#this took too much time and effort for the simplest post ever

[scarlibis]

cant believe that possibly the only art i will EVER post on this site is an animal jam shitpost

[rin-and-jade]

Have you ever wondered what you could do to be productive, being a system? Are you worried of not making progress or not doing enough? Do you wonder if you need a definitive guide or any specific steps in order to advance??

Let's chill down guys, this is rarely discussed so if i may have your attention.. this could change how you look at your worries for the better. Although there are no steps on how to improve your life, this is a post worth reading. (long post beware, tldr at bottom for saving time.)

For starters, what came to your head when you think of the word, productive? Is it finishing all your chores for example, or, do things from morning 'til night to count as being productive? Now in terms of system things, it'll be more about discovering every parts, or [insert your own definition here]. But WHAT is actually being productive like..?

To be productive..?

At it's simplest definition, it's making meaningful progress or actions that contributes to personal growth, health, or mood. It also means using the time and and energy to do things that matters or aligns with you.

So doing any kind of work, with the least amount of intensity or effort that you planned to do IS already productive. In fact, it is already a productive thing to do when you tried to communicate between other parts! That's the whole thing about being a system. I know that you have lots of progress to chase ahead of you, and it always boils down to consistent commitment, even if it is doing just one little thing everyday.

But what if you say you can't do X until you do Y? Or that you NEED to do something for the sake of doing something? Or if you feel pressured to do things so you took on side quests even if its not the main focus?.. Okay, to the next one.

I need that sense of progress.

Have you ever experienced moments when you felt the need to do something just for the sake of doing it? I've been there. Sometimes, we do other things to avoid actual things to work on. It feels like a false sense of progress, tricking ourselves into thinking we achieved something, even though it's clearly being neglected.

At its most basic, making progress means moving forward in a specific direction. Imagine you want to prepare instant noodles. If you spend your time cleaning the cutlery you'll use while neglecting to actually cook the noodles, you're not making real progress. Cleaning the cutlery can be seen as a side quest, but if you only focus on these side quests without completing your main goal, you'll never get to enjoy the noodles you intended to make.

To put this simply, it's not real progress if all you do is plan things out, baring with the same unfinished innerworld, editing your own pk card or proxy (except for necessary updates) and list the amount of alters. Side quests can always wait and be done later, the main things to actually do is building up cooperation, practicing inner-communication, create a functional place or ways for expression between parts,, finding medias or ways to enhance the ease of communication also counts.

But are you satisfied with what you're doing? do you need to do more? Maybe you need a comprehensive guide to understand what you got to really do?? I understand that we need to feel accomplished to keep on going, so let's go to the last part.

Any help is appreciated!.. Please.

Sometimes people need a little bit of guidance from someone else to find its own path, though not mandatory,, it is good to get some insights but never good if we rely too much on it without doing self reflection and discovery.

When we rely too much on external guidance, it is bound to confuse us the longer it continues. It's because everyone's creating a guide out of what they think is useful and necessary to do, many of them can be conflicting from each other.. so ask yourself this one question: are you following the steps that aligns to your needs, or are you lost in the sea of searching and hope it works for you?

So, no, it's not necessary to follow or rely on a guide to actually feel like were doing enough, to create breakthroughs. Every life of a system is unique and never comparable, what works for them might not for you, they can be your source of inspiration,, but never replicate it. I know it is hard to accept that we want someone to relate to in terms of struggles or process, and to have someone that fully understands our situation.. but don't let your own uniqueness let you down.

TLDR as Conclusion

About productivity:

Productivity means making meaningful progress or actions that contribute to personal growth, health, or mood.

It involves using time and energy for things that matter and align with your goals.

Making Meaningful Progress:

Even small efforts, like communicating between parts, count as productive within a system.

Beware of false progress: Focus on main goals, not just side quests.

Avoiding Overreliance on External Guidance:

While external guidance can be helpful, relying too much on it without self-reflection can lead to confusion.

Every system's journey is unique; what works for others might not work for you. Embrace your uniqueness and avoid comparing your progress with others.

It's been a while i've made a comprehensive post, so i hope you still learnt a thing or two even if you skipped instantly to the tldr section. Let me know your thoughts on what else to cover if any! (This post is applicable outside system things)

- j

[book-of-baba-fett]

hiiii iris!!! how about softer world #23 for rex and talia?

Leo!! Thanks so much for sending this in. I am so obsessed with the vibes of this. Also sorry it took me long to get to my brain just doesn't cooperate with me. also whoops i made it a lil angsty

warnings: nothing except for some reference to PTSD related dreams

We talk in the dark as we fall asleep, and we are objects in the night sky outside of time. (it is the exact opposite of alone.)

The silence of space always seemed the loudest during the 'night' shift on Republic Navy ships. The ranking clone officers had a preference to be off duty, with younger clones taking over posts, and the Jedi would usually retire for the evening alone, using their solitude to meditate or communicate with Coruscant. For Rex and Talia, it was a rare chance to be in one another's company uninterrupted.

They used Rex's quarters most often; the warmth of his presence always helped Talia unwind after a long day and his own space radiated that comfort. Sometimes she felt most at home in this tiny durasteel room than she ever did in her quarters at the Temple. They had turned the lights off over an hour ago, yet sleep was still evading Rex. The drone of the ventilation systems seemed more grating than usual, an incessant hum that wouldn’t leave him be. He adjusted as well as he could in the bed, already a small space for one person but downright cramped for two, not that either would ever complain about sharing it with one another. Talia’s low breaths tickled the back of his spine as she exhaled, her arm draped loosely over his waist after she had fallen asleep holding him. 

Rex shifted slightly again, trying to find a more forgiving spot on the mattress, but even as he closed his eyes once more his mind was too active; images of holomaps and replays of battles in the days before imprinted in his vision. Rex sighed and slowly rolled over, trying to not jostle the bed much as he turned facing Talia. His efforts to not awake Talia failed as Rex could see her face scrunching in the darkness, her eyes slowly opening as she softly yawned. 

“Can’t sleep again?” She asked groggily, her voice husky. Her hand brushed up and down his back as her eyes found his through the dark, “I can make you some tea to help?”

‘Don’t get up for me,” Rex shook his head, already feeling a pit of guilt for waking her up. “I’ll be fine; just go back to sleep.”

Talia frowned, her eyes still locked on him as she sternly said “You’ve barely slept all week.”

“How would you know if you were sleeping?” Rex retorted with the lightest flick of a smirk.

“I know everything,” Talia deadpanned. Her hand drifted up his side so she could softly cup his cheek. Her voice softened, a hint of worry peaking in, “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” Rex replied when in truth it was everything. But he couldn’t put words to his troubles, not easily and not at this hour. He couldn’t talk about the nightmares that plaqueed him whenever he did manage to fall asleep, ones that placed him back on Umbara, or the mines on Kadavo. Or how his dreams replayed moments in battle, where instead of shots narrowly missing Talia they managed to hit her. No, Rex couldn’t let her worry. He knew Talia saw right through him, and he knew if she were more awake she would remind him how bad of a liar he was. Instead she stared at Rex in that way that made him think she was reading his mind, even with all the times she assured she wasn’t, that that wasn’t how it worked. Still, Talia read him better than any book, knew what each subtle expression on his face meant, could hear the tone behind every sigh or long exhale. 

Her knuckles softly grazed along the stubble covered skin of his cheek as she raised her hand to the side of his head, her nails lightly scraping against his buzzed hair before her fingers began to slowly circle over his temple. It was the simplest of motions, but it was the most sedative thing Rex had ever felt.

Was it some Jedi trick she would play on him, or were her hands that calming on their own; Rex never deigned to ask. He just welcomed her soft touch, succumbed to the way it soothed his restless mind. All he knew was that any night Talia performed this simple motion with her fingers against his scalp, Rex slept dreamlessly and calmly, waking up more restful than he would think was possible the night before, with Talia in his arms.

--

IA Taglist -

@djarrex @justanothersadperson93 @paige6768 @saltywintersoldat @clonecyaree @dinner-djarin @whore4rex @swlover2187 @collectoroffics @pinkiemme @twistedstitcher27 @frietiemeloen @a-c-lee @ashotofspotchka @galacticgraffiti @itsagrimm @rexandechosandwich @immortalhdx @lady--kenobi @stankferrik @aquaamethyst96 @mavendeb @alwayssnivellus @rain-on-kamino @staryskyforever @amyroswell @lucyysthings @manqoz @ilikemymendarkandfictional @punkpirate82 @paperplanes221 @saturnsokas @starstofillmydream @wild-karrde @purgetrooperfox @sleepingsun501 @burningfieldof-clover @seriowan @samspenandsword @sunshinesdaydream @babygirlrex0504

[bokuroar]

hi tiger! i really love your work abt hq captains as ur bf. u made my heart woosh and pit pat hard. can i make a request? an hc on how would karasuno boys take care of you when u are sick? 👉👈

☽ a/n: omg that description lmao ilysm im so glad you liked it !!! and thanks so much for sending in a request i hope this would make your heart go woosh & pit pat hard too 💗😋 im sorry too this took so long i got so busy with college! (this is still in school setting btw)

haikyuu!! captains & how they take care of you when you’re sick

✧ DAICHI SAWAMURA

daichi drops everything at an instant for you

— both as a volleyball player and a senior, daichi knows how to help his teammates inside and outside the court. he thinks having the role of a captain developed his natural tendency to always look out for and take care of others especially the people around him. however, when it comes to you, his willingness and capacity to care for another doubles. he could be in the middle of practice or in the classroom listening to a lecture, but once he receives a text that you saw your school’s nurse because you weren’t feeling well, everything else but you loses importance to him. he’d ask coach or the teacher if he could excuse himself as this counts as an emergency. he wants to attend to you personally because daichi doesn’t think a simple text or call would suffice. the degree of your sickness doesn’t matter to him too. “daichi, you didn’t have to come i was just feeling a little dizzy that’s all.” daichi only lets out a chuckle at this and kisses your forehead, “i’ll always be there when my baby needs me.”

✧ TOORU OIKAWA

oikawa treats you like royalty

— even after watching hundreds of oikawa’s volleyball matches and witnessing his sets and spikes, his speed when he sees you try to get out of bed when you’re sick is unparalleled. to say that he wouldn’t let you lift a finger is an understatement. he isn’t underestimating your strength, he knows you are strong. but for him, he thinks that it’s the least he could do. it irks oikawa that he couldn’t physically remove your sickness away so, for him, nursing you back to health is his #1 job. you must admit it is kind of amusing and borderline silly to see the cocky volleyball player image oikawa puts on quickly replaced by a panicked concerned boyfriend when he sees you exert effort too much his liking. “honey, i have a cold. i can stand on my own, i am not dying.” you explain. “as your king i am obliged to be at your service!” he dramatically bows and kisses the back of your hand while you roll your eyes. you hate to see him go frantic about a trivial and temporary thing but your heart swells at the amount of effort he puts in for you.

✧ TETSUROU KUROO

kuroo runs you a bath

— kuroo hated seeing you sick. it breaks his heart to see you in such a weak state, example when you lose your appetite or your energy to even do the simplest of things. he’d never admit it out loud but he is actually annoyed that out of all people, you get to be sick. so when you’re feeling unwell, without you even saying a word, kuroo’s already on his move to lend you a hand. when you wake up from your much needed naps, there’s always already a glass of water, medicines, and warm soup waiting beside you. declining kuroo’s offer to feed you, he then proceeds to setup a bath for you instead while you eat in bed. as soon as your done, kuroo puts the dishes on the sink and gets back to you. he crouches down on your once again resting state on bed, caresses your cheeks and gently whispers, “hey. time for a bath?” you give him a small nod and appreciative smile, “a warm one please.” kuroo hums as confirmation. he kisses your forehead and wraps an arm on your back and another arm on the back of your knees, “hold my neck, baby.” he carries you all the way to the bathroom and asks you if do you want him to stay and help or keep you company while you relax on the tub, which you’d no doubt say yes to. as you feel kuroo’s hands massage your temples from his chair outside the tub, you couldn’t help but get one of his hands and kiss the back of it as a non-verbal thank you and i love you.

✧ KOUTAROU BOKUTO

bokuto never leaves your side

— bokuto is already a clingy boyfriend on a normal day, so what if he finds out you are sick? he’d be too worried to lay off his eyes off of you even for a second. bokuto thinks the greatest way he could help alleviate the pain you’re feeling is staying by your side. when you’re walking around the house, he won’t insist you to stop but you’ll have his eyes following you around. if you didn’t tell him you’d be fine to walk around on your own, you’d never stop having a shadow named bokuto koutarou following you around. so instead, he is on full alert if ever you need him to do something for you. he volunteers to be at your beck and call. and honestly, you find comfort with this. even just the feeling of his presence around makes you feel more ease than the usual tension you have when you’re sick. as bokuto gently hugs you from behind as you take a nap, you guiltily whisper, “bo, you don’t need to stay with me all the time. won’t you get sick too?” after realizing he spent all day at your side. bokuto frowns a bit, “look at my muscles, baby, these are too tough to get sick!” you lightly chuckle, “even the strongest men get sick, you know? and i don’t want that.” bokuto only hugs you even tighter and buries his head on your hair, “well that’s too bad. i’d rather get sick than be far away from you when you need me.” sickness aside, safe to say you both fell asleep with the most lovely smiles.

✧ SHINSUKE KITA

kita brings you everything

— kita is a very observant boyfriend. he always knows what to say and what to do in different situations. these situations include when you’re sick. one text of “my love, i can’t go to school today. i’m sick.” sent to him, he’d immediately know what to do. he calls it the “sick baby care package”. medicines? check. bottle of water? check snacks? check. kita once bought atsumu food and drinks when atsumu forgot to take care of himself. what more of it’s his partner? even with the necessities already in his bag, he would still go to a nearby store and ask you what else do you need. he prioritizes your needs above anything else especially he knows how much discomfort being sick brings. after a small reprimand of not looking after yourself, “what would you do if i wasn’t here, huh?” he lightly teases. “i’d probably still be sick. but alone.” you pout and tease back. his shoulders shake a little as he lets out a small chuckle and leans down to give you a kiss, “good thing i’m not going anywhere then.”

✧ USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

ushijima searches up recipes and cooks meals for you

— the captain of shiratorizawa is a silent worrier. behind his brooding and intimidating exterior is a warm and kind heart. when he finds out your sick, it may not show on his stoic face but his mind’s an entanglement of thoughts worrying about you. does your head hurt? have you taken your medicines? do you have food? he wants to bombard you with these questions for his peace of mind but he knows better than to bother you even more. so after his errands at school, he immediately sends you a text that he’s on his way to you. seeing you sleeping on your bed when he arrives, he goes to the kitchen to inspect the food stored. as an athlete, ushijima knows that one of the best things to help you get back on your feet is digestion of healthy food. and as your boyfriend, he would love nothing more than that to happen. trying to minimize the loud sounds, ushijima then proceeds to open his phone and searches simple soup recipes when sick. a gentle tap on your shoulder and a hushed “hey” wakes you up from your slumber. when you wake up, there’s already a glass of water, medicines, and warm soup waiting beside you. “hey, you came.” despite your uneasiness, you smile as you see ushijima. he reciprocated your smile and a nod as if saying of course he wouldn’t be anywhere else. he sits beside you and gets the soup he just cooked, “i know you haven’t eaten yet, love. so here you go.” you ask him where and when he bought that when you saw the soup was on your bowl and not a takeout. ushijima slightly blushes and admits he cooked it for you. who would’ve thought, huh? you just let out a giggle and push yourself off the headboard to give his cheek a kiss before accepting his relentless offer to feed you.

; say hi/request — see pinned post!

[furiousgoldfish]

Personal post about trauma under the cut, extremely upsetting content, do not read if you had narcissistic parents and don't wanna get triggered, I am very sad and mad and it's hard to talk about this. TW child labor, child torture, brainwashing, death threats, narcissistic abuse.

*

I was a hardworking child, I was happy and excited to work, I wanted to be a part of everything that's being done. I noticed work warranted for people to get respect, food, praise, acceptance, and I wanted to work hard so I too would be a part of that. My family lived in a rural area, they kept animals, grew fields of crops, were always in some sort of construction work, so me always being eager to work was pretty much ideal for them, or you'd think that it was. You'd think that.

