.”

After a few more moments, he finally makes a decision.

“Wait right here. I’ll be right back,” Dieter tells her right before he rushes back inside.

“Yes!” Beatrice exclaims enthusiastically.

A few minutes later, Dieter returns with his bag and bike.

“My coworker’s gonna cover for me. She owes me a favor,” Dieter says.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s gonna fit the both of us, especially not while wearing this.” She points out her delicate gown. “Let’s hail a cab!”

***

After grabbing some tacos off a street cart, they end up back at his place.

"I don't think my roommate is home. He went to some party downtown,” Dieter says while giving her a quick tour of his apartment.

When they finally reach his messy bedroom, she notices the canvases sprawled throughout.

"You're an artist?” Beatrice asks while admiring the art.

"I dabble in paint whenever I have the time,” he shrugs. “Which sometimes is a lot,” he laughs.

"Your style is interesting. What do you have going on here?" She asks, pointing to a canvas with splotches of color on it.

"I don't know yet. I just paint whatever comes to my mind." He stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs as he walks over to the painting.

"Whenever I get inspired, I just..." He vaguely gestures his hand to the half empty white surface. "I have to admit, many of them have been under the influence," he laughs.

"Oh, yeah? What's your poison of choice?" she asks, suddenly very interested.

“Well, usually just some marijuana. That one was actually a result of the first time I tried mushrooms.” Dieter points to a different painting.

“Have you ever tried cocaine?”

“That’s a rich man’s candy,” Dieter replies, shaking his head.

“I can get some for us,” she offers. “I know someone.”

“You have that kind of money?” He asks curiously with a raised brow, inching closer to her.

“Money isn’t the only currency there is, especially out here in Hollywood."

Dieter studies her for a few moments trying to understand what she could mean.

“A-are you… do you…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question without possibly offending her.

“No, I’m not a prostitute if that’s what you’re going to ask,” she chuckles. "But you wouldn't be the first person to think that."

"I'm not judging." He puts his hands up in defense. "Everyone's gotta do whatever they can to survive."

"Especially out here in the wild, wild West. People are nice to each other, but in the end it's everyone for themselves." She tips her head to him.

"I wish you success but also hope I get the role instead of you, ha ha ha,” she mocks with an obvious fake laugh and then rolls her eyes. "So much ego."

“Ouch. Sounds like you've been burned before.” Dieter walks over to her.

"Yeah, but I have thick skin. You've gotta have that to be in this game. You've gotta grow one after the umpteenth rejection. Or even worse, having to suck it up and reject a role because you refuse to suck a dick for it— a background role at that. You mind?" She pulls out a joint and the corner of his lips turn up.

“Not if you share," he replies.

She lights it up and after taking a pull, she hands it to him.

"Can't say I've had the opportunity to suck a dick for a role yet," he chuckles before taking a hit.

"Oh, trust me, you will. There is no discrimination. Women might get it more often, but there are definitely men who have fucked to get a role as well."

“I should be, but why am I not surprised?” he chimes in.

“Enough of all this talk. It’s bringing the mood down. Oh, I’ve got an idea!” she says, taking a drag of the joint as she lays down on his bed. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

"Are you for real?" he asks.

"Yes, I am." She takes another drag and passes the joint back to him before starting to strip down.

Dieter is shocked and speechless. He is in awe as he watches her remove her clothes until she's down to her lacy underwear. Her braless breasts hang freely as she lays down on her side, just like Rose did.

“Are you just gonna stare at me all night or do you need more drugs?” she asks him after a few moments.

“I’m just admiring the art that’s already in front of me,” he replies before taking another toke of the joint.  “Not sure if any amount of drugs will do it any justice.”

“You’re sweet,” she comments as warmth rises to her face. “But I wanna see what you see. As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Dieter continues to study her for a few more seconds before finally nodding.

“Alright. I think I got something.”

He passes the joint back to her and with that, Dieter starts squeezing some paint onto his palette, mixing colors and spreading them on the canvas. His dark round eyes dart around her face and body, taking in the image in front of him and then finally scraping some paint onto the canvas to spit out what his mind is processing.

She can’t see what he’s doing but notices he’s using a lot of different colors and broad strokes. After about ten minutes of this, a wide smirk plays on his face.

“What? Do I look silly like a Picasso or something?” She asks.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I just can’t believe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met is naked on my bed, asking me to paint her.”

“You don’t get a lot of women getting naked in your bed for a portrait?” She teases before taking another drag and passing it on to Dieter.

“No,” he laughs, taking a pull of his own.

“Although, I’m not quite naked yet.” Beatrice slides off the bed and struts towards him. “Let me see what you’ve got so far.”

“No, no, it’s not quite finished—“

She takes a peek despite his protests and the breath is knocked out of her.

“Dieter, this is…” She’s at a loss for words.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… it’s really rough and—”

“This is beautiful!” She turns to him.

It’s a somewhat abstract piece with globs of paint spackled onto the canvas. He highlighted the soft features of her face and how her tendrils of long curls hung off her head. Her bright red lips pop out against the browns, beiges and yellows behind it. A splash of blue and green in the background pulls her away from the canvas. While her body isn’t complete yet, the simple and rough outline he laid out seemed intentional. If he hadn’t said anything, she would have thought he was finished.

