#And how he trains his new body how to tolerate spice.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The red spot is a chili flake

The red spot is a chili flake... (context)

[h0rr0rsaxo]

[ Plans. || RE simp party || P2. ]

Warnings: None

Tags: @insane-horror-movie-addict

A/N: I love this little series we're creating...I think it's super fun. Also sorry there isn't really romantic moments-- yet. But in the next part that I create, I'll be sure to add a little spice!

Word count: 2,093

Anni stumbled out of the dimly lit bar, her vision blurred and her balance unsteady. She had done it again, drinking away her sorrows, trying to numb the pain that had been consuming her for far too long. She was a depressed alcoholic, and it seemed as if nothing could lift the heavy weight off her chest. The parking lot before her was nearly empty, the darkness swallowing up the few cars left behind by their owners. Anni fumbled with her car key, struggling to keep her balance as she made her way toward her vehicle. The frigid night air stung her cheeks, but she barely felt it through the haze of alcohol.

As she approached her car, a voice suddenly broke through the silence. "Driving home drunk? I thought you were a cop, Sparks." Anni's heart skipped a beat as a tall man emerged from the shadows, his expression stoic and his voice devoid of emotion. The elegant swirls of smoke from his cigarette encircled him like a ghostly halo, and his eyes seemed just as lifeless as Anni's own.

Anni narrowed her eyes, her patience wearing thin. "Fuck off," she spat, quickly unlocking her car and sliding into the driver's seat. She tried to start the car, but it didn't budge. Panic began to rise within her, her heart pounding in her chest. Narrowing her eyes, she realized that this random stranger knew her name.

The man appeared in the passenger seat beside her, as if materializing out of thin air. "It's difficult to drive when all your tires have been slashed," he said, his voice still unnervingly monotone. Fear coursed through Anni's veins, and she frantically reached for her gun. But before she could even aim it at the mysterious stranger, he deftly smacked it out of her hand. He took a long drag from his cigarette and then blew the smoke directly into Anni's face.

The smoke was unlike anything she had ever experienced—thick and heavy, almost tangible. It seemed to wrap itself around her, invading her senses and clouding her mind. Within moments, her vision began to fade, and her limbs felt like lead. As her consciousness slipped away, the last thing she heard was the stranger's voice, as cold and lifeless as the darkness that enveloped her. As she fell limp, he quickly caught her in his arms. 

Blankly, he stared at her. Perhaps it was because he felt as if she reminded him of his past self— alcoholics with no hope for the future. 

Flynn's arms strained as he gently lifted Anni's limp body out of the car, his eyes scanning the deserted parking lot for any sign of danger. He knew he couldn't risk using his car to escape, not with his partners hot on their trail. Instead, he would have to carry her through the night until the helicopter came, relying on his training and instincts to keep them both safe. As he began to walk, the sound of Lloyd's manic laughter filled the air, and Flynn tensed, his grip on Anni tightening. He could hear the sound of his partner's footsteps on the roof of the nearby building, and he knew he was getting closer.

Suddenly, Lloyd jumped down from the building, landing with a thunderous crash on top of the car. The metal groaned and buckled under his immense weight, and Flynn didn't even winced at the sight. Lloyd was insane, a wild card that Flynn knew how to handle— he was probably the only one that could tolerate his insanity.

"Flynn, my man! You always know how to make an entrance!" Lloyd exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement. "What's going on here? Is this a new game? Can I play?" Flynn ignored him, his focus on getting Anni to the hideout. Viper appeared next, her graceful form floating down from the building with ease. Her cloak billowed around her, creating an ethereal effect that made her look almost otherworldly. She swung out her scythe, the blade gleaming in the moonlight.

"Is that the target, Flynn?" Viper asked, her voice cool and collected.

Flynn nodded, his expression grim. "We need to get her out of here. Her co-workers will soon take notice to her sudden disappearance." He turned his head to her now crushed car, "As well as her destroyed car.' 

Lloyd cackled, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Well then, let's give them a run for their money! I've been itching for a new rush!" Flynn shook his head in exasperation, but he knew there was no stopping Lloyd once he got going. He adjusted his grip on Anni, feeling the weight of her body against his chest. For the past few weeks they've been creating this plan, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her.

— . — . —

Chris hurriedly made his way through the dimly lit bar, scanning the faces of the patrons as he went. He was looking for Leon, his partner in the D.S.O, to tell him what had happened to Anni. She had been kidnapped and disappeared without a trace, and Chris needed Leon's help to find her. As he searched, Chris noticed a commotion in the corner of the bar. He could see a figure slumped over on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles and glasses. It was Leon, passed out from drinking too much.

Chris gritted his teeth in frustration, but knew he couldn't afford to waste any time. He walked over to Leon and tried to wake him up. "Come on, Kennedy, wake up. We have to talk," Chris said, trying to keep his voice calm. Leon groaned and mumbled something incoherent, but otherwise remained motionless. Chris knew he had to take more drastic measures. He reached out and slapped Leon on the back of the head.

"Captain, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Leon sarcastically questioned, glaring at the taller man with blurred vision. He groaned, slowly opening his eyes and trying to sit up.

"Get up, Leon. We have a serious problem," Chris said, his voice urgent.

Leon rubbed his head and looked at Chris with bleary eyes. "What's going on?" he asked, his tone still slurred.

"Agent Sparks has been kidnapped for several days. We don't know where she is or who took her," Chris said, his voice grim.

Leon's eyes widened in shock. He sat up straight and shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "What? How did this happen?" he asked.

"We don't know. Her car was destroyed, and there's no trace of her. We need to find her, and fast," Chris said, his voice urgent.

Leon nodded, suddenly sobered by the seriousness of the situation. "Do we have any leads?" he asked.

Chris hesitated for a moment before answering. "The C.O.T.D might have something to do with it. The boss of that organization…isn't exactly fond of me," he said.

Leon's eyes narrowed in anger. "That son of a bitch. We'll get him." he said, his voice suddenly determined. Chris nodded, relieved that Leon was finally taking the situation seriously. Together, they made their way out of the bar and into the night, ready to track down the kidnapper and bring Agent Sparks back home. The entire D.S.O. was in a state of panic. They had been frantically searching for any information on the C.O.T.D, the mysterious criminal organization that had kidnapped Agent Sparks. But despite their best efforts, they had almost no leads to go on.

Chris, the captain of the D.S.O, was pacing back and forth in the command center, his jaw clenched tightly. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes from days of sleepless nights and non-stop investigating.

Suddenly, Nadia, one of the D.S.O's top agents, walked into the room. She looked almost hopeful, but her gaze dropped when she saw the state of Chris. "Hey. Any luck finding a pinned location on the C.O.T.D?" Nadia questioned, her voice quiet.

Chris stopped pacing and turned to face her. "No, Nadia. We've been working around the clock, but we're still no closer to finding them," Chris said, his tone exasperated.

Nadia nodded, her expression falling. She knew how much finding Agent Sparks meant to Chris, and how hard he had been working to solve the case. "I see. Well, we'll keep looking," she said, her voice determined. Chris nodded, his eyes fixed on the computer screen in front of him. He was running out of ideas, and he knew that time was running out. She could see the determination in his eyes, and she knew that they would find a way to bring Agent Sparks home. They just had to keep searching, no matter how long it took.

The D.S.O headquarters was buzzing with activity. The captain of the organization, paced back and forth in his dimly lit office, his face etched with worry and stress. He couldn't believe his prized agent, Agent Sparks, had been kidnapped by the notorious criminal organization known as the C.O.T.D— He couldn't believe it; how could he have let this happen?

Chris had ordered his agents to interrogate every criminal even remotely associated with the C.O.T.D. He was desperate for information, and he wasn't going to stop until he found Sparks. He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. 

Just as he was about to leave his office for yet another meeting with his agents, the lights suddenly flickered and went out. Chris narrowed his eyes, instantly on high alert. Something was off. As abruptly as they had gone out, the lights came back on, revealing a tall figure standing across the room. It was Archer, the leader of the C.O.T.D himself, an intimidating man with a towering height of 6'7 and an eyepatch that covered one of his eyes. He grinned menacingly at Chris as he spoke.

"You know, Chris—when I first found out about Agent Sparks, I didn't think you had actually fallen for her. I found the possibility of you actually caring about someone to be impossible—but seeing you so worried has me reconsidering." Chris glared at Archer, his heart pounding in his chest. 

"I almost don't blame you. She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?" He didn't know what the criminal mastermind wanted, but he wasn't about to let him have the upper hand. Archer smirked, speaking up once again, "It's a shame, you know. I was convinced you were nothing more than a heartless solider."

"What do you want, Archer?" Chris spat, his voice shaking with anger. "If you've harmed her, I swear, I'll make you pay."

Archer chuckled, unfazed by the threat. "Oh, she's still alive... for now. But you don't have much time, Chris. If you want her back, you'll have to play by my rules."

Chris clenched his jaw, his eyes never leaving Archer's. "You underestimate me, Archer. I will find her, and when I do, I'll make sure you and your entire organization pay for this."

Archer smirked, seemingly amused by Chris's determination. "We'll see about that, Chris. Time is running out." With that, he vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Chris seething with rage and fear for Agent Sparks. The chase was on, and Chris knew he had to act fast. The life of the woman he had grown to care for, and perhaps even love, was on the line. He couldn't afford to lose her, and he couldn't afford to let Archer win.

Chris gritted his teeth as Archer disappeared, leaving him alone in his office once again. He knew that he couldn't trust the criminal mastermind, but he also knew that time was running out. He had to find Agent Sparks before it was too late. Just as Chris was about to leave his office, the lights flickered and went out once again. He tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. However, he remembered Archer's warning about the explosives and reluctantly put his weapon away.

As the lights came back on, Chris saw a man standing in front of him. It was Varrick Smith, one of the C.O.T.D's captives. Chris had ordered his agents to rescue as many hostages as possible, and Varrick was one of them. Varrick spoke in a smug voice, his eyes darting around the room. "I can take you to Archer, but he said that you have to come alone. No other agents, no backup."

Chris narrowed his eyes. Should he really trust this criminal?

[trainingforfandom]

Bakugo Katsuki

Bakugo is probably a very advanced gym-goer and trains for ‘his sport’. He also is very knowledgeable on all aspects of his training. Though he is a student, it might not be perfectly optimized due to demands on his time, and because it’s basically impossible to perfect workout programming. Even the pros change their workout plenty as new knowledge comes out. A few aspects he might utilize include: Effective reps, 2x a week per muscle group, and since hiking is labeled as one of his favorite activities: bouldering. Bakugo’s muscles of emphasis are in his chest, shoulders, back, and arms, these are the muscles that put up with a lot of abuse from his explosions and help him execute strong hand to hand maneuvers. But, this is Bakugo we’re talking about; he's not likely to neglect a single muscle group in his body. While it might seem a little strange that he isn’t about ‘out-voluming’ Deku, he understands the value of rest (dude sleeps at like 8pm every night, fun fact Einstein also prioritized rest which is probably why he was so productive) and doesn’t want to go catabolic, the body and mind grow while resting. Another ‘weird thing’ is a lack of quirk training, that is part of school, not even PE, I’d assume this is a straight up subject/class. As mentioned previously Bakugou just goes to class and is able to understand material very easily and apply it without many qualms, however, he probably does some extra reading for the classes ahead and some challenge questions which do take time. 

Diet: Spice… I wouldn’t eat spicy food before working out, if you can then go ahead by all means. Leaving it for a nice post workout meal would go great. Bakugo is lean and appears to have considerable bulk over Todoroki and Deku. He isn’t the type to bulk and cut, but rather ‘maingain’, his calorie burn being a hero student allows him to eat greasier, richer food (how he isn’t pimply I’ll never understand). In general I’d imagine he eats clean, easily digestible food for breakfast and lunch, then gets a majority of his calories and spice fix in his evening meal. Now ‘mainganing’, he probably eats about 1g of protein for every lb of bodyweight (2.2g for every kg), and doesn’t count other macros, in terms of calories he's maybe 200 kcal above what he expends leaving room for what HE wants, cake and candies are in constant supply let’s be honest. If you’d like, try one of those ‘increasing my spice tolerance’ challenges off the side, or make a single meal spicier than usual, keep some ice cream on the side too for the aftermath. Depending on your goals, adjust kcal intake. 

Recovery: Bakugo is very advanced and efficient so he chooses to destroy himself on days when he works out, and rests very hard on days when he doesn’t. I am no expert on being a jack of all trades and master of all like Bakugo, so just have some patience with extremely average me, attempting to theorize how people like this manage. Bakugo would definitely prefer hot baths and saunas for recovery and is fortunate enough to receive any sports medicine treatments he wants or needs. He probably stretches too, every morning, because he needs to be flexible too. 

Here’s one, do it either morning or night: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR0JKN1NmV8 

If you are short on time this one works too: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1a7URy4pLfw 

It goes without saying, you might want to do a Week A PE on Mon, Wed Fri then a Week B Upper/Lower split. Anime people are… built different. This is a fair amount of variety, but the volume is reasonably low to safely combine with the PE program (not recommended). 

PE Program: https://at.tumblr.com/trainingforfandom/when-i-eventually-get-around-to-posting-the-bnha/qz8ywl2lrpc7

* Note on Effective Reps: Firstly you can do less, start out 2-3. These reps are a result of failing and then forcing reps which is why all of these exercises are on machines which can easily be dropped. For example this is how it should be done: Warm up the muscle with very light weights, then pick a moderate weight and fail with it, aim to fail between 10-20 reps, take a 30 second rest and then try to get to five, say you fail at 3 because you are tired, take another 30 second rest and crank out the last 2. 

Monday: PE + Upper Body 

(Warmup: 2x15) 1 x Failure + 5 x Effective reps  Lat Pulldown

(Warmup: 2x15) 1 x Failure + 5 x Effective reps Plate Loaded/Machine Row 

3 x 10 Incline Bench Press (relatively light weight) 

7 x 3 Overhead Press 

2 x Failure Headbanger Chin Ups 

2 x Failure Explosive Push Ups 

1 x Failure Drop Set Lateral Raises (Ex: Fail 30 lb after 10 reps → Fail 25 lb after 10 reps → Fail 20 lb after 8 reps, ‘cruise the rack’ as far as you feel like. PLEASE RE-RACK YOUR WEIGHTS WITH EVERY CHANGE) 

Tuesday: Lower Body 

(Warmup: 2x15) 1 x Failure + 5 x Effective reps Hack Squats 

4 x 3 Hang Cleans 

3 x 10 Romanian Deadlifts 

3 x 8 Seiza → Box Jump 

2 x 15 per side (30 per side total)  Shrimp Squat 

Wednesday: PE + Upper Body 

(Warmup: 2x15) 1 x Failure + 5 x Effective reps Plate Loaded/Machine Chest Press 

(Warmup: 2x15) 1 x Failure + 5 x Effective reps Machine Shoulder Press 

7 x 3 Pendlay Row 

2 x Failure Explosive Pull Ups/Front Lever Progression 

2 x Failure Drag Curls

3 x 10 Cable Crossover 

3 x 10 Dumbbell Rear delt flye 

Thursday: OFF

Friday: PE +  Lower Body (Done during the weight room portion of PE while constructively shitting on Todoroki and Deku’s weight room workouts, a bit sad since I’m the author of those workouts) 

(Warmup: 2x15) 1 x Failure + 5 x Effective reps Leg Press 

3 x 10 Barbell Squats 

7 x 3 Nordic Curls (Negative if needed) 

3 x 10 Weighted Split Squat 

2 x Failure (aim to fail around 10 -15 reps ) Leg Extension

Saturday Bouldering/Hiking/Calisthenics day (Choose 1 Option) 

Bouldering Classes (I can’t help you much here, it's great for all the Bakugo muscles, try it if you wish. 