I was working eagerly and I realized, that unlike for adults, I don't get respect, praise, acceptance, or sometimes even food. It was for some reason denied to me only. And I was still happy to work because I chased that feeling of personal accomplishment, even if there was no rewards. And again, you'd think this is perfectly convenient and ideal to parents who wanted free labour and to give no recognition or praise in return. You'd think that.

But it wasn't enough for them. Father got this idea to take me out to work with him alone, away from home. I remember the place we went to, only as a place I need burned down to the ground before I could breathe again. It was a demolition-construction of a house, and I don't remember how many time I've been there. All I know is, after first few times, I no longer wanted to go. I begged not to go.

I am guessing my father could not bear the looks of me working happily, or even working silently. Me doing everything I was told was not fun enough for him– so he would give me false instructions. As an easy setup for punishment. I did exactly what I was told, and would get screamed at and beaten up. Then forced to keep working in tears, shaking, terrified, injured, while being further berated. And that was only the start.

Even as a child, I was diligent and responsible about doing work, and I know I was getting things done just fine, because, I was doing the sibling's share of chores too. If siblings were called to work, they would simply mess up on purpose so I would be told to repeat it after them, correctly. Sometimes siblings would have me do it and take the credit, which I didn't mind because working made me feel better about myself. It made me feel useful. My mind was already dissociated from my body to the point where I no longer felt exhaustion, pain, strain, or any physical effect work was having on me. I would get berated and shamed if I showed signs of being tired or strained. So my body disregarded it all.

And yeah, that wasn't enough either. I was still sometimes feeling okay. If I was allowed to work alone, and let my mind wonder, if nobody commented on it I knew it was okay.

So this is where they decided to take a step further and disallow me to feel okay at any point. I was humiliated while working to the point of tears. I'd be ridiculed in front of guests. I could no longer enjoy my own thoughts, but constant criticism, insults, accusations and humiliation was raining down on me at every step. And when I was done, with tremendous effort it took to endure this, I would be told 'It would have been better if you had done nothing.' So my insane effort to endure abuse to get things done, was rendered worthless in a second.

Father kept taking me away to work alone with him, and forced me to listen to his monologues, which I hated, because he was boring, wrong and self-obsessed, but I wasn't allowed to say that, or argue. My silent compliance was never enough. He had to hit me. He had to find something to berate me over. He kept inventing reasons. I would clean his entire garage and he'd move a steel closet I couldn't possibly move and berate me for not cleaning under it.

I had a log thrown into my head, causing a head injury, and I had to keep working. I fell and fractured my shoulder so badly I could barely walk; I was brought to a forest to drag logs around, too heavy for me to lift. I was sometimes orchestrated to get injured; father would start a trailer I was standing on the edge of, and forced me to fall by quickly moving forward just enough. I was still expected to work after that. He hit me with a blunt edge of an axe and berated me for standing there. I was told to 'not expect a lift to the hospital'. I was brought to work while starved, grieving, suicidal. I was lied to about where I was going and what would I be doing, and for how long. I was never allowed to stop working.

And the game of giving me wrong instructions and punishing me for doing it 'wrong' never stopped. I caught on and begged for correct instructions. I would ask to explain, how to do it, to show me, anything. 'HOW OLD are you not to know this? I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO TELL YOU! YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW!' And by his rage, I could tell that if I don't do it any way I knew how, I'd be punished instantly. I had no choice but to try – and of course fail, and feel horribly ashamed for 'deserving to get beat up'. Eventually my brain started shortcircuiting at the simplest tasks, I would mess up because I was in terror. I couldn't think.

At this point, I no longer wished to work for people who would inflict violence on me. And that is when I was quckly informed that if I didn't work, I would be killed. Not in those words. It was 'You have to work if you want to live!' followed by 'We can kick you out and you will starve on the street. Nobody will take you in. There is no place for you. Nobody wants someone like you. You don't deserve to eat if you don't work.' My choices were taken away. If I still refused, the result would be to beat me and force me to work injured, shaking and crying.

All this, for what? I would have been HAPPY to work. I would have been chasing my little daydreams and singing the pokemon tune, and if I was ever praised, I'd be the happiest kid on the block. I was a kid who liked to work. I wanted minimal fairness, minimal acknowledgment. To be a part of the family. Only that.

It just wouldn't do for the narcssistic father. Watching a child be broken, terrified and shaking, crying, ashamed, guilty, working past exhaustion, in injuries, was just too tempting for him to pass up. Even free labor wasn't worth to him as much as the pleasure of child torture. He needed that like it was a drug. What kind of a sick high did he experience, breaking a defenseless kid? What kind of pleasure did it entail, getting someone rid of their natural happiness to work? Was it fun, tearing me into pieces, over and over again? Does he remember it as a delicious, satisfying pleasure? Does he daydream about it? He knew it was wrong; he forced me to stop crying and hide the tears before we went home. 'Don't say anything to your mother.' I was told before being stuffed back in his car.

And now... I can't work. I can't even move sometimes. It was torn away from me. My ability to work was ripped away from my child body when I had no way to defend it or to grab it back and protect what is mine. I can't work anymore. It's terrifying. It terrifies me to not work. Because I was made aware working is the only thing keeping me alive, and capitalism confirms this, so I remain to forever fight with myself about how even if everyone says otherwise, I still deserve to live. Heartbroken, abandoned, with my basic human abilities stripped from me. It doesn't make me deserving to die.

I am so angry and sad. If I had my natural ability to work back, I'd be fine. I would be able to live safely. I wouldn't spiral into feeling like an unworthy member of society. I learned to survive very insecurely like this, but I hate every second of it. To know that instead of this insane uncertainty, anxiety, guilt for being bedridden, guilt for existing and not moving, I could have just found a job, have normal income? I can't bear it. I can't bear knowing this was wrenched away from me, because it was pleasurable to do so, because tearing me into pieces was a fun hobby for people who didn't care if what they were doing to me killed me. And I couldn't have done anything to stop it. And I'm like this now. Unable to take any more torture, unable to endure any more of being triggered, wondering if I would die from lack of resources, or would my body fail permanently in attempts to process all the exhaustion and pain I was dissociated from for my entire childhood.

How was this worth it. How it could have been worth it to anyone, destroying someone's ability to work, only because it's pleasurable. I felt the plan was to work me until I no longer could do it, then kill me. It's what they did to animals. And I was told I was more worthless than an animal. I was called lazy and a monstrous name I can't even translate, that implied I was burdening everyone with my existence.

It was even a bigger punch to my face to realize, after I escaped, that he was profiting from everything I did. That it would have taken money – way more than was ever spent on my survival, to get all that labor done. He was profitting while telling me I was worthless and don't deserve to eat or sleep in his house. He is now renting the place I was broken to help build. I was torn apart and he is still benefiting from it. And I have nothing. Not even a functional body to work with anymore.

I know I'm not the only person who was constantly left alone with narcissists as a child and had this, or worse, done to them. They don't care which pieces of children are left over by the time they're done getting their high. We're only a thing to consume, not living beings, not people, not someone whose life matters. Our pain is food to them. My father readily became a predator who snached his own kid away for torture sessions, and felt proud and fulfilled to turn his own child into a creature who cannot work anymore to survive.

Don't leave children alone with narcissists. I am trying so hard to get better, but facing reality, is this a thing a person gets better from? It's not a bodily harm of once or twice, this was happening for the most majority of my lifetime. It makes sense I cannot move. It makes sense I'm terrified to be triggered into this. It makes sense I can barely bear the reality of it. A person tortured hundreds of times wont just get up and walk away. I can't either. I have to lie here and hope that one day it will get better.

If you read thru all this, and you relate to the parts of this story, know that I am so sorry for what you were put thru. It's devastating and horrenous. If this is how you grew up, it would have been better not to have a family. We all should have been protected from this.

[tangledstarlight]

oh all of this silence and patience (oh im pining in anticipation)

listen it’s still august in some timezones so this totally counts as posting something in august okay? okay! i hope people like this, it took me far too long to finish, but also special shoutout to the wonderful @ourstarscollided​ who really helped me with the whole first section of this fic, without her i truly would still be working on it, so thank you eunice, you’re the best!💜 okay enjoy! 

the first firefighter!luke fic for anyone who wants to read that first, though it can be read alone: ao3 / tumblr

also on ao3!

lil disclaimer: i’m still not a firefighter and i also know that they dont use fire poles anymore but lets just ✨pretend✨ for the visual okay. this takes place between part 4 and 5 in the original fic!

trigger warnings! lots of swearing, implied sexual content.

RATED T –– there’s no graphic scenes but there’s a lot of kissing and fading to black, so rating might change if anyone needs me to 😬

Word count: 6,072

“Look who it is!”

Julie feels a grin pull up on the corners of her mouth as she spots Luke’s station captain coming around the end of one of the fire trucks Julie is walking between, sending her a wave of the clipboard she’s holding. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah, class ended early and I thought I'd pop over to see if I could get some extra time with Luke,” Julie shrugs, holding up the pale grey burlap bag that Alex had packed their food into.

And there’s a sympathetic look that crosses over Harrison’s face, because she knows that the younger woman knows she’s in charge of Luke’s shifts and the reason why Julie comes over every Tuesday to have lunch with her boyfriend.

Because that’s why she was here. To have lunch with him like she did every Tuesday between her classes and when the fires of LA would allow. Sometimes Alex would text her to stop by to pick up a packed lunch for them, sometimes she made something herself, sometimes they just ordered in. The food wasn’t really the point, it was just getting to spend some time together. Julie had never really thought about it before, but there was always something, someone, somewhere, trapped or hurt or on fire. Luke was a very busy person, and it meant sometimes their lunches got interrupted by blaring alarms and him pressing a quick kiss to her lips before rushing off.

Tuesdays were apparently very busy days for a firefighter.

“What’s the master chef prepared for you this week then?” Harrison asks, crossing her arms and clipboard across her chest and lifting one brow, “Y’know Alex used to cook for us, he’d send Luke in every Saturday he was on shift with all sorts of goodies.”

Julie bites her lip to try not to laugh at the exaggerated sigh that leaves the older woman's lips as she shakes her head sadly. There was something about Vivian Harrison that just— put people at ease. The first time Julie had officially met her there had been a warm hug and teasing remarks and there was just something that had viscerally reminding Julie of her aunt Victoria that it was kind of impossible not to like the station captain after that.

“He was pretty busy so it’s just some sandwiches,” she wrinkles her nose a little before smiling, “I’ll tell him how much you’re missing his cooking though, I’m sure the blame will fall completely on Luke.”

Harrison laughs, and tilts her head slightly as she shrugs, “That boy of yours is just very easy to blame.”

She feels a sudden flush to her cheeks at ‘that boy of yours’ that she hopes can be played off by how warm it always is in the station. She can see Harrison’s lips twitching, like she’s about to say something teasing, but Julie is saved from it by two people walking past them and a change of mind.

“Morales, can you tell Patterson his lunch is here.”

“Sure thing Cap,” one of the guys says, shooting her a wide smile that Julie feels compelled to return quickly before he’s rushing off, past the fire engines and up some stairs. And Julie’s about to ask Harrison if they’ve been busy today and if she’d found time to visit the farmers market they’d talked about last time, but another voice interrupts, and Julie hadn’t even realised the other guy hadn’t followed his friend.

“So you’re Patterson’s girl, right?” The blonde asks, eyes scanning her up and down in a way that makes her want to hide behind someone. There’s something vaguely familiar about him, probably because she’s seen him in passing for the last couple of months but never talked to him. Which wouldn’t have been weird if most of the other people in the station hadn’t introduced themselves the first time Luke had invited her to one of their station parties, and made an effort to talk to her whenever she'd stopped by since.

“Yeah, I’m Julie,” she smiles politely, trying to put emphasis on her name. She doesn't mind being known as Luke's girl by people at the station who have actually made an effort to get to know her. 

“Right, right, nice to meet you Julie. I’m Nick, I’m sure Luke’s mentioned me,” he grins, teeth showing and shoulders pulling back like he’s expecting her to — what? Clap? A small furrow works its way between her brows as Nick starts up a conversation without even waiting for her response and she suddenly understands what Luke means about him. Because he has mentioned the condescending, stereotypical blonde frat boy before, and never in a good way. It was mostly followed by some very creative swear words and a mumbled ‘he’s going to get either himself or one of us really hurt one day’.

She tries to follow along with the conversation, nodding politely and laughing whenever Harrison forces one out, but Nick only seems interested in talking about himself, and normally she can feign interest, but right now all she wants is to talk to one person in particular.

There’s the sound of too many voices heading in their direction and Julie turns around, eyes searching for one person, but all she’s met with is a collection of firefighters she vaguely knows and tries not to let her disappointment show too clearly on her face.

“Wow Molina, don’t look so excited to see us!” An elbow nudges her side and Julie glances up to see Carrie Wilson has appeared in the place that Nick had just stood, eyebrows raised and a blinding smile as the other blonde frowns from behind her, still trying to carry on his conversation.

“No! I am glad to see you all it’s just—” Julie starts, eyes a little wide as she looks at the other girl because Carrie had only ever been nice to her, but Luke had a lot of stories about the blonde being ruthless and rude to people she was mildly inconvenienced by.

(One of Luke’s favourite stories was about Carrie loudly telling some girl that Nick was flirting with how he had used the same lines on her two months before. Luke told it every chance he could get, sparing no details on the look of horror that has taken over Nick’s face.)

“You’re here for Patterson,” Carrie cuts her off with a wink, elbow nudging her lightly again, “Don’t worry, we all know. He should be down soon.” There’s something about how she says it that raises more questions than answers for Julie, furrow between her brows and mouth opening to comment when Carrie just nods her head behind her, and Julie turns around to spot Luke.

It’s impossible, Julie knows it’s impossible, but she could swear time slows down. Like she’s in some rom-com movie where the main character sees their love interest for the first time.

Only she’s not in a film, she’s stood next to a fire engine and trying to care about what the people around her are talking about and it’s far from the first time she’s seen the love interest. But the world still feels like it’s in slow motion all the same as she looks up as Luke calls her name from the second floor, grinning at her from over the banister and holding up one hand in that universal signal for ‘wait’.

And Julie waits, not that she could really do anything else with the firehouse blurring at the edges and Nick's voice fading into the background. Focus entirely on Luke.

She’s never seen someone slide down the pole before, didn’t even know that they still used them in firehouses, but Julie’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Though, she supposes, it could just be Luke. His hand wraps around the metal and Julie swallows as her eyes are drawn to his arms, to where his top pulls tight and his forearms are on show. If this was a film, there’d be some stereotypical song about sex playing in the background right about now. All her slightly hazy brain can supply is the chorus to Lady Marmalade on repeat. His legs wrapped around the pole, ankles crossed and thighs pressed together, comes into view as he slides down the metal, all cool and in control, and Julie's throat goes dry.

She knows how much strength it takes to slide down a pole. Her and Flynn had taken a few pole dancing classes a few years ago in an attempt to add some sort of exercise into their day. Julie can still remember how much her arms ached and the bruises that littered the insides of her thighs after even the simplest of moves.

It was hard, and Luke was making it look so easy.

His feet hit the ground, and even though she’s too far away to actually hear it, she’s pretty sure they must make some sort of thudding sound. Because that’s what happens, right? You slide down the pole and your feet hit the floor with a thud that shows you’re ready for action. Only Luke isn’t going off to put on his uniform and fight a fire or save a life.

He’s walking towards her, suspenders swaying and smile widening and eyes never leaving her face.

And look, she knows that she’s seen Luke fully naked, fresh out of a shower or panting on his back. But seeing him slide down that fucking pole in his white t-shirt, suspenders by his knees and hair a mess? Hottest thing she has ever seen. And he knows it if the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he gets closer is anything to go by.

“How long did it take you to practice all that, Patterson?” Carrie asks, and Julie can hear the teasing tone in her voice and would normally enjoy seeing Luke stammer and blush, but right now she’s the one feeling too warm and is pretty sure if she started speaking right now all that would come out would be a high pitched noise.

“About the same amount of time it takes you to do your hair,” is his easy reply and Julie watches as Carrie rolls her eyes, hair flipping over her shoulder, and because he’s momentarily not looking at her, Julie tries to pull her thoughts together. To get a hold of herself. This is not the first time she has seen him in his uniform, she has seen in him in far less, and she will not turn into a blushing mess right now!

