#the tooth problems that I burn out very quickly

[olessan]

I love the fact that I can work as hard as I can manage with a broken tooth and a dying tooth (one on each side, I've been chewing on the cavity for a year) and I still cannot save even $10 towards getting dental treatment (2 impacted wisdom teeth, + tooth broken off under the gum, + bad cavity) because I barely make enough to cover my food and board and the insane energy bill

[esmedelacroix]

Coffee Shop Love Pt.1

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.

contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, fluff, fluff, and more fluff

author's note: Hi lovies, this is the very first part of my first series. I hope you enjoy it! I suggest you listen to "Bittersweet Faith" by Bitter:Sweet on loop while reading this. It does a nice job setting the vibe I'm going for. Enjoy...

word count: 1.1k

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth

Yet another slow night at the Mug & Muffin Coffee House, to no one's surprise, not a single soul drinks coffee at night. You always keep the shop open in case someone wants to swing by and get some baked goods for the night. The rest usually goes to the homeless shelter five blocks away. You sit by the counter chin propped up on your hand, as fatigue droops your head down, and Peter Pan sprinkles fairy dust on your eyelids dragging them down.

The lethargic vibe of the shop with slow jazz playing in the background is suddenly disrupted by the frantic ring of the doorbells. Your head shoots up immediately with the sudden burst of noise. The cool winter air bites at your skin until the door is closed and you are back in the embrace of the blasting heater. Your eyes readjust to the warm lights bringing you back into your shop surrounded by the endless coffee beans, leafy green plants, books, and the myriad of photos framed in rusting gold Victorian frames. The shop is completely empty, snapping yourself back into reality, you direct your focus to the customer who had just walked in.

Your lips parted slightly as a little gasp left your mouth. He was a middle-aged man, with golden skin the color of black coffee with a bit of creamer, his mahogany hair was slicked back in a perfect disaster, with wisps of stray gelled hair strands framing his face perfectly. He had the sharpest and highest cheekbones, a cleanly shaved face, and pearly white teeth. He stood at almost seven feet and struggled with getting the mistletoe above the door out of his hair.

Holy smokes he's hot. Where did this man come from? you asked yourself.

He huffed as he finally freed himself from the clutches of the mistletoe. "What a low doorframe," he mumbled to himself in annoyance.

"Or maybe you're just wicked tall," you answered offering him a bright smile.

He quirked a brow at your playful comment. His face gave no gateway to his thoughts.

"Welcome to Mug & Muffin, what can I make you tonight?" you asked looking up at him to meet his gaze.

"I'll have a hot black coffee please," he replied as he took his wallet out.

Your facial naturally contorted at this odd request. You checked your watch to make sure you weren't going crazy. Yep, 9 pm, why is this psycho getting coffee? You looked back up at his unbothered face.

That perfectly chiseled unbothered face. Fuck you for being so perfect mystery man. You thought to yourself as you started to type the order into the machine.

"Would you like any cream or sugar with that sir?" she inquired as their eyes met briefly.

"Nope just black coffee," he responded in a passive-aggressive tone.

"Okay, and can I get a name with this order?" you chirped, to which he replied, "Miguel O'Hara,"

You hummed as you printed his receipt out and handed it to him after he had paid. He chose to get a seat facing the counter. Lucky me, you thought to yourself. You were quite content that you had some eye candy to feast on tonight.

You quickly made his black coffee while sneaking little peeks at him. A pair of reading glasses adorned the bridge of his nose as he taped away at his laptop. You brought his piping hot black coffee to him, and he thanked you with a little head nod, eyes still glued to his computer screen before he looked up at you.

"Would you like coffee cake or some kind of muffin with your coffee? I have a bunch of extras, it'd be on the house," you suggested.

"No thank you, I don't like sweets," he answered. You exaggeratedly gasped at his sudden revelation.

"You don't like sweets," you demanded as you placed your hands on your hips, trying your hardest to give him an angry face. He found your efforts to look angry cute rather than intimidating. He stifled laughter as he answered, "No, I do not," cooly.

"Are you even real?" you grumbled to yourself as you shook your head and ticked your tongue. You sashayed back behind the counter to pack up the sweets to drop off at the Nueva Hope Homeless Shelter. You watched Miguel sip his coffee from the corner of your eye, surprisingly he didn't burn his tongue. His head shot up and surprise marked his eyes as he looked down at his drink and then back at you, before letting out a satisfied hum of approval. He quickly finished his mug while doing his work.

Truthfully the shop closed 15 minutes ago but Miguel sat there too lost in his emails, documents, and reports to realize that you had shut the light off at the counter and put up every chair but the one he was sitting in. He only came back to earth after you had 'accidentally' dropped your keys on the ground next to him. As cliche as the night already was, you both went to pick them up, both your hands grazing each other. He quickly retreated his hand and looked around realizing that it was beyond time for him to go.

He packed his work bag as you loaded the back of your car with boxes upon boxes of extra baked goods. Closing the trunk of the car, you peeped back into the shop to see Miguel placing money in the tip jar. You chuckled to yourself as he stepped out walking up to you. "That was the best coffee I have ever tasted," he started. You crossed your arms and smiled warmly looking up at him.

"I never got your name though," he trailed off.

"And you'll never get it," you teased

"Everyone in the area calls me Baby though," you explained.

"Yeah I'm not calling you that," Miguel said flatly. You laughed at his response as you locked up.

"You have a good night Miguel!" you called out as you opened your car door.

He gave you a lazy wave and you drove away. Night fell on Nueva York along with the snow. When you finished your delivery, you entered your apartment right above the shop with the tip jar in hand. You had emptied it before but Miguel had put something in it. When you opened it your eyes widened at the several twenty dollar bills. There was a small sticky note folded in the jar. You pick it up and unfold it. The sticky note read, "You are way too energetic at nine o'clock at night, but that was the best coffee I've ever had, will be coming again,"

Next... Pt.2

a/n: should i make a tag list?

[heiayen]

food for thought? - furina & gn!reader

summary: you and furina visit the local food stalls.

tags: can be read both as romantic and platonic, depending on how you choose to read this! as it says in the summary! [name] eats meat if someone has a problem with that, cute lil drabble no dialogues written. part 1 (watching gaming's perfomance) part 2 (playing with kites) part 3 (picking qingxins) part 4 (visiting the hulao mountain and bringing food as an offering) part 6 (taking care of qiqi)

notes: hello this is my fourth? fifth? entry for @/astronetwrk new lunar year event. i don't know much of street food so i just zoomed thru the genshin wiki with food and tried to pick what dishes would be possibly found on street stalls </3 anyways. enjoy.

You were very excited to try out the local street food and, of course, you brought Furina along. You enjoyed tasting new dishes a lot, especially every time you had the chance to venture outside Fontaine and taste the local cuisine of whatever nation you were at that moment visiting.

Food was good, yes, you liked eating good food, especially your favourite dishes, but the local cuisine of a nation held importance greater than ‘just something to fill your stomach with’. Traditional dishes held years of history, after all. So many dishes you came across around Tevyat had their own story and you truly loved listening to them, learning about the people living there, and how the dishes came to life in the first place. 

That, and yes, you loved tasty food in general. But street food in particular. 

With a pouch of coins (yours and Furina’s, sharing was important after all, yes) and an empty stomach, you were ready. 

The first stall you saw was selling Mora Meat and, oh, how excited you were to try it. You were planning to eat it way earlier already, but… you simply forgot. You tugged Furina into the stall and decided to buy just one and share it with each other. It sure took you a moment to break the sandwich– it reminded you of one– into half without making too much of a mess,  but you did it.

You absolutely loved the taste. The meat was good, and the spices were a perfect amount, giving the whole pastry an amazing, rich taste. Furina also liked it, praising the pastry but you could tell that she was yet to find a dish she truly loved.

The next food you tried was Fried Radish Balls. You weren’t a stranger to radish, no, but this was the first time you tried a fried version of it and you were pretty sure that the radish that was used here was different from the one you knew… in looks at least.

You and Furina both got a stick each. You blew air at it to cool it down and after a moment, you ate one small ball of radish and other chopped veggies and you really liked. A perfect balance of vegetables, crispy on the outside and, surprisingly, chewy on the inside. But you had to laugh at Furina who rushed into eating a little too fast and, unfortunately, managed to burn her tongue just a little. 

For your last dish for now (because, turns out, not only the meat sandwich was filling but so were the radish balls, despite its small size), you decided on something sweet, much to Furina’s happiness. And quickly, you spotted a stall like this.

For the dessert, you decided to get a candy made of really thin sugar strings, reminding you of candy floss. You learned the candy’s name was Dragon’s Beard and, oh, you absolutely could see from where this came. Soon, you ended up with two candies, filled with nuts 

It was so sweet and the nuts were a nice contrast between the sugar strings and both you and Furina absolutely loved it. It seemed as if out of all, this was her favourite dish and you weren’t surprised, she always was known for a sweet tooth.

All in all, you considered your little journey over food stalls as a very enjoyable one, even if your coin pouch… became just a little lighter by the end of it.

[epithet-beloved]

BAKING WITH SLIM AROUND

synopsis…  you (try to) bake but you live around california slim

ft. california slim

tags… comedy, can be read however you want, epithet spoilers, slim is just kinda a menace as always, fluff, Slim’s backstory is alluded to if you squint 

word count… 471

a/n… I have been let out of my cage and allowed to make Slim headcanons. Be afraid. Because none of these are serious and they’re all very self indulgent. I like this guy too much. ✧🦇

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If you’re working on a recipe that involves melted butter: DO NOT LEAVE IT UNATTENDED.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 you will regret it.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Slim WILL drink it

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 (or bite a chunk out of a butter stick)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Like he’s canonically drank melted butter in the past. A lot. I fear for the doctor that has to check his cholesterol levels. No wonder he has blood pressure problems.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 HE. HAS. A. SWEET. TOOTH.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 You can pry this headcanon out of my cold dead hands. He just loves sweets and WILL hover around the kitchen whenever he smells you’re baking something (with full intention of stealing it after you’re done)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 (He burns his mouth with something that just came out of the oven and acts nonchalant about it meanwhile his mouth is on fire)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Listen he just never had the chance to enjoy too much non-essential food in his youth. let him have this.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Like he gets so upset when he learns the prison has brownies and he never got any. He is SO DETERMINED to steal the cookies Giovanni brought for Dixon. He craves sugar.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 His enjoyment for baked goods is not something he seems to hide too much? Like the second you get out the ingredients to bake something he spawns in the kitchen with a curious “What’cha dooiinnn’?”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Prepare for an endless battle when that happens.

“SLIM YOU CAN’T EAT THE BATTER” “BUT IT’S GOOD!!!” 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Alcatraz tries to help but the poor guy can’t do much. Restraining Slim is not an option because he will start kicking and screaming in Al’s grasp.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’s willing to help you clean up after you’re done though :) Slim is distracted stealing the cookies you just made so it’s free real estate for him to do whatever.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 (He congratulates you on how good they taste out of niceness. He can’t eat </3)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 There was one morning where you caught Slim baking!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He was wearing an apron and all. Silly.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He got a little embarrassed at first, he expected you to wake up later or was hoping you wouldn’t notice.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The embarrassment was gone quickly though, as he saw you all excited over what he was cooking: pancakes!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Well you couldn’t really call it baking with pancakes but you know. He was cooking something sweet.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 English is not my first language let me be

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Anyway

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 As you fawned over the seemingly perfect pancakes he was making (you would have expected him to make a mess!) you thought you noticed a much more… Gentle smile on his face, gazing at you fondly. But as soon as you turned to look him in the face Slim had looked away from you and his usual scowl was there instead.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 You wondered what that was about.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Well, you could ignore it! Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The pancakes were really good!

[nysocboy]

Gemstones Episode 3.7: The Handsome Man, misdirections, queerbaiting, and me yelling at the screen a lot

In Episode 3.6, we saw the aftermath of the Judy/BJ and Kelvin/Keefe breakups, with failed reconciliation attempts, a fist fight, and both Kelvin and Judy quitting their jobs at the church.  In this episode, things get even worse.

Title: "Burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe."  Exodus 21:25. Fans argued like mad about trying to connect the burn/wound/stripe to the personalities or kidnapping strategies of the Gemstone siblings, but it's a misdirection. The previous verse has the more familiar "eye for eye, tooth for tooth." It just means that the punishment should fit the crime.

Burn for burn and all that:  During the evening of the day of the Aimee-Leigh Hologram debacle, the BJ-Stephen penis fight, and probably the Kelvin-Keefe rocking chair fight, Judy goes to a drug store to buy pain medication for BJ.  On her way home, goons from Peter's militia crunch her car with the Redeemer and grab her. 

Misdirection alert: the trailer makes it look like she is the one crunching. 

Chuck Montgomery tries to trick Jesse, and when that doesn't work, the goons shoot him with a tranquilizer dart.