“Thank you, you’re kind.” His face heats up as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I mean it, Dieter. Seriously! You have a gift.”

Dieter is now the one speechless. His face starts to get warm and pink.

“But maybe you need a closer look to finish this painting. Catch the details you might have missed.”

Beatrice proceeds to push her panties down until they hit the floor, which made his jaw do that as well. She then takes the joint from him, takes a big hit and straddles his lap. Leaning in, her lips graze his as she opens her mouth. He opens up his own and sucks in the smoke into his lungs. After a moment, their lips meet and they begin to make out, working up to fog his windows.

***

When Dieter wasn't at an audition or waiting on people, he spent most of his time with Beatrice. They'd sneak into movie theaters to catch a flick, especially when they were playing classics, which they both appreciated, but many times they ended up making out instead. Sometimes they'd take long strolls along the Santa Monica pier while smoking weed. At some point, she introduced him to cocaine and whatever drugs she was able to get her hands on, and in turn he would churn out pieces of art while admiring her, his muse.

They did almost everything together. They laughed, cried, loved, and tripped together. They even went on auditions together and supported each other in preparing for them. He had such a strong connection with her, sharing the same passions and navigating life together in this crazy movie town. He thought he found his soulmate.

It was the best time of his life. He was living his own Hollywood movie and he felt like he was at the top of the world, just like Jack Dawson, but he then learned he’s no Leonardo DiCaprio. As quickly as he got high on all this, the crash came down just as fast.

"I don't understand," Dieter says, confused.

"You don't make friends in this business, Dieter. You make transactions and deals."

"Wow," he could only muster up with wide eyes. "What about relationships? Friendships? Do you have any connection - a genuine connection - with anyone?"

"The only connections I need are transactional. I give something in exchange for something else, whether it be for survival, pleasure or power."

He scrubs a hand over his face and studies her for a few moments.

"So what was I? What did you get in exchange for... for whatever this is?" Dieter asks, waving his hand between them.

"You had a good time, right?" she shrugs as she throws a small smile.

"This was more than just a good time for me," Dieter shoots back with air quotes. "I-I thought we had something special. We talked about making it in Hollywood together!”

"Oh, honey..." she frowns and reaches for his face, but he flinches, pulling away from her and walking off.

"How do you-- how can you--" Dieter takes a deep breath to compose himself.

"Hollywood is going to eat you alive, sweetheart. You're not cut out for this place," Beatrice shakes her head.

"No," Dieter shakes his head. "You get one fucking role and then you think you're too good for me?"

"It's nothing personal," she explains. "I'm just playing by the rules. I didn't create them. And once I'm in, like in in, I can help maybe you get your foot in too."

Dieter is speechless. He just stares at her with misty eyes and brows turned down, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I don’t need your charity or… or your fucking connections! Did you have to suck a dick for that role?”

She looks back at him in disgust and scoffs.

“No need to be rude. I earned that role,” she replies with her arms crossed.

“That’s not a no,” he retorts.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself,” she huffs. “Look, I just came to tell you I can’t see you anymore and to pick up my things and say goodbye.”

Dieter just stares at her again, trying to process what is unfolding as the reality sinks in.

“Just go. Take your shit and go,” he simply says.

After she gathers her things, she takes one more glance at him.

“Goodbye, Dieter.”

When he doesn’t respond, she finally walks out the door, leaving Dieter to cry alone and pick up the broken pieces of his heart.

[acsy]

Not much of a demon slayer fan, not much of a muzan lover, even less of a muzan apologist, but I love muzan fans so much they are positively (?) Feral. Something has to be going on in their minds because how can you be so unhinged, horny, hateful, homicidal, sadistic, masochistic and suicidal all at the same time. I want whatever they are on, especially the oc shippers. Not ONE person wants to be loved and cherished, they just want to be abused and used till their organs look like spaghetti and meatballs and for every reason, may it be horny or gory.

Anyways I want whatever they are on.

[rjmartin11]

Earth Angel, Heavenly Boy Part 3

Pairing: Angel!Elvis & OC!black!female

Summary: After a nearly fatal car accident, a mysterious man saved the life of a young woman who believes the young man is more than what he seems.

Word Count:???

Warnings: Slowburn, talks about God, Biblical stuff like angels, demons, the devil, spirituality, and realism.

Author's Notes: Welcome to Part Three. Bring a little religion in here. I hope that's okay. I'm an open Christian, meaning I gladly speak on God. Elvis was an open Christian, which I find sexy as all get out. As beautiful as he was, he could have been a narcissist, vain, boastful, arrogant, exectra. But he was humble. There's nothing more sexy than a humble man. At least, in my opinion. 😊😊😊

If you enjoy this chapter, like, comment, repost, and follow for more fun!

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・🪽・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Noel was silent on the drive home. She contemplates her life, and all she can do is remain quiet.

"Nole?" Trish asks. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah."

"What do you want to eat?"