“Alright you lot, back to work!” Harrison interrupts before anyone can say anything else, and everyone starts walking away, some nudging Luke as they go, some giving her a wave, and she thinks she must smile back, at least she hopes she does. Her brain is still very much focused on Luke and how his thighs probably looked coming down that pole without the heavy duty trousers. “You tell Alex I’m still a fan of the flapjack he makes,” Harrison says as she walks past, dropping an eye into a wink and giving Luke a look she doesn’t understand.

A tense smile pulls at Julie’s lips that she hopes comes across as genuine and not just her unable to speak because of her incredibly hot and infuriatingly knows it boyfriend.

“You alright, Jules? Looking a little flushed, need me to get one of the EMT’s?” Luke asks, all innocence and anything but subtle as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, teeth still chewing on his damn lip.

“Just—” she clears her throat, trying to glare up at him, but already knowing it’s ruined by the heat in her cheeks and how she can’t stop staring at his arms. God, she hasn’t been this distracted by his arms since their first date. Blowing out a breath, Julie drags her eyes away from where his arms are crossed across his chest — which, she’s like, 80% sure he’s doing on purpose right now, the little shit — and up to his face just as he raises an eyebrow at her.

“It’s just a little warm,” she finally manages to get out, raising her hand that’s clutching the reusable grocery bag too tight, “Alex sent me with lunch.”

Luke’s eyes light up at the mention of Alex and food, hands dropping from his chest to eagerly reach for the bag and Julie can’t help but giggle at how quickly he can switch from cocky to cute.

“Swee-et! Alex is best,” he grins down at her, drawing out the first syllable of the word and bobbing his head at her. “You wanna eat outside?”

Julie doesn’t respond, just nods her head and links her fingers through his empty hand, letting Luke lead her out of the fire station and to the little grassy area outside. There’s already a blanket on the ground, two bottles of water and a warmth spreads through her for a different reason as Luke pulls her down to the ground and spreads out the food Alex has given them.

They get an hour.

An hour to eat lunch and curl up together to talk and giggle and try to keep their hands visible at all times. It’s both her favourite and the most tortuous hour of her week so far. And Luke’s just leaning in to whisper something in her ear, his breath against her cheek sending shivers down her spine when the alarm starts blaring from inside and his head drops to her shoulder with a sigh that mingles with her own groan.

“I gotta go,” he mutters into the fabric of her t-shirt, and she can imagine how his lips would feel brushing against her skin if they were somewhere else right now.

“I know,” she sighs and carefully moves her shoulder so he has to lift his head up, eyes apologetic as they meet hers. “Be careful?”

“Always am,” Luke smiles gently at her and then he’s getting up and leaving her on the blanket and feeling the loss. Julie watches him go, knees pulled up to her chest and blowing him a kiss when he turns around to wave one last time like he always does when the alarm inevitably ends their lunch date early.

Which normally Julie was fine with.

He was at work. He had a job. He had an important job.

Running out in the middle of lunch was fine. And it would have been fine today, if he hadn’t slid down that damn pole and filled her head with all sorts of ideas and left her fidgeting in her seat. It doesn’t help that Luke clearly knows, if the way he presses a kiss to her forehead and mutters a sorry, eyes a little wide and promises to see her later.

Which is all well and good, but Julie can’t help but feel like he did it on purpose and wonders if there’s a way for her to make him feel just as flustered as she had an hour earlier.

//

It takes her a while to form a plan of revenge, and then it takes a while longer for her to gather all the things she needs. And okay, maybe at some point she forgets why she’s doing all this, and then Luke mentions the pole at the station and how it makes his muscles ache sometimes as he says he’s going for a shower and Julie remembers the sight of him coming down and redoubles her planning.

The hard part comes when she has to pick a day. Because she can’t lure him to her house, not while her dad is working odd hours and her brother is home and Victoria still has a tendency to show up unannounced. Which leaves finding a time when his apartment is empty.

Not an easy feat when Reggie works from home part time, and can’t actually be trusted to stick to his word when he says he’ll be out and Alex has a weekend routine he’s hard pressed to change and likes to get home from work and relax. Plus she has to check when Luke isn’t working on a weekend, which turns out to be the easiest part, because it turns out Harrison really likes her and was happy to schedule Luke a weekend off when she asked.

Sure, she could have enacted her plan while one or both of them were home too but, well Julie knows the boys are all very close, and she knows that they’ve accepted her into the closeness with welcome arms. But she’s not sure she wants to have sex while they’re eating leftover lasagna down the hall. Feels a little too close for her liking. Plus, she has a plan that might end up involving their bath and she’s not sure they’d want to be there for that.

So Julie bides her time. Changes her mind on what clothes she wants and practices different poses on her bed at night and drops little hints about a weekend alone together.

Alex makes plans first, announces that he’s going with Willie to an out of state kids skateboarding competition to help cheer on Willie’s little proteges. He makes a big deal out telling them all the dates and how they had plans to go to some couples spa on their way back and how his restaurant would be ‘more than happy to supply any meals for two that you two might want’.

It had gone over Luke’s head, just nodding and asking about the competition. But Julie had gotten the hint.

And then a few days later Reggie said he had ‘big plans’ with her dad and brother of all people. He’d said it one afternoon when she’d stopped by to see Luke before his week of night shifts, how they were going to go camping so her dad could take some photos for a project and Reggie could teach Carlos to fish, and then he’d dropped his eye in a dramatic wink when she’d asked if that was the same weekend Alex was also away.

(Julie knew that she probably should have found it a little weird how often Reggie seemed to talk and hang out with her family, but the first time she’d gotten home to find him sitting at the dining room table, helping her dad edit photos and offering to order pizza, had felt strangely right.

Like he had always been a part of their family.

Luke had asked her once, a few weeks after they first started dating if it was okay. If she didn’t mind that Reggie had seemed to attach himself to her family. He never explicitly said anything, but she’d known him long enough by then to see the hints, the secrets she wasn’t aware of yet. Of lonely childhoods and something lacking. The hints that he’d found that with her family. And even if she hadn’t been fine with it already, she wasn’t about to stop Reggie. The Molina’s had never been shy about taking in lost souls.)

So apparently she hadn’t been quite as subtle as she thought she’d been with her hints. Both boys clearly conspiring to get her a weekend alone with their best friend. Julie’s just glad that Luke clearly hasn’t noticed. Or if he hadn’t, hadn’t teased her about it.

And that their apartment is empty when she uses her key to let herself in on Friday evening, Hotdog already waiting by the shoes for Luke, head tilted as she looks up mewling softly in disappointment.

“Sorry sweetie, he’ll be home soon though,” Julie mummers, bending down to scratch behind the cat's ears before stepping out of her shoes, which Hotdog happily moves to sit on top of instead. “Be sure to make a big fuss when he gets in so I know, alright?”

Hotdog doesn’t respond, just fixes her eyes back on the front door to wait for Luke, and Julie moves further into the apartment, laughing quietly at the plate of brownies Alex or Willie have clearly left out for them on the counter, blushing slight as she reads the short message scrawled on a post-it note,

‘Don’t mess up my kitchen ;)’

She tries not to let herself think too hard or long about how clearly they all knew about her grand plans for the night. And the next day, and hopefully the whole weekend if things went according to plan.

Picking up the plate on her way through the kitchen, Julie shrugs out of her coat to leave on the back of one of the kitchen stools, because if Luke missed her shoes in the hall, he won't miss this, and she’s really hoping he’ll get the hint to head towards his bedroom. By the time she’s made it to Luke’s room she’s lifted the cellophane off the plate and taken a bite from one of the brownies. Definitely Willie who’d baked them, he was always doubling up the chocolate content. Where Alex was experimental in the kitchen, Willie was a traditionalist who believed chocolate was the best way to set a mood. Julie couldn’t really fault his logic as she moves into Luke’s room.

His room looks the same as it had the first time she’d seen it. Only now there’s a bottle of her perfume on his dresser, and some of her clothes on his ‘laundry’ chair, and polaroids of the two of them stuck in the corners of the photo frames of him and the boys. And Julie knows if she thinks about it, that her room at her dad's house is also littered with pieces of him as well, and she knows it’s only been a few months, but it feels like years. Like her life had been full of all these little gaps she’d never noticed until they were filled with Luke.

Putting the plate down, she starts moving around his room. Pulling out the firefighting coat he’d brought home a few weeks ago because he’d found a rip in the shoulder, rooting through his wardrobe for the plain blue cut off she’d seen the last time she was over and laying them out on his bed. Tilting her head, Julie mentally puts together her outfit one more time. Shorts, suspenders, Luke’s cut-off, coat, maybe the shoes? She bites her lip and decides to come back to it, to see how everything looks on.

It’s strange, Julie thinks as she clips one side of her suspenders to her shorts, how nervous she is about this. It’s not like this is the first time they’ll have slept together, but it is the first time she’s done anything like this. Dressed up in something other than a pretty dress for dinner that he’d taken great care of taking off her.

What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was weird? What if he got home and was too tired to do anything? He’d been at work all day, after a long week of working, maybe she should change her plans and do it tomorrow night? What if—

She cuts her own thoughts off with a groan, sitting down on the end of Luke’s bed to take a breath and fiddle with knee high sheer socks dotted with little stars that she’d ordered online. Logically, Julie knows that Luke will like this, that he’ll look at her with those eyes of his that can’t hide a single emotion and smile at her slowly and call her beautiful.

Because he’d been complimenting her since their first date, and every day since. Little things and big changes and all the between. He really did seem to like her just as much dressed up and with make-up on as he did when she’d just woken up on a morning with her hair a mess and pillow creases still on her cheeks.

And that in itself was scary.

Because he liked her for her and didn’t need her to change. She’d never really dated anyone before who didn’t want her to be less invested in music or spend less time with her family or who didn’t like Flynn or even one guy who thought she should try a different scent of shampoo. They’d all been relationships littered with red flags, big and small.

But not even Flynn could find a real warning sign about Luke. Maybe he was a little co-dependant on his friends, but neither of them could say anything because they were a little co-dependant too. And maybe he could be a little over enthusiastic, but he also knew when to give her space. He had a stable job and good friends and was cute and lived in a nice area and he had a cat.

And, once upon a time, he had had a similar dream to her.

One of the things Flynn had managed to dig up on him during her ‘background’ check was an old low quality video on youtube of three boys in a garage playing instruments that looked too big for them but taking the whole thing seriously. Voices cracking on the cover of Summer of ‘69 they were playing, but Julie had seen the way they grinned at each other, at the way a younger Luke had bounced around the small space and Reggie had rocked on his feet and Alex had thrown a drumstick in the air and caught it again. They were kids, but they were talented and it's at that moment that Julie realises Luke was right. They could have made it.

She wonders what would have happened if fate hadn’t intervened in the form of a fire. She’s pretty sure Luke has wondered the same thing too. He doesn’t talk about it much and Julie’s never sure how much to push because he seems happy in his life and choices. And plus, if it hadn’t been for a fire in a record store, there’s a chance they wouldn’t have met.

Julie frowns a little at that thought as she rolls on her second sock over her knee and stands up, straightening out her shorts and twisting the side of Luke’s cut off up and tying it into a knot. She’s never been the biggest believer in fate since her mom died but she thinks there’s something a little like fate that’s pulled them together. And she thinks they’d have met with a fire or without a fire, with music or without.

She wrinkles her nose at herself in the mirror at that thought, rolling her eyes at how cheesy it sounds even to herself. Fate and destiny, who did she think she was? They were just two people lucky enough to find each other.

An alarm goes off on her phone to tell her she’s got half an hour before Luke is due home and this is her last chance if she wants to change her mind.

Tilting her head a slightly to the side, Julie takes in her high waisted shorts, red suspenders dangling by her thighs, the way her t-shirt cinches at her waist and reveals just a strip of skin above her shorts where she knows Luke likes to rest his hands when he pulls her close. She’d taken extra care with her curls and all she had to do was apply some lipstick and touch up her eyeliner and she’d be ready.

It’s Flynn’s voice in the back of her head as she tucks curls behind her ears to lean a little closer to her reflection and, as she pulls back, smacking her lips once before letting them rest in a pout, she can’t help but reiterate it, “I do look hot.”

The front door shuts and Julie can hear Hotdog meowing and Luke’s muffled voice down the corridor as she’s pulling his coat over her shoulders. It’s far too big for her, hanging below her knees and she has to roll the sleeves up three times to free her hands, but the collar smells like smoke and metal and Luke and his last name is written across the right hand side and his station across her back.

That was the part that Flynn had said would really get him — his name on her. Luke wasn’t exactly possessive, but she and Flynn had agreed there was just something about it that was A Lot, in a good way. (Unlike buying a pole and installing it in Luke’s room for a weekend, that was A Lot, in a bad way. Her plan had gone through many different phases before settling on this one. Luckily, it was also the cheapest.)

“Jules?” Luke calls and Julie bites her lip as she carefully climbs on to his bed, and kneels in the middle before changing her mind and crawling off the other side to stand next to it instead.

“I’m in here,” she calls back and she hears something dropping to the floor, probably his bag she guesses, and then his footsteps sounding down the hall.

Julie’s glad she opted for the shoes, just simple black heels, but they give her an extra lift and something more for Luke to look at as he opens his bedroom door. She has one knee slightly bent and resting on her toes, coat sleeves hiding the way her hands are balled up at her sides and one shoulder raised a little higher than the other as she tilts her head at him, biting her lip.

He freezes in the doorway, mouth partly open like he’d been about to say something only to get lost somewhere between his brain and vocal chords as his eyes seem to lock on to the coat she’s wearing before traveling down to her bare legs and Julie watches him swallow, adam's apple bobbing. Just as his eyes get back up to her face she moves one hand to tuck her coat behind her hip and hook her thumb under her suspenders in a way she’s seen him do countless times.

And it gets the reaction she wants, his eyes zeroing in on her hand and tracing up the line of red that covers her chest. Luke’s tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip as he blinks and finally drags his eyes back up to her face, pupils blown wide and she watches as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Hi,” she breathes out, and almost immediately regrets it. She's trying for sexy but thinks it just comes across as gasping. Which she hopes she’ll be eventually at some point tonight, but would at least like to be touched a little first.

“You—” Luke starts, and his voice is rough like he’s not used it in hours so he swallows again and Julie’s momentarily distracted by the way his throat moves before his speaking again, “Is that my coat?”

“Maybe,” Julie shrugs, turning slightly so she can pull at the collar of the coat to peer down at the name stitched in the fabric, “Oh look, it does say your name. Would you like me to take it off?” She blinks up at him with a soft smile.

Julie doesn’t know if it’s the smile or her words or just everything about the moment, but Luke lets out a low groan and before she can even blink he’s stood in front of her, hands on her hips and fingers brushing against her strip of visible skin, just like she knew he would. And she’s thankful for the heels all over again when it gives her the little extra height that means Luke doesn’t have to bend down quite so far to brush his lips across her cheek.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, lips ghosting along her jaw and Julie has to rest her hands against his chest to steady herself as her legs already feel wobbly. If she didn’t love him, she’d almost hate him for how easily he can affect her.

“Luke,” she whines as he continues to avoid her lips and trails one hand up his chest to wrap around his neck, fingers winding into his hair to tug lightly which only results in making him huff a laugh against the skin below her ear before giving in and pulling back.

“So,” he starts, press a light kiss to her cheek again again, “fucking,” he kisses the corner of her lips, “beautiful.” And he finally presses his lips to hers, soft at first and then she nips lightly at his top lip and he flexes his fingers against her hip, tugging her a closer with her suspenders to deepen the kiss.

Julie walks them backwards until the backs of her knees hit the edge of his bed and Luke takes the lead from there, lowering her down without breaking the kiss. He pulls away just enough to gasp for a breath, and she looks up at him, chest heaving and takes her chance to start her own teasing trail of kisses up his neck and across his jaw.

“Fuck,” he mutters and Julie smiles as she sucks lightly at his neck and sees the red mark her lipstick has left behind. She just hopes it lasts long enough for her full plan.