Kelvin bangs on the door at Woodpecker's Carpentry, yelling: "Are there any woodworkers in there? I'm looking for Keefe Chambers!" Now that he's no longer worried about his job at the church, he's free to reconcile with Keefe.    But it's long after hours; the building is dark and deserted. Why would anyone be inside?  Besides, Keefe told Kelvin where he was working; wouldn't he give him his new home address, too?

Six militia men wearing scary masks surround Kelvin.  The trailer makes him look paralyzed with fear, but actually he is quite brave, trying to intimidate them and then defend himself.  They punch and hit him, and squirt a toxic liquid into his eyes -- which stings but has no long term effects.  Why does Kelvin need six guys to take him down?  Why does he get a more brutal kidnapping?  I don't know.

Screaming like a woman:  The three siblings are put in what everyone calls a chicken silo, although chickens are housed in coops.  They are tied to chairs, with pillowcases over their heads.  What for?  You don't need to be imprisoned and tied up both.

Kelvin yells for help. Uncle Peter enters and asks if he is "screaming like a woman," maybe a dig at his gayness, but more likely because he considers any emotion "like a woman."   He explains that the militia is holding them for ransom.

The handsome man: When Keefe arrives for work the next morning, he sees Kelvin's car with the doors still open, checks the ground for signs of a struggle, and asks his coworkers, "Have you seen The Handsome Man?"  This makes no sense, as Kelvin only visited once, for a few minutes, and most of the carpenters weren't paying attention.

Cut to Amber and BJ noticing that their partners didn't come home last night. Next, Eli, at the office even though he's retired and should be fishing, receives a scary video of Kelvin crying and Judy and Jesse screaming in rage.  The gay one has a "sensitive" reaction. Peter gives the ransom demand.  

Cut to BJ, Amber, Gideon, and Eli discussing the kidnapping with Sheriff Brenda. They were kidnapped in town, so it should be the Rogers Police. 

Notice that Keefe is not there.  Why didn't Eli call him?  Because his number has changed, because they have broken up, or because he is just a friend, not a partner?

The Freemans arrive.  Tiffany has made dolls of the siblings --very quickly -- "for you to hug and kiss until they come home safe."  She gives the Kelvin doll to Eli.  Same question:Why doesn't she save it for Keefe? Because they have broken up, or because they were never partners to begin with?

Geography problem: How did they get to Eli's house so fast?  Don't they live in Florida?  

The trailer made it seem like the militia sent the dolls, adding a hint of the paranormal that turned out to be a misdirection.  Still, they look like Gullah Island voodoo dolls: "You can hug and kiss them until your loved ones come home safe.  And if they ever stray, you can make their privates fall off." 

More queerbaiting after the break

It's Kelvin's casual acquaintance:  BJ, Amber, and Gideon walk out into the garden. Keefe finally arrives.  Why does it take him longer to get to the compound than the Freemans?  There's no evidence that he called the family to see if they knew what happened before driving over.

Upon seeing the partners and Gideon, Keefe walks through some hedges to reach them, while they bicker about his name.  "Look, it's Kelvin's friend, Chief.... I always heard it as Quiche."  You don't know the name of your brother-in-law's partner, when they've been together for more than two years?  And what's with the "friend"?  Do they mean a post-breakup friend, or friend as a euphemism for "lover," or are we being told that the guys are actually straight buddies?

Apprised that Kelvin was kidnapped, Keefe offers to help, but Gideon rebuffs him: "The police are handling it."  Ok -- "this is a family crisis.  I'll go."  

Amber nods. Yep, you're a stranger.  Not family.  Get lost.  This infuriated me even on a second viewing.  Friggin asshole, Keefe was admitted to the family in Season 2.  But, assuming that McBride isn't queer baiting, maybe Amber is referring to the breakup -- Keefe is an ex-lover, no longer family.  Or maybe she thinks that gay relationships don't count.  

Wait -- BJ calls out: "You're Kelvin's friend.  We're family.  We're in this together."  Amber glares at him, as if to say "He's a casual acquaintance, dude," but she doesn't resist as Keefe says "Together," kneels, and does a weird offering thing to the three of them.  Ok, maybe BJ is using "friend" as a closeted term for "lover."

Time for Church: Meanwhile, at the compound, Peter calls the siblings to church. 

Timeline problem:  This is a weekday -- Keefe had to go to work. Has time elapsed, or does the militia have church every day?

Peter threatens the siblings with a snake, then forces them to lead the service.  They can't do it without a well-lit stage, a sound system, a band, sermon notes, hymnals, and so on -- plus they're terrified.  Peter judges that they are incompetent -- in spite of their wealth, he is a superior preacher.  Has this all been a "whose dick is bigger" contest with Eli?

Back at the office, Jesse's crew has set up a phone-tracking system. Shouldn't the police be doing that?  When Peter calls about his ransom demand, Eli tries to keep him on the line by refusing to pay?  He hangs up.

The militia guys suggest killing one of the siblings, to let Eli know that they mean business. Timeline problem: If this is the day after the kidnapping, why are they getting so frustrated so soon? 

Peter thinks that this is a good idea, and goes to inform them.  "I'm going to kill one of you after service today."  Timeline problem: Is the church service still going on, or is this the next day?  Or the next Sunday?  The siblings don't look nearly as disheveled as they would be after a week in the chicken silo.

Kelvin's Butthole:  Everyone goes home and puts on their Sunday clothes for a prayer circle.  Timeline problem: Why go home and change to pray?  Or is this a week later?

Keefe is wearing a BDSM outfit: a carpenter's smock and pants with breakway tabs and a slave collar.  This photo, which appeared on IMDB a few days before the episode, is a major misdirection.  The Kelvin doll looks like a genital whip, and we can't tell that Amber is sitting next to him.  It looks like Keefe is involved in a BDSM scene with an unidentified woman,

At least Eli gave him the Kelvin doll, suggesting that he knows that Keefe is his partner, not a platonic pal.

Your One F*king Guy:  In the chicken silo, the siblings discuss their potential murder.  If Jesse goes, he wants Judy and Kelvin to take care of his kids. They refuse: "it's a big ask." But Gideon and Pontius are over 18, and Amber will still be around to take care of Abraham. This makes no sense.

Left: a muscleman to make the upcoming queerbaiting palatable.

Kelvin complains that no one will miss him if he goes. Not necessarily, Jesse points out: "Your one fucking guy with the dead eyes and the perm. He'll miss you." Judy agrees.  Why doesn't Jesse know Keefe's name?  Why does he use a description, as if trying to specify one out of Kelvin's dozens of friends?  And most importantly, why "friend,'" Queerbait McBride?

No, Kelvin says, "Not after the type of friend I've been to him. Should've had his back, but now I may never have the chance." I got really angry at these lines the first time, thinking that it was the Big Reveal: "Kelvin and Keefe are buddies. They've never been boyfriends.  Fooled you!" 

But after watching Episodes 3.8 and 3.9. we know that McBride was not queerbaiting. What could Kelvin possibly mean?   Is he just being closeted?  Or maybe he means that they've broken up, so technically they are post-breakup friends, not lovers.  

Are we almost done here?  During the prayer circle, Cousin Karl, unwilling to let his cousins be murdered, calls May-May and tells her where they are being held.  

Why doesn't she yell out "I know where they are!"  Instead she goes out to her car and drives away.  Gideon, waiting in Eli's car, follows.  Why is he waiting?  Eli is at home.  He might not need a driver again until tomorrow.  And why doesn't he call the family and say "I'm following May-May to the compound.  I'll give you the directions, and you can tell the police."

Cousin Karl, May-May, and Gideon then rescue the siblings. The end.  Boo! 

The full review is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends

[evilcharming18]

title game : my heart is pierced by cupid, nothing can console me.

Sorry this took so long but I couldn’t stop????

It had been weeks of this.

Ava being unusually silent.

No snarking. No jokes. No sarcasm.

It was like they had entered the twilight zone or a different dimension.

Jacob thought that someone might’ve died.

Barb and Melissa assumed that they finally banned her TikTok account.

Greg didn’t think anything about it. Ava wasn’t bothering him, that’s all he cared about.

Janine though…

Janine stopped by her office everyday to see if she was doing better.

Which is ironic because Janine is the reason Ava hadn’t been acting like herself.

So when Ava got a knock at her door, she was surprised and almost angry to see Janine standing there in front of her.

“How did you get my address?”

“Uhhh that’s not important,”

“It’s very important actually because-” Janine quickly cut her off, almost pushing her way into Ava’s home. Ava stood at her door in shock because just when she thought she had seen it all, Janine goes and surprises her.

“What’s wrong with you?” Despite her attempt at a demanding presence, she seemed to shrink as Ava stood in front of her.

“I’m fine Janine,” she rolled her eyes.

“No you aren’t. You look like you have to actually work or something.”

“Oh haha Ava doesn’t do her job,” Janine paused and looked at her with those big doe eyes that seemed to be the cause of her distress.

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant to do,” Janine grabbed her hand, reaching out to keep Ava from walking away.

Ava snatched her hand back, looking at it as if it was burned. She looked back at Janine and the woman froze in spot.

“I just want to make sure okay. We all care about you, I really care about you,” Janine felt even shorter than she normally did.

“I’m okay. I swear,” Ava couldn’t let herself hear those words from Janine because they only made this worse for her.

“Positive? Because if you need anything you know I’ll help,”

“Yeah, I know. Trust me I know,”

She knew that Janine would help her. Only she wasn’t sure she wanted her help with this problem. Not yet.

Ava had feelings for Janine. Feelings that could rot your tooth they were so sweet but she hated them.

She hated her.

At least she wanted to hate her.

She tried oh so hard and it worked.

It worked until it didn’t.

And then she found herself staying up late at night, replaying every interaction they had, her since frozen over heart suddenly dripping, thawed out by one smile from the dorky teacher that stood almost a foot below her.

Oh Janine couldn’t help with this.

Not when Ava could barely deal with it herself.

“So I’ll see you on Monday?

“Of course. Why wouldn’t you see me on Monday?” Her walls were building back up and Janine took that as her time to leave, to let Ava brood.

“Just checking!” Janine squeaked out before giving Ava one more nervous smile.

“Bye Janine,” Ava murmured before closing the door in her face before she could say anything else.

Ava did see Janine on Monday. She also saw a stuffed phillys eagle on her desk as soon as she walked in. She knew exactly who put it there and that only made her situation worse.

“Damn it, Janine,” she muttered as she went to add to her notes in her phone.

Too Thoughtful- read her next addition to her list.

Another thing on her list of reasons Ava hated that she had feelings for Janine.

[merge-conflict]

wip wednesday

i have not been very productive lately and i'm frustrated about it so i'm sharing a little snippet of some more valentine whump for fun. she's alive but she's not happy about it. post devil-ending (canon-divergent)

content warning: severe emotional distress, voluntary medical sedative

“Alright. How about you just listen?” another pause. “I came here to talk with you, because I think you’re reacting very reasonably to something very unreasonable–”

grin wide. grimace. laugh like a bullet on pavement.

“–I suppose that’s a bit of an understatement. But you don’t have to be ashamed.”

“Fuck you.”

like that, rapid fire. she was burning hot, all over, like molten metal. she was supposed to be dead. now she was a husk. empty. discarded.

“I mean that. I know you’re not feeling much like yourself, and that is not an easy thing. Not easy at all. And you were very careful not to hurt anyone else, Valentina–“

“No.”

“You were very careful, V. You’re a problem solver. But no one has told you what is happening, and that’s why I’m here. Do you understand?”

as if there was any doubt to what the problem was. a problem could not solve itself. just twist inward over and over until it was worn through, until it could be put out of its misery, the misery–

no weakness, not here. sharp tooth, silver tongue, smile like a dog about to snap.

“Yes.”

“Alright, the first problem– stay with me, V–“

teeth creaking like bone: the problem was, the problem was, the problem

“The first problem, V, is that everything has been thrown at you too quickly. We need to slow things down. This is going to help you feel a little calmer so we can talk. Here, now, I need you to look at me, because I’m going to show you how it works.”

it was bait for a trap but there was nothing sweeter than oblivion. nothing. (sharp and bitter and sweeter than honey. a body can learn to crave the knife. sharp and strong and quick, don't hesitate–)

the doctor was smaller than her voice suggested. plain-faced with the most dizzyingly blue eyes –like the sky, the sky, the badlands sky endless aching gone gone gone– mercifully professional, as though she were giving a recorded lecture and not facing some huddled scrap of wretched humanity. she was holding a mask, demonstrating the little canister attached, speaking in a buzzing drone, giving assurances–

the performance was unnecessary. the mask was light, soft, comforting against the bruised flesh of her cheek. a muzzle for the aching, snapping teeth of despair.

in and out, in and out, in and out.

all the sharp edges of reality filed down to something soft and smooth and tolerable. (you don't get it, but you will. you will. you don't get it, but you will. you don't get it–)

“Feeling better?”

the doctor did not smile. did not frown. what she felt she kept tucked up and behind her breastbone, her face smooth like the surface of a pond.