-----

Hiking: A long walk would also suffice 

-----

Calisthenics: 

2 x Failure Pull Ups 

30 Sec (per arm) One Arm Dead Hangs Progression 

3 x 5 Muscle Ups (Split into Pull Ups and Dips)  

Parallel Bar Work: 2-3 chosen movements for about 10-15 mins http://www.gymdrills4profs.com/gymnastics-events/skill-drills-parallel-bars/gymnastics-parallel-bars-swing.php 

Sunday: OFF

I'll be honest, offending all the fan-people here: None of us would ACTUALLY be friends with Bakugo. If anyone treated others like that in real life, no matter how smart, and talented, no one in their right mind would like them out of anything but fear. I’m very glad his character is maturing and learning to see humor, but maintaining his distinctive grit. 

[chococustard]

completed list of my omegaverse kids babyyyy it’s cleaner now too finally hhh most things are stil the same with the old design so uh if there’s any contradiction it’s this one//shot quirk mechanics are the same tho

their ages are just in comparison to each other, they’ll be however old they’ll be per story;w;/

more info under the cut!

TOKOYAMI NIKOLA quirk: shadow frogs -can make many shadowy frogs or one big one. they’re sentient likes to keep to herself but she cares about people very much. she doesn’t talk much but when she does she’s very honest, sometimes even when it hurts. doesn’t get fazed by many things as she’s very close to uncle souji, has seen his face without the mask, and is perfectly fine with it

SHINSOU KAZUYA quirk: siren - makes people do as she wants as long as she sings the command bubbly and easygoing but pretty selfish, not wanting her whims to be refused. once she’s into doing something she’s hell bent on finishing it tho her attention span is as short as they come. the house cats go to her when they want to play

SHINSOU MAMORU quirk: mind reading - reads people’s thoughts, depends on how fast they talk your mom’s an assertive and passionate woman, your little sister is loud and hyperactive, and everyday you feel like you wanna die. he’s tired as shit and would rather be in quiet places.  he doesn’t like getting caught up in people’s issues and try to stay away from problems as much as possible. the only reason why he’s willing to help his dad is that he uses his quirk only when he’s sure the suspect won’t know about him.

MIDORIYA CHIHIRO quirk: pyrokinesis (hell fire, non hero ver) - makes and controls fire she’s bright and really expressive, unlike her sister she likes being around people. she’s really energetic and optimistic. likes heroes but mostly their costumes and the contraptions they used. she idolizes aunt mei and melissa for all the cool things they makes. good at cooking from hanging around grandma inko and uncle katsuki. and also because of uncle katsuki she tolerates spices. baby of the family, both the midoriyas and todorokis

MIDORIYA YUKARI quirk: hydrokinesis - makes and controls water she's told by her parents that she was almost kidnapped at birth so she's told to lie about who her parents are and to cover up when they go out together. hates strangers and crowds so she gravitates to family and friends and gets very protective of them. idolizes heroes and strives to be one.her hair can’t keep still and needs to constantly be brushed. the type to hold grudges.

TOGATA TSUMUGI quirk: sound replication - has a mouth on her stomach that can replicate sound goes with the flow and tries to see the bright side most of the time. however she's quick to anger, threatening people she’ll chew them up with the large gaping mouth on her stomach (it can't). she and yukari had been friend since pre-school being the first one to get her to open up. she lives in the moment wanting to make the best of things

BAKUGOU KYOUSEI quirk: eruption - lava flows from his skin in katsuki’s own word, literal fucking sunshine. idolizes eijirou very much he tries to copy him. however he could very well be seen as blood thirsty and aggresive when angry tho that doesn’t happen all that much. he’s able to calculate situations on the fly easily and do things well after a few tries, text book studies however is not his strong suit.

TETSUTETSU SHIINA quirk: mercury - can turn himself into mercury, pure or variations of it with the nature of the mercury in his body, he has to be mindful of keeping his body in check as to not accidentally poison people. he’s more often than not stays quite as he gets jittery and becomes scared easily, where he would melt away into a puddle and tries to run away. however he’s very stubborn and won’t stop until he achieves his goals. close to kyousei as their parents hangs around a lot even though they live in different cities. likes hugs but only from family

OJIRO ASAHI quirk: prehensile hair - strong and can be controled like an extra limb, very tough tooru likes to spoil her and dress her up in cute clothes, hates it how her hair takes away all the nutrients she eats. tooru gets called to go on a lot of info gathering missions so she's not home often, and when she does come home she showers her with a lot of attention. she finds it overbearing. close with dad, he teaches her martial arts for fun. has both a cat and a hamster, they're the only ones allowed to touch her hair.

YAOYOROZU ITSUKI quirk: marionette - has a cord at the back of his neck, objects poked by it can be controlled gender is a social construct. doesn’t see the benefit of holding things back. easy going and laid back, going through the motion as he sees fit. he’s very close to his parents, sharing the same interest in music as kyouka and momo happily spending as much time as she can with him, hoping to do things she wasn’t able to with her parents as a child, so he really doesn’t feel lonely all that much.

ASHIDO KURASHI quirk: hallucinogen - produces hallucination inducing liquid looks like she wears her heart on her sleeves and doesn’t bother with hiding anything. looks like an air head but not really. when her quirk started to show many adults became wary of her, equating her quirk to that of drugs and not want her anywhere near them or their children.more into non violent approaches. she’s also very touchy.

KAMINARI ARASHI quirk: technopath - controls electrial appliances and uses them as he pleases at 7 years old he was saved by denki during a break in after being used by a group of villains. ditching his old self he changed basically everything about himself as he can and took a new name. he and denki likes to play together, and he can often be found with hanta on top of tall buildings in tokyo. he especially admires katsuki’s no-shit-taking personality and is a big fan of his. he’s no good with dark cramp places

IIDA TENMA quirk: repulsor - creats blasts from his palms and soles, can be used for prepulsion ochako and tenya had him soon after graduation before they really made a name for themselves. cheery and very dedicated, he trains from a young age in various styles of martial arts. he’s doesn’t half ass what he does. he often get into fights helping people, so much so that that’s when he got his quirk, where before the exhaust on his palms and soles only gives out puffs of smoke. can often be seen not wearing shoes. his hair is very fluffy

IIDA FUBUKI quirk: ac - expels hot and cold air she’s strong willed with a strong sense of justice, asping to be a hero, tho in a different kind as what her father used to be. she strives to help people with issues that couldn’t easily be solved by heroes. she love kids, often babysitting her cousins, more often than not mostly tenma uses her to cool himself after training.

TODOROKI YUKIMURA HOMURA quirk: cremation - burns whatever she touces with all her fingers dabi and tomura fucked during the later's heat. he never wanted kids so when she was taken he never fought it. dabi and his family never knew about her until rei was contacted to take her cause her quirk was unstable and the orphanage felt threatened. natsuo and his wife took her in and she moved with them to hokkaido. she visits during vacation to hang out with her cousins. dabi made a pack with the hero commission to be let out of tartarus to be under hawk's watch to be there for her however he can. she knows the most about her family’s pasts

[the-kaedageist]

This scene was cut from my most recent chapter of More Things in Heaven and Earth, and as it is cute and not spoilery, I thought I would post it here! You don’t really need any familiarity with that fic to enjoy this interlude, other than knowing that Caleb is currently in Guinevere’s body and Essek is in Oskar’s, and they are in Rexxentrum.

---------------------------------------------

As they made their way back through the gate to the Shimmer Ward, Caleb shaded his eyes against the setting sun, struck by another idea. “It is nearly time for dinner,” he said, “and I know just the place, if you are interested?”

Essek nodded. Caleb began to lead him back through the streets of the Shimmer Ward, towards Soltryce and the neighborhoods that he’d frequented in his youth. Things here and there were different – it was hard to say if it was due to time’s passage or the fact that they were in another universe – but the majority of the city remained the same, and Caleb began to grow excited at the thought of sharing his favorite beer hall with Essek. Perhaps he could invite him for a dance…

They came to a stop in front of the place where the beer hall should have stood. Caleb glared with utter disdain at the upscale wine bar that had taken its place.

Essek wandered up to the window and peered inside curiously, his eyes alight. “This is where you intended to take me?” he asked with a small, pleased smile.

Caleb bit his lip, his frustration dying as quickly as it had flared up in the face of Essek’s enthusiasm. “It was intended to be a beer hall,” he said. “This was my, ah, old haunt when I was a student; it appears, in this world, that it has been gentrified. But I think you would be interested in trying it anyway?”

“I have not had as many opportunities to sample Empire wines as I would have liked,” Essek said. “Shall we?”

The wine bar that had replaced Hofbräuhaus had a cozy, dark interior lit with magical fairy lights, with a dimly lit map of the Menagerie Coast painted across the side and large, plush booths lining the walls The new ownership had retained the dance floor that featured so prominently in Caleb’s memories, but redecorated it with dark, stained wood flooring and lovely crimson curtains. Beautiful carvings of Nicodranas and other cities of the Menagerie Coast dotted the walls, and Caleb found his gaze caught by a particularly fetching relief of a very familiar building as he and Essek were led to a small, out of the way booth. The Lavish Chateau looked very similar in this world, it would seem, and he was immensely pleased to see it still existed.

They were seated in a booth that was plush beyond belief; Caleb immediately sunk into the crushed velvet of the upholstery. Across from him, Essek’s eyes crinkled into a smile as the dragonborn host left them with menus etched in a tiny, neat hand and glasses of water.

It was absurdly high class, far more than the beer hall had been. Essek looked positively delighted by every detail.

Caleb glanced down at the menu, squinting to read the details. “They have Lionett wine,” he said immediately, his eye catching on the familiar name.

Essek raised an eyebrow. “Beauregard’s family?”

“Interesting that the décor is themed after the Menagerie Coast, yet the wine is from the Empire,” Caleb observed.

A stuffy-looking waiter popped up at his elbow, surprising him. “Actually, we carry a wide variety of selections from all across the Marrow Valley, western Wynandir, and the Menagerie Coast,” the man said. He was wearing spectacles and had a neat little moustache, exactly as Caleb would have expected of such a place.

“And eastern Wynandir?” Essek asked, his expression deeply serious, which Caleb had learned was one of his tells that he was absolutely fucking with someone. “I have heard the Dynasty has many fine vintages.”

The waiter scoffed. “I’m sure they do, but you try getting those shipped into Rexxentrum with the war on. Might I suggest a bottle of ’20 Plumgroves Red? That was the year the hurricane swept through Feolinn, and only 300 bottles were ever produced. A rare delicacy, to be sure.” 

Essek’s eyes lit up.

“And undoubtably quite expensive,” Caleb said carefully, immediately knowing they didn’t have the cash for such a purchase. “I think we are looking for something more…affordable.”

The waiter didn’t even blink, reaching into his pocket and whisking out two more menus. “Here is our tasting menu, which may be more to your purse’s liking,” he said. Despite the lack of judgment in his voice, he’d lost much of his salesman’s panache with the realization that they weren’t high rollers.

Essek scanned the smaller menu. “I think perhaps we would be interested in the Feolinn sampler,” he said. He glanced up at Caleb. “If that is to your liking?”

Caleb smiled. “Anything you wish to try, my friend.” They also put in an order for a few of the small-plate dinner items in the Menagerie Coast style to be shared between them and the waiter left them to themselves, returning a few moments later with the sampler of Feolinn wines.

Essek sipped at the first offering the moment the waiter had vanished, closing his eyes while tasting it. Caleb watched, amused and just enjoying being present with him, distracting him from the events of the coming day; he could focus just on Essek, his reactions and his soft questions and his occasional smile, with soft music from the small quartet in the corner. Despite his pique at his favorite beer hall being replaced, the wine bar’s romantic atmosphere was absolutely perfect.

“How is it?” he asked as Essek sipped the first sampler once more.

He made a face. “Interesting. Drier than most Dynasty vintages, although I suppose perhaps that is the style.”

“I had no idea you were as much a wine snob as Beauregard,” Caleb said with a laugh. “Although I suppose you did bring us that expensive bottle back in Rosohna.”

 “Wine was one of the markers of status in my family,” Essek said. “I was trained to know it well.” He sampled the second option, his face much more agreeable. “This is much better,” he added.

“We shall have to bring you and Beauregard out to have wine together,” Caleb said with a small smile. “I think you will find much to speak on.”

The small plates arrived soon after, with samplings of various types of Menagerie Coast fare – richly seasoned carrots and asparagus, a delightful mix of seafoods, and some interesting spiced potato fritters. Caleb and Essek split the dishes between them, and it was quite nice to indulge in dinner, just the two of them, in a city that had once captured his heart and then broken it into a million pieces.

By the time they finished eating, Essek had already snagged the waiter for a second sampler, this time of Marrow Valley wines. Caleb could feel a pleasant tipsiness settling through him; he was used to having much more alcohol tolerance than Guinevere.

He looked over at Essek, who was critiquing his current sampler of wine with a delighted expression on his face that suggested he’d rather be nowhere else but there. Caleb couldn’t draw his eyes away. Even in a body that was not his own, in a world that was completely foreign, Essek was the brightest thing in the room.

Essek stopped speaking mid-sentence when he caught Caleb’s stare. “What?” he asked.

Caleb knew the smile that spread across his face was far too fond, but had absolutely no incentive to hide it. “It is nice, to see you so passionate.”

A flush went up the back of Essek’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. The small quartet in the corner struck up a new tune, soft and romantic. A few patrons from other booths began to move to the dance floor, and Caleb had the sudden impression that this was a popular date spot.

He reached over and took Essek’s hand, not sure if it was the haze of the alcohol, the rich attraction between them, or the strangeness of this world, but caught up in the magic of him all the same. It was strange, to realize that despite the revelations of the evening before, despite the coming day with all of its challenges, Caleb was happy.

[edensrose]

I’m eating those spicy Korean noodles and I can feel my soul slowly coming out of my mortal body and it got me thinking

what if on one of the floors of the tower, the test was to finish a whole bowl of spicy noodles. Who do you think will pass?

( I’m the anon from the khun cheating request~)

Hi there my new and favourite anon ~ ! Thank you for that oh so angsty request, I was practically shaking with excitement with all the ideas that filled my head <3

Anyway,

You cannot tell me that Shibisu wouldn't DOMINATE that test. Idk why but he gives me the vibes of dem people who go h a r d on the spice — perhaps even Endorsi and Wangnan in my humble opinion although I feel like Wangnan has a lesser limit to spice tolerance BUT would force himself through and try to play it off.

Rak would struggle just a bit but he'd be damned if he'd let those bloody turtles best him in anything! White would be in the same situation, with a lesser spice tolerance than Rak but hecking HECK he will SWALLOW THAT ENTIRE BOWL JUST TO PROVE A POINT

You know who'd probably fail at least once?

Khun and Hatz,

No bc you can't tell me that they're not just there, red faced, sweat on the forehead, body CRUMBLING in agony from the burning feeling. I feel like those two would try to turn it into an endurance test between one another but it just ends up with both of them collapsed in their chair from a heat stroke [ yes, I know that's not how it works but ssshh ]

Boro is probably here as well with the heat strokes. Sachi started off fine and then everything just crumbled and now he'd do anything to just be run over by the hell train

And then you have precious, precious Bam who has tears pouring down his face as he forced another spoonful of noodles past his lips. He looks like he's gonna pass out, he's trembling, he's s o b b i n g. He'd rather go through the most exhausting and dangerous of tests than to endure this but there he is, gulping down the noodles and looking like he's ready for death

I quite like this thought, although I know for a fact if it were me I'd be in Bam's shoes —

[someonewhowannadielol]

My name is JK (Alien!Jungkook! x Human!Reader)

PART TWO (SEQUEL TO ‘MY NAME IS 01001010 01001011′)

CLICK HERE FOR PART ONE

LINK TO MASTERLIST

Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff, Jungkook being a cutie, ok the real warning tags are Daddy kink, birthday sex, innocent reader being trained (???), lots of hicks and marking, cunt slapping, oral sex, uhh and jk being a competitive baby.