//

“This was because of the pole thing a few weeks ago, right?” Luke asks a few hours later as they lie in the middle of his bed, blankets half pushed to the floor and Julie’s spent the last five minutes kicking her legs back and forth to try and dislodge the reminder from covering her legs without having to turn around or sit up. She’s perfectly comfortably lying on her front, licking chocolate off her fingers from one of the brownies that Alex and Willie had been correct in leaving for them.

“Maybe,” she tries to shrug, but it’s awkward in this position and she quickly gives up to just look at him from under her lashes with a smile.

Luke laughs, his fingers trailing up and down her arm and over her shoulder a few times before he sits up slightly and leans over to press a kiss to her shoulder, “If I’d known it would cause such a reaction I would have slid down that pole in front of you months ago.”

“It might have still taken us months to get to this. Your roommates have very annoying schedules,” she shakes her head sadly and she thinks her hair has to be hitting him in the face, but he doesn’t say anything, just carefully gathers it in one hand to drape over her other shoulder, his lips still brushing soft kisses across her skin.

“Yeah. I’d get rid of them if Alex didn’t feed me for free and Reggie didn’t get us so many free tickets to stuff,” he sighs, breath blowing against her skin as his nose nudges over her shoulder blade until his lips follow and his rest his chin on her shoulder, and all she has to do is turn her head a little to find his eyes on her lips. “Though it would be so worth it for weekends like this.”

“Guess we should just make the most of this one first, huh?”

It’s a little awkward, and Luke must be uncomfortable with his torso twisted like it is, but it’s easy to kiss Luke, and to roll over until she can push him back down until his back hits the mattress and she can hover over him instead.

“You sound like you have a plan,” Luke comments, and his hands rest on her hips, fingers tapping against her as he looks up at her with those damn eyes of his. The ones that can’t hide a single thought or emotion. And all she can see is love, and okay yeah, probably a lot of lust.

“There might have been some bullet point list involved,” she shrugs one shoulder, her hair slipping over as she moves and Luke’s fingers flex against her, squeezing one hip as he lets out something that sounds halfway between a laugh and a groan.

“That shouldn’t be this hot,” he shakes his head, but his eyes are still shining and Julie loves him.

So she tells him. And kisses him. And wonders if it’s too soon to suggest they spend all their weekends together forever.

[whump-town]

Hi, I just saw your post about Hotch and I needed to ask. How the fact that Hotch ran in the rain for Jack's costume on Halloween make him a great father? And he showed up on Brook's doorstep, when everyone hated him not because he was a great father but because he needed to see Jack. Not because Jack needed him. So you can say that it was from selfish reasons. Also we can't ingnore the fact that Hotch always was ignoring what Jack needs for his job. This kid was raised by Jessica after Hayley death, because his father prefered to work. The child lived through something traumatic and needed the only parent that remained living but Hotch was working. Hotch really loved his son, but he didn't do anything that's best for him to the point where Jack stopped carring if his father will go to prison when Hotch was arrested.

I agree with everything else you wrote about Hotch, but he wasn't a good father.

I think the simplest answer is that I have a strong opinion and that you have a strong opinion and nothing I say will change that strong opinion so we can just disagree.

The long answer is that I know what bad fathers look like.

Someone actually sat down and crunched the numbers based on things said over the seasons and it came out to sort of point out that the team isn't really "out" on cases as much as we think. Our view is contorted because we only ever see them on cases but, really, they're home a lot more than we see. Which makes sense. Criminal Minds always focused more on case to case than on character development or anything else.

So it's a stretch to say Jessica raised Jack but I always wouldn't try to diminish Jessica's role in Jack's life.

Hotch went back to work but I can't even begin to fathom how that would make him a bad dad. Hotch retiring at forty is not the only solution to the problem that Haley's death presented. The people closest to Hotch told him to go back. Most parents work. That doesn't make them bad people. It just sort of rubs me wrong that because Hotch has a busy schedule he's somehow a bad parent. Lawyers, doctors, nurses, truck drivers, people with more than one job all work hours and shifts not too unlike Hotch's (and honestly with more hours) and they aren't bad parents because of that.

I came from a poor family. My dad works anywhere from 2 to 4 in the morning to 5 to 8 in the afternoon and on weekends. That doesn't make him a bad parent, he just works long hours. My siblings also adore him.

And I don't think I'd ever say that Hotch wanting to see Jack is selfish. Anyone with absent parents (and trust me I also know a thing or two about that) can tell you that shitty parents don't make an effort. Hotch got home late as hell and still drove himself over to see his kid, sleeping or not. Bad parents don't do that.

I also would like some clarification on what you mean by Hotch ignoring what Jack needs for the job. If you mean him going back to work after Haley, I don't really see the reasoning there. Jack's about four by season five so even if Hotch had retired Jack's only a few months away from not seeing his dad for eight hours of the day while he's at school so... As far as what Jack needs, we only have a little to go on here because he's Hotch and the writers don't care but Hotch reads to Jack every night. He went to parent/teacher conferences in a suit so he probably took the time off work to go. Jack has sleepovers for which Hotch is present. We see the two of them playing in a blanket fort. He makes Jack breakfast - orange juice and oatmeal like his mom used to make him (which is bland as hell and boring af but that doesn't make him a bad dad).

The prison thing is complicated because we really didn't get a good anything surrounding that little tidbit. However, I wouldn't say Jack didn't care. I'd argue maybe Henry didn't because he's sleeping on the couch without a care in the world. Jack is very clearly sullen, he won't even speak when they get him to the BAU. He's upset, he's not unbothered. And what's the first thing that Hotch says to both the DOJ agent and to Rossi? He wants someone to make sure Jack knows he's alright.

Jack didn't stop caring. He's like twelve just having witnessed something highly disturbing so he's reacting. Not with indifference but rather by shutting down, shutting Hotch out. Kids do that and not just to parents they don't like to parents they love. He's overwhelmed. He's probably still a little scared. And if he's angry then rightfully so. Adults do that too. Hotch admits it at the end of that episode.

Hotch is complicated and he, as I said before, doesn't have a lot of character anything so it's all a matter of interpretation. Having a job that calls you away a lot doesn't make you a bad parent. Not caring about your kid and not bothering to show up does.

[themangolorian]

Hey bro that untitled one shot you did where reader thinks cyar’ika is a curse word? Friggin golden! I loved it so much and was wondering if you’d be open to writing a continuation where reader confronts Din?

Hey bro did you know that I love you? 🥺🥺Thank you so much for this ask, my love. I actually had a 3.7k word fic and I took the one shot out of that and...originally I was only going to post this on ao3 but this is the perfect time to post this here now too. Was so happy to wake up to this ask bb! 🥰💜💜💜

Pairing: Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: The simplest of misunderstandings can sometimes turn into the loveliest of reveals.

A/N: Full work of this excerpt. No warnings, pure fluff.

This wasn’t exactly your first rodeo with the Mandalorian. You’d been with him on hunts for quarry before. Not that the Mandalorian had much love for you. Usually you only came along when Greef insisted he needed a second player, which wasn’t often. This time you weren’t sure of the circumstances, but you had a sneaky suspicion the Mandalorian had specifically asked Greef for you to tag along. You couldn’t see why. He was always aloof. Quiet. Not quite standoffish but close.

This was one of the rare times he did need someone though. And while you were quite sure you annoyed him half the time, you also knew you were good at your job. You weren’t a bounty hunter in the traditional sense. Your speciality was tech specifically meant to trick and outmaneuver particularly hard to catch quarries. This time, the Mandalorian was dealing with a changeling. Which could be the trickiest of quarries.

You’d developed a device that could unveil the disguise of a changeling but it wasn’t quite up to specification yet and required two people to man it. One wearing the eye piece - that would be the Mandalorian. And one to actually man the controls - that would be you. And you needed to be close.

The Mandalorian had tracked the quarry down to a cantina on Coruscant. Almost the entire way he’d sat quietly in the belly of the Razor Crest watching you tinkle with your devices, constantly changing and perfecting them. He’d ask questions here and there and you’d been short with him, sure his questions were more out of boredom than anything else. 

Now, you found yourselves in a posh cantina meant for the wealthy and elite. The Mandalorian, tall and striking in his polished armor, seemed to fit in perfectly with the surrounding luxury. You, on the other hand, felt insufficient in a way you didn’t think actually mattered because you were sure the Mandalorian would never look at you that way anyway.

You hadn’t always thought this way about the Mandalorian. Your first few missions with him had been short, quick, efficient. He’d always intimidated you, but as time had passed, your feelings towards him had morphed into something softer. You’d begun to see him in a new light. His soft grazes and touches, the few that you got. His gentle voice. Your belly had begun to float when he spoke to you or looked at you. But you were sure that he didn’t see you the same way.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. This was the last time and place you should have been thinking about any of this.

Instead you readied yourself to activate the eyepiece worn now by the Mandalorian; you sidled closer to where you knew he was waiting for your instructions, not three feet from the changeling. A crackling over the commlink in your ear, a question. 

You spoke softly into your wrist. “Across and two chairs over.” Your device also accounted for tracking of the changeling so you couldn’t lose them even if they changed form again.

A gruff noise in your ear indicated he’d heard you. With a release of your breath, you activated the eye piece.

From there, things happened quickly. You watched in awe as the Mandalorian, seemingly with little effort, dived across the table. A short scuffle later and the changeling who’d been in human form but was now back to their natural form, sat dazed on the floor wearing binders. The Mandalorian hefted the being to their feet and headed your way. Just as the Mandalorian reached you, you both realized the changeling had not been alone. 

The blaster fire took you in the shoulder and you went down. Sprawled on the ground, all you could think about was the fact that you were still alive. 

“Cyar’ika!” You heard the Mandalorian’s harsh voice curse at you. You winced. Not at the pain in your shoulder but rather at the fact that you’d been too slow-moving to avoid being hit and now the Mandalorian was calling you curse words in the tongue of his people. Not that you knew what it meant but you could guess well enough from the context of the outburst.

You didn’t have long to dwell on it before rough gloved hands were pulling your trembling form to your feet again. A split second later, he was shoving you aside; several blaster shots passed through where you’d just been. Then- three blaster shots from the Mandalorian and each of your assailants were down.

“Let’s go.” His words were gruff and you winced again, collecting your gear off the floor of the cantina and rushing after him, noting the way he kept your hand tightly gripped in his, essentially dragging you after him, as he lugged his quarry along just to his left.

He didn’t slow his pace and you struggled not to trip, but you made it more or less in one piece back to the ship. Out of breath, you closed the telescopic gate to the ship behind the two of you as the Mandalorian began freezing his quarry in carbon.

“Can you handle that?” He gestured towards the freezing system but he was brushing past you and back up the ladder before you could respond. He knew you could. You felt the ship taking off as you finished the freezing process and stored the frozen quarry in an empty slot of the system.

Then you were sitting on the edge of his sleep cot and releasing a long drawn out breath. The next thing you knew your hand was at your injured shoulder and your eyes were tearing up. You could be such a baby, but you weren’t used to the same high stakes the Mandalorian usually went through on his hunts. To top it off, he’d been tough and aggressive with you despite your injury. You were tired and just wanted to go home.

When the Mandalorian joined you back below, you were making a poor attempt at patching your wound up with the meager supplies you had in your own pack. The Mandalorian did not check the carbonite freezing system; that was something at least...he trusted your work. Instead he seemed to hesitate when he saw your face, still puffy after crying. But then his eyes must have landed on the terrible job you’d done cleaning and bandaging your wound.

“Wait,” he said, his voice as gruff as usual. He turned and rummaged through a storage drawer before pulling a crate towards you that he could sit on.

He pushed your hands away, though not roughly, and inspected your work. A sharp intake of his breath made you close your eyes. His helmet tilted your way at your grimace. “Are you alright?” You opened your eyes in surprise and stared at his visor. You weren’t sure he actually cared, but you nodded anyway. He hesitated as if he wanted to say more but then instead got started on fixing the mess you’d made of your wound. 

You braced yourself for more pain, the wound was deeper than you’d thought after all, but the pain never came. The Mandalorian was quick and efficient, spraying something cool that numbed your arm. You couldn’t look as he cleaned the area and applied bacta. You’d always been better with machines, never with the body. 

“You’re alright,” he said once he was done in the softest tone you’d ever heard him use. And it made you look at him with eyes you knew were telling of what you were thinking. But he never looked away from the wound and you felt embarrassed for feeling anything beyond grateful. Soon you felt him applying a clean bandage over your shoulder.

“Sleep,” he said as he stood, packing away the rest of the ship’s medical supplies.

He didn’t look your way again, and you felt dismissed, so you lay back and curled in on yourself, resting on your uninjured shoulder. A slight pressure on your waist made you look up to see a folded blanket draped over your knees and the Mandalorian disappearing back up the ladder. He didn’t seem to want to be in the same room as you for longer than he could help it. You sighed sadly as you spread the blanket over yourself, wincing when you jostled your shoulder. You were sure the Mandalorian would be glad to be rid of you considering you’d ended up more a burden than a help this time around, and you would be surprised if he ever requested your help again.

When you awoke, you were shocked to find you were not on Nevarro. Not wanting to question the Mandalorian, you followed him to the hut seemingly located in the middle of nowhere in this vast desert. But your question was answered in due time when the Mandalorian, after a warm greeting, explained in a clipped tone that you couldn’t decipher to the ugnaught waiting inside the hut that you’d been injured and he wasn’t sure he’d done a good job considering there could have been muscle damage. You were at a loss for words and watched mutely as the Mandalorian seemingly fled back to the ship to wait.

The ugnaught seemed accustomed to these kinds of last minute appearances and odd requests; he asked no questions. Instead he settled you comfortably down in a large, soft chair and introduced himself as Kuiil. You made friendly, easy conversation with the ugnaught as he revealed the wound on your shoulder and began prodding and poking. You didn’t look, but you knew he was using some chemical to regrow the flesh you’d lost. He’d numbed you again to ensure you’d feel no pain. Still, you knew pain that came not from your injury but from something else showed on your face.

Kuiil finished patching your shoulder up. “What is wrong, my dear?” He asked finally sitting back and watching your face.

You considered his kind eyes and peered towards the entry to the hut. From the sounds in the distance, the Mandalorian was scraping at carbon scoring on the Razor Crest so would be too far to hear your words.

“It’s just-” You paused, frowning down at your hands where they were gathered in your lap. “I think he hates me.” You decided on.

Kuiil gave a chuckle of surprise that was deep and throaty. His hand came out to lift your chin so you were once again looking at him. “What makes you think that?” His tone was incredulous, his eyes light. He didn’t seem to be taking you seriously.

Your frown deepened. “It’s just- When we were on Coruscant...when I got hurt...he yelled at me - well, he called me a name. I think it was some sort of curse word in Mando’a.”

Kuiil’s brow furrowed, but his lips quivered as if he was trying not to smile. “What was the term?”

You pursed your lips trying to remember. “Cyar’ika.” You finally sounded out. 

Kuiil made a noise of surprise and you glanced at him carefully, fearing the worst. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

You racked your brain, but yes that was it. You were even sure you’d pronounced it right. It would actually be hard to forget because the word had cut you so deep at the time. You knew the Mandalorian didn’t like you but you’d expected a little bit of sympathy at least at your plight and injury. Instead-

You lost your train of thought when Kuill began lightly chuckling once more, joined this time by the shaking of his head.

“What?” You sat up, glaring somewhat at him now. It was one thing for the Mandalorian to curse at you in the heat of the moment; it was quite another for Kuiil, who you’d thought kind, to laugh at something you were obviously sensitive about.

“My dear,” Kuiil said, struggling to stop chuckling, “that’s not a curse word.”

Oh. But then you frowned again. “What does it mean then?”

Still guffawing, Kuiil managed to finally speak. One word. A word that shot through you to your core. “Beloved.”

Suddenly you found yourself holding your breath, hands at your cheeks. “That’s impossible.” You croaked, your voice cracking.

A sound at the hut’s entry startled you, and you looked just in time to see the Mandalorian slipping into the small room. Your eyes immediately found the floor; you couldn’t look at him. Had he heard? You hoped beyond hope he hadn’t heard. So many thoughts were running through your brain. Kuiil must have been wrong. The Mandalorian had sounded so tense when he’d said the word to you. But- He almost always sounded that way, and if the word meant what Kuiil said it did, and if the Mandalorian had meant it that way, wouldn’t that be a natural reaction to seeing you injured? You blanched inwardly, sure you were being stupid.