“Yes.”

no visible vapor in the word, and yet it still thickened the sound. finally, her soul unclenched. she wanted to cry but could not.

she could not. she could not–

“Very good. Now the second problem, V, is that you don’t know what’s going to happen. Do you want me to tell you?”

despite best effort there was always a time other than now. (still here. Still Here. it’s alright. stop looking.) her eyes were heavy. they could not ask for anything more than sleep. it was all she had to give. perhaps they would realize their mistake, let her slip under and never come back up. there were worse things than death.

there were worse things–

there were, the doctor’s eyes were saying, things that still needed to be done. must be done. would be done.

“…yes.”

[abacus-jpg]

Paultryk monster au fanfic

I’m very rusty with writing fanfics so I apologize if there is spelling mistakes

Another thing this is side au I have it’s different from my My pet monster one.

Pat is taller then Paul due to Paul having scoliosis. Paul is a bigger man, while pat is tall and slender sorta?? Idk if that needs to be mentioned but It will probs come up again in the hc sheet

I plan to eventually post hcs for them soon!!

Paul’s pov:

It was a adverage night when I was relaxing on the sofa in the living room. It was a full moon tonight to our monster forms are out, mine comes in 2 variants the first one is where I’m still humanoid but my skin turns into a shallow pink fur and I have the tail of a rabbit along with horns that bend back along my scalp, my other one which is less common for me to morph into is my true form, I become feral, I have the ability to stand on my hind legs but prefer not too. I’m also significantly larger in that form, I become around 6ft tall and I have the fur of that of a long haired cat but, my short tail remains along with my horns.

Patryk on the other hand is a vampire, which is why before I have to make it my best interest to go around the house and dim all the lights so it doesn’t burn pats delicate skin. He too has two separate forms but he can transform into either freely, there’s his humanoid form and his bat form. Whenever he seeks warm in the winter he’ll often switch into his bat form and cuddle himself between the crease of my neck.

The worst part about these full moon events is that the effects of us turning can last up to days until we switch back to normal. Usually I have to check up on pats stalk of animal blood, no matter how much I offer him my own he refuses. He even sleeps in an opposite room to mine to make sure he doesn’t get tempted. Whenever I wake up during the night to go to the bathroom I often wander into his room to see how’s he’s doing and if he’s awake.

That leads me to tonight, me and pat had plans to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie or show together, he loves competitive cooking shows where atleast one of the cooks starts crying cause the ravioli isn’t prepared quick enough. I heard slight wimpers come from upstairs in our bedroom bathroom. I left it be for a minute or two before the wimpers became more severe and exaggerated. I stood up and swiftly went up the stairs to where Patryk was, when I peered in the crack of the door I could see tears breaching his eyes as blood was dripping from his right fang. I smoothly opened the door and then the tears started pouring. He kept trying to speak but I grabbed his hands and hushed him, the sooner I can look into his mouth and identify the problem the quicker I can calm him down. Gazing into his mouth i discover the spurs in his right tooth were stuck, I gently moved my hand up to his jaw so I could position his head in the dim light, one of the small spurs were fractured and bent oppositely so it couldn’t slide back into the tooth. The blood must’ve been coming from the blood slushy thingy he was eating. He’ll make these juice pack type contraptions that contain animal blood, sometimes raw chunks of beef, and he’ll freeze it ever so slightly so it gives his throat a cool off. I went to touch his fang with my finger to see if there was anyway I would feel for a break/crack, he quickly shifted his head proving he was uncomfortable so I put my hand down

“,,Paul it hurts so much,,, I don’t know what I did,, I was just poking holes in the lid of a Gatorade cap,, I do it all the time I dunno,,,,” he whimpered through tears with a slight lisp due to him being too physically uncomfortable to close his mouth or to make contact with the spur.

He pulled away from me gently and pressed the back of his hand up to his mouth as a way to shield it from the air whenever he’d breathe in. He has extremely sensitive teeth and the spur being out did not help. I got closer to him and wrapped my arms around him pulling him into an awkward hug as to sooth him. He wrapped his free arm around my shoulders and nealt down to my level to let me have a better look.

…

“Would we be able to cut it off? Or to break it off further..?”

“Nn,,no paul, it hurts I can’t,, i dunno what to do,, I’m sorry”

“It’s alright hun, really, what if I bent it back in place with tweasers. Sure it’d hurt but it’d do until we could get someone to check it out for you”

“Uhhm,, you can try but please be gentle,,”

“I’ll try my best dear you go and sit on the bed, I’ll go get the tweasers you use for your eyebrows. I feel like they’d work better then normal ones cause they got the rubber thingys on the end”

“Don’t forget to sterilize them”

“Of course honey”

I went to our main upstairs bathroom and located his tweasers that had rubber ends to them. I got the peroxide and a cotton swab and proceeded to the bedroom. Pats tears stopped but they left his face stained. While I laid the stuff on the bed I cupped patryks head in my hand, as I wiped his stained tears with my thumb I proceeded to kiss his forehead. I sat down next to him and gestured him to scoot over in my lap. As he did so I adjusted myself, I wrapped my arm around his lower back and waiting for him to give me the go ahead to start. He wrapped his left arm around my torso and leaned into me.

I gestured for him to open his mouth, on further inspection It looked as if the spur was going to let go if I tried to bend it all. Respecting pats wishes I took the tweezers and gently squished the spur causing liquid to eject out for them, it’s a venom of sorts but is only harmful when it has direct contact to whom ever he tries to take blood out of. It looked as if I had it bent in fully but I wasn’t sure. I took my thumb and gently pressed my nail up against it to see if it would retract out of reflex. It did. At this point pat has been gripping my lower back with his eyes pinned shut. I nudged his chin with the knuckle on my index finger as to guide his mouth shut. He paused for a second and moved his tongue around as I slid my hand his back rubbing it gently. He gently kissed my forehead and stood up.

“I’m gonna go get something to snack on, probably something cold. But I’ll meet you on the couch babes.” Patryck said them after clearing his throat

“Okay honey, let me know if it gets out of wack again, I’ll go down and put on a show. Do you want me to put on popcorn or anything?”

“Sure!! I’ll meet you there!”

I wandered down to the living room and put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. I walked over and turned on the tv and put on some competitive cooking show. Pat practically ran down stairs and gave me a giant hug. I shifted around in his grasp and hugged him back. He started kissing my forehead so I tilted my head up and started kissing his jawline.

“Paul I completely forgot, do you know what tomorrow is??”

“Uhmmm,,,, our anniversary-? Or is it the next day? Cause I think I’m working both days”

“Whhaaatt!? No, I had things planned for us tomorrow. I ha-“

“I mean I can just call in sick. I’d much rather spend my day with you then anyone else”

“I hope they let you take the day off honey. I have so much planned. I think you’re really gonna like your anniversary gift!”

“I think you’ll like what I got for you too, you’ve been wanting one for awhile. But tomorrow around my break for lunch I gotta go by myself somewhere to get it”

“Yknow Paul that’s ironic cause I’m the morning I gotta go and obtain yours aswell. What show did you put on?”

“One of the cooking shows you like, the one where they cook on a limit and then get judged by so called ‘professionals’”

“Oooo”

I walked over to the microwave to remove the bag of now popped corn, still interested in a conversation

“So how did you get your spur out of place anyways? I thought you had one of those juice meat pack thingys”

“ I was stabbing holes in the lid of gateroade bottle and my spurs came out. Usually I can just suck them back in my teeth but it got stuck. It hurt so much it’s like a tooth ache after eating somethin too cold but yet sweet? And it was a dull pain all throughout my teeth and jaw?? Don’t forget to wash you hands well too, I wouldn’t want you getting sick from the venom. Oh and yeah I did have the meat pack thing, but I had it all gone before I started chewing up the Gatorade lid”

“Ohhh ok I got you now, I was confused cause I thought you may of had a chill in your gums from the ice. Do you want me to put one of those over on the coffee table? “

“Yeah sure, I’m gonna dim the lights my skin burns”

“Alrighty”

I walked over to the couch with the bowl of popcorn and pats glorified juice packs. I lid down on the couch and shifted pat on top of me. He lid with his stomach touching mine, he later got cold and proceeded to pull his weighted blanket on top of us. Our night slowly came to an end once we both feel asleep.

[thewhumperinwhite]

ATTD: Caught (part 3)

Masterlist // Caugh part 1 //Caught part 2

Will and Chorus have matching emotional problems ~<3

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff @whump-cravings

TW for: implied suicidal impulses and/or self-harm; knives/knifeplay. (not in a kinky way.)

The second crash was louder than the first. Felicity Krie turned to look, frowning.

“Don’t move,” she told the boy called Will—who, arms bound tight around the back of his chair, could not have done so anyway—and jogged out to see what was wrong.

The boy let out a breath he had been holding for too long, and let himself sag against the ropes holding him in place. The relief of being unobserved was enough to make him forget the burn of the rough hemp and unvarnished wood against his wrists and arms, at least for a moment.

“Chorus,” he said softly, when he had caught his breath. “Will you come out and help me?”

The ton choreuson was still lying in a heap beside the door, so that was where the faint pop and brief reddish light came from. Chorus herself was already lounging against the chair Felicity had just vacated, opposite the one to which the boy was bound.

“Why,” said Chorus, examining her deadly fingernails, “would I want to help you, Doorkeeper?”

Ah yes, Will thought, of course. “Because I’ve asked you so nicely?” he said, raising his eyebrows. He tried to shrug a little, and winced it made the ropes pull at his straining shoulders. Chorus’s eyes flickered in his direction—it wasn’t easy to tell where she was looking, generally, because her eyes had no whites and her pupils were a narrow forking line, but he knew her too well to miss it—and then quickly away again.

“I didn’t hear a please,” said Chorus. With a little effort, Will did not roll his eyes.

“Chorus,” he said, keeping his voice flat and deliberate and not annoyed. There was another crash from outside. He hoped the Magician was not actually fighting; it would be at least two against one now. “Will you please untie me?”

“No, I don’t believe I shall,” said Chorus, using a fingernail to pick at her needle-sharp teeth. “I think you might have to order me, Doorkeeper.”

Will felt his hands tighten into fists behind his back. Then he sat back in the chair—as much as he could, anyway—and glared at her. “Or,” he said icily, “Perhaps I’ll just sit here, and let one of them kill me, and then they can throw you in a ditch, if that’s what you want. Or sell you to someone who can’t handle you, maybe you’d like that better.”

Chorus surged forward, the speed of her movement blurring her pale skirts and paler hair into smoke, and snapped her teeth loudly in Will’s face, holding herself up by her clawed hands on his mostly-bare knees.

“Don’t talk to me, Doorkeeper,” she said, “as though I don’t know what you want.”

Will did not drop her gaze, although he felt a shamed flush rising in his cheeks.

“This isn’t the right time or place,” he said, and his voice came out low and steady and did not shake, thank all gods. “I know that. So do you.”

“Isn’t the right place for you,” Chorus said, still in that same cold tooth-filled voice, but there was nothing but smoke in Will’s face now, and her voice was coming from behind him.

He held very still when he felt her teeth at his wrists. He did not give in to temptation. It really wasn’t the right time.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, rubbing his burning wrists. “Now—”

“Yes, I know this part, Doorkeeper,” Chorus snapped, stomping pointedly back to where the ton choreuson was lying by the door. “No need for a formal dismissal. Shithead.”

She popped back into smoke as she reached where the sword lay, without ever looking back at him, and then was gone.

“Thank you,” he told her again, when he buckled the sword belt back over his borrowed tunic. It would have hurt his stomach to say I’m sorry.

Will opened the inn door, wincing at the midday desert sunlight, just in time to see Larkspur Criel yank Jasper forward by an outstretched arm and bring a knife toward his throat.

Without thinking, Will plunged a hand into the length of Larkspur’s hair and yanked, hard; they stumbled back with an undignified yelp.

Will buried his hand in Larkspur’s hair, his other hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, and tried very hard to see and understand despite the bright sunlight hammering against his injured head.

There was a very large man, probably Galdrean, standing next to the door with his huge fists clenched and his massive shoulders bowed in preparation for violence; Felicity Krie, looking even smaller than usual by comparision, was hovering nearby looking uncertain; and a small crowd seemed to be gathering, a fact about which neither Jasper nor Larkspur Criel seemed to have thought about too carefully.

“Hullo, everyone,” Will said mildly, very aware of all the eyes that were now on him.

Without warning, Larkspur Criel spun hard, slamming their arm against Will’s throat and pinning him against the inn’s door, the knife in their hand very close to the side of his face. Will’s sword was halfway drawn and his hand was still tangled in Larkspur’s hair; their faces were now very close together.

“Do you want to go first,” said Larkspur, “or shall I?”

Their knife was now resting against the side of Will’s face, close to the scar where Dream cut him—more than a week ago, now. More than a week, somehow.

It took Will a long second—too long—to realize that Larkspur had not moved the knife. Will had moved his face to rest against the blade.