Genre: Fluff, Smut, if you squint and look closely, a little bit of humour.

Word Count: 5.6k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

It had been a week since Jungkook had, ahem, dicked you down. And it has been the best week of your life so far – he showed you things you had never seen before, the most beautiful scenes that your eyes feasted upon. You both had gone to the Neon Valley, it was a vast blue-purple lake that lit up at night due to the minerals on the sand bed below, and the lilies residing there would dance every night.

They fluttered, swung and swayed – and simultaneously, Jungkook and you too, had danced – he took you in his arms and as you both slow danced to the humming of the diva-crackers, you couldn’t help but look at his gorgeous face, adorned with a smile that you’d never replace for anything in this universe. You could feel yourself falling for him, he twirled you with ease, and as you stumbled back into his arms, he lost his balance trying to save you from falling and splash! 

You both had ended up in the hot water, and despite the current situation, you both had burst into boisterous laughter which echoed across the plain field around. In the shining moonlight, Jungkook’s face was more lit up than the neon water they were in, his long hair sprawled across his forehead, as he pushed it back with his left hand, while holding your waist with his right arm.

Jungkook looked at you with such intensity, you didn’t really know how to react. both of you knew you wanted more than just cuddles on your couch that was too small for Jungkook, more than grocery shop romances, and trekking on the artificial mountain, and more than watching movies together,, more than cuddling under the tree at the main park, more than making fun of each other, you wanted each other so much more badly.

“Kiss me,” Jungkook whispered, his face getting dangerously close.

“I’m scared,” Of course you were, but you didn’t move away from me.

“Of what?” Jungkook’s eyebrows bunched up like they always do when he’s confused.

“Of falling. Of drowning,” you answered as you looked into his eyes, how could someone not fall for him?

“Well, I’m already drowning, so don’t be scared, silly,” Jungkook’s eyes formed from his usual doe eyes to half-moon crescents and, you were no longer afraid to fall.

Because he was there, he will always be there, right beside you.

Fuck. You couldn’t help but curse as you saw the red spot on your lavender sheets, they were my favorite sheets. You had really bad mood swings when you were on your period, and you were basically uncontrollable. You saw Jungkook’s figure on the left side of the bed, sleeping peacefully, his chest heaving up and down as he breathes consistently.

“Baby,” you whined, as you almost pushed him off the bed. There was no way that you were going to the pharmacy to get the goods, so he was your only choice possible.

He stumbled as he got up, sleep still swimming in his eyes, as his hands went up to rub them, trying to get rid of the slumber that had taken over him.

“Yes, princess?” he asked in his hoarse voice – which turned you on (especially a lot now, since your uterus was sad, lonely and angry). His eyes travelled to the blood on the sheets, and it would be an understatement to say that he had a heart attack.

He immediately engulfed you in his arms, “Are you hurt anywhere?” he said, unable to breathe, because fuck, if anything ever happened to you, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

The worry in his eyes was making you feel guilty; did he even know what was happening?

“Jungkook, chill,” you laughed a little before directing him to the side of the bed, telling him to sit.

“Humans – well, only females – have to go through a period of time where they bleed. From down there,” you explain, and watch him go into a slight state of shock.

The poor baby just woke up 2 minutes ago, so this was probably hard to digest.

“You… you’re bleeding… and you don’t go to the hospital?”

“Does it hurt?” he asks in the timidest voice ever, careful not to offend you. He remembers once he asked you about body hair and since it was your biggest insecurity (cue Middle School flashbacks when you were the only girl with a slight unibrow and mustache), you couldn’t help but lash out on him.

“Yeah, it hurts a lot in my tummy,” you said on your way to the bathroom, “I need my supplies though, could you get them for me?”

Half an hour later, Jungkook returned with five bags of chocolates, chips and snacks – enough to feed a small village. The entire week, he kept studying you (you swear you saw him looking at you and writing notes in his small notebook, like a detective. Sigh) and your mood swings and tendency to eat the weirdest food combinations – he couldn’t help but gag when he saw you dip a whole cucumber in peanut butter.

“Kookie, cuddle with me,” during the day you would make grabby hands at him, and get him to massage your back, but at night you’d be the complete opposite – wanting to sleep as far away from him as possible. He also noted that you were more sensitive to jokes during the week, so he kept them at a minimum, and his praises at a maximum.

“Baby, you know, you look so cute in my arms,” he cooed, as he kissed your cheek while cuddling. He didn’t miss the blush that crept on your cheeks either.

Also, despite all the bleeding, you were ready to jump his bones anytime. He hasn’t had this much sex with anyone in one week. Not that he minded it.

You were more than ecstatic when you saw your favourite-est food in the world stocked in the human section of the grocery store. Spicy Hot Korean Ramen! You still remember when eating this used to be a challenge, back on Earth.

As you stacked the basket with half the stock, Jungkook couldn’t help but look at the ingredients – what was it that made you love them so much?

He was well, more than shocked to see all the different kinds of spices that humans could barely tolerate, chili flakes, red pepper oil, habanero flavored seasoning… he couldn’t let you eat this!

“Baby, this is too spicy for you, maybe we should buy this,” he pointed to the boring chicken and cheese flavored ramen. No! You were going to buy the spicy one and that’s finalized. Of course, Jungkook looked at you, and couldn’t argue. He doesn’t think he could argue with you even if he tried to.

Back at the apartment, Jungkook bit his tongue, trying not to say “I told you so,” as you fought your tears while eating the horrendous noodles. You were positive you could never feel your numb tongue as you chugged down the glass of strawberry milk that Jungkook handed you.

As expected, Jungkook was prepared for the stomach ache you experienced throughout the night, and gave you medicine to recover.

Before sleeping, you heard him sigh before saying, “I told you so,”

Jungkook had noticed you a lot, ever since you moved in with him. You didn’t have much belongings anyways, because you were only allowed to carry 100 pounds of baggage on the space craft, so you only carried the essentials. (Yes, you brought an oven. Yes, it was 77 pounds heavy. No regrets.)

While getting accustomed to his cozy, but huge apartment, you couldn’t help but trip over furniture. At first, it was his coffee table in the kitchen, next to the refrigerator. Every time you would get something to eat, your pinky would hit the leg of the table, causing you to splutter nonsense and then cry about it.

His bed was also higher than you expected it to be, so every day, for an entire month, after waking up you would underestimate the height – and always, always fall down from it.

He was extremely shocked by your ability to ignore pain, and to continue suffering every day because of the same cause at the same place. It’s okay, because now he’d hold you as you stepped out of the bed, and moved the coffee table to the other side of the kitchen.

He also noticed that humans don’t always have a thought out sleep schedule, they did as they pleased. Last night, you were pretty much half asleep at 4 AM, as you tried to finish the last episode of the new Netflix series.

“You were so sleepy, yet you continued to watch it without even understanding what’s happening?” he asked as soon as you woke up, to which you shrugged.

Again, next week, you forced yourself to get up at 5AM in the morning, so you could go for a jog. After all, you were thinking of getting more fit, all you did was lay on the couch. But as you headed in the bathroom for a shower after the run, he couldn’t help but think that humans are weird.

The first time Jungkook heard you crunch your bones, he was so scared, you almost though he would faint. He threw his game controller on the floor, as he ran towards you – thinking you had dislocated a limb, or something.

“Kookie, I was j-just stretching,” you could barely make out the words, trying to hold in your laughter as he tried to make sure you were okay.

With a sigh, he ran his hand through his fluffy – much longer – hair now, as he headed back to continue his game, “Baby, you’re so weird,”

“But you still love me?” you asked as you joined him on the couch, laying your head on his lap.

“I will always love you. Even if your bones crack,”

Bonus: When you got up at night for a midnight snack, you were surprised to see that Kookie wasn’t in bed with you. You later found him in his office, studying about how a human’s joint makes loud popping or cracking sounds because of the gas gathered there. He was finally content to ensure that you were safe.

Of course, you smothered him in hugs and kisses, because he always looked out for you. Always.

After a few weeks of being in Corellia, you had started to well… miss Earth. It was natural to do so; you’d lived your entire life there.

“I miss the sunsets, they were so pretty,” you spoke as you showed him a polaroid of you and your sister with the sunset behind you both. You pointed towards the one sun you had, and the purple, pink and orange hues of the clouds.

In an attempt to make you happy, Jungkook gave you a chocolate, they always made you happier, and he’d read somewhere something about chemicals in it making humans happier. But he was surprised to see you dancing (terribly) to a pop song, that seemed a little annoying, but he could deal with it.

The song had seemed to lighten your mood a lot, as you danced along with him happily, and as you looked at him, you felt happier. His long, wavy hair bounced as he danced with you. His eyes were smiling, and it was so pure that you laughed along. You were happy finally.

Until two weeks later, when you came across a photo of you and your high school class, trekking up a mountain on your senior trip to the north. Jungkook saw you sad again, missing Earth and your loved ones. Some were dead, some didn’t make it here, and some lived on the hotter side of the planet.

He put up the same pop song again, and cuddled with you on the couch. For the first time ever, you really felt grateful to God for something. You felt grateful that you were alive, and that you had Jungkook along with you. He looked how he looked every day, wearing a casual white t-shirt and grey baggy sweatpants. You adjusted yourself on his lap, and looked at him, and looked into his brown eyes. As you traced his face with your finger, he laughed, “Princess, do you feel better?”

You smile at the word of endearment, kissing his cheek, “You make me realize the difference between a house and a home. A house is a place, made with bricks and concrete, and materialistic items. But a home, is so much different. A home is where you feel belonged, a home is a place where you get that feeling of love. You make me finally realize how Earth was more of a house for me, but here, in your arms, I finally feel like I’m at home,”

You never thought Jungkook would be an overprotective boyfriend. Or a way too over protective boyfriend. During sex, he would go crazy on your body – sometimes treat you like a china doll, fragile and easily breakable, and sometimes it would be rough and harsh, not that you minded it.

His apartment was well, more suited for Jubal people because the ceilings, the bed, and of course, the kitchen cabinets were all bigger in height and size in comparison to your apartments back on Earth. Often, without thinking Jungkook would put food on the top most cabinets, and you often either felt too embarrassed, or too stubborn to ask for his help.

Which resulted in you – dangerously – climbing on the shelf to grab your precious food. This was a routine now, so you didn’t exactly pay attention to your limbs – just letting your muscle memory do the work for you. Right foot on the counter, and then you push your left knee as well, until you’ve made yourself stable on the counter top. Then, you stand up, holding the cabinet handle. Today was the same, but Jungkook had recently scrubbed clean the shelves, so they were more slippery than usual, and there was a fleeting moment when you thought you were about to fall (which would, by the way, give you the nastiest head injury), and before you realized it, Jungkook had looped his arm around your waist.

You were still shocked – chips in hand – when he settled you on his lap, almost like a child.

“Princess, what were you thinking?” he says as he lets you turn around, so you straddling his lap.

“I just wanted some chips, Kook,” you say with an amused grin. He was obviously distressed, as he sighed while running his hands through his hair, like he would when he was frustrated.

“Baby, you have to tell me if you need something from there, okay? What if you had hurt yourself?” his voice seemed to get louder with every words, and just like that, your amused grin was replaced with a pout, as you lowered your head.

 You didn’t mean to make him angry like that.

Looking at you, he knew he couldn’t ever stay mad at you. It was physically impossible for him. He hugged you, and your head rested on his cheat, feeling his fast heartbeat morphed into a more, stable and steady beat, “I’m just always worried for you. Even if everything is wrong, it’s alright, you’re the only good thing in my life,”

It had been ages since you had gone to a festival, and there was going to be a carnival-like festival in Corellia soon. You didn’t think Jungkook would be that interested, so you were quite surprised to see him… so excited about it.

“It comes twice in a year, you have to come! I’ve heard they’ve made it more human themed this year, so you feel welcomed, but we’ll have our traditional rides too!” he spoke with a gleam in his eyes, as you both got ready.

Jungkook of course, made sure you were wearing at least five layers of clothes, two pairs of gloved, and three pairs of socks. It was night time, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of you looking like a walking marshmallow.

“Baby, you look so cute!” he exclaimed, holding your hand. The dead town looked really alive tonight, as the red, yellow, purple and other multicolored lights lit the place up, to make it feel even more alive. You were really shocked at the amount of people present, but that’s what made it even more fun.

The first thing had to be food, you got two plates of fries, because, well, is it even possible or human to share food? And that too, fries? No way. 

Jungkook had recently discovered ketchup, and now he would dip everything in it before eating. Ramen, dipped in ketchup. Chips, dipped in ketchup. Bread, dipped in ketchup. And now, you saw him cover every single chip in ketchup before eating it. While you thought this was disgusting, you were still amused by his new found love for it.

You both scared a giant cup of strawberry milkshake, that looked like it was out of a romcom, cotton candy pink color, with whipped cream on top. And naturally, the cherry. Your noses touched, as you both drank at the same time, and you couldn’t help but want to live in the moment forever.

You both had spent the night, either enjoying rides that were too scary, and hazardous to experience but at the same time too fun to miss out on, or competition with each other to the next level. You knew Jungkook had always been a competitive little shit, whether it was about who would cook better and faster, or about who loved the other one more, he was always in a competition. This was no exception either, as you both we immersed in a car racing game, where you were well, obviously losing.

You had never really been the best at arcade games, and this car games was extremely frustrating, because the goddamn seat was too big and your legs could barely reach the pedals on the bottom while holding onto the steering wheel simultaneously. He laughed as you struggled to multitask, and at one point you didn’t realise you were going the wrong way until you heard Jungkook laughing so hard, he was struggling to breath. Three tries later, Jungkook had had his fair share of victories as he put you in his lap, and told you to focus on the steering only. He’d handle the pedals part. Together, you guys had broken the fastest record of the day and of course, he had to congratulate you. And the congratulations came in a form of a heated kiss – which wasn’t liked by the Jubals waiting in line to play the game.

Later, you both had way too much fun beating others in basketball as you paired up, and beat a Jubal power couple. Then came the bumper cars. The same Jubal power couple had hit your and Jungkook’s car so hard that you almost flew across the set-up, if it wasn’t for the seatbelt, and Jungkook’s arm around the waist. It was safe to say that Kook took his revenge by hitting their car repeatedly, as he shoved them into a corner. You kissed your over protective boyfriend on the cheek, he was just so fricking cute.

You both ate more food than you could handle, and as you were walking, Jungkook bought a donut and tried to feed you.

“No! No, Kook, I swear!” you tried to get away from him, but he held your waist as he pushed the donut in your mouth, smearing it over your cheek in the process.

“Kook!” you exclaimed, as he kissed you, and licked away any leftover icing.

You couldn’t help but blush when he smirked, “Sweet.”

At the end of it all, you pushed Kook into a small photo booth that sat on the other end of the carnival.

“Please? Come on!” you tried to show him your puppy eyes, and turned your lips into a pout.

“But baby, I don’t look good in photos!” he whined as you inserted the money to take a four portrait photo.

“Please? Just this once? For me?” you pouted again, and pushed him in with you, and you tried to drag his arms.

“You can’t give me the puppy dog face! You know I can’t say no to that!” he whined, adjusting you in his lap.

“Just pose, Kookie,” you said as you closed the red curtain on the side. In the first one, your arms were around his neck as you laughed and looked in the camera, and he looked at you, pouting. The second one, you both looked at each other and smiled, his hands in your hair. The third had been him grabbing your face, squishing you cheeks and bringing you closer (but because of the movement – it was also blurred, at which you were disappointed, but Kook assured you it looked good), and lastly, in the fourth one, you were kissing passionately, while Jungkook smiled in the kiss.