All of these thoughts flew through your head as the Mandalorian thanked Kuiil, promised to return soon and gave his goodbye. You thanked Kuiil, who still looked amused, embraced him briefly and then followed the Mandalorian silently back to the ship. He said nothing to you as the gate shut behind you. As usual he rushed up the ladder but you heard his footsteps above stop. Then-

“Would…” A pause, then- “would you like to sit in the cockpit with me?” He sounded hesitant, unsure.

You took the two steps forward so you were looking up at him through the hatch. “I...” But your hand had already found the rungs of the ladder. So you said nothing and instead ascended. Then you were joining him in the cockpit. You’d been in it before on previous missions when things hadn’t felt so tense, when the Mandalorian had been much less aloof and distant. You sat and buckled yourself in as the Mandalorian blasted the ship off into space and then hyperspace.

Gathering your courage, you asked a question that had been a pinprick in your brain since you’d awoken. “Why did we stop here...” You trailed off, so uncertain, sure you shouldn’t be questioning him. “Inst- instead of going straight to Nevarro, I mean.” You rushed to clarify, wincing at the thought he might find your question annoying.

He didn’t turn to look at you, but he responded after a short period of silence. “I- Your injury was my fault. I didn’t want permanent injury caused to you because of- because I wasn’t cautious enough...” He trailed off, sounding more unsure than you’d ever heard him.

You wondered if it was just a guild thing; maybe he didn’t want Greef angry that he’d caused any damage to an admittedly valuable asset. But the word “beloved” kept echoing at you in Kuiil’s voice in your head; you couldn’t shake it.

Not a moment later, the Mandalorian was turning in his seat to face you. He seemed to have reached a decision. 

“I...” He stopped then rested his hands on his knees as if grounding himself in preparation for what he was about to say. You held your breath again, heart in your throat, now sure he’d overheard you and Kuiil, sure he was about to correct the ugnaught’s bad translation skills. “What Kuiil said...” 

He stopped again and you felt your face growing warm. You couldn’t look at him. Could not...stare your own embarrassment in the face - well- visor.

But you figured you could save him from his. What he must be feeling...thinking you thought he’d called you something he never would’ve...and the awkwardness of correcting that...

“It’s alright,” you tried for a light tone that only came out choked. “I told him he was wrong. I know that’s not what- I mean- I knew it was- you were...just...it was clumsy of me and I’m sure- I mean, it was the heat of the moment...we all curse when we’re mad, so, you know, no hard feelings. I’ll try- to be...more careful...” You broke off again, your mortification only growing. You hadn’t meant to imply he’d ever ask you on another mission. You rushed to correct it, wincing, knowing you were only making it worse. “Not that you ever have to partner with me again...I mean...” 

You were floundering and you were sure you both knew it because suddenly he was standing and while you saw his silhouette in your peripheral vision, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him through the tears now blooming at the corners of your eyes.

Your heart began pounding as he approached you, when he crouched down in front of you so you were forced to look at him, and you almost gasped when his hands rested now on your knees.

“Cyar’ika.” A whisper beneath the helmet not captured by the vocoder so you heard it instead in his natural voice dimly from beneath his mask.

You couldn’t find it in you to breathe for several seconds. Less so when one gloved finger came up to your chin, tilting your face further up so you were staring him full in the visor.

“What Kuiil said,” he continued as if you hadn’t interrupted him. “The translation is right.”

He held your face there with one finger, both of you staring, only one actually able to see the other, as if he was waiting for a reaction, a response. But you were too shocked to speak, could not believe this was happening to you.

Finally a stuttered, “But- but you hate me.”

His hand dropped in surprise from your chin to your thigh and suddenly you were feeling warm all over.

“Hate you?” Now he sounded bewildered, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You spoke but tried not to move the rest of your body, afraid if you did, he would move away, that he would stop touching you. The hand on your knee and the one on your thigh were blazing, awakening a fire in you you hadn’t known you had. 

“You’re- you’re always so quiet. I annoy you. It’s a pain to take me with you.” You voiced suddenly out loud the sum of all the insecurities you had collected over time, over missions with him, things you’d convinced yourself of based on nothing but body language and tone.

The hand on your knee tightened and you released a whoosh of breath, completely in awe of the effect that one contact was having on your body. You’d never felt more alive.

“Cyar’ika,” he repeated, and his other hand left your thigh to take your chin fully in his palm, tilting your face again so you had no choice but to stare into his visor. You closed your eyes at the tenderness with which he said the word in a tone he’d never before used in your presence.

“I didn’t mean to be so rough with you on Coruscant,” his voice willed you to believe him. “When I saw you’d been shot...” His voice trailed off, sounding strangled. “I wasn’t mad at you.” One finger drifted across your cheek, leaving a fiery line in its wake. He brought your very skin to life. “I was scared. I didn’t want-” He stopped here and you felt him move his body closer to yours, his other hand trailing from your knee to your waist. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Your breathing was ragged. This couldn’t be happening. Not to you. These kind of lovely, warm moments did not happen to you. You were made for a dreary life of toil with the Bounty’s Guild, not for soft leathered touches in a cockpit now too warm to handle. Not for feather soft words that tickled your very soul.

But he wasn’t done. “I don’t hate you. I...couldn’t.” Now he almost sounded amused and you opened your eyes to gaze his way. A finger ran over your lips and your breath hitched. “I’m...” He trailed off again, suddenly sounding unsure once more. “You frighten me.”

You started, staring at him like he’d grown another head. “Me?” You said in a voice so squeaky it was almost comical.

He chuckled and it warmed you to your core. You found your lips ticking up in your own involuntary smile. His happiness, little of it that you’d witnessed, was infectious. “Yes, you.” He paused again, then- “I never know what to say. I’m afraid of- of saying the wrong thing.” He hesitated again, looking down at the floor before back up at you. When he spoke again, his voice once again sounded heavy, almost congested. “You can’t know how long- how long I’ve been wanting- this.” His hand flexed around your face.

You were struck dumb. With so many things. Disbelief above all. Wonder as well. And pure joy. You must have hesitated just one moment too long. Or the look on your face must not have reflected what you were feeling. Because in what seemed to be a moment of realization, his hand dropped from your face and he was standing up and backwards, away. The sudden absence of his presence just before you was so pronounced. In the worst way.

“I didn’t mean- I thought maybe-” He couldn’t seem to finish his thought, but clearly he took your awe as rejection. He took another step back.

Before you could second guess yourself, your hand flew out to grab his before he was too far to touch. He froze. But so did you. You willed your lips to work. “Wait.” The word was strangled, but it gave you the strength to speak up.

“If you-” You swallowed the lump in your throat, praying this was real and not some trick on your psyche, some side effect of the numbing agent Kuill had given you. “I’m- Me as well. I-” You finally found the courage to look up at his visor from under your eyelashes. You said the one word you hoped would convey what it was you couldn’t seem to say. “Cyar’ika.” You squeezed his hand, hoping he’d understand.

A beat. Then- He fell back to his knees in front of you, cradling your head against his. You breathed a long sigh of relief, relaxing into him and letting go of all the tension you’d collected since...since you could remember.

Cyar’ika. You couldn’t believe you’d ever thought it a curse word. It sounded so beautiful coming off his lips now, more like a blessing. Or a prayer. You’d never had a favorite word before, but you thought that now, considering everything that one word had just gifted you...you had at least one favorite word.

Forever Tag List: @lesqui @beskars @rosetophighlander @dyn-djarin @keeper0fthestars @mrsparknuts  @hiscyarika @watsonwise

masterlist

[shokami]

Just like Honey

featuring ; akaashi ( 1k+ words )

genre ; valentine’s day, post time-skip, domestic fluff.

warnings ; mild suggestive content

Everything was so warm. The pure cotton of the sheets, unimaginably soft against your skin as your legs tangled in the endearing safety it offered. The quilt that dangled over your body, barely hanging on as it threatened to spill to the floor. The breath that fanned over one of the many pillows that surrounded you, ricocheting back into your face softly with ease. The rays of the morning sun, enveloping you whole as it meant to stir you from your sleep. Sometimes you had wondered if the sun would ever be mad at you. Everyone else in the world would roll over, strings of groans and whines leaving their lips from exhaustion as they cursed the flaming star in the sky. You, however? You basked in the warmth that it offered, closed your eyes tighter, stretched your arms in the array of blankets, and moved closer to the beams of light that peaked through the curtains. The environment was so warm, and inviting— surely you could just drift back to sleep.

Your limbs once again stretched out, followed by a squeal-ish yawn. Just a few more minutes, you thought to yourself. The extra moments you sought shattered when your fingertips grazed the spot next to you in bed. Empty. Why was it empty? Maybe Akaashi had an early meeting that you had forgotten about. He could have mentioned it. In the past several years of your relationship, it was never unusual to wake up without Akaashi by your side. Most times he would sneak back into your bedroom, and give you the sweetest lingering kiss before he went off to work. That was one of the curses of being an editor for Shonen Jump Magazine. Always busy, always editing. Other times, however, you would wake up with his side empty due to you enjoying sleeping in a little later than he did. You were both early birds, but Akaashi still had you beat by an hour at least. You always found him hovering over a freshly brewed coffee, or editing a new piece. Aside from the habit not being unusual for either one of you, it was still Valentine’s day...

Valentine's day was meant for the two of you sleeping in together.

The thought of spending the day alone crossed your mind momentarily, you couldn’t focus too hard on the topic as your eyes slowly drifted shut once more. The spreading warmth lulling your back to your deep slumber.

You weren’t sure how much longer sleep consumed you, but you could only assume it wasn’t as long as your body tried to convince you. A soft weight pushed down a side of the mattress, and you could feel a presence looming over you. The smell of bacon and pancakes wafted through your nostrils, luring you out from underneath the pile of bedding that devoured you.

Cold fingers brushed against your cheek, pushing a single strand of hair behind your ear. “Pretty girl, it’s time to wake up,” Akaashi mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear.

With a confused noise, you lifted your head and glanced up to see your boyfriend staring down with a look of adoration. “‘kaashi? I thought you left.”

Sitting up slowly in the bed, you pulled all the covers around you and snuggled further into the pillows against the headboard. You knew your assumption had been wrong now, as you notice Akaashi still wearing the clothes he fell asleep in the previous night. With yet another yawn, you made room underneath the blankets for Akaashi while he slid into the bed next to you; pulling the tray of breakfast foods in front of the two of you. Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to silence the laughs at the sad attempt of heart-shaped pancakes with blueberries in the center. They were poorly shaped, but your heart swelled with warmth at the sheer effort he put into your relationship constantly. He always tried to do little things like this for you, it didn’t matter to him if it was Valentine’s day or not. The holiday was just an excuse for him to spoil you even more.

“Don’t laugh, Yn. I thought it would have been easier— but shaping pancakes is no easy task.” Akaashi complained at your laughter, but he still smiled at your reaction despite it.

You shook your head, quickly chewing a bite of the fluffy pancake before you tilted your head to look at him. “They’re cute, kaashi! I love them, and I love you even more!”

Akaashi gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding your attention for longer than you attended. “Did you really think I would leave you all alone, during Valentine’s day love?” His thumb traced the outline of your bottom lip, enticing you completely.

That was the thing about him. Akaashi never had to do anything specific to jumble your thoughts and spread that warmth to your cheeks. He did it almost effortlessly, and most times he didn’t even mean to! The simplest gesture could turn you to putty in his hands, as long as he did it just right. He adored that about you, really. His sweet little girlfriend, all innocent and cute— yet so affected by the small things. He swore he could re-fall in love with you every single morning, harder than the day before. You reminded him of honey, tooth-rotting sweetness, that was so delicious. Yet, you also reminded him of a winter morning. You shined so brightly like the sun, but in an elegant manner. He was the snowfall, and your rays of light warmed right through him. Being so absorbed with literature his entire life, Akaashi could find a thousand different words to describe how he felt... He could describe the emotions that ran through his body every time he laid his eyes on you, with a million more. My sweet honey.

“No,” You began to finally answer his question, distracted by the way he devoured your essence with his eyes alone. “I just thought that perhaps you had something work-related to take care of... We usually sleep in, and you weren’t here when I woke up.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. Releasing your chin, he poked your nose before looking down at the plate in front of him as he began to eat his own breakfast. “I wouldn’t leave without telling you, Yn. You know that.”

“Shut up, I know! I was just sad.” You replied, dramatizing your words. “I think your pancakes are dumb!” you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing it wasn’t true.

Akaashi considered saying nothing, and not entertaining your antics. Your flair for dramatics always so high, after he teased you. “You think they’re dumb, hm?”

“... Yes,” you mumbled.

Before you processed that he was confiscating your breakfast, you just watched him pick up your plate and empty the food into his own. “KEIJI WHAT THE HELL?!”

“You said you hated them, love. So I’ll eat them for you, instead.” He glanced over at you to see your reaction and smirked at your outburst. You sat up on your knees beside him, glaring.

“You know what else I hate? You.” You took the plate from his grasp, sitting it back on the tray, and moving it to the nightstand. After anything breakable was set aside, you jumped on-top of Akaashi and knocked him down against your growing pile of pillows.

“Do you really hate me though?” He asked with a fake pout, both of his hands coming to rest underneath your jaw.

“Yes, I do,” you stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

A hum of disapproval, “That’s not what you said last night.”

“AKAASHI KEIJI!”

“No, no. I think it sounded more like, ‘Keiji, please!’” Akaashi couldn’t help but to smirk, you were too easy to get a rise out of. He loved it, and he knew he could have you blushing and babbling for him in seconds if he really wanted to.

“Wrong, actually! I moaned out ‘kaashi, not Keiji. I can do that for you tonight though.” you stated. Now it was his turn to blush. You usually didn’t fight back against his endless teasing, but it always came as a pleasant surprise.

Akaashi smiled at you. He was at such ease and peace within this phase of his life, he could live in this movement forever. With a soft kiss, you closed your eyes and caved into the warmth of his embrace.

Just like honey...

“Happy Valentine’s day to us.”

© All rights reserved by SHOKAMI. Do not modify, repost on any platforms, plagiarize, or claim as your own.

[vaire-gwir]

I’ve run out of my words

Post-mountain incident, Jaskier is a heart broken mess. The last thing he needs is an unexpected visit from Geralt. 

I have accepted that it’s never going to be the same amount of words as I Find you all Unwoven, cause I re-wrote this three times and it just doesn’t happen.

Again, I was sad, that’s my excuse. English is not my first language, hope it doesn’t terribly suck! 

***

It hurt a great deal when Jaskier sold his lute. He was attached to it for more than just sentimental reasons. Sometimes he felt like his life truly started the day he got that lute.

He was used to pain by now though, pain was just another thing creeping under the surface, it came and went in waves like the ocean, sometimes threatening to overwhelm him with memories and sometimes resting among the broken pieces of his heart, hissing like a snake waiting to strike.

It was always there, he just perceived it in different ways: some days it was like being on the edge of an empty abyss of nothingness, about to fall but never really tipping over, just going through the motion. Other times, there were the long nights when sleep refused to visit him and he'd get this urge under his skin, to move, to do something, anything to not feel trapped in his own flesh, caged by his own mind.

He tried to fight insomnia with the ink, but he proved a terrible fighter. He couldn't write anything anymore. When he tried to play, his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, and he'd get even the simplest of melody wrong, resulting in endless frustration that kept him up until dawn.

As much as he tried to outrun his ghost, he always ended up running right into it, and if he managed to keep his waking hours relatively Geralt-free, the dreams were always there. His journals paid the price of waking up for the hundredth time, after a nightmare that leaves him choking and incapable to stop the tears from falling down his cheeks.

He thought he'd feel relieved after watching it crackle and burn to ashes, as if destroying the evidence of his time with the Witcher could also destroy the heartache that came with it, but it doesn't work like that. Nothing he ever does stops him from being hollow.

Jaskier walks around the Academy like a shadow, trying to keep himself busy between lessons or at least trying to keep Geralt out of his thoughts. This simple task proved to be more complicated than he anticipated. He doesn't want to be here, he's not made for teaching and his students get on his nerves all the time. To be fair, most things get on his nerves since the mountain incident, but he doesn't have many options.