Larkspur stared at him in confused alarm. Their face was scarred, too, many more times over than Will’s. They made no move to use the knife.

“Don’t hurt him!” a high voice cried, cutting across the crowd like breaking glass, and Will froze as every eye on the street landed squarely on Saren, standing now in the middle of the street, looking very silver-haired and not in the least human, in full view of at least a dozen bystanders.

“…That’s a demon,” Larkspur Criel said blankly.

The small crowd burst into a flurry of frightened movement, away and toward the demon too simultaneously for anyone to make much progress anywhere, and Will took the opportunity to draw the ton choreuson just enough to sink the decorative hilt into the center of Larkspur Criel’s stomach.

Larkspur stumbled back a step, gagging on the wind Will had knocked out of them. Will let his hand slide out of their hair and pushed past them, wrapping his hand around Saren’s small wrist.

“Let’s go, Magician!” he yelled at Jasper, who blinked dazedly for a second, but then set his jaw and flicked his Runes out of his pocket. The street began to fill rapidly with smoke. Will had time to see Jasper pull to a stop beside him, and feel the Magician grab a handful of the collar of Will’s tunic to keep them together, before the whole street was obscured and Will could not see a foot in front of his face.

“This way,” Jasper hissed, and tugged him down the smoke-filled street; Will could hear many voices shouting and coughing and finally it was easier to simply close his eyes, hold on, and run.

[eebydeebyderby]

NSFW headcanons for the ghostbusters please please please please??

Literally says in the blog description that I don't do nsfw stuff, but just this one time I'll make an exception.

NSFW Ghostbuster Headcanons

Peter Venkman

This man is the poster boy for OSHA violations. He will stand on the top wrung of a ladder, operate saws without machine guards, and skip wearing protective equipment if he finds it even slightly uncomfortable. Somehow, he manages to avoid getting any of the grievous injuries he risks on a daily basis.

Peter will often skip washing his hands before eating. Being covered in grime and ectoplasm after a gnarly bust won't stop him from eating a sandwich on the drive home if he's hungry enough. Not necessarily a safety hazard, but definitely something the other boys find repulsive.

Peter loves to wander into Egon's lab for the sole purpose of being a nuisance. The two are in a constant arms race of Egon devising complex locking mechanisms for keeping Peter out of his supplies and Peter developing more convoluted ways of bypassing them.

Peter loves to hide behind corners and scare the crap out of any passers-by, but it yields him mixed results. Ray is unflappable when a screaming Peter jumps out at him, simply saying pleasantly, "Oh, hi Pete," without looking up from his clipboard. He's also learned to be more cautious when trying this stunt around Janine, because he learned the hard way that Egon had gifted her a homemade canister of pepper spray. Peter went blind for two days, but he quickly bounced back.

Winston Zeddemore

Winston is a firm believer that expiration dates on foods are totally moot. If it looks okay and smells okay, then it's totally fine to eat. To prove his point, he cracks open a 2-years-expired can of beans and gobbles them up with no problem. The smell is enough to nauseate anybody nearby, but Winston is perfectly happy with the snack. Egon keeps several notes on Winston's dietary tolerances and theorizes that he has some form of anosmia. Egon is well-known for his sweet-tooth, but Winston claims the throne to having the most indestructible stomach.

Winston is a pretty easy-going guy, but he's very strict when it comes to the other boys maintaining the safety on their proton guns, and won't hesitate to scold them. During his time in the marines, one of the boys in his platoon tripped with a loaded rifle pointed at his own face. The resulting sight is something Winston is reminded of often whenever the boys are readying their equipment, so he monitors them like a hawk.

Even so, Winston is no stranger to horsing around. It's a very common sight to see Winston trotting around the firehouse with Ray on his back, or sword fighting Peter with PVC pipes. If they get too rowdy, Janine will spritz them with a spray bottle to calm them down a bit.

Egon Spengler

Literally tried to kill a guy because he works for the Environmental Protection Agency (and it was hot & he should do it again).

Egon lives by the rule of "it's only illegal if you get caught." Rules and regulations only work to stifle progress and are written by those who do not truly understand the true nature of science, which is fearless and willing to take risks. This man is 90% responsible for Walter Peck's nervous breakdown in 1990.

Lab accidents are not uncommon with his combination of chronic sleep deprivation, garbage dietary habits, perpetual dehydration, and wanton treatment of safety precautions. A quick glance at his hands will reveal several cuts, bruises, burns, and callouses in various stages of healing because he never bothers to wear gloves, unless he feels it might affect his lab results.

Any form of safety regulation or illegality will not stop Egon from getting ahold of research supplies in the slightest. Unstable isotopes, invasive fungal species, unregulated medical supplies, and banned lab equipment are all things in his possession at any given time. It's a good thing Callie was born two years before the Ghostbusters started out, because the level of residual radiation in this man has probably rendered him sterile.

Ray Stanz

Ray is the least reckless of the boys, and he often voices his concerns when he catches the boys doing something unsafe (which is very, very often.) He trusts his friends to take care of themselves for the most part, but he still worries if he feels something is risky. The boys will usually fix themselves to make him feel better, but return to their usual bad habits by the next day.

Why pay to take the Ecto-1 to an expensive caddy dealership when he can fix her up himself with a sawed-off socket wrench and some gorilla glue? Somehow, his Victor Frankenstein approach to maintaining the Ecto-1 keeps her in tip-top shape. She's never once failed a smog test under his care. Anyone who's not Ray will have absolutely no idea what's going on if they lift up the car hood.

When one of the other boys is yawning, Ray will sometimes decide to impulsively stick his finger in their mouths. This yields a variety of results based on who his victim is: Winston will comment that he's flattered, but happily married; Egon will crack up and smack his hand away; and Peter will bite the absolute crap out of him.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under The Floorboards pt. IIII

(Technoblade X Reader): Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII, Pt. V

Whipping the sweat off your brow you placed the honey jars you collected on the ground, Phil really built this farm efficiently. However, that didn’t stop you needing to collect honey pots here and there, now that the vault was complete you could actually use the honey for normal things. Technoblade would never admit it but he loved when you put honey in his tea, contrary to popular belief he wasn’t a fan of plain black tea or coffee. You rolled up your sleeves and adjusted the sunhat that sat lazily on your head against your better judgment you had left your armor inside. The only thing on your person was a netherite ax Techno had enchanted for you, it was an effective weapon but without your armor, you were a bit of a sitting duck. As the bees buzzed and bumped lazily into each other, you couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight. They were just so silly. You picked up the crate of jars and turned around, your eyes narrowed as you saw some movement by the trees, it was still too early for Tommy and Technoblade to be back...so just who was snooping around the property. You felt very naked in your sun hat and overalls, especially if it was Dream himself that you were about to encounter. Your worry only increased as you noticed four men all in netherite armor walking towards the house, their swords were drawn. You had a feeling that these were the men who took Technoblade the day prior. They were like a little gang all dressed the same way, bloody aprons and all they really had the executioner vibes down. 

    “Hello, gentlemen.” You smiled giving them a wave while you adjusted the box of honey, “beautiful day isn’t it?” 

The first to answer was a man who had a scar from the tip of his eyebrow down to the bottom of his lip. He sent you a smile and you noticed a tooth missing from the upper row, a navy blue beanie held his dark hair in place. 

    “Very beautiful, it’s always a good day when the sun is shining.” He mused the sun in question reflected beautifully across all their netherite armor. The one thing you decided to leave inside, you weren’t intimidated nope not at all. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

    “(Y/N).” You responded with a hum, “Is there something that I can help you all with today?” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed two of the men moved to surround you, they thought they were slick. The only one who didn’t move was the tallest of the children there, he looked to be half Enderman. He also looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was right now poor thing. Drawing your gaze back to the other three men, you noticed one was Tommy’s age and had small horns atop his head, along with goat-like ears. A burn scar also took up half of his face. It made you frown distastefully, what was with these kids getting traumatized? First Tommy and now the half enderman and the goat kid, you couldn’t adopt all of them, well you could but it’d be a lot of work. The other looked to be part fox after all the big orange ears and the fluffy tail was dead give away, wait didn’t Ghostbur say his son was a fox. “Are you Fundy?” You asked, suddenly tilting your head to the side.

    “How do you know my name?” Fundy’s face flushed a little and he shuffled on his feet, his hand twitching to grab the sword that was at his side. 

    “I talked to your father earlier today. I’m assuming that’s how you found me?” You took the hat off your head and rested it on Carl’s stable. The fox gave a reluctant nod of confirmation you licked your lips and put your hands behind your back. “So? Do you have a problem with Technoblade or just me specifically?”

    “Wow, she’s not even a little bit ashamed.” Quackity mused and you frowned, “We’re here because your boyfriend blew up our country. He also disgraced our President right Tubbo? Don’t know if you’re aware of that or not but he escaped his punishment. So we intend to make him repent.” He walked towards you and you took a step away from him. 

    “That’s far enough thank you.” You held up your hand in hopes it would stop his trek towards you, Quackity did pause for a moment. He let out a chuckle and smiled. He thought your tough attitude was cute, but he was clearly mocking you. 

Jackass. 

    “Quackity maybe we should leave her be...she didn’t do anything.” The young goat kid murmured his ears flicking as he looked up at you. 

    “Quiet Tubbo. Let the adults speak,” Quackity snapped at him before clearing his throat and looking back at you. “Listen (Y/N) was it? We’re going to have to ask that you come with us. If you don’t we’ll have to take you by force.”

    “Wait, couldn't Technoblade have trained her?” The half enderman spoke holding up his finger in the air but no one seemed to pay him any attention. 

    “I guess force it is. Although the fight is a little unfair.” You took out your ax and twirled it in your hand, “Something tells me you don’t exactly like fair fights.” Fundy took a hesitant step backward not really wanting to lose a life for this of all things, but he pulled out his sword just in case. Clicking your tongue in distaste you sent a bloodthirsty smile their way, one that rivaled Technoblade, “Come at me.” 

Without hesitation, Quackity charged at you with his sword he didn’t aim to kill, just disarm or injure. You blocked the swing with the wooden part of your ax and spun around just in time to dodge an attack from Tubbo. You managed to elbow him in the back and he stumbled forward into Quackity, the man made a grunting sound before shoving Tubbo off of him and into the snow. Fundy moved next and managed to land a hit on the side of your arm, you hissed loudly glaring daggers at the fox. His ears pressed against his head and he let out a small whimper, “sorry!”

    “Don’t apologize to her!” Quackity groaned, “You guys are the worst gang ever.” He slapped his forehead as you readjusted your posture, “I have to do everything myself.” Quackity snarled charging at you again you sidestepped out of the way. As he stumbled trying to regain himself he knocked over the honey pots and they shattered against the ground. You swung your ax and managed to land a hit on him in the back of the legs, he let out a strangled yelp and fell on his face into the snow like Tubbo had done earlier. Yanking out the ax out of the leader of the gang blood splattered all over the ground and stained the snow. Little red beads dripped off the ax as you held it by your side, the man only let out another scream as it was torn out of him. 

    “Back. Off.” You repeated again baring your teeth with a hiss, “Turn around and go back to L’manburg and I won’t kill you. Got it.”  The ax was pointed at all of them, you saw the half enderman nod vigorously, 

    “Yes ma’am.” He nodded rapidly grabbing Tubbo and Fundy by the arm and pulled them back, the three of them watched as Quackity snarled and backed up to join them. You watched them cower and you dropped your ax on the ground so you could press the palm of your hand into the wound on your arm. You quickly turned and ran back into your home to collect bandages and fix yourself up, blood speckled the floor as you made your way into the bathroom. You tore off your overalls and shirt, washing out the wound before wrapping your arm in bandages. You didn’t know how long you stood there in front of the mirror but you looked worse for wear. 

Technoblade was going to lose his shit.

---

All Technoblade could think about on their way back to his retirement home, was you. He could only put up with Tommy for so many hours until he needed to talk to literally anyone else. He was ready to get your relaxing date night underway; he could already feel your fingers running through his hair braiding his as you went. He hummed fondly listening as the voices called him simp repeatedly, he didn’t mind this time considering he was when it came to you. 

    “That’s still cringe chat.” He murmured to himself as Tommy continued to scream about something in the background, “Yeah, yeah I love her.” He heard the chat flip their shit and he fondly chuckled, intermixed with their happy cries there was a distinct sound of ‘E’ as well as ‘nerd.’ He almost didn’t hear Tommy’s worried shouting. He frowned and rolled his eyes back into his skull, 

    “What Tommy?” 

    “Technoblade! Technoblade!” The teen bumped back into him, Technoblade grunted and looked down at him. He followed Tommy’s eyes and spotted the blood littered snow outside his house. Technoblade paused and his vision went red around the edges, his eyes stayed trained on the bloodstains as the voices began to roar within his skull. His head shot up and he saw the honey box spilled over on the ground, glass littered the snow, your hat hanging loosely on Carl’s old stable. 