You both climb the small hill, where people are buying and lighting their lanterns in an orderly manner. You both buy one, and you end up writing “JK X Y/N” on it with red paint, and before Jungkook lights it, he adds a red heart, and “4EVER,” underneath which looks so cheesy, that it makes you laugh.

He looks at you, and kisses your forehead. Around 10:30, everyone lets go of their lanterns, and you both also let go of yours, letting it fly in the sky, as Jungkook cups your cheeks and pushes your hair back, before kissing you, sweet and slow.

The night had come to an end as all the Jubals were leaving too. You didn’t know exactly what time it was, but it was definitely i-can’t-walk-o’ clock, as Jungkook gave you a piggy back ride without any questions when he saw you stumbled into others. In one hand you held the teddy bear he had won from the water gun thingy, and in the other you held a cotton candy like sweet – but it wasn’t exactly cotton candy. It was blue and purple, and shined because of the crystallized sugar on it.

The last thing you remember was resting your face where his shoulder and neck met and mumbling, “This was the best day of my life,”

If someone had told you that you’d have a cook off with an alien in two months’ time, you would’ve laughed in their face. But. Here you were. Trying to cook the best alfredo pasta he would ever taste in his life.

You tried to glance on his cooking station multiple times, only to be pushed back, “Baby! It’s supposed to be a surprise!”

Jungkook really seemed to be absorbed in the cooking process, and you were starting to feel deprived of his love and adoration that he would usually shower at you when he was not working in his office.

30 minutes later, he brought you his favourite dish, the one that his mother used to cook for him when he was younger. It was orange red-ish coloured deep fried small cutlets, that smelled… amazing. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it tasted like, it was salty, but in a different way. And so, so, yummy. You were a little insecure when Jungkook took a bite of your pasta, and showed no emotion.

Oh no, you had tasted it and it felt pretty normal, juts how you’d make it on Earth. Was he allergic to something in it?

“Baby, what did you put in this?” he asked, but he didn’t seem to stop eating it. He didn’t speak anything until, well, he finished the dish.

“Can you make that for me every day?”

It had been over six months, since you and Jungkook had been seeing each other. Naturally, as a couple you both did fight – mostly over stupid stuff, like which restaurant to go to, or disagreements on what to buy etc. But you both would always sort it out, no matter what it was, he was always by your side.

It was his birthday, and Jubals never really celebrated their birthday – “Why would you celebrate this? I’m just one more year near death,” he said as you told him about ‘Earth Traditions’.

Albeit to whatever he said, you made yourself busy when he went out to meet the gang. You’d met them a couple of times before, being much closer to Taehyung because he never really questioned whatever you did, and just went along with it. You had enjoyed Jimin and Jin’s company as well (mostly because they cooked for you, not gonna lie).

As you hung up the balloons that said, “Happy Birthday!” individually, you had started to well, decorate yourself as well.

You knew how Jungkook always looked at you as if you were the most pure creature in this universe, his innocent little baby, so you decided to dress the part. Dressed in white panties, with a small bow on them, you adjusted your pink tinted, bra that came along with it. It left little to the imagination, as it was see-through, but there were small bows on each nipple, making you look like a present. You’d never really been the one to dress up in stockings as well, but here you were, tweaking your garter, as the pink shaded white see-through material latched on your legs as a second skin. Now, you waited patiently.

He finally came, around half past seven, and looked better than ever. You’d worn your silk robe that you would usually wear around, so he wouldn’t suspect anything. He looked so happy, his eyes crunched up into its usual crescent shape as he laughed while blowing the candles and eating your home-made cake. He had always loved your baking, so when you made his favourite Oreo cake, he was really, really happy. You’d made him a teddy bear – you were bad at sewing, but hey! A for effort.

“Kook, there’s a present in your bedroom too,” you said as you took his left hand and guided him in the bedroom. You had given him several gifts already, so why were you giving him another one?

“Baby, you didn’t have t-“ he stopped as soon as you dropped your robe in front of him, letting him take in the sight of you, clad in your lingerie that he had only imagined in his wildest fantasies.

The light hearted aura around him seemed to vanish, as a darker shade took over his eyes. Without speaking anything, he carried you bridal style, to the bed and laid you down softly on it.

“Gonna let me taint you, angel?” he asked, and at the sight of him, you couldn’t help but moan and nod.

“Use your words, baby,” he said as he let his fingers roam on your figure, and lit a fire in your core, making you overwhelmed.

“Yes, Daddy, please make love to me,” you whine, but he tsks on your choice of words.

“Angel, my princess,” he says as he leaves a trail of wet kisses from your neck to you collarbone, sucking on it, “I’m not going to love to you today, I’m going to fuck you, baby”

You gasp as he circles around the bow on your nipple, before ripping the thin material completely, letting the cool air hit your vulnerable skin.

As Jungkook just keeps looking at you, his long hair shadowing in front of his eyes, you can’t help but feel needy, “Daddy, please, touch me,” you whine, trying to get ahold of his hand.

He gently brings his mouth down, sucking on the little tip of your nipple, as his tongue works magic around it, and you’re already starting to get wet.

“It’s u-unfair that you’re all d-dressed up,” you moan, as you try to take off his white t-shirt. He chuckles as he takes off his shirt, letting you look at his god-like body. You were speechless when you first saw him, and you still are every time you both have sex.

His lean body, is just perfect in every way, and the way the moonlight hits his face, giving his face the shadows that come along with the highlights, you were dumbstruck at how breathtaking he was.

While Jungkook loved to mark you, mark your body, make you his, today was harsher, much more aggressive as he bit your chest, making you cry out in pleasure. He painted your body in hues of purple and bright pink, using his tongue to make each bruise feel better. As soon as he reached the hem of your underwear, he stopped, and that resulting in a whine from you.

“It’s my birthday, and you said I deserve anything on this day. So, princess,” he said, unbuckling his belt, and you swallow hard before he lets his cock free, ”let me fuck those beautiful tits,”

He pushes himself into your mouth without any warning, letting you groan and whimper as you produce enough saliva to make him sopping wet, “Good baby,” he whispers as he lets his dick between your tits.

You smiled, as you held your breasts together, and he slides his hardening member between them, “fuck baby, you’re so soft, so pretty for Daddy,” he murmurs obscene praises as you whimper in pleasure from the friction between your breasts.

He places his cock between them, and first experiments with his movements, and as time passes, he becomes faster, and messier. You both didn’t mind the mess, as his pre-cum lands on your chest, collarbone and nipples, and you can only whine in pleasure while letting him use your body.

His movements go from steady and fast to uncoordinated and stuttering, as he pulls out and pants, letting him catch his breath.

“Fuck, baby, they felt like heaven, but there’s something else, way better,” he grins as pulls himself down on your body, and looks as you underwear, directly. It makes you whimper, when you feel his hot breath through the thin material. He laps his tongue on it, and it feels so good, but not good enough, and you wish he would just take it off.

“Daddy, please, take it off,” you whine and he pulls your legs further apart and digs his face between them.

He smirks and looks at you, already fucked out as a blush stays on your cheeks. Angelic.

“Keep the stockings on, okay, sweetheart?” he says as his finger traced down your leg, as you shiver under his touch.

He comes up to you and cups your face, pressing a kiss against your cheek – and it felt so chaste in comparison to what you both had just done.

And before you could realize, he slips his fingers under the hem of your panties, and shreds them into pieces.

“What do you want from Daddy?” he stops in front of your clit, spreading your lips, waiting for your answer. He knew you were shy, too shy to speak vulgar words, but you were just so needy right now.

“Daddy, I need your tongue,” you speak, and let his tongue sit flat on your bud, it gave enough stimulation, but at the same time not enough, and you just needed more. You couldn’t help but buckle your hips into his face, and that resulted in his getting up and looking at you, making eye contact.

“You’re being ungrateful now, huh?” he says as he smacks the bud hard, where seconds ago he let his tongue rest. It’s painful, but at the same time, it just feels so, so good. He smacks it two more times before letting his teeth sink in your inner thigh, as you let lewd noises escape your mouth, as he further marks your thighs, and you knew, for sure that they would last a long time.

After a lifetime of teasing, he lets his tongue slurp the cum that escaped your pussy, as he went to town on it, eating you out as if he’s been starving for years. You let your moans escape as he slips his tongue inside you, and lets his nose rub against your clit. You were so close, just about to fall off the edge as he pulls himself away, and you whimper, grabbing the sheets as if your life depended on them.

“Your cunt is always, always so pretty and tasty for Daddy,” he smacks between your thighs again, making you gasp, “always ready for Daddy,”

His ruffled, brown hair shines in the dark of the room, the moonlight being the only source of light, illuminating his face.

He lets his dick enter you, gently, until you reach your limit and instead of waiting like he always does, he rams back into you again, letting you adjust with his steady movements, as you grab his hand and hold it. He always holds your hand when he’s being rough, to let you know that he can stop anytime. (but u is a hoe)

He slides out until only his tip is inside you, and lets himself into you all at once, fast and reckless. Wild. It isn’t long before your walls clench around him, “Daddy, I-I’m so close,” you say as your rub you clit, slowly with a continual movement.

You orgasm starts first, hot and sticky liquid, dripping down you thigh, staining your perfect stockings, and soon Jungkook follows, as his head buries in your neck, and he groans before letting himself loose.

“Happy Birthday, Kookie,” you whisper before letting him take you to the tub, where you both well, fuck again.

LINK TO MASTERLIST 

A/N: It’s always so fun to write alien!jk, and I hoped you guys liked it. Also, a huge thank you to @bisoo-ausucre for supporting me so much!

Could you please help me decide what to write first? Frat boy!jk OR titanic!au with Jimin as Jack? 

As always, requests are open, and so is my inbox. See you next time!

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Settling Debts

Part 1

Mitch was in the middle of licking spiced rum off Katrina’s breasts when a man came bursting into the room, red-faced and panting. Mitch pulled his loaded pistol off the bed-side table a second later, leveling it at the man while Katrina quickly pulled up the sheet. 

“Captain—!” The man stopped short, eyes wide and hands raised. Jones, Mitch recognized after a beat, a new member of the crew. He lowered his pistol. “Captain, you need—to come—with me,” Jones gasped through his labored breaths. 

“What happened?” 

“It’s Stiles.” 

“What happened?” Mitch asked again, demanded. Something cold and awful wrapped around his heart, squeezing, choking him. He looked at Katrina, found the same fear on her face that he was sure was mirrored on his own. 

“Please—the beach—you need to see—”

“Get out, we’re coming.” 

Jones gratefully nodded and bowed out of the room, leaving Mitch and Katrina to dress in fast, tense silence. 

Together, the three of them ran towards the beach. Jones was already winded from his sprint to the inn to retrieve them, so they left him lagging behind. Katrina saw Stiles first. 

“Oh God, is that—” 

Mitch stopped short, Katrina careening into him. Stiles was strung up before them for the whole crew to see, battered and bloody. Several men were already in the process of cutting him down, and it was only by Stiles’ agonized whimpers that Mitch knew he was even still alive. 

He grabbed the nearest crewman and demanded, for the third time, “What the fuck happened?”

“It was the crew of the Ghost, sir. The new captain, he said he wanted the woman, but you keep too close an eye on her. He said—” The man cut himself off, sun-backed face going pale. Mitch shook him roughly. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry, captain. He said one of your whores was as good as the other.” That awful coldness inside of Mitch threatened to swallow him whole at what those words meant for Stiles. He was swaying wildly between white-hot rage and shocked numbness when he pushed the crewman away and said, “Find Deaton.” 

Mitch found his way to Stiles, though he couldn’t say how he’d done it. One moment he was standing, the next he was dropping down in the sand beside him, hands shaking as he took one of Stiles’ between his own. The only place he wasn’t afraid to touch. 

Katrina held Stiles’ head on her lap, gently brushing her hand over his blood-matted hair. She was afraid to touch him, too, not wanting to aggravate his sun-ravaged skin. He must have been up there for hours, while the crew left camp in favor of finding their pleasures in town. Just has he himself had done. 

I never should have left him. 

“Stiles,” Mitch said softly. Stiles opened his eyes and cracked a smile. Mitch saw red as fresh blood ran down his split lips, dripping down his chin. 

“‘M okay, love,” Stiles said, so obviously false it couldn’t even be called a lie. 

“You’re not. But I’ve sent for Deaton.” Stiles exhaled raggedly, some of the tension leaving his body. “You’ll be alright, Stiles.” 

“What are you going to do?” Katrina asked quietly, glancing around. Painfully aware that for Stiles to have been left so long to suffer, in full view of the other crews making camp on the shore, they must have been complicit. 

“I’m going to kill them. Everyone that laid a hand on him. I’ll raze this entire fucking beach if I have to.” 

And then Deaton was there, kindly ordering Mitch out of his way, and the sun was setting over the water, and he still hadn’t let go of Stiles’ hand, couldn’t bring himself to pull away, to leave him again. 

“Go,” Katrina said softly. “I’ll stay with him.” 

Four men came forward to help Deaton get Stiles to the longboats, so they could return to the ship. 

“Make sure everyone is on the ship by morning,” Mitch ordered. 

“But captain—we just got back, surely we can take a few days—”

“No. Any man that’s not prepared to sail by sunrise can join another fucking crew.” 

Mitch found two other men that would follow his orders without question or hesitation, and set off. Night was falling fast, and he intended to ensure it was the last one the crew of the Ghost would ever see. 

“Wait!” Deaton’s apprentice, Scott, scrambled into step beside him, struggling to attach a cutlass to his belt. “I’m coming with.” 

“You understand what we’re doing?” Mitch asked. Scott had never had much stomach for killing; Mitch tolerated the aversion only because of his training with Deaton. If he couldn’t fight for the crew, he could at least patch them up afterwards. 

Scott set his jaw with a grim look and nodded once. “They hurt Stiles,” was all he said, and it was enough. 

“Fine. Try not to get yourself killed.” 

***

Once the sky had fully darkened, Mitch and his men snuck into the Ghost’s camp, features darkened with soot to better blend into the shadows. Mitch’s orders had been clear and concise: leave none alive. 

The first tent held four men, passed out drunk. Mitch stood above the one nearest, covered his mouth to stop a scream, and plunged a knife into his throat. A slow, wet press that made blood gush over his hand, spraying wildly when he pulled the knife free. Around him Scott and the other’s did the same, grim-faced. And so they made their way through the camp like specters, sowing death in their wake. 

Eventually Mitch left to track down the captain, already suspecting who he would find. Sure enough Ronnie was waiting for him in the largest of the tents, a sword in his hand and a smirk on his face. 

“Why?” was all Mitch could ask. One single word grit through his teeth. 

“You’ve made a lot of enemies here, Mitch. Lot of people who don’t like the way you run things.” Ronnie stood slowly, and Mitch’s hands tightened around his blades. “Everyone’s so afraid of you. It’s about time someone put you in your place.”

“You think you can?” Mitch snarled. I will remind you why they’re right to fear me. 

“I think I already have. You should really learn to take better care of the things that are precious to you.” 

With an enraged shout, Mitch threw his dagger across the tent. Ronnie ducked out of the way, but it was only a distraction. Mitch followed close behind, already closing the distance between them, and brought his sword down in an arc that Ronnie barely blocked. 

“I should have killed you,” Mitch hissed. Years ago, when he’d had the chance. Instead he left the bastard marooned on an island, and he’d somehow crawled his way off it and into a stolen captaincy. 

“Yes, you should have.” Ronnie bashed his head against Mitch’s and kicked him back, shouting for whatever remained of his men to take up arms. There were few enough for Scott and the others to handle it, keeping them away from his own fight. 

It was just as bloody and viscous as the last time they came together. Mitch knew they were evenly matched for strength and skill. He’d barely gotten away with his life last time. But this time, he wasn’t fighting for his own life; he was fighting for Stiles. He welcomed the numbness as a shield against Ronnie’s attempts to taunt him with everything he’d done to Stiles, and gave into the pure, white-hot rage, letting it guide his movements by pure instinct. 