Sure, he could go home to his family, beg their forgiveness and implore his father to allow him back into court. That sounded as promising as jumping off a bridge.

Compared to that, even the room Madame M. offered him at the brothel looked like a golden palace. At least he had some talent for sex, he managed to convince even a Witcher to sleep with him, that hadn't been easy.

Jaskier stirs his mind in a safer direction, cause thinking about those nights will not do him any good. He still blames and curses himself for coming up with that stupid arrangement, cause why not Geralt, I'm here all the time, and I'm obviously very willing, besides you don't have to pay me, looks like a win-win situation to me. Looks like you're a special kind of idiot, Jaskier, that's what you are. Why did Geralt even accept anyway?

Jaskier blinks the memories away and focuses on trying to have lunch, cause that's what sane, normal people do. He's still struggling with normal though.

His plan flew out of the window when someone started to sing. Jaskier froze in his spot when he recognized the song. He wrote that. He should be pleased to hear it, but it's not pride he feels when he glances in the direction of the curly-haired boy in green velvet.

He will never play or sing another song again, and people will forget him sooner than Geralt did. The folks in this tavern don't know him, they don't know he wrote those lyrics to distract himself the first night Geralt didn't come back from a hunt and he feared for him every second of that dreadful night.

He spent hours cursing the Gods for making him so useless and prayed to them in the same breath, begging for their mercy. He felt stupid later, when Geralt showed up at dawn saying it took him longer than expected to break a curse. Jaskier told the Witcher how scared he had been and Geralt dismissed him as the fool he was.

He's scared of being forgotten, of being meaningless and unimportant. No one is going to remember Jaskier, the bard that traveled the continent with the White Wolf and shared his adventures.

He left Jaskier on top of that mountain, he's just Julian now, just a teacher, just another idiot that got his heart broken. Geralt left him like everyone else. That's what people do, they just leave and move on with their lives. So why couldn't he move on too?

There's a small shift in the air, and while he tries to regain control of his thoughts, for some unknown reason, destiny, the universe, life or the Gods, make him turn his head toward the entrance.

There is no mistaking the white hair he sees, or the dark armour. Jaskier knows he has to leave before Geralt sees him. The sole idea of Geralt being here is enough to leave him shaking.

What are the chances of meeting the Witcher outside Oxenfurt? There were no contracts in town, why was fate trying his best to mess with his life today, was the song not enough? He feels like his head is swimming and he knows he doesn't have time to panic cause his heart beats so loudly he fears Geralt will spot it in a second.

He puts some coins in the maid's hand and stumbles out of the place.  

He can't face him. Not today. Probably not ever, cause he can't imagine he'll ever be ready to face the one that broke his heart without holding any anger or resentment towards him. Why must he feel like this, Geralt never cared for him, so why is he still drowning in his feelings for the idiot?

Jaskier is a poet, he should know a thing or two about heartache. He should also know that he's out of luck today.

"Why did you follow me, Witcher?" Jaskier feels his presence a few paces behind him, still so painfully familiar to him even after all these months.

"How did you know..." There's a puzzled expression on Geralt's face. Jaskier knows he's not prepared for this.

It takes him a second to realize that no matter how angry he is at the Witcher, how deep his sorrow runs and how broken his heart is, a small part of him is almost glad to see him. It's the same small part that decided to talk to a stranger and follow him on a dangerous journey, the one that figured out first that what he was feeling was more than a crush, and that accepted every scrap of affection Geralt showed him like he was being handed the world on a silver plate.

Geralt is exactly how he remembers him, and his betrayer heart jumps in his chest when their eyes meet.

"I saw you at the tavern. I spent so long searching for your face in every crowd I started to think I was seeing things, but apparently I was right this time." I love you, I'd recognize your steps everywhere, the cracking of the leather in your gloves and the click of the metal of that buckle in your armor you always forget to fix after a hunt, I know them as if they were my own. I love you, and you broke my heart. That's what he wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat, they're no use now.

"I... You were not singing." Jaskier knows it's not surprise he sees on Geralt's face when he answers "I don't do that anymore." but he can't figure out what it is.

It hurt when he realized he couldn't bring himself to sing or play anymore, it left him feeling even emptier than before, cause he always thought he'd have his music to console him, to defend him from the things life was throwing at him, to build a wall around himself and protect whatever was left of him. How wrong he was.

"Why not?" Jaskier wishes he could explain that when they parted on top of the mountain, when he forced himself to say "See you around Geralt" knowing he'll never see him again, when he tried to process those heavy words that rolled off the Witcher's tongue, his love for music, for poetry, for life, rolled off too and hid somewhere he couldn't reach anymore. But Geralt never cared for his music.

"Don't act like you care. I'm not the same person I was ten months ago. Besides, you hate my singing, you can barely stand my voice, what difference does it make to you?" Keeping his tone even and preventing his voice from breaking is hard, harder than any performance he ever had to do. Ten months ago feel like a lifetime away now, it doesn't even seem real. The ache in his chest is always there to remind him that it is.

"That's not true." Jaskier sees how he clenches his hands as if those words meant a great effort for him. The Gods know how many times he looked into Geralt's eyes after singing, desperately seeking his approval and finding only a mild annoyance, like this was just another thing he had to endure.

"It's like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling. There's a word for that, in case you didn't know, and it's called disappointment. Now, why did you follow me out here? I don't think it was to tell me you suddenly like my voice cause we both know you don't and honestly, bit late for that, don't you think?" Jaskier wants to be annoyed, he should be furious for what Geralt did to him, for leaving him like he meant nothing, but these days being mad is a lot of effort. He doesn't have it in him anymore, it's easier to let go of the anger. It doesn't make him feel less empty or less broken anyway.

"I just thought...we could maybe....talk?" Jaskier laughs bitterly.

"Really Geralt? That's rich coming from you. Now you want to talk? You know what, no. No, you don't get to come here and tell me you want to talk after I spent ten gods forsaken months trying to forget you. Don't you fucking dare. Not like this. Now if there's something I can help you with, do say so. If not, spare us both this conversation, I'm not sure I'm in the mood to have my heart broken again." Jaskier is not even sure there is something left to break.

He'll never admit it but deep down he knows there's no forgetting Geralt. And he curses that small part of him that wants to listen to him, to let him talk and explain, cause he knows that he'd go back to traveling with the Witcher right this second if he so much as says he'd take him back. Stupid, stupid Jaskier. A Witcher apologizing, as if.

"I'll leave you to your things then. Goodbye, Jaskier."  Saying goodbye, even knowing that it's for the best, doesn't make it any less painful.

"You were right." Geralt looks at him in a way he has never seen before, for a second he thinks it's hurt that he sees flickering in those golden eyes, but it lasts a second. He should know Geralt doesn't care about him enough to be hurt by something he says or does.

"You spent so much time trying to convince me to leave you alone and stop following you around and I never fucking listened. I realized you were right. Cause you, you got what you wanted, life, destiny, whatever, you had your sorceress and I'm finally off your hands. But what about me? That is why I wish...I wish I would have listened to you. Left. Before it was too late. Before having my heart broken."

His voice breaks at the end, he feels the tears stinging his eyes and he turns to walk away before Geralt notices it. Pain comes in waves, and today he's drowning.

[angelic-jeonghan1004]

Golden Child Reaction To Their S/O Being More Clingy Than Usual || PT.1

This was requested :) I have many Golden Child Requests I'm getting to, so @ my Goldenness please be excited :)) also the Jangjun one is so long I don't know what came over me but my inner Jangjun love came out, some of these aren't always the best at doing the more clingy than usual vibe like I kinda used that as a guide and went with it or just used the word clingy and go with it since I previously have done this with Onewe and I don't want to repeat the same story's for ppl💖 as I post this I'm working on the part two so expect that very soon !! (Probably next few days)

Genre: Fluff

Gif credits to rightful owners 💫

Daeyeol

Okay so Daeyeol big friendly giant boyfriend and I think he'd be absolutely whipped for you

He'd always be the one to start any form of affection

You both where sitting on the couch and he was telling you about something Jangjun did to prank him

But you really wanted to kiss him since he kept pouting jokingly when explaining the situation to be extra

So when you stopping him from completing his sentence by asking if you could kiss him

He'd just go blank

It's not like you haven't kissed before but he always was the one to initiate it so your boldness caught him by surprise

He'd nod

But truly Daeyeol.exe has a network malfunction right there

After planting a quick kiss to his lips he would not stop smiling, completely forgetting what he was talking about

He adjusted how he was sitting on the couch

More so in a laying down position rather than sitting

You took it as a opportunity to cuddle

Daeyeol was not ready for the amount of times his heart was just going to do backflips from the simplest of actions

You don't know what came over you in this burst of affection and neither did Daeyeol but he wanted it to continue for as long as possible

Sungyoon

Bunny boyYYYYy I love YouUuUUU

I 100% believe he loves giving you kisses

Just planting so many all over your face

Since he just wants to shower his bb with all the love ??

Because of this you wanted to try a counter attack

You like initiating skinship but initiating kisses? Now that has you intimidated

Which is why Sungyoon will plant many kisses on your face and initiate kisses since if he doesn't there non existent

Now back to your counter attack

He was doing his usual of kissing your face starting from your forhead to the tip of your nose

when he got to your cheek, you quickly turned so you would plant a sweet kiss to his lips

Woop, woop we have another boy who's now not working since Sungyoon.exe is out of order and that's on your sudden affection

Once he'd processed it his smile would be so big his nose scrunched :))

Taking this as another opportunity you planted a kiss to his cheek and he'd be living for it

It's not usual to get kisses from you so he'd be incredibly dazed with love

"you know I love you, can I have another kiss?" He'd say looking at you with hopeful eyes

Cupping his face you kissed him

Very nice and sweet moment you wouldn't trade for the world

"I love you too"

God forbid me of living he's so precious

Jangjun

Okay now this crackhead loves affection and especially your affection

You make a act that you hate it but you truly love it

But Jangjun doesn't know that

He just thinks you aren't that affectionate but he special since he's the bf (( ꈍᴗꈍ))

You could tell he thought that way too

And you wondered how long you could keep that going

Since who doesn't love a little acting challenge game?

He'd always do aegyo till you agreed to hold his hand, kiss him, cuddle, anything

Earning a eye roll from you on occasions but always giving in which he loved

Since he thought even if you don't like affection you'll always accept his

Even if he has to fight for it a little you'll always give it to him which has him happiest boy ( ＾ω＾)

Going good for a while until the upcoming day

You got caught on being the affectionate person you are because of your soft spot for Joochan

Joochan wanted to go to the convenient store to fill the dorms kitchen with snacks since they where running low but didn't want to go alone

But everyone wasnt in the mood so you stepped up to the plate and did so

causing a smile on Jangjun's face to see you care for his members

But then he caught you red handed when you not Joochan, but you put out your hand for Joochan to hold as you both speed out the door laughing

He was taken aback

He thought he was the special bf that was the one to only get your affection even if he had to fight for it (｡•́︿•̀｡)

See when you got back you where not ready for the dramatic self that is Jangjun

"So you like holding hands with Joochan but not me" he said lifting his chin looking in the opposite direction of you

You couldn't help but burst into laughter

"Hey! It's not funny, I have to do aegyo and be cute to get you to hold my hand which you eye roll at just the aegyo but he gets a full on free pass? This doesn't add up since I am your LOVELY AND AFFECTIONATE boyfriend."

At this point you where wheezing

After collecting yourself you walked up to Jangjun and he gave you a sigh waiting for a good explanation

Since why??? was his non affectionate s/o letting Joochan hold their hand with no effort??? but he gotta do his little cute blinking repeatedly while pouting for it???

But you just wrapped your arms around his waist catching him by surprise

"I really like your affection Jangjun."

With that Jangjun heart has gone all mushy even if he wants to keep going about being extra he cannot anymore

You made him so soft :((

He is just (｡ŏ﹏ŏ) ready to give you the world asap

You looked up at him and smiled

"hey look at me." You said with a little laugh he quickly looked down and realized the small space between the two of your faces

You planted a quick peck to his lips and boy was his heart all yours

Now knowing your affectionate he's not gonna let that go btw since now he knows you love his affection just as much as he loves yours

Youngtaek

Beep beep another big cuddly giant boyfriend again

He's just a big dork and will give the world to hold you in his arms

You usually would decline his efforts to cuddle you or show skin ship

But then he'd give you those big puppy eyes and look so sad

Not even meaning too he just loves showering you in affection

It's not that you didn't like it you just got shy

Wether that be scared if he'd like it

which he totally would like it since why would he be giving you such doe eyes and requesting for it if not

You'd get especially shy if it was near the boys since pda just had you scared of judgement

Or for him to have to be in a uncomfortable position cuddling/have the everyone tease him

But with the look he had you didn't care about any judgement others had so you'd always go along with the display of affection

Other than his trys of affection you won't be caught initiating it ever

Even if you wanted to your small fears held you back

But then today happened

He decided to sleep at your house instead of the dorms since he missed your presence

You'd never tell him this but you love kissing him

He has such plush lips how could you not?

Pampering his face with kisses is something you always wanted to do since he's just so precious

You woke up before him and turned to see him sound asleep

Since you wouldn't have to face embarrassment

You leaned over planting may small kisses to his face

He wasn't ready but was very happy to wakeup to you kissed every square inch of his face

He'd keep his eyes close pretending to be asleep but would purposefully wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer

"why don't you do this all the time, I'd sell everything for your affection why are you giving me all the kisses I could ask for and more when I'm asleeeeep do it when I'm awakeeee" whine evident in his voice

Your face would be incredibly red but you'd laugh

Planting one more kiss to his nose you settled back down and barrier your face in his chest

"I'll try but don't expect too much of me." Maybe you could get over your inner fears for him

"Promise me?" Of course he'd have to give you his puppy dog eyes

"okay I'll promise to" nuzzling your face into his chest even more from pure embarrassment

This is notably probably Youngtaek's favorite day now

Since who wouldn't love waking up to kisses from the love of your life?

Seungmin

Seungmin was having a rough day

Trying to keep up with everything was just a hassle and it just really wasn't his day

He texted you to see if you'd be willing to come to the dorms which thankfully you where free so you said yes

When you arrived you could tell something was off in his mood

Usually not being a affectionate person you put that to the side

You'd be willing to cuddle or hold hands anytime it just wasn't your priority do Seungmin would have to push for it usually

You walked up to Seungmin who was being mopy sitting up on his bed

You crawled to be right next to him and into his arms in which you kissed his cheek before asking what was wrong

Seungmin couldn't help the smile that came to his face from your signs of affection since he knows you don't go out and do it

So when you took the time to get into his arms and kiss him

He couldn't help but have his mood become better

After explain it was just a off day you snuggled farther into him

He didn't know that such a precious person could exist and that he was dating them

You'd fallen asleep like that and he said a small thank you for being affectionate with him even if its not your usual

He said while you where asleep since he felt a little shy to thank you when awake and you'd brush it off anyway just saying it's the best thing to do

Which you aren't wrong

Part 2

[lesbian-peanut-writer]

Food and Fun

Ok, day 9 of Kinktober is here and I know I usually post before now but hey, I made it right? My stories will probably be getting posted around this time of day from now on, seems as I’m busy at the moment and have issues at home now... Anyways, I had a bit of fun writing for our girl Himiko and with that I give you the story.

~Lesbian Peanut

Word Count: 2397

Silence hung heavy in the air as you watched those gentle hands meticulously move around yours. Her eyes were cast down as she meticulously wrapped your hand with a bandage, hiding your bruised knuckles beneath the thin material. You could tell it was hard for her, that she was holding back whatever it was that was weighing heavy on her mind. Guilt had settled in your stomach; it wasn't like you had meant for her to see you like this and to have to deal with the aftermath.

"Himiko…" You were silenced as she shot you a warning glare, her usually bright eyes now holding a darkness to them.

"You could have died! Do you understand that, (Name)?" Himiko stated as she pulled the bandages tight around your hand and made you since from the force.

"I know…"

"I've waited a long time to meet you, do you have any idea how painful it would be for me to lose you now? To have to mourn your death for centuries to come!" She stressed as she pulled your hand up against her chest.