     “T-Technoblade.” Tommy stuttered again looking up at the pig-man, seeing how glazed over his eyes looked. He swore steam was coming out of Technoblade’s nose and his hand drew out his pickaxe gripping it so tight his knuckles turned white. He felt his tusks grow in size and his face began to shift into his pig form. Tommy’s voice was drowned out by the flood that was the voices in his head: 

‘SHE’S GONE. THEY HAVE HER. KILL THEM ALL. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. WE DEMAND BLOOD. E. SAVE HER. YOU’RE A FAILURE. YOU DIDN’T PROTECT HER. SLAUGHTER ALL OF THEM. SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. SHE NEVER HURT ANYBODY. YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’ 

Technoblade took a step forward to which Tommy rapidly backed up in response. He’s never seen Techno this gone before, oh shit he has it bad for (Y/N). However, Tommy didn’t make a move to stop Technoblade; he didn’t want him to release that rage on him. Technoblade walked into the house, stepping on his glasses that fell off his face. He threw his door open with a loud slam, he needed potions and he needed a new sword. 

Whoever did this all their cannon lives were gone he’d make it long and torturous.

A soft voice broke him out of his stupor his entire body went rigid. 

    “Bubs…” He slowly turned around and came face to face with you, you looked so small, so delicate standing in the doorway. You were wearing your pajamas, soft blue with little sheep all over them. His ears twitched and his shoulders softened considerably seeing you standing safe in the doorway, however, he tensed again the minute he saw the bandages tied around your arm. Blood leaking through them, he growled eyes locking in on the spot as you made soft shushing sounds at him. 

‘SHE’S HURT. SHE’S ALIVE THOUGH. BUT SHE’S HURT, THEY NEED TO PAY. ATONE FOR WHAT THEY DID TO HER. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. SPILL THEIR BLOOD THEN MAKE OUT WITH HER. SHE’LL LOVE YOU MORE IF YOU DO. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’

Technoblade jumped feeling her hand caress his cheek, “Bubs it’s alright I’m okay.” Your voice was smooth and soothing, his eyes dilated as you spoke to him. His face shifting back to normal as he breathed heavily through his nose, “See?” You brought his head down to rest against your chest, it looked uncomfortable the way that he was bending. However, he could feel your heart beating in your chest, he made a soft whimper and grabbed onto your shoulders his pink hair tickled your chin. You brought your hands up to run his fingers through his hair as he finally calmed down enough to ignore the voices for the time being. Right now they were just commenting on how nice and warm her hands were anyway.

    “What happened to you? There was blood everywhere I was so scared.” His voice broke a little bit as he pulled away from you. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest Technoblade had never looked so broken. 

    “The butcher squad came and attacked me. They wanted to use me to get to you but I fought them off just like you taught me.” You couldn’t help but smile proudly at him and he let out a disbelieving laugh. His hands moved from your shoulders to your back as he cradled you gently in his arms, you both stood there rocking back and forth together until Technoblade was satisfied. 

    “That’s my girl.” He finally murmured backing away from you, you flushed at the compliment. Whenever he called you that it made you flush all over, you let out a loud flustered whine and whacked him on the chest. Technoblade laughed at your flustered expression, it was a rare moment the tables were flipped like this and Technoblade was going to take full advantage of the situation. “Princess what’s with that look? Am I, thee Technoblade, making you flustered? I know I’m a lot to handle, I beat Dream once, I never die, I’m not homeless. Guess what?” 

    “What?” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle as he circles you eyeing you up and down. 

    “I’m single.” 

    “Oh really?” You cocked an eyebrow, “I thought you had a girlfriend.” You twirled your hair around your fingers and you felt his strong hands rest on your waist. 

    “Hm I don’t think so. You might need to refresh my memory,” Technoblade mused kissing your neck tenderly. 

    “Well she’s stunningly gorgeous, and tough as nails,” Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned back against him. “She absolutely adores you and how protective you are of her, and how much of a gentle giant you are.” He made a noise of protest and rested his chin on the top of your head. You could tell he was pouting at you, 

    “See, not only is that super cringe but also factually incorrect. I am not a gentle giant, I just committed vast sums of minor terrorism and I also kill orphans so what would my girlfreind say to that huh?” He huffed clicking his tongue distastefully. 

    “She would say that you’re right but also she sees the way you take care of Carl, and how you put up with Tommy. You’re totally brothers. That makes you at least a little bit soft” 

    “Not brothers and I don’t like him.” 

    “Right sure,” You giggled a little and kissed his chin lightly. 

Technoblade let out an indignant sound before muttering, “Oh we should probably tell Tommy you aren’t kidnapped. Also discuss what to do about L’manburg now that they know you exist.” You blocked out that last part and made a beeline outside to find Tommy. The teenager in question was fumbling with his hands over by his cobblestone tower, you ran over to him and engulfed him in a hug. 

    “(Y/N)!” He shouted letting out a disbelieving laugh hugging you back with a childish smile. “You’re okay! Holy fuck I totally thought you were dead and shit! Technoblade was going fucking apeshit! His face went all pig like n’ shit totally thought he was gonna kill everyone for you! Not that I was worried.” He added quickly shoving you away crossing his arms. 

    “Of course you weren’t THE Tommy is never worried.” 

    “Yeah exactly Miss Blade you get me.” You smiled fondly at him and you ruffled his hair and he shouted at you to stop. You did so sensing Technoblade approach the both of you, Techno interlocked your hand with his own and squeezed it tightly. “You chill now Big T?” 

    “I’m always chill Tommy. Only nerds aren’t chill.” He mused with a scoff, “Hence why I always call you a nerd.” 

    “WHAT THE FUCK TECHNOBLADE! I AM ALWAYS CHILL! I’M THE CHILLEST MAN ALIVE I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW!” 

    “Stop shouting,” Technoblade groaned burying his face in your hair as you laughed fondly at their antics. Although L’manburg knew about your existence now, and although you knew Dream probably wasn’t too far behind in learning that knowledge either, you felt everything was going to be okay. 