Noel turns to look at Trish and says, "Everything that I've denied for the last two years of this diet. I want burgers and fries and hot dogs and fried chicken and cake and brownies! I've only lost his forty pounds, and I work myself to the bone to make ends meet! I want to go to Italy and eat pizza and pasta and gelato. I wanna drink wine and rum and vodka!"

"Nole! Take a breath!" Trish says.

Noel takes a breath, and the flood gates open. Everything she's holding in comes out all at once. Having a death experience puts a lot in perspective for a woman who had very little.

"Nole, breathe. Take a deep breath and breathe," Trish says. "It's late, but I'll get you something good to eat."

It's fifteen minutes after one in the morning. Trish was able to find an old Mom and Pop restaurant open late. They order up chicken alfredo, spaghetti with meatballs, salad with the fixings, and a large pizza with a bottle of red wine.

By the time they get to her house, Noel and Trish unpack the car and head into Noel's apartment. Noel is thrilled to be home after a long, exhausting day. She's been faithful to her diet, but she needs a cheat day.

They set up her dining table with on the food, grab some plates, and wine glasses. The next thing Noel does is pour herself a glass of wine. Then Noel and Trish begin to indulge quietly in their dinner. Noel eats her dinner like it's going to disappear before she's done.

"Nole, slow down," Trish says.

"Sorry," Noel says, a mouth full of pizza. "I missed this type of cuisine."

Noel sips her wine and thinks about Dr. Elvis Carpenter. What he said about calling him. She was going to need someone to speak to about her issues. She held her glass to her lips.

"Penny for your thoughts, Nole?" Trish says. "I know this is a dumb question to ask, but are you okay?"

"Trish, did you know that the guy who hit me was in the ICU?"

"No, I didn't."

"I kept hearing them say that I shouldn't have survived the crash. I should be dead. They questioned how I'm still here... I know I should be dead. I was dead, Trish." Noel takes another sip from her glass.

"I'm sure you were just terrified, Trish."

"You said you saw my car? How bad was it? Honestly."

Trish looks her in the eyes but remains silent. She can't look in Noel's eyes for long, knowing the truth.

"Your silence speaks volumes."

"Nole... your car was totaled. It flipped over several times, it seemed. All the windows were shattered. There was blood on the driver's side, and a part of the driver's seat was crushed." Trish pauses at the mere thought of it all.

"Physically, you shouldn't be here drinking wine with me. It's theoretically impossible! But here you are without anything close to a scratch on you. Nole, you know I'm not really into the Christian stuff because I'm a realist, but the best word to describe this situation is..."

"Miracle," Noel whispers.

Trish tears up at the word.

"Yeah, Nole. It's a miracle that you're still here. I thought I lost my best friend."

Noel puts down her glass, stretching her arm across the small table to Trish. Trish takes her hand gratefully. A forever bond could have been broken tonight. Some bonds are stronger than others. It's a funny thing how one life can touch so many other lives.

"I love you, Nole."

"I love you too, Trish," Noel says. "I'm not planning on going anywhere for a while. I believe God wants me here just a bit longer."

"Maybe I'll go to church with you on Sunday," Trish said.

"You know, I've been doing bedside Baptist for a while. But I will go back. I think my guardian angel wants me to."

"Guardian angel?"

"Yes. I believe I was saved by an angel. As I woke up, I saw a pair of blue eyes... I believe. Then I fell asleep again."

"You shouldn't go to work tomorrow, Nole," Trish says. "You really need a break."

"I know. I wish I got a doctor's note," Noel said, putting her hand into her scrub pocket.

She feels around for a moment and realizes there's paper in her pocket. She remembered Dr. Carpenter gave her his card, but she didn't recall him giving her a doctor's excuse from work.

"Whoa..."

"Is that a doctor's note?" Trish asks.

"I believe it is. Now, all I have to do is text my boss about what happened."

"Was it that sexy doctor I saw with you?"

Noel cuts her eyes at Trish. Of course, she recognized that Elvis was gorgeous. It was undeniable, but he was out of her league.

"I believe it was Dr. Carpenter. It's his signature," Noel said.

"Dr. Carpenter? Did he give you his first name?"

"Yeah. It's Elvis, but I don't have time."

"If the accident has proven anything tonight, it's we don't have all the time in the world, Nole! Did he give you his number?" She asks Noel.

"Yes, on the professional basis that he analyzes me and sees that I'm okay. Not that way, Trish."

Noel had other things on her mind. She had this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want to lie to her boss, but she felt the boss wouldn't be understanding at the situation. It would be one thing if she was in the hospital banged up from the accident. But she came out untouched. Her car is totaled, and she needs to make plans for a loaner vehicle to get from place to place. But if she feels great, she should go to work. She'll worry about it in the morning. Not now.

"Do you need company?" Trish asks.

"I'm fine. You go home. Thank you for bringing me home and picking up dinner. I appreciate it more than you know, Trish."

"You're my best friend. If you need it, you got it. I know you're proud, but I'm here for you. Plus, you had a rough day."

"Yeah."

Noel and Trish kiss each other's cheeks and hug before Trish heads out on her way home. Noel tells her to drive safely and locks the door behind her.