"I'm sorry."

"Then don't do it again!" She growled before grabbing your bicep roughly, her fingers digging into the deep gash there.

You winced violently as you tried to pull your arm free. Her nails were more like talons as she dug them deeper into your skin and you swore, they were almost touching your bone. You knew this was hard on her, seeing you so beat up but more than that; the smell of your blood. Being a vampire in love with a fragile human couldn't have been easy on Himiko, you couldn't imagine the restraint she would have to exercise on a daily basis. It became apparently clear to you that she really did love you, she had put up with so much of your shit over the years but she never tried to hurt you; let alone drink from you.

“Why do you do it?” Himiko’s voice was soft as she spoke, her hand loosening around your arm as she moved to pull your shirt off.

“Do what?” You inquired as a frown drew your brows together in confusion.

“Put your life at risk. You’re literally just a human, it doesn’t take much for your kind to die.” She shot back as she flicked her eyes over to the gash running along your bicep.

“It’s not like I wanted to be attacked, Himiko. Would you have rather I just stood back and let them kill me?” You watched as she shook her head instantly and her hands gripped your thighs firmly. “I was simply protecting myself and you.”

“I don’t need protecting…” Himiko whispered as she stood up, leaning in towards your face as she pressed her knee up between your legs. “I only need to protect you.”

Your eyes widened as Himiko dipped in closer to you, his lips pressing against yours firmly as she kissed you. It felt as though time had stopped as you kissed her back and suddenly you realised why things had changed so fast. Blood. Himiko wasn’t like other Vampires who would fall into a bloodlust frenzy, no; she was very much different. Blood had a very different effect on Himiko, the smell and sight of blood would turn her into a horny mess; something that could be quite fun for you. You sighed in content as she pushed you down, your back pressing into the bed before she straddled your hips. A moan passed between the two of you as she gripped your breasts, her nails pressing into your skin in just the right way.

Himiko smirked as she lifted her head, a growl building in her chest as she licked her lips clean of the blood she had gathered from your lips. The taste of your blood was phenomenal, she would never grow tired of being able to taste it but she was always careful not to do so too often. She flicked her eyes down to yours as she squeezed your breasts, the flesh giving way under her gentler touch. She loved the way your body would react to even the simplest of her touches, the way your breath hitched when she touched you in certain places. Himiko listened as you took a sharp breath, her hips moving against yours as she trailed a hand down over your stomach. The way your stomach caved under her nails was enthralling to her and it had a sense of pride rushing through her body. She flicked her eyes down to your pants before looking back up at you as she hooked her fingers into them teasingly.

“Let me love you, (Name).” Himiko breathed as she rolled her hips lazily.

You winced as her fingers brushed over a bruise on your hip, her fingers disappearing instantly as she tugged on your pants. A smile pulled at your lips as you looked up at her, enjoying the way her eyes shone and her smile stretched from ear to ear. You sat up cautiously, your hands snaking up under her top and pushing it up over her body. Her body gave a shudder as your fingers ghosted over her ribs before travelling higher. You balled her top in your fist as you pulled it over her head, throwing it to the floor before moving your hands behind her back.

“I won’t ever stop you from loving me, Himiko.” You whispered lovingly as you leaned in close, pulling her body against yours as you trailed kisses down along her neck.

Himiko shuddered and hummed above you as she rolled her hips and wriggled before getting off the bed. She kept her eyes locked with yours as she shimmied her skirt down over her hips before letting it hit the floor. Your legs spread for her as you undid your pants, rolling onto your back as you pulled them down along your legs. She growled low as she watched you throw your pants aside, noticing you had taken your panties off at the same time. Himiko stepped in between your legs, fisting your hair roughly as she pulled your head back. Hey eyes peered down into your own, a mix of emotions reflecting back at her as she tried to read you.

“Such an obedient girl and I didn’t even have to say anything this time.” She praised as she trailed a finger down along your jaw, her other hand pulling your head back further. “How easy it would be for me to take your blood right now but I don’t want that, I want you fucked out beneath me and screaming my name!”

Heat flooded your cheeks as you looked up into her eyes, a sense of need and desire overcoming your normal senses. You shifted your hands to her hips, pulling her in close to your body as you sunk your teeth into her stomach. The look of shock that flashed through her eyes momentarily was quickly replaced by a look of pure determination and desire. You moaned as she ripped your head back, letting go of your hair as she threw you back against the mattress. The giggle that slipped past your lips was something you had been hoping to contain and wished that you had. Himiko’s snarl from above you sent shivers down your spine and yet, your pussy clenched just from hearing it.

“You bite, I bite.” Himiko murmured sweetly before dipping down out of sight.

Your eyes widened as you moved to sit up instantly, a hand coming up to press against your stomach firmly and forced your body to stay against the bed. You moaned as Himiko’s fangs sunk into your inner thigh, her tongue swirling over your skin as she sucked on the sensitive spot. You curled your toes as you hooked your legs over her shoulders, your hand searching between your legs for her hair. Himiko’s jingle of a laugh made it to your ears moments before her tongue swiped along your folds.

She licked her lips as she flicked her eyes up to where she could see your breasts heaving with your breathing. Your blood was rolling down her chin as she licked at your folds, pushing her tongue into your pussy and drinking up your juices. As much as Himiko preferred tasting your blood, tasting your sex was just as good and sometimes even better. She knew how to make you cum without doing much to your body, all it took was for her to bite you in all the right places; saving that sweet spot for last.

Himiko growled as she moved her tongue against the walls of your pussy, relishing in the way they clamped down around her invaded tongue. Her hands clasped at your thighs, her claws digging into your delicate flesh without much effort. She closed her eyes, listening to your breathing as she greedily drank up all your juices; her own pussy quivering in need. Her mouth shifted higher along your folds, suckling your clitoris in between her lips before sucking it between her teeth. Your deep moan and sharp intake of breath were perfect as she rolled your clitoris between her teeth. She growled when your hips jerked up off the bed, her hands tightening around your thighs and forcing your hips back down.

You moaned as you sucked your bottom lip in between your teeth, chewing on it and arching your back. You knew how dangerous it was to have Himiko between your legs, it didn’t take much for her to make you cum. Now that she had pleasure coursing through your body, all it would take was for her fangs to pierce your skin and you’d be done for. You could feel blood rolling back along your thigh from where she had previously bitten you, her warning only now sinking in fully. You cried out as she sucked on your clitoris before letting it go and delving her tongue back into your pussy. Your walls clamped down around her prodding tongue, a moan leaving your lips as she found your g-spot. Himiko’s name fell from your lips as she rubbed her tongue against it, her nails sinking deeper into your thighs.

She could smell your arousal, the scent mixing with that of your blood and effectively making her feel drunk. Himiko moaned as she licked your walls roughly, her right hand relinquishing its hold on your thigh and slipping down between her legs. Her moans sounded between your legs as she licked and sucked at your heat, making sure to tease your clitoris every so often. The sounds of your whimpers from above, only served to make her hornier as she pumped her fingers into her pussy. God, what she would give to have you eat her out; to lick up all her juices until your pretty little face was covered in them. She smirked as she pulled her fingers from her pussy, knowing now that was exactly what she was going to make you do.

You whimpered as Himiko pulled her head back, the vision of her head rising up over your body sending butterflies to your stomach. Her eyes were locked with yours as she moved up close to your face, her knee pressing down on your right leg as she hovered over you. You frowned as she inched in closer, only to have a moan slip from your lips as she thrust three of her fingers deep into your pussy. You could feel her knuckles pressed up against your folds with each flick of her wrist, knowing that she was able to sink all three knuckles of her fingers into your dripping heat. You moaned, rolling your head back as her fingers moved at a relentless pace. It often terrified you to think of what Himiko’s stamina would be like had she been a guy and just how fucked out you would always be if she were to fuck you with her strap-on.

Himiko watched you closely as she moved her fingers at a blinding speed, pushing them deep into your clenching pussy before pulling them all the way back out. She knew how much you loved it when you did this to her and she felt proud when your hips jerked up in response to her splaying her fingers out fully inside of you. The way your breath caught in your throat and your heart stuttered away in your chest, she loved every little detail. She waited as she moved her fingers harshly, fucking your tight pussy and adding her fourth finger. Himiko loved the way you stretched around her fingers, the way your walls fluttered and squeezed as though begging her for more. Her eyes lit up as your head dropped right back, your eyes slipping shut as you gave in to the pleasure, she was giving you.

“Game over…” Himiko whispered before diving in towards your neck.

Your eyes shot open at her words, but it was all too late to do anything now. A scream was ripped from your throat as Himiko’s fangs sunk into your neck, piercing through your flesh and sending an instantly overwhelming wave of pleasure through your body. Your body jerked and spasmed as your orgasm forced its way through your system, your pussy clenching around her fingers desperately. That was it, that was how she punished you whenever you did something she didn’t like; mostly when you got hurt. She would build up your pleasure only to bring you undone all too soon by sinking her teeth into your neck. You loved her but god damn was she cruel when she wanted to be.

You flicked your eyes up to hers as she pulled away from your neck, watching as her tongue flicked out to lap up your blood from her lips. You panted as you moved a hand up to touch her bottom lip, catching a droplet that had managed to escape her tongue. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes.” Himiko said simply before sitting down against your stomach, her hands travelling up towards your breasts. “Now, you’re going to be a good girl and eat me out. I want to see your pretty little face covered in my juices after I cum on it.” Yeah, you were in for one hell of a night but you weren’t complaining.

[lemonsandstrawberries]

Figaro Drabble #17

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

universe: Figaro universe

summary: Tony always prided himself on being Figaro's favorite and then everything changed, once that thing appeared in their lives..

length: 986 words

a/n: 17th February was National Cat Day in my country, so I decided to write a fic! aand then fell asleep and didn't post it on time... so Happy One Day after National Cat Day! hope you enjoy the fic, likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated and needed!

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Figaro Drabble #17

Steve didn't know a lot about love. He never really experienced it, rejected by most of the girls back in the times before he got the serum, while his time with Peggy, the girl he truly felt close to, was cut short and the blossoming feeling never developed. After waking up in the 21st century, Steve didn't expect to ever fit in, not even mentioning finding love, but a miracle happened and he and Tony found each other. That, that Steve could call love. That warm, soothing feeling whenever he looked at Tony, was close to him, and listened to his voice. Their love was growing and filling his heart and soul with something he never experienced before. Steve wouldn't call himself an expert on love, but he knew that what he was feeling towards Tony, that was true love. Pure and passionate and everlasting. 

Yet, it all faded in the face of the feeling he was witnessing in the current moment. That was the kind of love that was hard to describe but obvious to everyone and so good. Steve loved Tony and was loved back, but this was an entirely different story.

"Outrageous," Tony scoffed, his eyes fixed at the same point as Steve's. Steve didn't say anything, just kept smiling, his arm wrapped around his sulking husband as they sat together on the couch in the living room, basking in the love-filled glow. 

"Seriously, I have no words," Tony continued, and Steve continued to not talk, just observing and listening, somehow secretly enjoying Tony's ramble and curious how far it would go.

"I don't know how you can be so calm, Steve! I have never been so insulted in my life!"

Oh, insulted. That was a big word for the overblown offense of Figaro, their shared cat, playing with an old scrunchie. As their only child, Figaro was spoiled as a cat could be, eating the best selection of cat food, having cat towers and scratching posts in every room, and more toys a single cat could need, starting from the simplest stuffed toy mice to the fancy automatic laser lights. Yet, all that cornucopia of cat toys was no match for the stretched-out, yellow scrunchie that one day had slipped out from Thor's pocket and Figaro snatched, claiming for himself and dubbing the best thing ever. Since then, Figaro could be seen wildly pawing at the scrunchie, chasing it all over the place and when he got tired, he flopped down on the floor, the scrunchie near his face, and looked adoringly at it, clearly in love. No matter what Tony did, what he offered, he couldn't convince Figaro to play with anything else, and the only playtime he got with his cat, was when he begrudgingly tossed the yellow nightmare and Figaro kept bringing it to him, playing their version of fetch. The trend did catch on, and soon Natasha donated some of her hair ties and even Bucky added a one or two, and the collection kept growing, much to Figaro's delight and Tony's dismay, but the yellow scrunchie was the unquestionable winner and Figaro's true love. Steve wasn't quite sure if the true offense didn't lay deeper, rooted in the fact that Figaro chose Thor's belonging over many toys Tony had bought. 

"What?" Tony suddenly asked, and Steve noticed that Figaro was sitting at the bottom of the couch, his tail doing some twitchy movements. Sometimes it did happen, that during his playtime, Figaro tossed the scrunchie somewhere and needed assistance in getting it out, which was the current case. "You flung it under the couch, get it out yourself," Tony told his cat, sounding offended. 

"Aw, don't be like that," Steve cooed, not liking Tony being mean for such a petty reason. "Here, Fig," he said and stood up, walking behind the couch, keen on helping their cat, Figaro following.

"Hmph," Tony crossed his arms, thinking that, yeah, maybe, he took it a bit too far. The scrunchie love would end one day, hopefully, and then he would get his cat back from under the vixen's spell. And there was no need to take it out on his fluffy son, not when Figaro was so overjoyed. Before Tony could join in the scrunchie search, there was a movement behind his back and suddenly the floor was further away and the ceiling was a lot closer.

"WHAT THE HELL!" Tony yelped, unsure what to hold to, and clutched to the armrest, curling feet to himself. 

"Fig, look!"

Tony didn't move but saw Figaro zooming across the room, chasing the free scrunchie, happy with getting his toy back. Tony wasn't that happy.

"Huh, so we have a lot of random stuff under the couch..." Steve said from underneath, holding the couch, and Tony, over his head without any effort.

"Sometimes I forget how freakishly strong you are..." Tony muttered angrily to himself, not directing the complaint to his husband, but Steve laughed anyway still hearing it because of his super-soldier hearing. Of course. "Put me down!"

"Hmm."

"Steve!"

"I'm thinking about it."

"This isn't funny, Steve!"

Steve, holding the couch and grinning, had a very different opinion.

"I can feel you smirking, if you don't put me down right now, you will be sleeping on this damn couch for the rest of the month!"

"Well, in that case, I might as well carry it to our bedroom," Steve said, turning around and taking the first step, deeply enjoying the outraged screech his husband made. It was pretty simple - Figaro had his scrunchie to play with and Steve had his Tony. And like all games, this one also had to come to an end, and Tony was put down and the couch got back in its place. And if Tony still wanted to kick Steve out of the bedroom for his mischief, convincing him not to do so, was another story. 

[ddpej]

I didn’t want to flood the CrossingsCon post with cross-stitch facts, but the fishy taijitu pictured below my carp myth poem has some interesting things happening so I will talk about those here!  It may get long, because I ramble, so: variegations, beads, and thread alchemy with Kreinik under the cut (with pictures!).

The pattern I used here is “Fish in a Whirl”, by Rania Khan, whose website is sadly no longer functional.  It was written as all one color, just black on white; I added color mostly because I was given some translucent beads and I wanted to play with them.  I genuinely didn’t realize until I was halfway through stitching the water that I had essentially turned it into a taijitu!

My original idea for this piece was to do the whole thing in bead fills, but I decided after about ten blue beads that I didn’t like that look for the water.  Instead, I stitched the blue parts in all one variegated ‘color’, which I am pretty sure was DMC’s 121.  The ‘normal’ DMC variegations have long, slow color transitions, so I did put a little effort into following the general curl of the swirls and making sure that there were no abrupt color changes inside a swirl when starting a new thread.  Otherwise, though, this part was the simplest.

After the water, I started in on the fish, and again got about ten beads into a front fin before deciding I hated the visual texture of it for fins and taking the beads back out.  At this point I did finally find a braincell and use it; I took some time to do a few mockups and thinking about where beads might actually fit nicely, and what I might do instead do for the parts where it didn’t.  Having only the one braincell, I came away with half a plan rather than a whole one -- but that was more than I’d had prior!

I started with the fins because a) I knew I was going to just do them plain, and b) I only had one skein of the variegation I wanted to use, which I figured I could fake in the beading if I ran out but would not be able to fake well alone!  I believe that orangey variegation was DMC’s Color Variations 4120.  The CVs are a much tighter, faster color shift than the regular variegations, and I liked having that visual interest and contrast with the more languid water one.