All you needed was each other, Technoblde, Tommy, Phil and you. Together you four were gonna do great things, you just knew it.

~~~

I do plan on making another part because people seem to be enjoying this story a lot more than I originally thought when I first posted it. Which is amazing thank you for all the love and support! New stuff is also in the works, thanks again for reading and enjoying! Stay safe guys! 🥰✨

[merakiui]

Frostbite

yandere!childe x (gender neutral) reader art credit - GNSN_FA on twt cw: yandere, blood, minor gore (lacerations), unhealthy behaviors/relationship, mentions of death/hypothermia, fighting

It’s borderline animalistic, the way you cling to warmth and life like a starved, neglected hound. Your fingers stiffen in a vain attempt to flex—to successfully grasp your sword like a true warrior. The furs that were once draped over your body are ragged, torn to shreds from a dangerous battle between the elements and him. There’s no mistaking the excitement that lights his every nerve like bulbs hanging from a Christmas tree, coated in the maddening swell of potent bloodlust. If surrender was an option, you would have done it long ago.

Even then, you’re certain he wouldn’t give you such a benevolent chance no matter how hard you were to beg and plead.

Your breath materializes like a phantom in front of your face, a cruel reminder that you’re still breathing in a battered body. Your fingernails are chipped, blood running down the tips from an icy struggle, but you refuse to succumb to the cold. Instead, you allow yourself to be swept up in his electrified stare. 

“What’s the matter, comrade?” There’s a wry smile pulling his chapped lips apart, showcasing flawless teeth aligned in a perfect face. Despite the brutal wear of this current fight, he’s still handsome. And that makes you sick. “I thought you said you’ve gotten stronger. If I wanted a real battle, I would’ve challenged one of my subordinates and that’s nowhere near as fun as this!”

Keeled over in the snow, your lungs burning with each rattled inhale, you struggle to meet his eyes. The deathly chill of the Snezhnayan climate claws at your exhausted form like the porcelain fingers of a skeleton. You might as well surrender to the freezing temperatures. After all, the frostbite is far kinder than the fighting machine looming over you, the toe of his boot nudging your trembling self. 

“I... I am strong,” you manage to say before the dangerous wind pierces your throat like a dagger. Like the icicle Childe’s wielding, a happily convenient reaction between Hydro and Cryo elements. You cough and crimson paints the snow. “Strong. I’m strong.”

“Then get up.” There isn’t any warmth in his tone. Cold like ice and devoid of his former playfulness. Under all of that nonchalance, a fierce, chiseled warrior lies in comfortable wait. When his eyes trace your hunched form and he spots the blood that dribbles past your lips, practically freezing as soon as it makes contact with the frigid air, those dull hues widen. Surely he’s hit a weak spot, a vital organ or something close to a fatal blow. He wonders for a brief moment if you’re afraid of death. “You’ll freeze if you don’t move.”

A flash catches your attention and then there is the flow of suffocating water. Sharpened blades of ice surround you on all sides, nearly scraping your arms, so you force yourself onto unsteady legs. Internally, you’re searching for a way out—for a way to give up before you bite off more than you can chew. This sparring match wasn’t your request, but you had been a fool to accept, having been so certain of your strength and wit. But you aren’t accustomed to Snezhnaya, whereas Childe has spent years of his life here: training, learning, and fighting until he was worthy of the Tsaritsa’s praise. 

With sloppy movements, you cut through the ice as if it’s butter, eternally grateful for the sharpness of your trusty sword. You can’t tell when this fight will end, but you hope an opening with present itself. As soon as it does, you’re running as far as your frozen legs will take you. Like a feral beast who fights desperately against the unfair hands of the Grim Reaper, you stumble forwards, slashing blindly at your target. He’s thoroughly amused with your struggle, having seen this sort of desperation many times before on the battlefield.

It’s a depressing thing, knowing you’ll be destined for failure and yet you still push onwards. As if that will turn the tide of this battle in your favor. Childe almost admires your persistence, but it isn’t all that special. He’s seen it all before but not quite in the way you portray it. Your despair is far more delectable than that of any low-ranking Fatui soldier. Childe could bask in this for eternity and he’d never grow bored. To have you by his side as his punching bag—it excites him just a little too much. 

Naturally, the more he spars with you, the more he’ll grow accustomed to your attack and defense patterns. A strategy is only worthwhile if it rakes in victory. No matter the cost. No matter how many fall and grovel, begging for their pitiful lives. In a way, his moral compass is rather skewed. He supposes that makes him a bad person, but he’s never been one for the hero role. 

Childe taps your shoulder and you whirl, slicing upwards with your sword. The blade cuts the air, not the torso of the man who jumps back with such deadly precision. The expression he’s wearing haunts you: a wicked smile, pupils blown wide with the thrill of life and death, and a blooming bruise from where you managed to hit him in your earlier scuffle. In any form, he looks good, be it blue and purple, red and pale, or even frozen stiff by the very ice that reacts to his Hydro abilities. You can’t stand your weak heart, as you’re well aware of the face he’ll bear tomorrow. Friendly and disarming, a total opposite to the grinning madman twirling water-turned-ice blades like they’re circus batons. 

Like always, you’ll return his kindness because you’re a fool. Because you like the soft, wholesome Childe that cares lovingly for his family—the side he’s displayed in rare instances that glimmer beyond the gilded portrait of a battle-hardened soldier. 

You fall hard on your back, landing in the thick snow with a wheeze. There is no warmth on the battlefield. Only pain, suffering, and the certainty of death. You push yourself to get up, but your muscles won’t move, too heavy and sore. You know you’re strong—you’ve faced many opponents before and you’ve lived to boast of your successes. You can beat Childe. You have to if you intend to avoid fights with him in the future. 

“Well, this is upsetting.” He’s frowning now, idly tapping the crystalized water while he circles you like a sharp-toothed predator. “Didn’t expect this to end so quickly.”

Liar. You already know I can’t beat you, you want to say, but the words escape you. Not yet, anyways.

A sneer splits your dry lips and blood trickles down your chin like a woeful river. You don’t need a mirror to witness the damage. 

“Teucer won’t like this,” you say, staring up at Childe with dead eyes, hoping to prod at his weak spots. If the mention of his brother affects him, Childe doesn’t let it show.

“He doesn’t have to know,” he retorts, brushing aside such a possibility with ease. 

Right. Because you expect me to put myself back together like a toy. Of course, almighty Childe, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya. 

“Well.” You pause to exhale and pain shoots through your side. Through your bleary gaze, you can see a deep laceration. Blood stains what’s left of your attire, and you move your rigid hands over the wound to prevent anymore blood loss. “Congrats. You won.”

“You’re giving up?” Bewilderment flashes across his face for an instant before it melts away into an emotion you can’t place. Anger? Sadness? Is he unhappy with this win? 

“What does it look like? I can’t possibly fight with these injuries.” 

It hurts to speak and you wish he would just stop. If he could accept the outcome of this battle, this wouldn’t be such a problem. You’d be able to patch and heal yourself up before your condition gets any worse. With the chill seeping into your open cut, harshly kissing slick, wet blood, you doubt you’ll make it inside before passing out. Vaguely, you recall the unfamiliar stages of hypothermia. At worst, if you stay out in this fatal weather, pinned like an entomologist’s butterfly under Childe’s monstrous gaze, you’ll freeze to death. At best, you’ll escape, build a fire, and warm up to the best of your ability. Weighing your options, you’d rather lose a finger or a toe as opposed to your life. 

“You can fight.” His blade is at your throat, the pointed tip niggling into your jugular. It’s more of a threat than a warning, a means to spur you into action. “You’ll never get stronger if you’re always running away, comrade.”

Your life has some value; Childe just can’t see that. In his eyes, a fight should be seen through to the very end, even if it’s marred in death and destruction. Yet here you are, choosing to abandon your pride. That must have some strength in itself, right? You hate his face, his childish nature, and the fact that his everything is making you reconsider. You’re doomed to fail if you continue to push your frostbitten body past its natural limits. 

“I...” The blade slices along your throat, a mere surface wound. You can’t feel the sting or the sticky blood that spills out like flowing tears, having become as numb as a fish-eyed animal near extinction. “Childe—“

You don’t want to hurt him and he knows this. It twists his insides like a knife in flesh, turning and turning until organs pop and leak into soupy conflict. The blade leaves your throat and another harsh wind blows between the two of you, glacial and prickling. He distances himself, tracking your form in case you happen to move. You’ve stopped shivering at this point, lying flat on your back and staring up at the dark sky. Snowflakes cling to your lashes like the hands of death, pulling you closer to an invisible grave. 

“You can fight.” Is that desperation in his voice? You almost laugh at the idea. He’s not a desperate man; he doesn’t need to be when he has it all. “Get up, comrade.”

“I think...I’ll stay here,” you whisper, your heartbeat irregularly slow. You’ve never counted the beats before, but now it makes for a fun distraction. “Good job, Childe. You’ve definitely...”

Gotten stronger.

You possess strength, just not the type Childe wants to experience firsthand. He has no use for a lonely, unseeing corpse. And when your eyelids flutter, closing upon a face that reflects frozen death, he releases a sigh. His blade falls at once, landing in the snow with a thump, and he bends down to gather your fallen frame in his arms. Somehow, whenever he spars with you—whenever he’s within touching distance—he feels alive. As if you’ve breathed meaning into his frostbitten soul, warming the cold beast that lurks and pounces at the sight and smell of fresh bloodshed. 

If he’s learned anything, it’s that there’s always going to be room for improvement. You just need to train more, and he’d be over the moon to fight you until it’s your blade slicing through his skin. In the meantime, though, he’ll have to kiss color and life back into your monochrome world of death and despair. 

As the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, it’s only fair if he repairs the damages done to his favorite toy. Break, repair, and repeat. A cycle befitting a messy relationship and an even messier slew of choices. Rinse and repeat, like waves licking up a carcass bound to the shore. 

Come morning, you’ll be shiny and new, ready to sit by his side for another leisurely ice-fishing outing. Childe isn’t known as the greatest toy salesman for nothing, and you’re just barely scraping by with each battle scar and bandage—courtesy of such an illustrious, experimental toy salesman. 

[gojoslutoru]

I can't even part 1

Gojo x fem!reader

Description: In hopes of forgetting about your boyfriend for a night you travel to a bar in the city where you meet a tall and very annoying man.

Warnings: alcohol, implied cheating, sexually suggestive

Wc: 1213

Song pairing: #icanteven (slowed)

The clock strikes 10pm as you ignore the flooding of messages from your boyfriend, he did nothing wrong, he just wasn't enough. Your relationship wasn't long, or boring for that matter. He just simply couldn't give you the adrenaline you needed. That's why you're sitting on a barstool at a random bar in the city, your silk dress draping over your form, your hair loosely tied up with some waved strands hanging down at the front.

"special occasion?" asks the bartender, pointing to your attire while giving you a friendly smile.

"just a regular Friday" you shoot back a smile at him before ordering a whiskey, he hands you your drink quickly and you mutter a quick thank you at him before taking a big swig, the coldness of the ice contrasting nicely with the burn of the whiskey.

"so what's a pretty girl like you doing out on 'just a regular Friday'?" the voice is soft but firm and came from the man sitting next to you, you take a quick look at him, he has white hair which slightly hangs over his dark sunglasses. His attire probably leaving little left unsaid about his personality: bland.

"I could ask you the same question" you reply, looking forward at the wall of liquor while taking another swig of your drink before setting it back on the square napkin.

"it's rude to answer a question with a question sugar" the sudden nickname makes you physically cringe, keeping your gaze fixed forward you ask the bartender for another whiskey, which he quickly prepares for you as you continue to ignore the tall lanky man next to you.

"it's on me" he tells the bartender as he tells you the price.

"are you seriously this oblivious?" you shoot at him in reply to his sudden forwardness.

"not oblivious, just thought I’d treat you since you seem to not be having a good time" you're surprised by his friendliness, but nonetheless you carry on the conversation if he's already trying this hard to get your attention.

"so what are you drinking?" you ask him to try and engage in the conversation.

"strawberry daiquiri" you look at him quizzically.

"you didn't strike me as a man with a sweet tooth"

"and you didn't strike me as a woman who'd be sour" your eyes go wide, dumbfounded at the sudden insult.

"don't get me wrong, sour is just not my type, would you like to try my drink instead?" it takes you a while to process the sentence he said, opting to just nod your head instead and smile sweetly expecting him to slide his drink over to you, or better yet buy you your own.

Instead the man took a mouthful of his drink before grabbing your jaw with his thumb and index finger, slowly pulling you forward towards him making you reach your hand out against his chest to steady yourself as he places his lips on yours and slightly parting them to let his cocktail slide into your mouth. The taste was sweet to say the least and you swore you could feel the granules of sugar as they entered your mouth. The man however did not pull away from you, further attacking your lips as you took a sharp inhale, even his scent was sweet, the faint hint of plum and strawberries lingering in your lungs and it rushed straight to your head.

His lips are soft, which is a nice contrast to his actions as he starts to enter your mouth with his tongue, pulling your head closer with his hand. He grazes your teeth before softly massaging against your tongue while letting out a sigh as your hands that were on his chest start slowly sliding up against his shirt, softly touching his collarbones as they make their way back to find their place around his neck. He shivers, which doesn't go unnoticed by you as you slide one of your hands further up his neck slightly grabbing the tufts of white hair to pull him closer. He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you as you shiver against him. He pulls back slowly while taking in a deep breath, his glasses slowly sliding down to the tip of his nose exposing a pair of blue eyes that match the intensity of his immaculate white hair.

"as much as I like the ambience of this bar, I’d rather be in my car right now alone with you" he looks into your eyes as you cascade your arms down, your fingers twirling around his at your jaw before softly grabbing his two fingers and pulling them down never breaking contact as you slide out of your stool.

"I think we should leave then" you whisper to him as he begins to get out of his seat, beginning to tower over you his height taking you by surprise.

 You make your way out of the bar, hand in hand as you lead him towards the door. He pushes the door open over you to let you out, the scent of fresh air immediately hitting you with the warmth of the summer night, the rain still pattering on the concrete.

"stay here I’ll get my car"

"it's okay, I like the rain" you reply as you drag him further out from the shelter of the entrance to the bar.

"lead the way then pretty boy" you let out a giggle as you feel the rain hitting your skin, a nice cold shower as opposed to the sudden heatwave. His movements are sudden as you find yourself now up against his chest once again, one of his hands on the back of your head as his fingers lace with your own, your other hand limp by your side.

"say that again"

"pretty boy" you look up at him, his hair now slightly damp as the street lights luminate it. He drags his hand down your cheek as he tilts your head up to kiss you once again, the faint taste of strawberries still lingering on his lips. He brings your hand that's intertwined with his to his shoulder, dropping it there before sliding his hand back down against your waist. A moan leaving your mouth into his as he pulls you flush against him by your waist.

"seems like you have quite the problem there..." you trail off against his lips, not remembering if you've gotten his name or not.

"Satoru"

"what a pretty name for a pretty boy" you look up at him again, breaking the kiss. His pupils blown wide as he smiles, his teeth as pure as his hair.

"that's it" he says before dropping both of his hands to your waist signalling you to jump, you cross your legs around his waist as his hands find their grip at your thighs. Your hands finding comfort on his shoulders as he begins to carry you, your mouth leaving small kisses along his neck and jaw.

"as I was saying earlier, you seem to have quite the problem there Satoru" you whisper into his ear, not letting the feeling of his erection twitch slip past your attention.

"I wouldn't consider it such an issue with the way you’re draped around me right now".

[sassyhobbits]

hi julia 💙 tinder au? i have just fallen in love with it

ok yall. here it is. the highly requested and long awaited tinder au. i probably have like 20 messages on my inbox rn asking for this.

anyway, here's day 3 for yall!! enjoy!!

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4

~~~

Rowan Whitethorn was the mastermind behind his own misery.

He had been kicking himself for his stupidity for the past week, ever since that godsdamned wedding he had gone to with Aelin. The event had confirmed his suspicions: he liked Aelin Galathynius. A lot.

And it was his own fault that he hadn’t asked her out.

He had been the one to say that they should remain coworkers and nothing more. He had just been so shocked to see the woman he had matched with on Tinder at his place of employment he hadn’t really known what to do. So, he said something foolish.

For a while now, Rowan’s attraction towards Aelin had been growing. It had been easy to ignore at first, brushing it off and contributing it to the fact that she was a pretty woman. But, even in those months where Aelin had enraged him, she still managed to enthrall him. He thought about her smile far too often. About the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose, the sound of her laugh, the smell of her perfume. Mostly, he thought about the dances that they had shared at that wedding. A small taste of what could have been if Rowan hadn’t been such a rutting idiot.

If he could take back that foolish decision, he would.

Now, his choice haunted him everyday. He would watch Aelin at work, see other men and women give her appreciative looks and flirty smiles, leaving Rowan in a constant state of morbid anticipation, waiting for the day she reciprocated some of that attention and he would be left behind.

Rowan lingered by the personal training desk, knowing he should be planning the workouts for his clients for the week, but his attention was pinned across the gym. Aelin was working today with a new client that he had never seen. He was in his mid-twenties, tall, blonde. Good looking, and obviously very smitten with his trainer. Rowan ground his jaw as the man sent a charming smile to Aelin. He wished her back wasn’t turned towards him so he could have seen how she responded.

“Keep on clenching your jaw like that and you’re going to break a tooth,” a feminine voice said teasingly.

Rowan tore his gaze away from Aelin, finding Lysandra leaning against the desk, ivory cheeks flushed pink from her own workout.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lysandra scoffed and rolled her eyes at the obvious lie. “You may be fooling yourself, Rowan Whitethorn, but you’re sure as hell not fooling me.”

Rowan pressed his lips together tightly, looking back at his clipboard and trying to ignore the woman beside him. However, that wasn’t suitable for Lysandra.

“If you ask her out she’ll say yes,” she said casually.

Rowan scoffed. “She seems perfectly happy with that pretty-boy over there.”

“She’s settling for that pretty boy over there because you aren’t giving her the attention she deserves.”

Rowan sighed and looked back at the woman beside him dryly. Her dark brows were narrowed, lips pinched in annoyance. It was clear she wasn’t happy with him.

“Listen, Rowan,” she continued, “I’m not going to tell you what to do. But I will tell you that if you don’t get your shit together and finally ask Aelin out, she’s going to move on. And you’re going to make yourself extra miserable.”

Rowan didn’t have a response for that, simply holding Lysandra’s gaze more a moment longer before she stomped away towards the locker rooms, leaving him alone at the desk.

Deep down, he knew that she was right. Just watching Aelin conversing and mildly flirting with another man was driving him crazy. He didn’t know how he’d feel if she actually returned one of her many admirers' sentiments. Pissed off, most likely, that he had missed his chance. And that he had no one to blame but himself.

That was likely the thing that had been holding him back for so long. Admitting that he had been wrong. Gods, there was nothing worse. Absolutely nothing.

Rowan didn’t want to admit that he was biding his time, but he was. Waiting for Aelin to be finished with her client so that he could make his move. And potentially suffer a thorough tongue-lashing from the object of his desire. He couldn’t imagine that she would find it amusing that he was coming crawling back after being the one to request the space between them in the first place.

After what felt like an eternity, Aelin and her client finally made their way off the gym floor. They stood not too far away from him, but with the music and the sound of others chatting, he couldn’t really hear what they were saying. He pretended he didn’t notice them, anyway.

Eventually, they said their goodbyes, the man sending Aelin one last flirty smile until he swaggered off in the direction of the locker rooms.

Luckily for him, Rowan didn’t even have to muster up the courage to go up to Aelin. She instead came over to him, leaning over the desk and grabbing her own clipboard. What pissed him off was that she barely even seemed to notice him.