Mitch was wild, feral, tearing at Ronnie with blade and nails and teeth, grappled with him in the sand and chased him through the camp, ringing steal announcing their presence to whomever still survived. 

Finally, when they were both bloody and exhausted, Mitch’s dagger locked against Ronnie’s sword between them, he made a choice. Mitch dropped his hand, screamed as the sword embedded itself in his shoulder, inches from his throat, and sank his dagger into Ronnie’s stomach. 

A wet gasp was his only answer as Ronnie’s eyes went wide, dropping slowly to look between them, at the pool of blood darkening his shirt. Several long moments later his hands slipped from his sword, and the realization set in: he’d lost. Ronnie looked up at Mitch again, finally afraid. 

“Did you really think,” Mitch said, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, “I’d let this go unanswered?” Mitch twisted the blade to hear Ronnie’s strangled scream.  “Or did you just think you could kill me first?” Then he wrenched it across one, two, three, four times, cutting raggedly through flesh and fat and muscle, and stepped away to watch bloody, pink entrails spill wetly onto the sand. 

Mitch stood there, holding his bleeding shoulder, bloody and bruised and victorious. If only it didn’t feel so hollow. 

“Captain.” It was Scott that approached, wary, hands raised and open like he was trying not to startle a wild animal. Perhaps that’s exactly what Mitch was. “Let me have a look at your shoulder.”

Mitch ignored him. 

“Burn it all,” he said, staring down at the corpse at his feet. 

No one moved to obey. 

Killing the Ghost’s crew and captain—that could be excused. They’d come for one of their own, and Mitch rightfully retaliated. But the destruction that would be wrought with a fire—it would surely spread to other camps, to those that had no hand in it. Mitch didn’t care. He turned on his men with teeth bared and eyes blazing.

“I said burn it!” Mitch shoved past Scott with a snarl, picking up a torch and throwing it into the Captain’s tent. Slowly, silently, they followed suit, until a red-orange haze lit the beach. They made their quiet escape to the water as chaos broke out, shouts echoing into the night as the fire began to spread, and finally it was over. 

Scott wrapped Mitch’s shoulder with a strip of cloth torn from his shirt to slow the bleeding until they made it to the ship, and Mitch watched the shore burn with grim satisfaction. 

[vidalinav]

Queen of Monsters: Chapter 7

Summary: Nesta and Cassian reach an understanding 

Rating: M (Warning for mentions miscarriages/stillbirths)

Read also: Chapter List, General Masterlist

I am so late for this update. Also, I wrote this on the fly so hopefully it’s edited well enough but who knows really. Certainly not me. 

~

Nesta felt acutely aware that she was flitting through emotions. Like she was writing her feelings on a notebook and ripping out every page. Excitement dropping behind her with neat, printed script, then sadness, then grief, something like disappointment landing at her feet. Nesta could only feel irritation at the transient moods—anger that not only was she littering but that she was wading through it all and drowning in paper cuts.

After their spat, Cassian had dropped her off at the inn and quickly flown away. Nesta huffed at the thought of him, sulking and quiet. She had felt… on top of the world at the thought of going home and that look, the dark eyes and furrowed brows, that blasted look made Nesta want to roar. Suddenly guilt had unwelcomely wormed its way in, settling in her chest, and her world had gotten that much smaller in the blink of an eye.

But Nesta paused short at her thoughts.

Home? That was an odd way to describe the city she despised.  

On a good day, Nesta had only tolerated Velaris. All the noise had given her a headache—the people yelling, the children laughing, the endless chatter that seemed to envelop the city in a soft hum. And the smell? The smell had made her nauseous. Spices, baked bread, and the Sidra. The Sidra sinking to the sea, carrying the fishy scent with it.

Nesta remembered that scent most of all, remembered wanting to laugh at that. Such a beautiful place and yet the imperfection permeated the city as much as any of the starlight, as much as any of the dreams.

But perhaps what really made Nesta reel were the people themselves.

How many times had they congratulated her on a victory won? Their smiles laced at the edge with cold, winter memories as they remembered too what war felt like. But perhaps if they remembered it like she did they would not praise her for cutting off a monster’s head, when at one point she had she wished it on all of them.

Nesta clenched her fists, bringing them up to her mouth. The warmth lasted only seconds as she breathed into them, and she cursed herself for once again forgetting her gloves.

Even now she didn’t want to say his name. In her head, she’d referred to him as that monster and nothing else. She tried not to think of him, to hear the whisper of his laugh or the horror of his words. Nesta thought that if she allowed him to seep into the marrow of her bones, he’d be the actual victor of the war and not the girl who’d looked up at the sword plunged into his neck and twisted…

So Nesta refused to think of him as she trampled through the snow laced town, the buildings all covered with thick ice. She found herself wanting to find those females again, hoping that they were spewing hate and other nonsensical ideas to the impressionable young…or not so young beings of the camp.

She wanted to hear the yells, feast on the hostile anger, and let it renew her own. Let it seep into her bones so that once again she’d remember why she was here and why she was not in Velaris.

Nesta was almost near the center of town, the winding streets pulling her forward, when she noticed a form taking shape in the distance. The figure stood huddled in furs and the wind seemed to gather strength, blowing a flurry of snow her way. Nesta, in all her anger, didn’t notice that the world hadn’t been quiet that day. Waking mountains huffing out a humdrum of wind.

Nesta would have walked right past the figure, no greeting, or smiles. But she caught the extended arm, the jolt of a grimace as the… female leaned against one of the building walls. She clenched her stomach and as Nesta neared she could see that the female was pregnant. Heavily so.

It was Lord Ovis’s wife and as she hunched over, letting out a gasp, Nesta could only see the horrifying image of mucous-like blood on crisp white.  

She swallowed her distaste and ran to her.

“Don’t touch me,” the Illyrian gasped as her wings flourished out. Nesta’s hands reached out to hold her steady but the female hit them away.  

“You’re in pain,” Nesta replied derisively, noting the sweat on her brow and scent of must in her clothing.

“That’s no business of yours,” She gritted out. Nesta paused in her pursuits, giving the Illyrian a bland look and glancing to the street she’d come down from. The female would have to walk up a hill, maybe two, or… fly, though Nesta doubted she could by the looks of it.

“Where are you trying to go?”

The female yelled out in frustration, to tell her to get lost probably, but Nesta stood taller at the tone.

“Look,” Nesta demanded, the female squinting at the command. “I don’t know how much you think you can do this by yourself, but there is no one here! And I doubt there will be people trekking up these mountains when it looks like a storm is coming. So where. Are. You. Going?”

Maybe, Nesta was also a touched panicked judging from her voice but the female finally relented, grunting out an explicative Nesta was surprised to hear from this female who was always dutifully quiet.

Alright, Nesta thought, this can’t be too hard.

“The inn,” the Illyrian spoke. Nesta must have looked confused because the female rolled her eyes impatiently. “Daphne, the inn owner’s wife… she’s delivered before.”

She has? Nesta remarked to herself. Nothing about that female seemed to scream midwife, with her fake smile, the tight skin of her cheeks so forced Nesta thought it might have hurt to act pleasant. Midwives should have been stern but kind, who radiated calm. Nothing was peaceful about that female who wouldn’t even give her directions.

Nesta resisted laughing in outright shock.

“The inn it is then,” Nesta confirmed with a nod of her head, holding on to the Illyrian as she leaned against her. The wings were heavier than she thought, and they dragged behind, making the walk infinitely harder in the snow.

But they arrived with little complaint, Nesta huffing almost as much as the female who kept a level-head for someone about to give birth. She doubted she’d act the same if it was her.

As Nesta pulled open the door, Daphne rushed forward at the sight of the female, forcing Nesta away.

Nesta scoffed at the small attack. As if she walked herself up that hill!

“You must be freezing! Let’s get you into a warm bath. Gina!” She called, setting the female at a seat and then rushing towards where Nesta knew were the kitchens, “Get some hot towels and warm up some water and bring it to the room. Don’t dally!”

Nesta watched the plump female disappear behind the door and looked to the other who was now seated at the settee, her head back and her eyes closed.

Her job considered done, Nesta turned to leave, but the female gasped harshly, clenching her fists to her stomach. When the Illyrian looked up again, she zeroed in on her, and Nesta swore she saw agony in her face. Pain and… something worse. Something Nesta wanted to run from. Far and fast away.

“Please find my husband,” She croaked, the words tinged with warning.

Nesta stared at the female, the obligation settling in, and she stepped back with the discomfort of it all.

Nesta didn’t voice her answer as she walked through the doors, as the wind whipped her hair, as the temperature seemed to drop within moments. She didn’t look back at the inn as all of her feelings began to whirl around her once more.

Nesta merely ran.

Far and fast away.

~

When Nesta arrived at the training fields, her hair half-askew, her hands patting at her face to warm herself, no one was there. That made sense though because the training fields were all outside and there was no use fighting when the cold hit worse than any punch. So, Nesta ran to the large shacks, the saunas that she knew were tucked away from sight.

She almost felt it indecent to enter such a place, and the old her would have been thoroughly appalled,  but this new Nesta had seen far more of the male body than her previous counterparts, so she simply shrugged her shoulders and pushed open the doors.

They creaked as they moved and Nesta peered inside, cautious that she might see more than what a night of drinking let her heartily accept.

When she saw no one was there, Nesta wanted to scream in frustration.

“You shouldn’t be here,” A rough voice came out from behind her, making her spine stiffen.

The male leaned against the doorway as she turned towards him. His stance casual in his boots and leathers. He didn’t wear any coat, which she thought was arrogant of him when the wind whirred from outside and shook the building.

Kallon’s gaze slid over her and Nesta wanted to back away, the thoughts of Thomas appearing in her mind. He didn’t move from his place though, and Nesta would not give him the satisfaction of cowering.

“I’m looking for your father,” She replied, her words poignant and pernicious. Kallon raised a brow, but his expression marked one of boredom. Nesta’s jaw hurt from how hard she gritted her teeth. “You’re mother is going into labor.”

Kallon seemed to grow taller at the words, his wings rising to block the light of the door. The menacing shadows painted him in full glory. Still, he was not the worst beast she’d seen.

“I think she’s having… complications,” Nesta explained as best she could. Somehow she felt an ache in her chest for the female, her pain leaving a scar where Nesta thought she’d feel nothing.

“She is not my mother,” He glowered. She could hear the solid steps of his boots, one after the next as he angled closer to her. Sharp taps like the pulse she could hear through his chest. “And I don’t really care what happens to the runt.”

Nesta peered up at him, noted the shiny gleam of his dark eyes, the facial hair that stroked up his cheeks, his nose high and pointed. Kallon was too used to be intimidating, she thought, because he walked slowly as if he was a predator.

Nesta was no prey.

“That’s your blood,” she said, a bite to her words. “Your family. Your brother or sister.”

“No blood of mine would ever be tainted by so low of a female.”

Nesta scoffed, her eyes widening with the shock she couldn’t contain. “You’re a real bastard aren’t you?”

“I am not a bastard,” He announced, stepping in front of her. Nesta had to tilt her head to look into his eyes. “But that thing is as good as one… Didn’t your dog ever tell you? What we do to bastards around here?”

Her fists clenched as he jeered, some fire rising in her chest until she could only hear a soft hum. Her chest ached from keeping it all in, but she willed herself to remain calm, that power in her veins laying unbridled, biding its time.  

“The only bastard I know is standing right in front of me and if the village is ready to throw you to the wolves, please let me know when procession starts.”

Kallon’s gaze turned to liquid ore as his nostrils flared as if he’d start roaring fire, but she merely crossed her arms. Her chin raised defiantly in that you mean nothing look. Nesta had practiced it well.

“You look surprised… Did you think I would be intimidated?” She titled her head lightly and laughed. “Why should I be afraid of pups who can’t see past their own importance?”

She danced away as Kallon stood as rigid as ice, his back so straight she thought he might tip over if the wind decided to blow the roof off. She laid her hand on the door of the empty sauna, the hinges creaking as she moved to shut it.

Kallon remained staring at where she’d been before, his muscles tense and his wings tucked behind his back.

“You should have just told me where your father is,” Nesta mused, the male stiffening at her voice. “it would have saved you some pride at least.”

Nesta didn’t wait for his response as she continued, in search of that lord who deserved a beating for the way he raised his son.

Gods help the next one.

~

If there was anything that Cassian learned in his time being here, it was that Lord Ovis liked to talk. Not to his family, and certainly not to his comrades, but the sound of his voice must have seemed sweet to his own ears because he never stopped talking.

Cassian sat in the council room with fifteen other Illyrians, and though he knew he was supposed to seem regal and uptight; Cassian didn’t have it in him to pretend he had a stick up his ass for more than five minutes.

That was more Rhys’s style.

He swallowed down his laugh, imagining what the rest of the Inner Circle were doing right then. Probably not as bored as him, when he wanted to take the pencil in front of him and stab himself in the eye. He doubted they’d let him leave even so.

Cassian mind drifted to Nesta and what she was doing at this moment. He wanted to groan at the thought of her as he shifted in his seat, laying his head on his knuckles. She’d been puffed up and rosy during their argument and infinitely too soft when he’d flown her back to the inn, but she’d been calm at least…

Cassian had been a fool. For so many reasons, but...

He did say that. Didn’t he? That he couldn’t understand how her sisters could love her. It was only a few weeks after that that they learned Nesta was drinking more, slumming it with some male or another every night. He’d seen her once. During the day, in the beginning and she’d mostly looked tired. He imagined she wasn’t sleeping, but she looked worse than tired. Like carrying her own bones was too much of a burden and the weight was crushing her.

Cassian wanted to roll down in his seat at the guilt that welled up in his chest. He’d promised her… he promised to protect her. Her family. The people across the wall. Promised her so many things that he never voiced allowed, and not once had he followed through. He’d missed every opportunity.

But she’d promised nothing, and she was beside them all. She’d… protected him.

Cassian blinked away the sting in his eyes.

Just as he was about to sigh in defeat, his thoughts properly stored and tightly locked away, the door flew open. The wood slamming against the walls.

At the commotion, the males stood fast. Lord Ovis maneuvering around the table as his wings brushed back, ready to fight. Cassian remained in his seat, staring at her as the light seemed to wrap around her form.

Nesta didn’t even look at him as she stepped past some of the soldiers, moving through them as if they were stalks of wheat and she had little time for them. She zeroed in on Lord Ovis and he stood tall at her perusal, shock painted on his face as she looked him in the eyes.  

The next words out of her mouth seemed to shock both of them.

“Your wife is having the baby.” Her brows furrowed as she talked, the words rushing out of her. “She went into labor and she’s at the inn.”

At the information, Lord Ovis let out a breath, settling down as he stepped back to his seat. Nesta looked to him when she noticed Lord Ovis beginning to sit, and Cassian didn’t know what to say. She stomped towards the male anyways, fire in her lungs.

“I just said your wife is in labor,” she hissed.

Lord Ovis simply shuffled some papers on his table, muttering to the male next to him to get him some water. Cassian scoffed.

Nesta threw up her hands, “Are all of you this ignorant?”

Cassian could see some of the males shuffle in their seat at the insult, surprise and outrage rolling through the room like thunder. Cassian simply took note of the snow on Nesta��s coat, her face flushed from the cold. He looked to the open door, where the wind chased the snow, roaring out its displeasure.

His gaze hardened at the thought of her running through the storm.  

“She needs you there,” she urged.

Lord Ovis sat back in his seat in lazy arrogance. “That would be improper.”

“Improper my ass! Your wife was standing next to a building in the middle of this storm,” she pointed to the open doorway as some of the other males looked, “she couldn’t even make it up the hill and I helped her there. She asked for you personally, though now I’m wondering why the hell she would when you seem to be good for nothing!”