After the fins, finally, I did beads for real!  I needed to do a diagonal bead attachment just so the beads would fit; I think they’re size 11/0, which really only works on 14ct fabric and even then they’re a little big for the squares.  For single scattered beads, that doesn’t matter, and for single-width lines of beads it only matters a little, but for full fills it matters a lot!  So diagonal it was, which means that I was threading the beads on the first leg and then splitting the second leg over the beads to secure them.  Because the beads are just slightly too large, even in a diagonal arrangement they make each scale ever-so-slightly concave, which is a cool extra little bit of texture!  I did end up rotating my fabric 90 degrees for the beadwork, to stitch the ‘wrong’ way compared to the unbeaded parts, because I wanted the bead direction to match the angle of the fish.  (Never let the ‘rules’ of cross-stitch prevent you from doing what works for your project!)

It doesn’t look like it in the finished project, but the beads I used are a very true yellow.  With translucent beads, the color of the thread can make quite a difference!  The variation in the CV 4120 didn’t really show through overtly, since the variation is more color-to-color than light-to-dark.  That worked in my favor though, because I did indeed run out of the CV 4120 about 2/3s through the beading.  When I got down to my last yard or so, I started interspersing strands of the closest-matching bits from DMC 51, so that I had a gradual transition between the two.

Once the body of the fish was all beaded, I had to finally figure out my plan for the head -- which I’d been putting off, because I just wasn’t sure what to do.  I wanted the general look of the beads, but not the texture that came with them!  In a fit of honestly inexplicable inspiration, I managed to perform thread alchemy: I turned DMC 3852 + 742 plus Kreinik 001J (which I haven’t touched in years) into exactly what I wanted, on the very first try.  I still have no idea how.  I honestly can’t even remember picking the colors!

The end result does definitely have less shine/gleam/brightness compared to the beads, which is no surprise since the beads have an opalescent coating.  That tends to make the head look slightly darker in full photos, but in person the color is very true and the sparkle from the Kreinik is more evident, so that from a distance it very much looks like the same thing but flat.  I finished it off with a dark blue eye to complete the taijitu effect, and that was that!

At 100 stitches per side on 14ct fabric, this piece ended up being 7.25in square -- on the large side, for me!  I don’t really know what I’ll end up doing with it; I don’t have framing supplies and would need to pay to get it framed by someone, but if I ever do so I could enter it into that year’s state fair I suppose?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[hihowareyawrites]

Did You Know I’m Utterly Insane?

Cross Posted from AO3

No pairing; Solf J. Kimblee character study

Summary: Solf J. Kimblee was not a man who was uncertain of anything, generally. He felt completely aware of everything he said and did. His refusal to continue his father's business, his eagerness to leave home, and his fondness for destructive alchemy- yes, it was never anything he was unsure of. But now and again, he did question his well being.

Solf J. Kimblee was not a man who was uncertain of anything, generally. He felt completely aware of everything he said and did. His refusal to continue his father's business, his eagerness to leave home, and his fondness for destructive alchemy- yes, it was never anything he was unsure of. But now and again, he did question his well being.

If nothing else he was defined by his savior faire- his uncanny ability to enter a situation and claim it, appearing dominating and submissive all at once. He would not hold the conversation captive, but rather steer it with small comments and gestures. It was something that made those around him captivated by his presence, and also, wary of his aura.

But of course, he knew what he was doing.

He would observe others, their empathy and their compassion. The way they felt for others. He wondered what that must be like, to see the pain of another person and truly understand what it is they were feeling. It was something he found trying. He'd given the effort as much as he could, he must feel some care for his mother (or so he thought), since he did intend to give her some of his income provided by the state.

But was it compassion? Or was he just repaying a debt he felt he owed her, out of respect? Respect was an easy emotion for him. He could acknowledge another person's ability or conviction, and he could respect them. But that didn't necessarily mean he cared about what happened to them beyond that.

No, perhaps he cared more for vanity and social status than he'd thought. The delicate thought and meticulous eye he would give to his appearance was unlike the passing glance offered to those suffering around him. But he couldn't understand what he was supposed to feel, then.

He did feel however, anger. He had a reservoir of bitterness welled up in the black of his heart, something he felt could devour him from the inside. He had no desire to truly help people. Some might credit it to late teenage angst, or perhaps a typical anger issue distinctive of young men. But he didn't find either apropos.

The creation of his alchemic specialty was with that distinction; that he had no internal drive to aid the masses. It would get him nowhere, he felt. Of course he was capable of preforming standard alchemy, he could do it if he needed. If he wanted. But he didn't want to.

He channeled the frustration, the apathy, the anger, the distaste for things around him, for people, into his work. Maybe it was because his father pushed such a rigid lifestyle on him. Maybe it was because no matter how hard he saw his mother work, she could never get ahead. Maybe he was just born with a natural affliction. The reasons didn't matter, the results did.

When he'd first arrived in central for his exam, he found it was a much different place from his small hometown. It was large, it was loud, it was a city. It had the capacity to house so many, but were those on the streets then, the remainder? He'd passed a number of homeless people, starving and cold and sad- and he found he felt nothing. No concern to help them, no desire to do more. He only thought it was the way of nature, survival of the fittest, and moved on. He felt nothing.

It occurred to him that perhaps, his view was unnatural. Perhaps his lack of concern for others wasn't standard, and he felt for the first time ever, a sense of inferiority. What genetic trait was he denied that allowed others access to an emotion he couldn't attain? What sort of defective make up did he have that rendered him unable to feel and act as everyone else does? He'd never an issue with memorizing algorithms or music or languages, and yet the simplest task of all was something that would not come easy to him.

But he could pretend it did. He studied them, the people around him. The ones in the large central office, the ones he passed on the street, the ones who sat near him in wait. He studied them all, and carefully built a persona.

When it came time for his interview, he imagined what each of his emotional models would say- how they would react. His skills were enough to award him a rank of major, a coveted watch, and a unique title. But he applauded himself on his ability to fit in with the masses. He allowed himself a sliver of haughtiness, that they did not truly know the man they had employed. He considered they had seen through him and simply did not care, but his ego preferred the former.

He did however tell them of his indifference to committing murder on behalf of the state, how it was a duty he would gladly uphold for his military. They praised him for his candor, and his loyalty. This seeming confession of psychopathy was overlooked. This confession meant nothing.

He found these brief moments to be the most rewarding; the only time where he truly felt like he might be happy. Deceiving others, earning praise, things that others may find unbecoming traits.

In training, he found his objective difficult. Many of the tasks were laden with bouts of heroics. Saving this civilian, protecting this city, et cetera. He found it banal if nothing else, but moreso uninvigorating. Why should he care if one more person were to die? Or perhaps one hundred more? What could they possibly offer, if they hadn't the will power to keep themselves alive of their own accord anyway? He hadn't become a state alchemist to be a charity worker, he had become a state alchemist for... now what was the reason again? It didn't matter, he found comfort in being apart of something.

While reading one night, he came upon studies of sociopathy and psychosis. He tried to separate himself from them, but found it harder as he skimmed the psychology book further. Yes, perhaps he did relate to this- perhaps his feelings were symptomatic of personality disorders he'd only known in passing until now. But should that make him a bad person, if he was suffering from an illness of the mind? Some may applaud him for seeking a normal life anyway. He applauded himself. He was twenty three, and doing well enough.

Still, there was a dull ache in his chest, for something more.

Only a few years later, they were being sent to war. He found purpose in his orders. They were giving him a command, a standard to perfect. It didn't matter what the order was, he was determined to be the best at it, regardless.

His new favorite hobby was walking down the streets, post-destruction, and admiring his own work. There was the exhilaration of the act of course, but there was nothing quite like enjoying the afterglow of the efforts either. He'd liken the entire experience to sex, but without the obligation of human connection after. This experience was all he needed to feel alive. He wished the war would go on forever, that he could live this way for the rest of his life. Every day would be a new opportunity to best himself, and he would seek enlightenment with every attempt. Yes, that would be ideal.

He tried to make acquaintances, to associate with living people, but none could understand him. It wasn't that he wanted nor needed to be understood, but he desired some sense of comradery with anyone here. Even though the uniforms on their backs were the same, he felt as though he simply had many enemies he could not and should not target.

When he was handed the stone, a tangible shard of human souls, there was an immediate connection. This small crystallized object, formed from human suffering, had more in common with him than any of the people around him. It existed only to cause chaos. It too was burdened with a tempest of agony, and he used it to inflict the same on those around him. This stone was truly the only thing that he understood, that understood him. It too existed merely to cause suffering.

He'd not be separated from it. He took their lives solely to preserve his possession- it's possession of him. He held out his hands promptly, to be cuffed. At the movements of his arms those around him recoiled, knowing full well what his hands were capable of. Surrender however was not a known attribute. He stood on trial and accepted any guilt. He did not flaunt it, he simply agreed. His assigned lawyer threw down his papers in frustration; why must this man cooperate with the jury and not his own attorney? He admired his new home, a stuffy, dark and damp cell, and shrugged off the gnawing feeling of claustrophobia. Surely, this is where he would spend the last of his days. He would be handed the death sentence eventually, right? It was only a matter of time.

And then 6 years went by. And there was nothing. Truly, he would be left to rot here. He announced full guilt in the crimes he committed, and they allowed him to live. This confession, too, meant nothing.

There was an emptiness growing in the pit of his stomach, so deep he thought the stone would become lost in it. What is all of this for? What was any of this for? He couldn't remember now.

And soon he was released. With bravado and a false sense of self entitlement he announced his deserving of freedom; truly, if they would release him after all this time, he had earned it. But there was still a confusion, a lack of certainty. What his goals were, what his plans were. He followed orders diligently, set himself to one goal and chased that goal. Chased it until it impaled him through the side. Chased it until it dared make him feel humiliated in front of dozens. Chased it until he was told to give up, and focus on something else. Failure was a new feeling.

Or, it was until it started to occur again and again. And then he began to realize that he was never succeeding at anything. The praise and acclaim he had earned in Ishval meant nothing. Now, he was unable to accomplish any given task. He stood in apoplexy until the order was given to rescue Pride, and he decided he would not fail again.

And though hard he did try, he found himself truly recounting his life's purpose as he lay on the ground hemorrhaging. His life force escaping out his throat and onto his tailored suit. In this moment, he confessed his crimes and his failures, to himself. He recounted them and, for the true first time in his life, felt regret. Regret he had not accomplished more. He realized then, while he had confessed his crimes to others, he never truly had to himself. And upon doing so found he was remorseless. And found that aside from orders given from others, his actions were without goal or purpose. He realized, only now in death, that he had never truly had free will. His conviction was a ruse, he acted only on the conviction of others.

"There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp, and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this, there is no catharsis; my punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing. "

Solf J. Kimblee was not a man who was uncertain of anything, generally. Except for his own identity and reason for living, he questioned only when it was too late.

[grandpeanutchild]

cheese fries restaurant

In France, steak frites, which translates "steak and fries" in English, may be a prolific dish throughout the country's brasseries. cheese fries restaurant While the sort of steak and sauce utilized in the preparation has changed over time and between countries, the quintessential French fry is an everlasting factor.  

BUT WHY THE POPULARITY

So why are french-fried potatoes so popular? Certainly there are other side dishes that might pair well with a protein. While speculative, it's believed that french-fried potatoes first gained a following in Europe, popularized by dishes including the aforementioned steak frites and moules-frites. Subsequently, french-fried potatoes became fashionable American soldiers stationed overseas during war I. once they returned home, they sought their new favorite snack to no avail. At this point , however, America was witnessing the renaissance of the fashionable nutriment restaurant. Inexpensive to organize and with an already established clientele, White Castle began offering french-fried potatoes with their hamburgers. The rest, as they assert , is history.

The French fry's meteoric rise from a humble fish-substitute to the world's quintessential culinary accompaniment has been an extended time within the making. Thus, we encourage you to celebrate (and, of course, eat) the world's greatest and most venerated entremots .The Quora recipe took 3 days but mostly zero effort. The post was short on details, so I invented them as I went by . the primary thing I noticed was that they discolored while drying within the fridge. After frying, they recolored themselves but appeared to be the smallest amount crispy, and thus , most disappointing of the bunch. As I ate more and more of them however, it ended up that that they had the simplest , most potatoey flavor and satisfying crisp (as against the boom-in-your-face crunch of the opposite two). I felt like I could eat endless amounts of those guys, which made them the winner for meKenji’s fries take 2 days and are specified to be shoestring sized, so I followed his recipe to a tee. His came out more intact than Heston’s but still broken, I’m unsure how he managed to avoid the broken ones on a high heat boil, but i think that’s why his lead photo is merely of 12 intact french-fried potatoes . within the end, the recipe was about twice as involved as Heston’s, with vinegar and agitation needed, but looked and tasted better with more intact fries (marginally more intact).

The easiest thanks to make homemade french-fried potatoes - www.iamafoodblog.com Random Quora Dude’s Method

The Quora recipe took 3 days but mostly zero effort. The post was short on details, so I invented them as I went by . the primary thing I noticed was that they discolored while drying within the fridge. After frying, they recolored themselves but appeared to be the smallest amount crispy, and thus , most disappointing of the bunch. As I ate more and more of them however, it ended up that that they had the simplest , most potatoey flavor and satisfying crisp (as against the boom-in-your-face crunch of the opposite two). I felt like I could eat endless amounts of those guys, which made them the winner on behalf of me .

Thinking that I could optimize on this recipe, i attempted condensing the method into one long day. By 10pm that night, I ended up with soggy fries that couldn’t hold a candle to their 3 day brethren. Something magical seems to happen on the third day.

Was this easier than simply throwing some Ore-Ida or McCains fries within the oven? No, but it had been far, much more satisfying, and I’m guessing either (or both) Steph or i will be able to be improving this recipe as time goes by, until at some point we’ll just effortlessly be ready to throw together a simple batch of french-fried potatoes which will rival the simplest french restaurants, or McDonalds.

Do you guys have an honest french fry recipe? I’m all ears.

Potato love -Mike

The easiest thanks to make homemade french-fried potatoes - www.iamafoodblog.com

HOW TO MAKE french-fried potatoes reception 1 POTATO PER PERSONPREP TIME: 3 DAYSCOOK TIME: 3 MINUTESTOTAL TIME: 3 DAYS and three MINUTES Large russet potatoes, dig 1/4″ shoestrings Oil for frying Salt

Soak your potatoes for 30 mins to 1hr. Blot dry with a towel and arrange on rack. Dry in refrigerator overnight.

The next day, heat your oil to 375°F. Ensure your potatoes are completely dry (dry with paper towels if needed). Fry your potatoes for exactly 1 minute. Drain and place back on rack, and dry in fridge overnight.

On the ultimate day, heat your oil copy to 375°F. Blot dry any excess oil on your potatoes with a towel , then fry for exactly two minutes. Drain on a rack, salt immediately, and luxuriate in as soon as possible.

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5 COMMENTS Peppermint Dolly says: June 8, 2017 at 12:44 am I don’t know if it’d be a weekly occurrence with such a lot prep involved, but still, I’m intrigued to offer it a go!!

Rebecca xx http://www.peppermintdolly.com

Reply Rachael @Rachael's Foodie Life says: June 8, 2017 at 1:49 am It seems like you're making my dreams come true. I even have had numerous fakes attempts at french-fried potatoes reception that I had given up hope. But I can’t wait to undertake these!!

Reply irene says: June 8, 2017 at 6:49 am This is very informative. Are the potatoes soaked in warm or cold water for the 30 -1hr period? How are they dried overnight within the refridgerator, in an open plastic container or left open?

Reply Ruby says: June 10, 2017 at 8:30 pm oh no – the very easiest method (and delicious too) is that the America’s Test Kitchen way of putting shoestrings in room temp oil and bringing it up to boil on high heat. It never sputters or spits and you simply stir them once. Hey presto – perfect fries

Reply gary says: June 11, 2017 at 8:34 pm These make me insane they're so good (use peanut oil), we make them once every week probably: https://smittenkitchen.com/2017/03/easiest-french-fries/

In addition to being the simplest fries ever to return out of my kitchen, included triple fried,etc., they're far and away the simplest . I even have been telling everyone i do know to form these!

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