“Hey,” she breathed casually, jotting something down.

“Hello, Galathynius.” Good gods, why did he sound so stiff?

He waited a few more heartbeats, hoping that she would strike up a conversation, but she was terribly focused on whatever it was that she was writing.

Rowan quickly grew tired of waiting.

“Are you going out with that guy?”

Aelin’s pen froze mid stroke, and Rowan’s instincts told him that he had said something wrong, and danger was lurking near. She looked up to him, a wicked tilt to her golden head.

“Would it be a problem if I was?” she drawled.

Rowan ground his jaw, refusing to back down at the fire in her eyes. “Don’t go out with him.”

Aelin blinked once before scoffing. She tossed her clipboard to the side, spreading in legs in what Rowan could only describe as a fighting stance and crossing her arms over her chest. “You cannot be serious right now.”

Rowan stood straighter. “I’m completely serious. Don’t go out with him.”

“You must be smoking something if you think you have any say over who I do or do not go out with.” She pointed a well-manicured finger at him. “Let me remind you that you were the one who said we should just be coworkers.”

“Believe me, I remember.”

“Then what changed your mind so suddenly? Huh?”

“You did, Aelin.”

For once, it didn’t seem that Aelin had a snappy response up her sleeve for this one. Rowan seized the rare moment of silence, taking a deep breath to steel himself before moving closer and continuing.

“Aelin… I really like you,” he began. “I have since we met. Before that, even. I had been so excited to meet you in person after talking that night and then you were here and you were my coworker and I… I reacted stupidly.”

Aelin’s lips were pressed together tightly, a sign that she wouldn’t interrupt until he said what he had to say.

“I was afraid of what might happen if something went wrong,” Rowan admitted. “If we went out and you realized you didn’t like me as much as I liked you, and I had to see you every day at work and be reminded of that. I was a coward because I didn’t want to face that particular torture. But… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. And I know that if I never admitted it, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

There were a few moments of painful silence as Aelin considered his words.

“So, what?” Aelin said. “You just expect me to jump into your arms now that you decided you were finally ready to grow a pair and ask me out? You think I was just going to wait for you?”

“No. I know you’d never wait for a man. I know that you’re strong and independent. I’d never expect that from you but…” Rowan reached out slowly, taking her hand into his and giving her fingers a firm squeeze. “I hope that you’ll be able to forgive my stupidity and let me take you out on a real date soon.”

For a few, too long heartbeats, Aelin stared down at where he held her hand. Rowan had never felt more nervous than he had in that moment. It was maddening.

But, she eventually tilted her head up, and her face had softened, a smile on those full lips of hers. She gave his hand a squeeze.

“Gods, I thought you would never ask.”

It was Rowan’s turn to smile, beaming at the woman before him. “So, that’s a yes?”

She nodded once. “It is. You can pick me up at eight tonight. I expect something nice, I want to dress up.”

“I look forward to it.”

Aelin laughed, a beautiful sound, before she closed the distance between them and brushed a soft kiss against his cheek, thoroughly stunning him as she slipped away, smiling at him the entire time.

“And don’t forget the flowers,” she called, striding across the gym. “Kingsflame are my favorite.”

“Noted.”

Aelin held his gaze for another wonderful moment before she turned, striding over to meet with a woman he recognized as one of her regular clients. Once he was sure she was no longer watching, he brushed his fingers over the spot where she had kissed him which still burned pleasantly.

He would make sure everything went perfectly tonight. There was no way in hell that he would mess it up and ruin his chance with this amazing woman. Aelin was unlike anyone he had ever met before.

He knew one thing for sure. Aelin Galathynius was the one for him.

[primrose-path-of-dalliance]

on bren and feeblemind.

(cw: lots of caleb backstory. self-explanatory, i think?)

.

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this isn’t something i’ve talked about on my blog yet, but since the campaign has begun drawing to a close, i want to make sure i say my piece on the popular theory that bren/caleb was institutionalized because trent ikithon feebleminded him to disable him.

my piece being that it’s exceptionally unlikely he did—at least as a premeditated plan. this kind of theory also falls prey to the exact beliefs ikithon has tried to exploit in caleb.

for our mutual reference, i’ll quote the spell description of feeblemind.

FEEBLEMIND (PHB) 8th level enchantment

Casting time: 1 action Range: 150 feet Components: VSM (a handful of clay, crystal, glass, or mineral spheres) Duration: Instantaneous

You blast the mind of a creature that you can see within range, attempting to shatter its intellect and personality. The target takes 4d6 psychic damage and must make an Intelligence saving throw.

On a failed save, the creature’s Intelligence and Charisma scores become 1. The creature can’t cast spells, activate magic items, understand language, or communicate in any intelligible way. The creature can, however, identify its friends, follow them, and even protect them.

At the end of every 30 days, the creature can repeat its saving throw against this spell. If it succeeds on its saving throw, the spell ends. The spell can also be ended by Greater Restoration, Heal, or Wish.

considering the characteristics described and implied by actors other than ikithon—caleb and astrid prominently—who are not motivated to deceive on ikithon’s behalf, feeblemind is not consistent with caleb’s mental break.

fact the first: when bren broke, he became violent and spellcasted.

when astrid describes the circumstances in which he was taken to the vergessen sanatorium (e89, 1:49:30), she refers to his lashing out as “creat[ing] a lot of sparks everywhere else” and rubs at burn scars across her neck. she says that they had to subdue him because he was too dangerous. all of these statements add up to a bren who was viciously spellcasting at his friends and mentor when he broke down.

this wouldn’t have been possible if he’d been feebleminded. feeblemind explicitly prevents the affected creature from casting spells or activating magic items. in that scenario, the only thing bren would’ve been capable of is throwing hands. from him? not very dangerous at all.

how do we know astrid wasn’t lying or intentionally deceptive? because she (and eadwulf) still cares so much for caleb that she risked her life multiple times to aid him. no one who would give caleb a map to a secret volstrucker vault with her own handwriting on it (e127, 29:29; and 30:57)—or intentionally fail to counterspell him when ikithon could’ve seen her do so—would lie to caleb about ikithon attempting to permanently feeblemind him if she knew.

to preempt the idea that astrid had set the m9 up: it’s very obvious she didn’t, since trent ikithon had clearly had no forewarning of a break-in. he would’ve at least been waiting in the vault, already prepared to subdue them quickly, if he’d known.

so it’s fair to determine that astrid would either be honest to the extent of her knowledge to caleb or make it clear that she couldn’t answer him. since she didn’t imply the latter, we can assume she was being honest. and because of astrid’s competence, it’s highly probable she would’ve noticed if his behavior was symptomatic of feeblemind over the years.

fact the second: bren’s mental condition repeatedly improved and regressed while he was institutionalized.

astrid states this in the same conversation about their subduing him after his breakdown (e89, 1:50:50). considering this with the context of their romantic relationship prior to his breakdown, her genuine care for him, and her rise to power that included accompanying ikithon frequently to the sanatorium (e127, 31:07)—astrid would’ve had the motivation and the opportunities to visit bren in person. she could’ve also kept well-abreast of his condition.

actual times of improvement and decline in the mental state that astrid first observed during his breakdown wouldn’t be consistent with feeblemind. although it reduces the victim’s intelligence score to 1, they still retain thought and their sense of identity without problems.

this is a maintenance of consistency and (relative) reason. feeblemind does not actually damage a person’s basic perception of reality. but the health of bren’s behavior throughout the years was instead very unstable.

fact the third: caleb doesn’t remember anything from the burning of his home up to his healing by the unknown cleric.

in the conversation with astrid in e89, he asks her what happened when he broke and explicitly says, “the last thing i remember is my home” (1:46:58). when he first tells beau and nott about his past, he explains that he doesn’t remember much of what happened to him there (e18, 2:51:54).

beyond the reduction to their intelligence, feeblemind doesn’t affect the victim’s ability to form memories. caleb’s keen mind feat and established narrative element of his eidetic memory would’ve still been present as well. therefore, feeblemind alone can’t explain such a significant, near-empty gap in his memory. he would still remember something.

even the possibility of trent ikithon altering them directly is precluded by the fact that the cleric’s healing removed the alterations to caleb’s memory. if all those years had been magically blocked away, they’d have returned when he was healed of everything else.

fact the fourth: sometimes, people really do just break.

nothing about caleb’s backstory is inconsistent with just... being a person living their life, even a terrible one. he was a young man that believed so zealously in his country and his purpose, abused by a powerful older man, that he did many horrible things and believed they were right. until finally he did something that he couldn’t process and broke down.

there’s two reoccurring, underlying assumptions i’ve noticed behind why this theory seems to be so compelling and popular:

caleb just seems so remorseful and traumatized by his double patricide. there’s no way he would’ve willingly murdered his parents. ikithon must have known and decided to preempt his inevitable betrayal.

everything we know about bren, especially from the horse’s own mouth, suggests that he had been willing (at least up until his mental break) to murder his parents. he was literally an extreme nationalist—a fascist, if you will. he was lawful evil (twitter source). he gratefully executed many “criminals” put in front of him, more than likely by burning them to death based on his ptsd. victims whom we now understand may not have been guilty of anything at all.

he was glad to do what he thought was best for the dwendalian empire, and he truly thought being volstrucker was the correct path. trent ikithon, his abuser, treated him as his favorite (e110, 3:30:58). because he believed.

that fervent faith, in fact, is the key to something like his breakdown in the first place. hearing the dying screams of his parents, bren was forced to confront a violent dissonance between his radical beliefs that condemned traitors (as he believed until the cleric’s healing) and the intuitive horror of murdering his parents that he couldn’t reconcile. this fathomless sense of betrayal is why caleb so deeply despised ikithon and himself.

a young evocation wizard who didn’t want his parents dead would’ve run into that burning house, feebleminded or not. someone magically compelled to set that fire would’ve understood what happened as soon as the charm left him and would definitely remember every detail once the cleric healed him.

caleb is remorseful and traumatized because he willingly murdered his parents. as well as many others.

it can’t be that simple. caleb was institutionalized for eleven years just because his abuser pushed him too far? there must be a more nefarious reason. ikithon even said he basically stored him for later.

putting aside the fact that bren having a breakdown in the way he did makes complete sense for his situation, ikithon’s “claim” that he orchestrated all of caleb’s subsequent years is not only something he never actually says (e110, 3:16:34)—it is a claim that’s patently absurd.

i’ve written meta that discusses this in the past (link here). essentially though, the number of moving pieces and assumptions that would be needed for such a series of events is ridiculously improbable. even assuming that ikithon feebleminded him—so that caleb’s mind would be intact when he ‘woke up’—even assuming that ikithon somehow procured the service of a cleric of the archeart—a banned deity in the empire that would oppose ikithon...

why in the world would he ever reasonably believe that caleb widogast, the man he viciously betrayed and lied to and abused, would do anything to benefit ikithon?

trent ikithon is a mortal man. he has power, yes; enchantment magic, authority, and a history of abuse and manipulation over caleb’s head, yes. but ikithon is a mortal man. not a puppeteer in the sky piloting people’s bodies.

he certainly wouldn’t have led caleb to a whole new family that would change everything about his life for the better. a family that would love him, truly—a family that would help him heal, bear the weight of his guilt, and find a real future waiting for him again instead of a self-destructive end. a family that would fight tooth and nail for caleb’s sake against ikithon.

abusers lie. their biggest lie, the one they always circle back to in the end, is that their victim is unique: that there is something which makes them deserving of abuse, and that their abuser is both right and inescapable.

ikithon is read as honest because he chooses his words carefully and has the self-confidence to believe it. everything he’s claimed about caleb and his past have either been implications that he encouraged others to reach for him or platitudes empty of everything except gaslighting intent.

caleb has escaped. and everything ikithon wants is to convince caleb and his friends that he continues to control caleb’s life, that caleb is special, so he can regain some influence over a man who’s come to command so much power.

the idea that caleb must’ve been feebleminded—that he couldn’t have just had a mental breakdown like so many other prospective volstrucker before miraculously, then strenuously, recovering to create a hopeful future for himself—falls into the trap of validating ikithon’s lies.

trent ikithon didn’t see and believe in caleb’s ‘full potential’ before anyone else did. he didn’t foresee a single ounce of the man’s struggle to put himself back together after what he suffered. caleb was not institutionalized to serve as a toy to one day pull back out of the closet. there was no feeblemind or other secretive plan that could only serve to obfuscate the brutal truth:

ikithon abused a boy until he shattered, and tried to hide the evidence. a crime that he’s committed against countless other children. plain and simple.

so that’s my piece.

caleb widogast—bren ermendrud—was not the victim of a premeditated feeblemind from ikithon, based on the mechanics of the spell. even more importantly, the narrative of his and ikithon’s stories would suffer if he was.

now,

A LOGICAL POSSIBILITY I WON’T DENY.

what if ikithon feebleminded him as a method to subdue him after the breakdown?

this is more or less an alternate theory that’s irrelevant to the points i actually wanted to make. but i want to talk about it anyway because it’s kind of fun.