Noel takes this time to clean up the table and put her leftovers in the fridge. Trish bought her enough food to last her the rest of the week. She was grateful for that. She finishes up her glass of wine and gets ready to shower.

When she sits in bed, Noel's mind is still running wild for the evening's events. She doesn't know how to slow her thoughts down. She gets herself a bottle of water and brings it back to her room. She takes a sip, turns out the light, and gets into the bed, resting her body. She closes her eyes and tries to sleep.

Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @vintagepresley @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121 @literally-just-elvis-fics @eptodaytommorowforever @vintageshanny @iloveelvis @dreamingofep @aliypop @littlehoneyposts @msamarican

[foodmyheart]

[OC] Spaghetti with Marcella Hazan's 3 ingredient tomato sauce and pork meatballs. Source: https://reddit.com/r/foodporn http://foodmyheart.tumblr.com | https://campsite.bio/foodmyheart

[coolgirl32]

Baby's first word's

As always this is in an alternate universe where my OC is married to Scott Summers and they both have kids but you all already knew that so no copyrighting or reposting this without my permission and please do enjoy and do not forget to request any fanfic you want me to write and I will write it except yandere for reasons now please do enjoy.

(I swear this man is so fine I would want him to be my baby daddy 😏) it started like any other day Jacqulyn and Scott we're in the living room with Nathan and Rachel just having a good family bonding time when suddenly Nathan and Rachel said their first words their first words were mama and dada Rachel said dada Nathan said Mama Scott and Jacqulyn's eyes were wide they were both so happy that they called everyone when they told their babies to say it again the baby said it again it was truly a happy day Jacqulyn then suddenly burst into happy tears Scott wondered what was wrong she told him nothing was wrong everything is just a happy day and that their babies is first words were Mama and Dada it was so adorable that everyone took pictures to remember the memories everyone congratulates Nathan and Rachel for saying Mama and Dada of course they're still babies and they didn't understand but doesn't matter because it's baby's first words. That night everyone was having dinner it was spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread of course the twins had their spaghetti and meatballs cut up into little pieces so it'd be easy for the babies to chew meanwhile Scott was wondering what his daughter and his son will grow up to be mutants or humans nobody knows what matters most is that his kids would grow up to be big and healthy and strong and become good people and do good choices and good things and he will love them no matter what and he knows his wife will love them no matter what as well he loves his wife and his new family and he'll continue to love them till the day he dies same with Jacqulyn she had Love in her eyes when she saw her babies and her husband smiling happily and she knew this was going to be a great day because there was no missions that day of course there were going to be more missions in the future until next time.

I hope you all enjoyed it also Nathan and Rachel are about a few months old to the point where they're teething and they can eat solid foods yeah so it's going further in the timeline I don't know I don't own X-Men 97 or marvel time is very strange and marvel comics and DC comics anyway I hope you all enjoyed this and I will be making more in the future until then I cannot wait to see sabertooth in X-Men 97

[nunezs-stuff]

For each of your OCs, what are their favourite foods and drinks?

Oh I'm so sorry this took so long

Kianna komori

Tiramisu

Strawberry Shortcake

Most desserts but not ones with lemon or lime

rice balls

Meatballs

Chicken strips and fries

Donuts

She also likes to try different foods but she will never eat snails or squid or frogs

Drinks

Dr Pepper

Sprite

Water

tea

Next is Sister Rosa

Spaghetti and meatballs

Fried fish with chips

Oranges

And literally anything that tastes good and isn't snails or frogs are octopus

Chili

Gumbo

Jambalaya

Drinks

Now this is an odd Factor since father Demaryius prefers his children to be healthy so she's mostly used to drinking milk or water and juice

But she does like Dr Pepper and strawberry boba

And sometimes liquor

Next is Father Demaryius

Jambalaya

Gumbo

Homemade spaghetti and meatballs

Cupcakes

Raw meat

Chocolate cake

Cherry pie

Fried chicken and mashed potatoes

Drinks

He's never really had much experience with different drinks but he does

The different drinks his children bring him

But if I had to say his favorite I would have to say

Chocolate milk

Strawberry milk

Boba

Dr Pepper

Sprite

Next is Ema

Fried Chicken

Dumplings

Fresh made fries

Fried fish

Cupcakes

Drinks

Boba

Water

Fanta

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 68. brb x oc

a/n: there's nothing I love writing more than these two being so in love. ugh

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: fluff, a smidge of suggestive

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/

25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41/42/43/44

45/46/47/48/49/50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57/58/59/60/61/62/63/64

/65/66/67

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things @caatheeriinee07 @dhwanishah09 @jesfreedark @katiemcrae @lilmonstrjedi @hobiismyhopeu @teacupsandtopgun @insominac23

-

She hears him before she feels his arms around her waist,his lips pressing gentle kisses to the side of her neck as she busies herself with their lunch, “Smells good.” he comments, “The food too.”

Beatrice laughs quietly, “I thought you’d like it, it’s spaghetti with meatballs, nothing too fancy.” she says, leaning back into his hold to press her upper back to his chest, his arms tightening around her waist, “And I even added extra cheese.”