He watched as he face seemed to turn a darker shade of red, the color rushing down her throat, but Nesta continued, stark, aching mad.

“I’ve been all over this blasted camp for two hours looking for you. And you know what?” She asked. “You’re son is shit by the way. You did awful job raising him.”

Lord Ovis blinked blandly, smacking his lips, and yawning faintly. He then turned to look at him, his eyes cruel as he laughed.

“You should learn to control your female,” He jeered. “A leash would do good.”

Cassian couldn’t even hear Nesta’s next words as the anger reached his ears. In a blink, he was there, standing in front of the lord who could use less teeth and maybe one less tongue. He gripped the male’s leathers in his fists and Cassian made him remember why he was the Night Court General Commander.

He reached out a fist, ready to maim, but he felt a sharp tug in his sternum and Cassian looked towards her.

Nesta’s gaze was sharp and focused as she spoke, her voice soft. “There is something wrong with the child.”

At the words, Lord Ovis whipped towards her, brushing off Cassian.

“What did you do witch?”

Nesta looked towards him and Cassian nodded his head in reassurance, though he didn’t know what he was asking of her.  

“I felt her pain. I don’t—” she stumbled, shaking her head. “I don’t think…”

“You don’t think what?” Lord Ovis cried.

But Nesta didn’t answer him as he pushed past her, leaving the rest of the males in an uproar as their camp leader braced the storm.

Cassian reached for her as Nesta stood staring at the door, her hand resting on her neck.  

She blinked up at him with thick lashes, before he could touch her and he lowered his hand. Her nose was still red from the few hours trying to find them. Cassian wished there were an easier way to contact each other and made a mental note to ask Amren what she thought could do the trick.

He was about to offer to fly her back, but Nesta closed her eyes, her brows furrowing as if she was in pain. This time, he placed a hand on her shoulder, but she clasped her hand atop his, and gripped it tightly. Her words made chills run down his spine.

“I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

Cassian prayed to the mother that she meant Lord Ovis to the inn.  

~

Cassian heard the high-pitched screams just as Nesta flinched. A small movement that no one would have noticed—that he would not have noticed—If it had not been her. Her look made him want to drag her inside, shut all the doors, and block every yell that made it to her ears.

Cassian did none of these things as he looked her over. The skirt of her dress puffed up as Nesta held herself close at the knees from where she sat on the steps to the entrance of that little inn. Her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. No scarf, he noted. The way she shivered had Cassian resisting the urge to take off his own coat and drape it across her.  

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” He spoke softly, raising his hands in surrender. Always surrender, because he had never been victorious no matter how many battles, he’d won. Cassian could still hear her yells in the back of his mind, and not the ones she spewed just hours before... but of her calling his name. Cassian! Cassian! It echoed. She’d hardly ever said his name then and yet she’d called him, sensing that cauldron’s intent in her gut, in her bones.

Obliterated, he remembered. His comrades had been obliterated, and he had been fine. More than fine. He could still feel that aching sorrow.  

Cassian wondered if Nesta felt it too. Perhaps not the same pain, but she’d wanted to help Ada... kicked and screamed her way through.  

But her next words surprised him, and the space between his brows crinkled in concern.  

“I have nowhere to go,” She blurted out, her eyes blinking slowly as she looked at him. Stray pieces of her hair blew across her face and she swiped it away, tucking it behind her ears until he could see the pointy tip. “I have nowhere to go. I--”

Cassian sat beside her; his wings careful not to brush her form. He could smell the scent of her—lavender soap and crisp winters, fresh air and pine. He watched as she laid her chin in her palm, her knees bouncing quickly as if she were agitated, and maybe she was, because Nesta rarely stumbled on her words.

She didn’t look at him as she continued. Her hand moved to her mouth, her teeth biting down on the nail of her thumb. Cassian watched in awe at the movement. Perhaps without even knowing, she’d shown him another one of her habits and Cassian wrote it down in that seemingly short list of everything he knew about Nesta Archeron.  

“Feyre doesn’t want me there. Your High Lord hates me. I have no prospects or money or a place to say. Amren doesn’t even want to look at me.” Nesta shook her head and Cassian thought he might have seen regret, but it flashed away as soon as it began. “I can’t go back there. So where do I go?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Nesta jumped up, walking a few paces and then turning back around. Cassian watched the movement with rapt attention.

“I’m back where I started five years.” She whispered, her voice going shrill, her eyes wide and bold enough that he wanted to rush to her and hold her close. A forbidden act that Cassian quickly pushed away. Nesta would never allow his touch. “Starving, and alone in that little cabin.”

“You weren’t alone. You had Elain. Feyre...”  

“What good did that do?” She screeched, lowering her eyes to floor as she shook incessantly. “You know after my mother died; Elain wouldn’t stop crying. Every day she’d cry, and cry and I’d wanted to slap her then. As cruel as that is... Stop crying, I’d wanted to say, you’re not the one dead.”

Nesta clenched her eyes shut, her fists rolling into balls. Her lips curled in a grimace.

“And Feyre... Feyre wouldn’t stop asking questions as young as she was... What can I do? How should we fix this? How can we help father? What can we sell? As if I did not spend so much time asking the same.” Her gaze hardened, and Cassian imagined bricks forming around a small girl. As young as Feyre had been when she’d hunted, maybe younger still. Wall after wall began to be built and Cassian saw Nesta in there, pounding at the bricks as she spoke.

“But you know what was worse?”  

Cassian stayed very still as she zeroed in on him. Her eyes-tinged red.  

“We spent so much time trying to help my father, and he still ruined it all.” Nesta covered her eyes with her palms, and Cassian saw Nesta crawl over him in his memory. The softness of her body covering all of his pain, shielding him from anymore. They’d go together. Not because they deserved a good end, but because they wanted to hold on to something that was good and decent. What had she held onto when she was merely a child? What had she kept?  

“I can’t forgive him for what he did.” She admitted softly, darkness seeping into those bitter blues. And maybe that was the problem in all of this—that they had wanted her to forgive—to forget. But Nesta could not forget and neither could Cassian when all he thought about was his comrades dying and a soft kiss in the middle of a battlefield.

Cassian’s chest felt heavy and he swallowed so she wouldn’t hear how rough his voice had gotten.

“Then don’t,” He replied. Nesta looked up at him, kicking up the snow with her boot as she looked him over, seemingly shocked that he did not berate her or make her see a new point of view. If that’s what she was hoping for, she wasn’t getting it from him.

“Don’t,” Cassian repeated, shaking his head. The conviction rising in his words. “You’re your own person… do whatever you want to do. Forgive your father. Don't forgive him. Be mad. Don’t be mad. Leave to Velaris or stay here with me or… leave to who knows where.”  

“I already told you about the feasibility of leaving.”  

“No, you listed all the reasons it would be hard to do so. You are not in that cabin, starving and alone. You are not alone here, Nesta. And if Velaris is not where you want to be, then I will take you somewhere else. If you want me to go collect things from your father’s house and sell them I will. If you need money, I have that.”

Fuck Rhys and Feyre and the rules. Fuck Elain, too, and himself. Fuck them all, he raged. Fuck them all for making her feel like she had no choices.

Nesta’s shoulders rolled back as she straightened, her arms crossing in defiance. “They’ll never let you help me.”

“I don’t need their permission,” Cassian retorted, suddenly angry at the female in front of him, though he didn’t understand why. He stepped to her slowly, closing his eyes as he breathed in the harsh winter air.

When he blinked, she was in front of him. Her eyes the color of pale skies, bright and filled with caution.

“I want you…” he breathed, swallowing his apprehension, “I want you to find happiness in things. I enjoy you angry, yes, that’s true.”  

She scoffed, but that darkness that had hovered over her these months, that had trailed behind her like some veil covering her golden hair, began to lift and Cassian saw her… Maybe just a small part of her, but a part he wanted to get to know. To memorize.  

"I don’t think you’ll ever be less annoyed with me and I hope you don’t, but I don’t want this... hostility between us anymore. This... mountain we can’t get over.”

“I am not your friend,” she reminded him softly, her lips pursed and pink. He knew what she meant.  

“I’d do it for anyone,” Cassian reminded her.

Nesta raised a brow. “I won’t make my decision now.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“But when I do—”

“I’ll be there,” Cassian promised.

I’ll be there always.

Cassian promised.

~

Tagged:  @my-fan-side  @ekaterinakostrova  @anastasia-orlov @lord-douglas-the-third @autumnsletters @soitsgorgeous @sjm-things @courtofjurdan @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives  @queenestarcheron @allilal

~

Well some things had to progress in this fic or nothing would have progressed so Cassian and Nesta have reached an understanding of some sorts. It’s a slow process who knows what will happen next (shrugs)

Unfortunately/Not so unfortunately, I’m stopping for a bit, for a week or two to finish the last part of the Nesta’s Love is Quiet trilogy. I have no idea how that’s going to go, since I abhor endings, but it will be the first fic I’ve ever finished so that’ll be fun!

I hope you liked this chapter, but if not please don’t tell me lol. 

Like, comment, reblog!!!!

Happy Reading!

[a-libra-writes]

Steady - Stannis x Wife!Reader

Hi, no one asked for this shit but hERe I AM WITH IT. I swear we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled imagines and alphabets after this hahaha. Thanks for being patient while ive been recovering, i finally feel human again :p

Summary: idk its smut and domestic fluff and some backstory i just. This stuff gets away from me, yall. Takes place just a year or two after Robert was crowned.

Y/N finished her cold drink with a speed that was quite unladylike. She at least refrained from releasing a heavy breath as she set the goblet down. Her handmaiden gave her a look of understanding and a handkerchief to pat herself down.

“Shall I bring you another drink, my lady?”

Y/N wanted to say yes, but drinking this much honeyed ice-milk probably wasn’t great for her stomach. The sweetness was going to catch up to her. She patted her brow with the handkerchief and said, “Just water, if you please.”

The handmaiden bowed and exited the room. The woman’s face had only the slightest pink on her nose and cheeks, and she still looked cool in her simple clothes. She probably didn’t sweat until she walked at a brisk pace.

Y/N was the Lady of Dragonstone, sister-in-law to the king, and yet she felt far less elegant sweating like this in her parlor. She’d braided her hair and wrapped it high in a bun to give her neck some relief; coincidentally that was also the fashion in the South. The only jewels she could manage to wear were simple and light, and most of her Northern wardrobe was changed out for beautiful yet thin dresses of linen.

Her father would’ve balked at her wearing them, but he wasn’t the one withstanding this Southern summer. The ocean air coming from Blackwater Bay and these damned iced drinks were her only reprieve in the day.

At least in the evening, the air was blissfully cool and smelled of the ocean, although she had to be careful of the direction of the wind – she still wasn’t used to the more rancid smells of King’s Landing, and she likely wouldn’t ever be. She’d rather sweat to death in her own skin than invite that filth into her room.

She moved to the cushioned seat below a great window that overlooked Blackwater Bay, and as she opened the window, she saw the water peppered with all manner of boats, ships and sails. There was nothing like watching the sea and ships to help pass the time, and they were often her companions when she read or wrote.

She had brought her book and only read a few pages before she became distracted. One of the sails looked familiar, and it reminded her of one of the first nights she’d arrived and marveled at the bay, and the beautiful view right here in her chambers.

Y/N wondered how long she stayed sitting on the roomy windowsill, propped up by her pillows, watching them all. It must have been some time, because her newly wed husband approached her of his own accord.

“You’ll want to close that window before you sleep,” Stannis said. He had to lean down a little, as to not completely tower over her. “There’s all sorts of foulness in the air here.”

Y/N nodded, she’d already smelled it as she arrived. “I was just watching the sunset, and the ships. I love how the water sparkles under them.”

He said nothing, and Y/N had grown used to that in the short time they’d been married. She rather liked it, as she was not much of a talker herself. Too much of her childhood was her father forcing her into the circles of well-to-do ladies with eligible sons, and then in her maidenhood, being forced to talk to the sons themselves.

She had pointed out into the sea, toward a large vessel. “I’ve only seen that sort of ship twice. What is it?”

Stannis stepped closer, enough that she could pick up his body heat, and his tall body leaned over her to look out to the bay. “A Myrish trade ship, likely the property of a spice merchant. Do you see the scorpion on its sail? That’s common for Myrish ships. It’s either reptiles or insects, or coins. The thread embroided on that sail is gold, I’m sure of it.”

He grew up on Storm’s End, after all, watching the coast of Shipbreaker Bay, and his current seat was the island of Dragonstone. She wondered if Stannis Baratheon had ever been away from a coast for more than a few weeks.

Likewise, Y/N had never been away from her mountain home until she married. As horrid at the heat of the South was, she could tolerate it if it meant she stayed by the sea.

“I love it,” Y/N said, and meant it. She smiled at him like she smiled now, remembering the distinct color that rose to her husband’s cheeks that evening. It was strange how the court talked about him, how they had such distaste for what they considered a rigid and cold person. She hadn’t seen him that way.

True, he was always tense, but that’s because he was always thinking about far too much, far too often, concerning himself with this or that issue with the realm. It was his job as part of the small council, after all, but he seemed to carry a heavier burden than the others. Y/N wondered about that.

Lady Y/N was so lost in her thoughts, she forgot her handmaiden was returning with water. She thanked the girl and asked, “Would you happen to know when the small council meeting will finish?”

“Perhaps not for another hour, my lady.”

She had some time, then. Y/N returned to her book and leaned against the cool stone wall, glancing at the waves now and again. Again, she began to neglect the words on the page and let her mind wander.

From the beginning, Stannis was different. He traveled all the way to the North to formally ask permission for her hand. He wanted a proper courting period, but being the relative of the King and having a duty so far away, he had no such luxury – not that her father would dare split hairs about tradition when it came to a king’s brother.

Still, he took her hand in the foyer of that cold, frigid castle and apologized for not giving her a proper courtship, one a lady of her standing deserved.

At that moment, Y/N realized that she had never been apologized to. She was certainly never given one by a lord.

He was sincere, Y/N could tell. She could always remember the suitors who lied, who made empty promises to her father and emptier ones to her. Her father sniffed them out eventually, often too slow for her liking, and threw them into the cold. It wasn’t for her sake, not really - he wanted a powerful alliance with an older house, to give standing to their relatively newer name.

They had money and a beautiful daughter,  and what name was more deserving of both than the one that held the throne? Y/N should have been humiliated by his brazenness, but with Stannis, she could keep her dignity. All in all, Y/N could have done much worse.

She was never foolish to fancy what her marriage would be like; it wasn’t a luxury she allowed herself. Still, Y/N’s heart hurt at the thought of not marrying in a Godswood, as true Northern women ought to do. It was during this whirlwind courtship that Y/N asked, “My lord, is it true there’s a Godswood in the Red Keep?”

“There is, but it is no true Northern godswood,” Stannis said. “It is an acre of fine trees that are centuries old, but the heart tree is not a weirwood.”

He won’t lie to me. She thought. Not even to spare my feelings.

She always tried to keep her expressions even, to never betray her true emotion, but she must have shown something. Stannis added, “The ceremony will be in the Great Sept. It is a grand building, with seven towers. Many a bride would wish to marry there.”

“Many a Southern bride, perhaps.” Y/N said. She would be honest, too. “Still, I’ve heard much about the Great Sept’s beauty, and its seven towers and stained glass. Are they as grand as everyone says?”

“Yes.” Stannis responded curtly, and they stood in silence for some time. He suddenly continued. “The heartree at the Red Keep is not a proper weirdwood, true, but is a great oak. Tall as some towers, covered in old vines that try to curl into the wood. The gardeners have grown bright red flowers underneath, to honor the weirwoods in their way. It is not a proper Northern godswood, but it is a vast and well-kept wood in its own right. The ceremony can’t be there, but afterward, you can visit it anytime you like.”