fact the bonus: bren spent eleven years in the sanatorium.

eleven years is a long time. he would’ve been able to save every 30 days after the initial failed save. the exandrian calendar has about eleven 30-day periods every year. assuming a feeblemind spell cast on him just prior to his institutionalization, that’s somewhere around 121 possible save attempts, give or take a few.

what’s the likelihood of him actually saving? to go through the mechanics:

normally, feeblemind reduces a person’s intelligence score to 1, modifier -5. caleb, as a variant human, possessed the feat keen mind from the beginning both mechanically and story-wise. this would make his intelligence score 2, modifier -4, even after feeblemind.

as a level 1-2 wizard, he would’ve had proficiency in intelligence saves. this would be +2 to his save.

in total, the modifier to bren’s intelligence saves would be -2.

in order to cast feeblemind, trent ikithon would have to have been a minimum level 15 wizard. this leaves two possible proficiency bonuses to determine his spell save dc: +5 or +6.

it’s probably safe to assume that his intelligence score is at least 18–20, likely 20. this would be a modifier of +4 or +5. (his intelligence could be 22+ if matt wanted to be a real dick, but let’s assume otherwise.)

spell save dc = 8 + spellcasting score mod (for wizards, this is intelligence) + proficiency bonus.

this means trent ikithon’s possible spell save dc is somewhere from 17–19.

therefore:

at minimum—17 being ikithon as a level 15–16 wizard with an intelligence score of 18–19 at the time of casting—bren would have to roll a 19 or nat 20 to make the save with his -2 save modifier.

at a dc of 18—ikithon either being level 17–20 or having an intelligence score of 20, but not both—bren would have to roll a nat 20.

at a dc of 19(+), it would be impossible for bren to save without additional bonuses such as bless.

i don’t have the brainpower to calculate some real statistical probabilities, but depending on your opinion of trent ikithon’s probable capabilities at the time of bren’s mental break, he may have been able to save against feeblemind sometime during the eleven years he spent at the sanatorium.

naturally, this has the earlier-mentioned conundrum of remembering that return of clarity once he was healed by the cleric, should ikithon have been retrieved to recast the feeblemind and altered his memories. nevertheless, it may or may not be a fun thought to play around with.

[quantumlocked310]

Order Up! Part 1 of 2

Extra Hot Hvitserk Macchiato for @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom on the bar!

Summary: You finally run into the cute barista from your favorite coffee shop when he’s not working. Will he be charming enough to lure you into bed? Or are you confident enough to invite him in yourself?

Warnings: Tooth Rotting Fluff, Slow Burn, Smut will be in Chapter 2

Note: This is technically a sequel, but can be read without reading Pour Overs and Pastries. (but that one is really cute, so you absolutely should if you haven’t)

Crossposted on AO3

+++++

The new job was going swimmingly. Your coworkers loved you, and you were crushing problems left and right. You’d even saved the company several thousand Krone by finding a smoother, more efficient way to execute some accounting procedures. The company was so happy they’d taken the chance on you, even though they had to go through all the trouble of coordinating the visa and moving you from New York to Denmark.

You’d fallen in love with the city, and your new life. Each workday you begin with coffee from Lothbrothers. The office has a little kiosk in the foyer, but the coffee from the little shop with the cute barista is worth the extra expense.

For three months your morning routine is peppered with pleasant conversation from Sigurd, local gossip with Ivar, and a whole bunch of covert staring at the muscles in Hvitserk’s back as he putters around the bar.

Two weeks into your daily trips to the shop, Ivar had turned to you while waiting for your drink and demanded your name saying, “Du er kommet her i to uger…” before seeing the look of immense confusion on your face and switching to English while rolling his eyes. “You’ve been coming here for two weeks now. Guess you’re a regular. Why are you in Denmark?”

You’re a little taken aback at his abrupt tone, but seeing as he has spent the last two weeks staring holes into his computer it is possible he’s just a little intense. You turn to him and say “A new job. I moved from New York,” but almost can’t spit it out, because as soon as you turn to answer him his icy blue eyes capture you in their magnetic pull.

You blink and he’s no longer looking you in the eye. “New York is a long way. Why Denmark?”

Shrugging you rest a hip on the counter and check your watch quickly. “It was the first overseas company I found willing to hire an American in the position I wanted. I’m very lucky, and very good at my job. Not to mention the perk of viking men.” You wink at this handsome stranger, and he looks away, a little flustered. Perhaps if you can’t catch the barista’s eye, you’ll have fun with this Dane instead.

“Latte for Y/N.” A voice growls from your side, and you turn around to grab your drink.

“Thank you, Hvits…” He is gone before you can finish his name, without so much as a “Thank you for coming,” like usual.

You frown, but suppose it must be busier than usual and turn back to the stranger you’d been conversing with. “Excuse me, I have to run to work, but it was very nice to meet you.”

“And you as well.” The stranger waves you off, and you scurry away, mind a flurry with thoughts of what you could’ve possibly done to piss off the cute barista. Was he just busy? Did you say something to the stranger that made him angry? You realize you never got the stranger’s name, but the rest of the anxious thoughts flow away with the calming walk to your office building.

+++++

The next day you learn the stranger’s name is Ivar, and you strike up an interesting friendship. Each morning you greet each other and while you wait for coffee he tells you all about the other patrons. You learn the large man on the bench from your first day is Bjorn, Ivar’s half brother. “But that’s a story for over drinks, not coffee.” You laugh together, but you have to go before he can ask you out for those drinks.

Ivar says the man at the window is the leader of a local church. Not a priest, and not a cult leader, but almost. Ivar is unashamed about his belief in their higher power, but makes it clear he doesn’t have a large commitment to Loki’s teaching specifically. The way he speaks of the older man, it seems like something had happened between the two, but Ivar is stubborn and refuses to speak anymore on the subject.

After six weeks of talking, Ivar tells you he’s an editor for a major Danish publisher. His sharp and ruthless mind makes sure no mistake is unaddressed and you get to sample some of the works he reads as he complains about plot holes or token characters.

Ivar seems to know everyone in the cafe, or can at least point someone out as new and predict if they will come back or not. Hvitserk will sometimes chime in with a comment about a patron. That they like this or that drink. That they don’t like raisins. That he thinks yellow isn’t their color. Or he bets they work for this lawyer or that restaurant.

Over the weeks you find out more little things about the two men, and you stop flirting with Ivar. You’ve noticed it gets him flustered and he seems to actually get uncomfortable, but he refuses to talk about it and changes the subject whenever you try. So you move on, and continue the friendly banter and non-sexual subjects. You’ve learned Hvitserk will stand up for the other employees. When someone is rude to Sigurd he will take over with a menacing glare and put in their order without a smile. If he hears harassing comments from people in line he will kick them out without thought, and Ivar supports him every time.

Your affection for Lothbrothers grows with every week you spend going to the coffeeshop, and your friendship with Ivar, and your crush on Hvitserk soar with it too.

+++++

Bright and early Saturday morning finds you browsing the local market for fresh finds. On the weekends you indulge your Farmer’s Market Aesthetic side and cook anything you can find. You’ve even started to befriend one of the local boulangers after he realized you love to hear about his process for choosing bread flavors for the day.

While talking to Pierre about his sourdough starter, you notice out of the corner of your eye a tall man approach the market stall. Pierre pauses in your conversation and you turn to get a better look at who is buying.

“Hvitserk?” His name slips out of your mouth in shock. You’d never run into anyone you know, who wasn’t a vendor, at this market before.

His head whips around, eyes impossibly wide as he stares at you, clearly thinking something similar.

“It’s Y/N. From the coffeeshop. Good Morning!”

“Yes, Y/N. Ivar’s new friend. Good morning.” He seems to pause, perhaps thinking about if it’s socially acceptable to turn tail and run. But then he simply asks “How are you?”

“I am well thank you. All the better for Pierre’s delicacies.” You smile toward the seller then ask, “How are you?”

“Well also, thanks. Do you come to this market often?”

“Only every Saturday for the past, oh, five weeks? Do you come here often, as well?”

“I have not been back in a long time.” He seems to think inwardly for a moment before coming back to the present. You wonder what makes him look like that. Who ruined this peaceful market for this gorgeous man?

“Well then you won’t have met Sara yet!” You grab his free hand and start pulling him toward one of the newer market stalls. On the way over you seem to realize what you’ve done, and try to pull your hand away out of propriety, but Hvitserk tightens his hold just a little and you can feel your face heat as you continue to hold hands.

There are a few people in line when you arrive, so you continue to make small talk, asking “So what made you decide to come to the market today?”

“I like to see what’s new or in season to add to the menu for the shop. Unfortunately the schedule doesn’t always allow me to scope things out as often as I like. Yourself?”

“I try to cook locally on the weekends, since I don’t have time during the week. There is amazing produce here, wait ‘till you try…” You’re interrupted by Sara proclaiming “My favorite customer!”

You laugh and hug your friend awkwardly over the counter. “Good morning, Sara. I want you to meet Hvitserk. He’s the barista at that amazing cafe by my apartment.”

“Co-Owner and barista, actually. It’s nice to meet you.” He reaches out his hand to greet Sara.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn't realize. How cool!” In all your talks, Ivar had never mentioned. You panic for a quick second before continuing. “Sara is the best beekeeper in all of the North. She also works part time with me in the office.”

“Welcome to ‘Sweet as Honey’! What can I get for you?” Sara chimes in with a big smile.

“He wants the small tasting jars. Lavender, Jalapeno, and Chai.” You turn to Hvisterk “Her flavors are ingenious and she comes up with new ones all the time. She brings in samples to work, so I'm both spoiled and biased.”

“I can’t wait.” He smiles softly. You go to pull out your wallet, but Hvitserk is already handing Sara some Krone. “You’ve bought enough coffee from me. I think I should return the favor.” He winks and inside you swoon a little. His flirty smile is a welcome change from the cool professionalism you get from him at Lothbrothers’.

“Thank you for stopping by! It was nice to meet you Hvitserk. I’ll see you on Monday, Y/N?”

“Bye, Sara! See you then.” As Hvisterk turns to walk away, Sara looks at you and points at him, then fans herself and pretends to faint. You give her a quelling look and shake your head no. She gives you an incredulous look in return, as if to say “Why not?” You shrug briefly thinking “I don’t know where this is going.”

You turn around to find Hvitserk has claimed a small bench by a tree a few feet away from Sweet as Honey. He pulls out the first of the jars, a small bag with six little cubes of bread inside, and a tiny wooden stirring stick. The heat of his body is scalding where you can feel it next to you, the bench only large enough to allow a sliver of air between you.

His large hands open the top on the Chai infused honey, and you watch his long fingers use the tiny stick to spread just enough honey on the first of the bread cubes. He offers you the cube. It would take nothing to grab it from him and pop it in your mouth, but you hesitate. He’s offered it at face level, so you take the chance. Your plump lips wrap around the soft bread, and your tongue sneaks out to lick any remaining honey off the tip of his thumb and forefinger.

In the time it takes you to chew and swallow he has acquired his own piece of honeyed bread. His is prepared lightning fast while barely taking his eyes off your face. The green of his iris is just a sliver, almost completely taken over by the black of his dilated pupils.

A quiet moan seems to force its way out of his chest as you make eye contact. “How does she get the delicate blend of cardamom and cinnamon?”

You clear your throat, but your voice is still a little husky. “I told you she was a genius. Try the Jalapeno.”

Together you try all the honeys, and Hvitserk comments on the balance of flavors, the texture, and how he would love to use some of them in either the pastries or the drinks at the shop. He also reveals that while they now have some bakers help in the morning, Hvitserk is still the one who recipe tests and makes all the menu decisions.

He puts his hand on your knee. “Stay here for a moment while I talk to Sara? I’ll be right back.” You watch him walk away and stare unabashedly at his ass perfectly hugged by his skinny jeans. He talks to the beekeeper, and you watch them exchange business cards

This day has turned out to be amazing, and you don’t want it to be over. Hvitserk has turned out to be an incredible conversation partner, and you can feel in your gut that the two of you click in a way you haven’t felt in a while.

When he returns, Hvitserk offers you both hands to help you from the bench. You take them, and as soon as you stand up you blurt out, “Come over for dinner tonight?” You wince at your tactlessness, but continue with “I bought so many good ingredients, and it would be an honor to share them with you.”

“I’m at Lothbrothers’ until 7. Can I come by after that?”

“7 is great. What’s your number? I can text you the address.”

You both exchange phones and add the new contact. When he gives yours back, you see he’s put Hvitserk Lothbrok in, but he’s also listed himself as “Hot Barista.” You roll your eyes at him when you look back up, and he throws you a flirty wink before saying goodbye and giving you a kiss on the cheek as well.

After watching him walk away you run back home and start prepping the menu, cleaning your apartment, and making sure you have some good wine to go with the meal.

Read Chapter 2 here.

Tag List: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ @appledressing​