“You know how to get me,don’t you?”

“I do have my moments.”

Rooster chuckles against her neck, inhaling that delicious lavender scent that stayed with him during the time of his deployment, it was like his nostrils refused to let go, “I missed you.”

Beatrice looks back at him, seeing his cheeks flexing as he smiles against her neck, “I missed you too,Roos.” she whispered, one of her hands coming up to gently brush his scalp, which in turn made him shudder and sigh happily against her neck, “I’m glad you are home.”

“I’m glad too.” he says, closing his eyes and leaning his head into her touch, like a giant cat would and Beatrice loved how she could almost hear the purring coming out of him. Rooster knew that holding her wouldn’t prevent Bea from doing anything, so he stayed there, with his arms around her hearing her soft singing and humming as she prepared their lunch.

Not to mention she looked really good.

His lips travel back up her neck and he touches something that’s currently wrapped around it. He was probably too tired before to notice but the cold of the necklace’s chain touching his lips made him lean his head back, “Hey, the necklace I got you.”

She blinked, looking back at him in surprise, “You just noticed?”

“Yeah,” he says, gently sliding his index finger under the delicate chain to run it back and forth in his hold, “I guess I was too tired to notice then…can you turn around?”

Beatrice smiles, checking their lunch one last time before she turns around. His eyes follow the golden chain as it tapered because of the weight of the amethyst pendant, the pendant that rested between her breasts, right where her cleavage began. He watched the gem twinkle under the light everytime she breathed in and out, seeing the purple reflections against her skin, “It looks great on you.”

“I was going to wear the earrings too but…I thought I could use some other time.”

“Oh I don’t mind.” his eyes are still on her chest, “I like what I see.” cue to the subtle red flushing down her chest, making the purple pop out even more atop her skin, her soft laugh breaking his intense gazing, “But I’m serious, you look really good.”

“I wanted to look good for you.”

“You always do.” he says, “But I do love this dress a whole lot…brings me so many memories.”

“Mhm.” she narrows her eyes playfully at him, “Sure.”

Rooster meets her unamused eyes and chuckles, “I mean, it was the first time I saw you wearing a dress,gorgeous. And it was flowy,” his hands touch the skirt, “And nice,” then he grips the fabric to tug her forward, “And made me think ‘wow is she a fairy?’ because you probably put a spell on me.” and he drops his forehead to hers, smiling when those green eyes twinkled with happiness and her already red cheeks got redder.

“Well,” she begins, wrapping her arms around his neck,”Considering you call me a fairy…would you say I put a spell on you?”

Rooster considers a bit, humming low in his throat as his hands slide down to the curve of her asscheeks, “If you did I wouldn’t complain.” he smirks, pressing their noses together, “Because you are just magical like that, gorgeous.”

They stay together like that for a few seconds, gently kissing and laughing into each other’s mouths like two teenagers in love. Beatrice adored this, she adored how Rooster still made her feel stepping on clouds no matter what he did or said…maybe he was the one who put a spell on her, “Hm, Roos,” she mumbles against his lips, pulling back with some difficulty, “I have to…continue our lunch…” her voice falters as his lips drag down to her jawline and neck, “A-And,I…”

His hands lift the back of her dress to cup her ass cheeks, feeling the elastic of her underwear touch his thumbs, “Am I distracting you?”

“W-Well, normally I-I wouldn’t mind but,” she looks back at the oven, “There’s water boiling milimeters from us…so.”

“...Good point.” he drags out, lifting his head from her neck to kiss her forehead, “I’m going to let you go, for now, but I’ll be close by if you need help.” of course he didn’t let her go until he gave her left ass cheek a soft slap, not enough to hurt but enough to make her jump in his grasp. He fixed the skirt on her lower back, kissing her forehead one more time and finally stepping back, “What do you need me to do?”

“Oh um…” she runs her hands down her dress, “Can you set the table for us?”

“Can do,gorgeous.” 

He avoided the dogs, well, dog since the twins usually stayed with Nicole when she was asleep and only their mother remained close to Rooster and Beatrice. The pittie followed him about for a bit, wagging her tail as she watched him grab plates and glasses to set on the table, “So, besides missing me.” he chuckles, “Did something else happened? How’s everything with Marcus?”

“Oh he’s fine,” she says with her focus now back on their lunch, “He’s really nice,I mean…he sewed that shirt for Nikki because I asked while he’s so busy with work and…yeah, everything has been going great.”

“That’s good.”

“Oh! I also met Hannah!”

Rooster looked back at Beatrice with his brows furrowed, then his jaw clenched, “Hannah? Your former bully?”

“Well,yes but…we talked about it Roos and we resolved everything.” she says as she turns the stove off once the pasta was done boiling,”And it was nice to talk to her, she met Nikki too and I invited her to come to the Hard Deck.” her husband however still appeared suspicious, “It’ll be fine Roos.”

“Huh…I guess…what did you two talk about?”