He was trying to comfort her, Y/N had realized. He will try to spare my feelings then, in his own way. What a peculiar man.

When the day arrived, the Great Sept was indeed beautiful, unlike anything she’d ever seen. All seven towers glittering rainbows down in the sun, and inside, the beauty of the marble and statues of the Seven stole her breath. Even if they were not her gods, this was their place, and she felt their presence and humbled herself.

The stained glass shone bright across the marble floor, a motley of dancing colors, as though the gods were glad of their union. She ascended the tall steps in a dazzling gown of white silk and diamonds, Myrish lace and a train that followed long behind her. Stannis waited for her at the top, looking as still as the statues of the Sept, but she saw his eyes fill with softness as she took his hand and he helped her to the top step.

His fingers brushed her shoulders gently as he removed the cloak embroidered with her family’s sigil. With just as much gentleness, he wrapped her in a cloak of gold and black. His rough fingertips brushed her bare shoulders during the exchange, and it made her shiver a little.

The Great Septon spoke many elegant words, and Y/N was thankful she faced away from the crowd for most of the ceremony. She was positively sweating from the silk and warm Sept, but she kept her head high. She could feel a nervous energy radiating off Stannis, even without looking at him, although she stole some glances. He cut a good figure in his own groom’s clothes, although he stood as though he weren’t used to it.

A week after the ceremony, when she still struggled to adjust to her new living quarters and the Red Keep itself, Stannis suddenly asked her to accompany him. She took his arm and wondered with great curiosity where they were going. Then she understood.

It was an acre full of Northern trees, the godswood he had mentioned some time ago, and the great, stately oak was before her. It had more twisting, knotting branches than she could count. Two large men could hug the trunk and their fingers wouldn’t touch, and it was covered in a blanket of soft ivy vines, with a swath of red and white flowers growing under it. It was far more beautiful than he said.

Y/N couldn’t find her words, and she gazed at the heart tree until she heard Stannis ask, “Is it acceptable?”

As if either of them could change it if it wasn’t. This godswood had existed since the Red Keep had, after all. She spoke honestly. “It’s far lovelier than I could’ve thought. What an elegant heart tree.”

Stannis was pleased, she could tell. He didn’t tense up when she squeezed his arm and stood closer, or when she slightly pulled him down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I did nothing deserving gratitude,” Stannis said, although he didn’t speak with his usual assuredness, and he glanced away from her.

He was terribly awkward with women, she knew, and even months later he was trying a very methodical way to approach their marriage. It was what he knew, and that comforted him in this strange, new territory. Y/N understood, but she liked to trip him up when she could.

In fact, she was quite fond of doing so. One could say Y/N was fond of him. It was a novel idea, being fond of one’s husband, looking forward to toying with him, and being quite amused when he tried to please her.

More than that, she liked seeing his cheeks or ears turn red when she thanked him for helping her, praised something he did or gave him sweet affections. It seemed he was unused to such things, and didn’t know how to respond to them – and Y/N wasn’t a woman of conceit, but she was confident her beauty only contributed to his reservations.

Recalling these fond memories and thoughts, Y/N decided she wanted to fluster her husband a little more, and she was growing frustrated that he wasn’t here. Finally, she heard doors opening in the parlor room, and the shuffling of a chair.

Being the brother of the king, and a member of the Small Council, Stannis was given fine dwellings inside of the vast Red Keep. The apartment was made of several rooms - a parlor for entertaining that often went unused, an office for Stannis that included a small library, a bathing area, a dressing room, their shared chambers, and so on.

Y/N noticed both she and Stannis preferred to hide away in their apartments when the court was becoming too much, as it often did in the Red Keep. She set aside her book and found him by the large table in the center of their parlor, mulling over papers and books that likely didn’t fit on the desk in his office. Had he carried all of these here? Y/N recognized a star chart, and a diagram of a galley.

First, she pushed aside several curtains to give the place more light. Then she walked toward the serving table, already stocked before Stannis arrived, and poured two goblets. She set one down next to Stannis, then she sat next to him on the settee. He didn’t look up.

Hearing a sound she didn’t like, Y/N scooted closer to her husband and gently took his hand in her chin.

“What–?” Stannis startled, nearly knocking a goblet off the table. Before he could speak, Y/N ran her finger along his jaw.

“You shouldn’t do that,” She said, speaking softly as not to disturb the peacefulness that had settled over the room. “Your jaw will ache by the evening.”

“I know,” Stannis said briskly, but he touched his jaw where her fingers were a moment ago, and there was color rising to his cheeks. He really didn’t seem to notice how often he ground his teeth, and Y/N noticed him wincing and rubbing his chin.

It was amusing that just a small touch like that, or their shoulders brushing together, or her adjusting his doublet in the morning or offering to unbutton it in the evening; all would stir the stern man to blushing silence. It’s not that he disliked her, Y/N was sure. He just wasn’t always sure on how to proceed, and besides, his mind was often occupied with work.

Even if she admired the work ethic, sometimes she worried about the toll it took on him. Y/N smoothed his shoulder, sorting out a wrinkle in his grey doublet. Stannis’ dark blue eyes darted straight to her hand.

“The council ran late today, didn’t it?” She said, using words to distract from her touches. “Perhaps you should take an early supper, and continue this work afterward. You could use the respite.”

Stannis responded how she expected. “It’s important that I get the fleet up to shape by the end of the year. Renly has been dodgy with the standards of quality, and Littlefinger still needs to find the coin for the sailors and shipbuilders.”

From what she understood and heard around the Keep, Stannis was often at odds with the small council, but especially his younger brother Renly. They were of a different generation, years apart in maturity and experience, not to mention how the King favored Renly’s more lackadaisical governing. Y/N understood being in the middle of strong personalities. She nodded, “Indeed, but you’ll find yourself in dire straits if you don’t nourish your body or rest your mind. I could have your dinner brought here.”

Stannis considered it. “You would be dining alone in the great hall.”

“Yes, I want to avoid that, so I’ll dine here as well.” The king’s courtiers could be far too rowdy, and gods forbid if Y/N had to spend another evening pretending to enjoy the queen’s cloying smalltalk.

Before Stannis could protest, Y/N added, “I won’t be in your way. I’ll eat here in the parlor, while you take the office, or whichever works. Perhaps I’ll watch the ships.“

Stannis still had a thoughtful expression, considering her words. Y/N took the opportunity to place a surprise kiss on his cheek. She could feel the taller man shift a little in surprise.

“You won’t hear a sound from me,” She said sweetly, her lips still ghosting next to his skin. She felt him shiver, too.

She knew what the courtiers and lords whispered about them. They had the nerve to pity her, as though she’d made a poor match.

“That will keep,” Stannis finally spoke, now looking pointedly at his papers and not her. "You don’t have to … stay in another room. We can supp together.”

Pleased with his answer and her progress, Y/N stood slowly, ensuring their bodies brushed together a little, and making sure he could see how her dress clung to her hips. “Then, I’ll leave you to this for now. I’m going for a walk.“

She left the parlor, hoping he was watching her go as the thin dress fluttered about her legs and swaying hips.

She was sitting upon the bay window and gazing out at the Blackwater again, as she did in the evenings, but it was exceptionally late. Stannis thought she had gone to sleep after they shared supper. Most of the candles in the chamber were extinguished, save for a few on a tall table beside the window. The flames danced sharply when the sea breeze came in.

“You’re still awake,” He said, speaking quietly as though their voices would waft out of the thick stone walls and wake someone. “Did you sleep?”

His lady wife was in a nightshift made of thin cotton, specifically the one that hugged her waist tightly and dipped to expose her chest. Those features, plus how it pooled at her feet even when she sat, made it seem a bit inconvenient. He’d say as much to her, but often he was distracted with how the fabric slid along her body.

She smiled at him, and it was comforting to see that at the end of a tiring day. He found himself looking forward to it more and more. He wouldn’t consider the Red Keep his home, nor was Dragonstone, but something about Y/N gave him that feeling.

“Oh, I woke up and thought I would wait for you.”

“You don’t have to do such a thing. You ought to sleep and keep away from the window,” Stannis said, but it came out much less stern than usual. Y/N noticed how his broad shoulders weren’t as stiff as they usually were, and when he removed his boots it seemed to take more effort than it should’ve.

Y/N glided off the windowsill, as graceful as a ghost, with her skirt flowing behind her. She promptly began removing the fasteners on his doublet. Stannis wanted to tell her it was unneeded, but his energy immediately went to stifling a yawn. It came out as a harsh breath, instead.

“You deserve to get some proper rest,” Y/N said, using that tone. Combined with the graceful fingers that had already opened the doublet and touching his chest, he shivered. He bent his knees so he could slide the doublet off his shoulders, and Y/N set it aside carelessly.

Her fingers pressed against his chest and nudged him in the direction she wanted. “It’s the dead of the night, dawn is only hours away, and you’re still up. You should look after your health, dear.”

Her sweet endearments and worry was completely at odds with how her lips kissed at his neck and her hand traced downward. He must’ve been more tired than he thought, because when she held his face in her hand his chest squeezed as though she held his lungs instead. Y/N kissed him and he leaned against the wall behind him, pulling her in closer.

He leaned into her touch, yearning for it, something he didn’t know he needed right now. Y/N broke their breathless kiss but quickly went back to kissing along his jaw, making his stomach flip with each one. When their lips met again, his hands squeezed her waist and the other ran down her hips. He could feel her warm, flushed skin perfectly through the thin nightgown, and didn’t want to admit how much he loved running his hands down it.

He may have been much stronger, but Stannis didn’t resist as Y/N lightly pushed him properly against the wall. She was lovely, soft and warm, and he was helpless when she was like this, running her hands up her chest and wanting him - he hoped it was want, even affection, anything other than duty and obligation driving her actions.

Stannis pulled her closer, grasping her hips, hearing her become breathless again. A moan caught in Y/N’s throat as his strong grip squeezed her, and his burning face pressed against her sweet-smelling neck. His feverish kisses were firm and made her squirm against him. “Y/N.”

“Come to bed,” She shuddered as he moved down to her collarbone. Her order was followed eagerly. Stannis easily gathered her in his arms, her nightgown slipping up her legs. She still planted kisses on his face and neck that made it difficult to navigate the dark to their bed.

Stannis tried to set her down easily, but her warmth and touches were distracting, never mind his own arousal. Before he could make sense of the darkness, Y/N was tugging on his shoulder to bring him into another kiss. He found her waist and pulled her close.

Y/N slipped her legs up his sides, her dress falling easily and his fingers made up for the chill that touched her skin. Stannis slid up the fabric until it pooled at her waist. In the candlelight, she could see how flushed he was, and his blue eyes had darkened enough to almost look like the bay.

“Not tired anymore, hm?” Y/N teased.

In spite of their current position and what they were just doing, Stannis felt himself flushing anew. Bluntly, he responded, “No, not at all.”

She giggled in a way that made him want to steal even more of her breath, so he did, kissing her neck and feeling her skin tremble under him. His other hand ran up the leg that was already hooked at his waist.

Stannis pressed himself against her, grunting at the friction. He was surprised at his own desire to stay here and not pull away, even if his damned trousers needed to be dealt with. He was bombarded with a myriad of lustful thoughts, especially as he touched Y/N’s thighs. Of all the thoughts, a distinct one kept surfacing: He wanted to lick them.

Maybe if he wasn’t sleep deprived and in a lust-addled haze, he’d be scandalized. It seemed like a perfectly normal thing to do right now, reasonable, even. Y/N had wonderful legs. They should be kissed and appreciated like the rest of her.

His thoughts were interrupted when she impatiently tugged at his arm. “Stannis, touch me. Please.”

It was then he realized the candles were fast going out, and it was mostly shadows in the room. He wanted to see her face so badly.

“Y/N, I ... I want to taste you,” He stumbled out in a mess of words, his breath coming short.

Y/N’s hips rolled up and grinded against his, making him groan and quickly pin her down in place. She always moaned from his rough tough, like now, and her legs nudged him. “Then do it,” She said, her impatience laced with lust.

With that consent, Stannis pushed her long nightshift aside so roughly, he thought he heard threads rip. He slid down and kissed her legs, relishing in how hot they were. He kissed her thighs, tasting their delicious warmth, and grabbed her calf as he pushed her open further.

“Ah, gods-!” Y/N gasped. She squirmed again, so Stannis gripped her legs harder, feeling how his fingers sunk into the soft skin. She was so beautiful. Stannis had seen pretty women, objectively beautiful ones, and heard how men lusted and admired after them. He’d never understood until now, and he was sure Y/N couldn’t compare to any of them. They must’ve not, if he hadn’t felt this way until now.

He kissed the inside of her thighs, feeling her quiver under his lips. She arched into him as he kissed just outside her smallclothes. She was soaked through; he could smell her warmth and even feel it. There was still anxiety in the back of his mind, the fear of doing something wrong, as he often seemed to do with women… Although he hadn’t ever thought of doing these things to them.

Stannis slipped off her smallclothes and let them hang around her ankle. The anxiety still climbed up his chest, and he wished he could see her, not just the shadows of her lovely body.

He ran his thumb over her clit, feeling how wet she was, hearing her instant reaction. Y/N’s thigh flexed under his other hand’s firm grip. “Ah! Stannis, please …”

Having his sweet wife beg under him was almost too much, so Stannis didn’t make her wait. His tongue ran up her cunt, pressing against her clit, tasting all of her wetness. Having her warmth around his cock was much different than this. If Stannis stopped to think about it, he might enjoy this more - but he couldn’t think anymore.

Y/N arched back sharply and raised her hips, so he had to hold her down again. He may have been more slight than Robert, but he still had a man’s strength, and Y/N whimpered as he used it.

Stannis took a heavy breath. He tasted her on his lips. “Am I hurting you?”

“N-no, you aren’t. Don’t stop, keep like that.” Y/N quivered. Her heart is beating quickly, but she knows his is probably thumping like a rabbit. Just to please her, her husband gave a tight squeeze to her hips with both his hands while his tongue lapped at her.

Y/N didn’t try to quiet her moans, and she said his name and praised him. Stannis’ hand slipped up from her hips to up her stomach, feeling her flushed skin. He wanted to focus on her pleasure, something to think about so he wouldn’t come undone so early.

Her fingers found his hand and she squeezed it before bringing it to her lips. She came as she kissed his fingers, her lewd voice filling up the room, and for once Stannis didn’t worry about anyone overhearing. The sensations of her warm breath, soft lips and wet core were taking away all his attention.

Y/N enjoyed the feeling of his strong fingers around her’s, still rough in spite of him being a lord. Coming down from her high, she playfully licked a few of his fingertips and said in a low, sweet voice, “Thank you, Stannis. It felt so good~”

“Y/N,” Stannis almost stuttered her name, and felt foolish for it, but he was buzzing while she was still coming down. He found himself pressing his body against her smaller one, his heart hurting and his cock aching at the same time. She reached for him, and he more than eagerly pulled her into his grasp.

She wanted him to be close, she wanted him. Stannis kissed her neck and when she ran her hands down his broad back, he almost buried his face in her shoulder to hide. It was too much, she was too much. He wanted to think straight, for just a moment, but he could still taste her juices on his lips and he wished it wasn’t over so quickly.

The stormlord felt fingers running through his dark hair, nails gently scratching along his scalp. The other hand traced up his back and made him shiver.

“Come here,” Y/N still had some breathlessness in her voice, but she was ready to keep going. Her desire hadn’t cooled off, if anything, it was stronger. “Stannis …”

With her sweet words, the strange feelings in his chest - panic? - kept swirling. Stannis remembered his own arousal, and moved his hips against Y/N’s, effectively pinning her underneath him. She sighed and wrapped those legs around him, bringing him closer.