Beatrice is busy scooping some of the hot pasta water into the tomato sauce, “Oh you know, a little bit of this a little bit of that and-” Eric, they were talking about Eric. She stops talking, the ladle that had the water hovered above the sauce with Beatrice’s eyes looking at nothing. She completely forgot that was why they saw each other that day, she completely forgot that he appeared again.

And she completely forgot to tell Rooster about it.

“Ah!” she yelps suddenly, some of the hot water landed on her hand and she drops everything to hiss in pain, “Shit!”

“Bea?” hurried footsteps made their way over to her, immediately holding her hand to check, “C’mere.” he takes her to the sink, opens the faucet and places her hand under the running water, paying close attention to her expressions as he waited. Beatrice’s furrowed brows relaxed after a while and she nodded at him, so he shut the faucet off to check on her skin.

It was red but it wouldn’t blister, he gently prodded the skin only for her to hiss again, “Sorry,just checking.”

“It’s okay.”

“We can put some ice there if it gets too bad,” he begins, “It doesn’t seem bad now, but it’s up to you.” Beatrice just says it’s fine, with a little smile on her face, “You got distracted there for a moment.”

One thing about Beatrice was that her emotions were always clear on her face, he always,always knew - especially considering how long they’ve been together - when she was hiding something from him, “Oh, it was nothing.”

“Mhm.” he isn’t convinced, “...you can tell me after lunch.”

“Wh-But-” 

He stops her sentence by kissing her forehead, “After lunch, okay? Then you can tell me what’s bothering you.”

-

Beatrice didn’t know how to tell Rooster once they were done having lunch and honestly she was glad they were both in bed with his hand moving up and down her back as her head rested on his chest. He had his eyes closed but wasn’t sleeping, he was just enjoying the silence with his wife next to him.

If only he knew how noisy her mind was right now.

Beatrice chewed her lower lip, nuzzling closer to his shirt almsot wishing to glue herself into him since she was so nervous about opening up why she was distracted. She dared to peek up at Rooster to check if he was awake, only to see one of his own eyes open up and meet her own, a little smirk on his face, “Gotcha lookin’.”

“You did.” she smiles, pushing herself higher up his body, “You got me.”

“Do you wanna keep looking or do you wanna tell me what’s bothering you?”

Beatrice’s smile dropped the second he asked, avoiding his eyes and choosing to look at her hand instead, more specifically at the red oval shaped burn on the back of her hand, frowning at the accidental bruise, “...I…” she licks her lips, then chews the inside of her mouth, “I think it’s better to just open up about it.”

“I’d like that.”

She takes a deep breath for courage, “...Eric has been asking about me. And…um he has been contacting people and asking about me, I think he doesn’t get that I’m no longer single now and that I have a husband and a daughter - although I blocked him everywhere so it’s not like he knows about it…but….that’s why Hannah asked me to meet her…and Shells told me about it too and…and yeah…”

She almost feared looking up at him, the hand on her back stopped moving the second her ex’s name was mentioned and she could feel how tense Rooster got. Beatrice slowly moved her gaze to his, seeing those brown eyes with a mix of fury and astonishment, his jaw clenched as tightly as the first time she mentioned Hannah, “...so let me get this straight.” he begins, “Your ex, the one you punched on your birthday, the one who saw you walk out with me, the one who hasn’t spoke to you in years is now suddenly back?”

“...well…yes…?”

“He’s stupider than I thought.” he grounds out, clearly not liking this conversation, “Bea,I don’t like this.”

“I know-”

Rooster is annoyed, with reason, pushing himself to his elbows to keep his eyes on Bea, “Did he try contacting you?” she shakes her head negatively, “Good. Good…does he not know what a ‘no’ means?”

Beatrice licks her lips, then looks down at her hands again, “Not really.” she whispers, clearly feeling the eyes of her husband on her face, waiting for her to continue, “It was always his way. Always the right way because I obviously didn’t know what I was doing…just like now, he doesn’t think I’d be able to pull someone like you off.”

Rooster sighed out in anger, rolling his tongue inside his cheek and shaking his head, “That’s…so fucked Bea. Fuck, what the fuck.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up, I–”

“No,no,” he shakes his head, bringing her close to him so he could kiss her head, “It wasn’t your fault, I was the one who asked why you were acting strangely.” he whispers against her scalp, brushing the side of her face with his thumb, feeling her body relax in his hold, “...what do you think he’s planning?”

“Probably trying to send me flowers or something.” she mutters, “I don’t know,Roos. I don’t…want to think about it.”

“As much as you don’t want, gorgeous, it has to be thought.” he replies, holding Beatrice against his chest as his own blood cease to boil, “Bea,I swear if he shows up–”

“Roos-”

“All I can say is that it won’t be your hand breaking his face.”

Beatrice blinked, then sputtered out a soft laugh, resting her cheek on his shoulder, inhaling his cologne that was always embedded in his shirts no matter what, “Can I hope it doesn’t get to that? Not because of him but because of you?”

“I’ll be fine.” he says, “At worst we can set Shells loose on him.”

As much as they were joking about it, hearing about Eric again after so long was strange and awful at the same time. He really thought that he’d leave Bea alone after she broke his nose on her birthday, hell she was married to him. He didn’t like it one bit, he was flabbergasted by Eric’s boldness on asking people about Beatrice, choosing to not believe that she was capable of finding someone who wasn’t him.

Again with the doubts.

Again with people thinking Beatrice wasn’t worth it.

He hadn’t even noticed his hand curled into a fist but Beatrice did, staring at the perfect lines of tendons stretching on the back of it as he curled his fingers tight, “Roos.” her soft voice was enough for him to turn to meet her eyes, “...I don’t want you getting angry.”

He looks at her as if she grew three heads, “I can’t not be angry,Bea.” he says, “Your ex is trying to get you back after you said no, after you broke his nose just because he doesn’t believe what we have is real?” he scoffs, shaking his head, “You don’t deserve this,Bea. You don’t-” he was tense again and he didn’t want to meet Beatrice’s eyes because he knew those green irises would make all the anger melt away.

But he wanted to be angry at Eric.

“Roos,” she tries again, this time touching the side of his face to make him face her, brown eyes filled with fury, “Roos,please, don’t waste your time.”

“Bea-”

“He’s not worth it.” she says with more firmness in her voice, “Whatever Eric is doing is pointless…does he really think he can get something out of me? No, of course not. Whatever he does is his problem, he won’t succeed.”

“...I know but the fact he’s still trying…it’s worrisome,gorgeous.”

“I know.”

“Which is why I’m so pissed right now.”

Beatrice sighed, letting her hands drop to his chest so she could push him down back on the bed and climb his lap. As usual his hands immediately went to her thighs, clasping the thick flesh in his huge palms and eyes meeting hers, “Don’t.” she says, “You just got back home…please don’t let him of all people make you feel like this,Roos.” 

“...well,what do you want me to do?” he asks genuinely, his blood still boiling, “I can’t let that go so easily…I worry about you.” 

And his voice softens, the anger in his tone gone and replaced with adoration within every syllable. Beatrice smiles down at him, cupping his face between her hands, leaning down to kiss his lips slowly. From the way he exhaled through his nose and how his grip on her thighs tightened, he appreciated that. She kisses the corner of his mouth, then drags her lips to his jawline, over the large scar there. “...are you trying to distract me?” he asks while offering more room for her lips to explore, “Because it’s not going to work.”

“I’m not,” she mumbles against her skin, “Not necessarily.”

“Mhm.”

Beatrice lifts her head from his neck, brushing her thumb over those plump lips of his before pecking them again, “I’m not…but I want you to forget about him for a while. I don’t want your first thoughts when you got home be of my stupid ex.”

“He is pretty stupid.”

“And his head is huge.”

It was so nice to see how the angry furl of his brows melted into a more relaxed expression, his lips curling into a smile as he laughs, chest shaking under her body, “Okay,I got it.” he tells her while still caressing her thighs, “I won’t get too hooked up on it.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Beatrice narrow her eyes, meeting his forehead with hers and then holding out her pinky, “Promise?” Rooster flicked his eyes from her face to her small pinky, chuckling and hooking his own to hers, lifting his head to kiss the tip of her nose, “Good…now!” she straightens a little bit on top of him still, “What do you wanna do? Take a shower? Nap?”

Rooster, whose anger was slowly dissipating into nothing, just smiled at her, “I like the idea of a nap…only if you join me.” Beatrice just smiles down at him, slowly climbing off his lap onto the bed, her cheek returning to rest against his pectoral and her eyes looking up at him. Bradley sighs quietly through his nose, kissing her scalp a few more times, holding her tighter against him out of habit, out of protection.

He knew she could take care of herself, she had proven that many times, but he was going to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.  If Eric wanted to reach Beatrice he had to go through him first.

[prisanton]

drew the surgeon dude because he's cool (and the story for him is very creative) :D

Btw your art is so underrated like holy spaghetti with meatballs

Omg thank you for drawing my oc!! This is really cute love it 🥰 Again thanks for the praise and all the kudos you gave to my art! *Throw a kiss through internet*

[ril-sillyart1st]

What's everyone in your BATMM AU's favorite food?

Great question! (Finally someone ask me about their favorite stuff) I also included my OCs and put the gang's least favorite food as well.

(note: some are based on what I like and dislike)

Flarelyn Family AU:

★ Blaze just loves chocolate truffles but only gets to eat it once because it's such an special treat for him to eat as she may not self control themselves and hates spicy food (man can eat it whatever he wants but he's not a fan of it for some reason.)

★ Crusher really fw seafood especially that has soup on it (specifically sushi). Also Crusher also fw with spicy noodles.

Crusher doesn't like other spicy food in general and pickles.

★ Fiar loves the Mac-And-Cheese and Strawberry Lemonade combo. She made this combo by herself when she was making herself strawberry lemonade while Crusher was making Mac And Cheese for her.

Fiar hates spicy food, banana and avocado. She will only eat the banana if it is a banana split or covered in chocolate and sprinkles.

(don't ask me why the FF hates spicy food, they're an sweet tooth family)

★ Pickle is very much obviously enough, usually doesn't have a least favorite other than non-edible food.

★ Watts fw Ube Grilled Cheese! (Watts just loves ube flavored food) and she also likes Siopao (especially the toasted one! That sh🫧t is really good. /Gen)

Watts doesn't like spaghetti that much anymore (specifically the Filipino one) because of how many times she ate at events her parents go to. (Me moment)

★ Starla likes spaghetti and meatballs but she doesn't like bacon and other beefy stuff.

★ Darington likes waffles for breakfast with blueberries and whip cream on top of it. They for some reason don't like pancakes. They also love star shaped chicken nuggets.

★ Stripes likes spicy chicken with sliced tomatoes and potatoes on it. (Btw it's cooked! He doesn't like the taste of raw chicken) Also Stripes doesn't like sweet food especially cake.

★ Zeg has an very old memory when his mother used to baked him Apple raspberry pie every Christmas. Good memories, he still makes his own Apple raspberry pie every Christmas and shared it to his friends. (Btw Zeg can't cook but he can bake for some reason.)

Zeg doesn't like bananas because it tastes kinda plain to him.

★ Onyx both liked Jello Cake and Crabs but Crabs would be their no. 1 favorite food. They like the classic version of Jello Cake the most, classic version is would describe as "salty yet sweet".

Onyx hates Shrimp because she's allergic to it (me moment.)

★ Mia also likes Jello Cake but specifically vanilla flavor, very creamy and sweet. Seaweed spaghetti would be her no. 1 favorite food. Mia doesn't have any least favorite food as for now.

★ Kizzie and Veronica likes strawberry smoothie!

Veronica doesn't like vanilla ice cream. While Kizzie doesn't like chocolate ice cream.

★ Fuchsia likes mint chocolate chip ice cream and hates pumpkin pie.

★ Scarlett doesn't have any favorite or least favorite for now.

Blaze And The Rusty Machines AU:

★ Blaze likes to eat flowers (yes this man is so f🌊ck🫧d up) after he's at stage 3 with his sanity getting worse. He only likes it when it was bought from the flower shop instead of the garden because of the dirt.

★ Crusher in the other hand hates eating flowers. He likes chocolate cherry ice cream.

[pussinbootsandbountyhunter]

Princess Elizabeth Brightlight of Heaven

(And also the Daughter of Adam)

I’ve finally made my first Hazbin Hotel OC and it have to be Adam’s daughter because no one ever made it for him since he has a second wife Eve, so they have to have a child since Lucifer and Lilith had Charlie.

She is an angel with demon powers that her mother ate a forbidden fruit from Lucifer, only her parents knew about it and no one else.

She is Emily’s best friend since they were kids and they love each other dearly like sisters.

Lute used to be her babysitter, despite the princess knew about the Extermination and she didn’t told her father about it as she believed that Sera was responsible for making the horrible decisions on demons to be killed.

Lizzie is her dad’s nickname for her as Adam tried to be a good dad for her after he failed to be a good husband to Eve. Since her parents unknowingly divorced, her father did everything he could to spend time with her but also told her to not call him while he’s at work.

She had great respect for Lucifer since he was a Fallen Angel and he doesn’t deserve to be punished.

She had the most beautiful singing voice that was sounded like one of the little mermaid and ice queen from her storybooks. Or maybe a famous opera who sang Never Enough from the Greatest Showman.

She adored animals; Earth, Hell and Heaven.

She knew that Heaven is a lie and she is determined to put Sera in her place to understand how it feels to be worthless and weakened by the fact that she caused everyone in Hell misery.

She had a massive temper that revealed her Angel of Darkness form from sky blue to bloody red; When she beat the victim to the pipe as she went completely crazy or she was enjoying herself, she won’t stop until she was this close to give a final blow.

Fitting her determination to help demons and wishing to reveal her true self, the ringtone on her phone is sounded one of the Little Mix song called Change Your Life or Wings or even Little Me, as the music of the girl band she is a big fan of.

She can play all sort of instruments; Mostly she played a piano and a guitar. She tried to play the violin and the saxophone, but ended up playing the wrong note.

Her favourite food are spaghetti and meatballs, caramelised biscuits pancakes and apple crumble with vanilla cream while favourite drinks are warm chocolate, ice coffee and water.

I’ll add more bio and info about her when I got around with it; Till then, enjoy what you’ve seen here.

[whumpy-wyrms]

✂️ and 🍕 for both and 💀 for Anton from ask game?:3

(from this ask game)

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

one of Dew’s worst memories is when he got into an argument with his friends and they blew up his minecraft world

one of Anton’s worst memories is when somebody ate the last cookie from his secret stash :(

(sorry my brains farting i can’t really think of super specific bad memories for Anton and Dew besides things i’ve already talked about (Dew’s parents dying, getting kidnapped, or Anton spoiler stuff, so you get the silly stuff :P)

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

Dew’s favorite foods are pizza and spaghetti and meatballs

Anton’s favorite food is lasagna he’s just like garfield fr

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

Anton has a phobia of spiders, but that’s it i think! he thinks it’s super annoying being scared of spiders, but never has the guts to actually get over his fear lmao

thanks for the ask!