“Please,” She said, and that was all it took for Stannis to set to awkwardly removing his trousers. They were a damned prison, and he was glad to be rid of them.

He grasped her hips again, his fingers pressing into bruises he already made earlier, but she still melted and moaned under him. An anxious thought tried to pull him away, telling him to be careful – but that became an afterthought as she spread her legs and he easily sunk himself in. If her skin was on fire, then her core was an entirely different heat that he wanted desperately.

Stannis bit at his lower lip harshly, knowing he wouldn’t last long. Y/N met his thrusts by rolling her hips, digging her nails in his arm and gasping words he lost track of. He heard his name several times, and when he picked up his pace, she stumbled over it in the most wonderful way.

For a few minutes, the sound of their bodies and breathes was the only noise, until Y/N cried out and her moans faded into whimpers. Stannis felt her squeeze around his cock, and for the dozenth time he wished for light so he could see her wetness drip around him. He wanted to clean her with his mouth, he thought instantly.

The image of her core dripping from their union and his tongue back inside it was enough to make the Baratheon shudder and groan her name. Stannis thrusted harshly and came shortly after that.

He had to catch himself on the bed, the fatigue of the day and their actions catching up at once. Y/N’s hands idly wandered up his arm, then held his face, and the darkness bothered him again. The candles had long been out. Y/N tried to kiss him, but she missed and got his nose.

Stannis flinched and Y/N giggled. Her fingers slowly felt for his lips. “Sorry, let me try again.”

Her legs were wrapped around his waist, he was still inside her, and Stannis felt a bit lost. He lowered himself, very careful not to rest too much weight on her, and let her pull him into a long kiss.

What was he supposed to say? What were the words for the thoughts that came racing back, like they always did after he and Y/N were together? He didn’t want to leave her warmth, but it was late, and his body felt heavy.

They eventually untangled themselves, and Stannis found a cloth to clean Y/N’s legs. He was willing to leave to get their nightclothes, but Y/N pulled him back and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Are you thinking?” She asked.

“Yes.” It was a strange question, but he answered simply. His tired mind was rattling off all sorts of nonsense, of the council and his duties and Y/N and their marriage.

“Try to sleep first,” Y/N said, knowing saying that was usually futile, but she knew he was exhausted. “Let’s discuss it in the morning, hm?”

Stannis didn’t want to leave his wife’s embrace, but he’d be damned if he’d fall asleep by her whilst lacking an undignified amount of clothes. After adjusting some blankets and finding some clothes, they were back to Y/N resting her head on his chest.

“Do you want your nightshift?” Stannis asked, trying to be casual about the bare body pressed against him.

Y/N hummed. “Hmm, no.”

He tucked the blanket around her anyhow. Being from the North, she claimed the night’s humidity and heat was enough, but Stannis was still convinced she’d get a chill. She eventually moved off his chest, but still stayed close, her breathing starting to even out as she fell asleep.

Tired as he was, Stannis still couldn’t rest until after her. When she was close like this, it gave him hope that she cared. Fulfilling the expecting duty of a wife didn’t have to include being as close and comfortable as a cat, but here she was. In the morning, if he accidentally woke her up as he got ready, he knew there’d be a sleepy smile for him.

Stannis frowned but fought the urge to start grinding his teeth. Intead, he pressed his cheeks against his wife’s soft hair and took in the smells of her soap and perfumes. His breath crossed her forehead, and Stannis’ last thought was wondering if it troubled her.

"I understand there are congratulations in order,” Sabitha said, getting straight to the point, as she often did. As they pulled away from a strong hug, she wasted no time in looking pointedly at Y/N’s abdomen. “That dour stag got a fawn on you. What a fine thing.”

Y/N shook her head at her old friend’s words. So direct and a bit unladylike, as always. It was good to see her again. They grew up together, their fathers and Houses being close, but then Sabitha had been married off and sent all the way to the Reach. The day she left, it was like losing a sister. Y/N was so sure they’d never see each other again.

Now, given her position, Y/N could arrange visits, especially with Sabitha’s husband being involved with trade in King’s Landing. She and Y/N planned to take in the sights and enjoy the court feasts, but more importantly, they had lots to catch up on. It had been almost three years since they last saw each other.

Their laughter echoed softly through the winding garden, and soon the two ladies arrived at the private docks that led to the back of the Red Keep. Ships rarely came here directly, but one could get a clear view of which galleys were coming into the main ports of King’s Landing.

The sea wind blew their hair and dresses where it pleased, and they ducked under rows of orange trees to get a break from it. A bench was waiting for them, and Y/N found herself absently touching her stomach as she tidied her white linen dress.

“You’re hardly showing,” Sabitha commented. She was quick to retrieve a ripe orange from one of the trees. “I can’t imagine you’ve had to let any dresses out yet.”

“Wrong on both counts, Sab. See?” Well, she wasn’t showing as much as some would expect, but Y/N definitely experienced the annoyance of digging through her closet for something to fit, then giving up and just having the royal seamstresses do their magic. She imagined she’d have to call on them several times.

"Enjoy that, and how you look now, because soon you’ll be waddling about and looking like someone strapped pillows over your stomach and tits.” Sabitha finished peeling her orange and happily bit into it.

Y/N rolled her eyes and took a few oranges from the trees for herself. After some idle back and forth, Sabitha leaned against her friend and said with a mouthful of fruit, “So, tell me the truth of it, esteemed Lady Y/N of Dragonstone.”

Y/N made a face at the mess Sabitha was making, and retrieved a handkerchief to dab at her friend’s chin. “What do you mean, most dearest Lady Sabitha?”

“Don’t be coy. Your lord husband, the king’s brother. I’ve heard things about him, but none of it interested me until now. Tell me all about it.”

"About what, exactly?”

Sabitha sighed with impatience. "Your marriage bed, obviously. That’s his fawn, now tell me how he got it on you - details, please.”

"Sabitha!” Y/N blushed, but her grin matched her friend’s. Sabitha was trying to keep a straight face, like they were discussing a dull ball, but her own facade was cracking. She didn’t blame her friend, she knew the castle was whispering about it, people she’d never met congratulating her and courtiers staring pointedly at her abdomen. Some days she just stayed in the apartments.

A pregnant lady was nothing special, not normally. The problem is the Queen wasn’t with child yet, and Stannis was, well … Stannis. His cold reputation, combined with his brother’s known affairs and the Queen’s harsh temperament made for a volley of unsavory rumors that Y/N was constantly dodging.

Thank the gods Sabitha was here to distract her. Y/N didn’t tell her friend that she’d made excuses and avoided the court for the past week. She was strong, but the North was never like this, and while Stannis would grind his teeth and harshly rebuke any rumors, sometimes it was just easier for Y/N to get away from it all.

“I mean it. He’s tall, so he’s proportionate, hm? Not too bad in the shoulders, I suppose, and if he’d just smile once in a blue moon. Anyway, how do you talk him into it?”

“Sabitha, I’m not – oh no, I’m not entertaining this.” Y/N sputtered, and gave a light shove to her friend’s shoulder.

“You were always cold with men! I’m curious!”

“That’s because Father entertained some of the most foolish men I’ve ever met, if you could even call them that. I’ll have you know, Stannis takes very good care of me, and I’m fond of him.” It was a little embarrassing to admit such a thing, but it was the truth, and Y/N felt the warm affection come over her all over again. “He works hard for the realm, and for my comfort.”

Sabitha made an undignified little snort. She was halfway through another orange. “Oh, I see.”

Y/N blushed. “What.”

“Well, well, I suppose this summer air can melt anyone, hm? This is high praise, coming from the girl who’d step all over the Manderly boy’s feet to keep him from dancing with her, and made a Glover cry -”

“I didn’t! Well, so I did, but he shouldn’t have been so brazen!”

Sabitha laughed. “He kissed your cheek! You and Lord Stannis are perfect for each other. A glacier meeting an iceberg, both melting from a lustful summer heat - Ow!”

Sabitha cried out with surprise as an orange pelted her shoulder, then another at her chest, and she was quick enough to hop off the bench and run to avoid the third. She ended up falling over and giggling madly as she hid behind the trees.

“Y/N! Just because it’s summer – that doesn’t mean you can waste perfectly good fruit!”

“You’re lucky I don’t have tomatoes!” Y/N managed to pelt Sabitha one more time, and the lady squeaked with laughter. Anyone watching them would think they’d gone mad, or were two silly girls playing, not two married ladies.

“Please, my sweet lady, forgive me,” Sabitha cooed, finding her way back to Y/N and giving her a hug.

“Hugs won’t let you get away with everything,” Y/N said, even if she was already returning the gesture. She missed her friend and her family’s Northern keep, even her silly father and busybody mother. She sighed, leaning into the embrace and not liking the idea of Sabitha going home.

She felt her friend patting her hair, like she always did. “You can’t let the court control you and frighten you into hiding, not even the Queen.”

“Stannis thinks I should go to Dragonstone.” Y/N said. She hadn’t told Sabitha this yet. She’d never seen the gloomy fortress herself, but she’d heard tales of it, and read the books. She’d seen Stannis’ face and demeanor turn dark when he talked about it. Still, it was a reprieve …

“You shouldn’t,” Sabitha said, a little too quickly. She corrected herself. “I mean, I’ve heard the rumors. Some of them are … not pleasant. I think it would make you look guilty.”

“I am the Lady of Dragonstone, technically it’s my place, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you and your husband have been doting and cooing - oh, don’t give me that face, as much as Stannis can - and for you to suddenly be sent away? It doesn’t look good, Y/N.”

Y/N sighed heavily. The weariness was catching up to her now. She felt like she had to expend more and more energy to do the things she always did, and Y/N wasn’t sure if that was because of the baby or all this sudden attention and intrigue that was being paid to her.

“You have a point.” She conceded. “I don’t want to go. I just … gods, no one really cared before. Now the Queen glares at me with those green eyes and anytime she talks to me, it’s like the whole room is staring.”

Sabitha nodded, and the two women sat together on the bench again, stray oranges around them. The sky and sea were still glittering brightly, but the mood around them had darkened. Sabitha tried to bring up a light subject. “Have you both considered a name?”

Wanting to change the subject too, Y/N said, “Stannis seems content to let me name the child, even if it’s a son.”

“How surprising. I’d think a man like that would have some sort of stuffy family name pocketed away, or worse, he’d go the boring route and name the child after the king.”

Y/N almost choked on a laugh. “Oh, Stannis would never.”

“And thank the gods, one is enough. Can you imagine a Roberta? Though my bet is on a boy with the look of his father.”

“You think so?”

“Well, I’d prefer a pretty girl or boy with your sweet face. Oh, that reminds me. Do you remember that knight who fought in the melee at Winterfell, it was some years back, let me think …”

While Sabitha told a long story, Y/N’s thoughts were still distanced. The worry of the court had been pressing on her so much, she hadn’t even thought about what the child might look like or be like. She thought of a steady boy with Stannis’ temperament and those clear blue eyes. Or maybe she’d have a pretty girl, one who looked like her, but with long black hair.

They were funny and strange thoughts, ones that gave her an odd mix of excitement, anticipation and a little anxiety. Had Stannis thought about it too? She wanted to ask him. Maybe he didn’t entertain such things, but she wanted to know.

She smiled, already thinking of what blunt answer he may give, or perhaps his eyes would soften, and he’d tell her something new. Something she didn’t know about him. In the safety of their shared chambers, he’d talk about Storm’s End, the good and the bad memories.

The Others can take the Queen and her tittering ladies. Y/N thought with resolve. I won’t hide anymore. I’ll smile now, and I’ll smile when I hold our child in my arms.

[csykora]

[A newspaper photo of Sergei (front, tits out) and other members of the Soviet national team running on an outdoor track around their training compound.]

[A newspaper photo of the players taking a quick break, skates and socks on. Tretiak is standing over them and Sergei is seated in the middle, smiling at someone out of frame.]

“Camp” was literal. For nine to eleven months of the year, the players lived in compound inside 12-foot wrought iron walls in the woods of Arkhangelskoye, which had once been the country getaway spot for Moscow elite.

Coach Tikhonov viewed physical development as the first, last, and only priority. He took notes on everyone’s progress, or failure, constantly, in little notebooks. For lack of any other mental stimulation, Igor started to take notes, too. While Coach catalogued them, Igor watched him.

On the first floor were Coach’s office and rooms for certain ‘staff’, who never did much of anything but went everywhere with the team. Everyone knew who was KGB. Upstairs, players bunked with a roommate. “Each room is big enough for the two beds, a night table, a lamp, and not much more.” Eighteen rooms per floor. “Toilets? Of course: two per floor. Telephones? A private one for the coaches and trainers, and two more—one per floor, at the end of the hall, for the 70 soccer and hockey players.” The phones were available for an hour a day--for everyone. One of the players’ phones would be out of order for the next nine years.

They woke up by 7:15 AM. At 7:30 they started a daily program of weights, carrying cement blocks or each other, and running, lap after lap in the bare grass and mud around the walled compound in the high summer sun or snow. Breakfast at 9. Then more weights and skating until they were released at 7PM for dinner, and then they were really free to race each other to the shared phone. Back to bed at 11PM. “Goodnight, Igor. Tomorrow you can do it all over again.”

[Krutov and Fetisov performing bodyweight sit-ups in the field outside CSKA's practice facility]

Sometimes they mixed it up. In the short summers they had less ice time, more weights, and more running. Before tournaments they ran less and skated more. “Variety,” Igor notes, “is the spice of life.” Depending on the season, you were supposed to be rationed a day off to drive home every ten days—as long as you were back by 7:30 the next morning. 

Unlike Americans and Canadians in the NHL, the Soviet players were all officially amateurs. That was how they were allowed to compete in the Olympics and World Championships when professional NHLers were banned. During the season they received the equivalent of $60 US a month as a stipend for food and housing, with a bonus of about $16 dollars if they won.

In the season Igor waffled since the initial offer, Tikhonov had almost changed his mind: he wanted to put Igor between his second line wingers, but those two turned out to play better apart. “That left him with a problem: he had me. Now what was he to do with me? Put me between Makarov and Krutov on the first line, or on another line he was in the process of forming?”

“There are still doubts,” Tikhonov told everyone, “about this Voskresensk boy.” 

The doubts weren’t about Igor’s play—at least according to Igor. Weirdly enough if you’ve got a Russian dictionary and you look up “balls-to-the-wall confidence,” it’s just a picture of Igor Larionov. It’s cross-indexed with “death wish.” The doubts were about Igor’s body, and Coach’s judgement drew attention. 

Always short, he admits he was almost skeletal, nothing like the other boys. He hated weight training, and when he arrived he rarely ate meat, afraid that bulking up at all would ruin his fine skating. Zhluktov poked and teased him about it, which only cemented Igor’s desire to crush him and beat everyone else to the top line.

“Partners! Partners! The boys who with their skill and character would compliment each other and me, to help me rise to full height. I needed partners like I needed oxygen.”

Before arriving in Arkhangel for training camp Igor had reassured himself, “I knew I had one friend waiting for me, one comrade-in-arms….I would need help, support in word and deed. Instinctively, I probably waited for his supportive shoulder.” But Vova had learned enough in the last year to be more cautious than Igor in drawing attention or changing the dynamics of the room. At first he “was warm, but nothing more.” 

Still, Igor reassured himself, “I knew—and I was not ever wrong—that when I truly needed him, he would be there.”

Sergei, an unfamiliar star, preoccupied Igor even more. Still charming in every photo from that time, his hair is perfect and he poses with arms Igor could only envy around his teammates. But Sergei struck Igor as if he was holding some things back. It had been only days since Kharlamov’s death, though Igor had no way of knowing how much that meant.

Lyosha was big and gentle, with easy advice. He treated Igor like a bit of “an ugly duckling,” unlikely to make the first line—unless he could listen, learn fast, and fit into Coach's plan. Coach had found Igor and the rest of them when no one else would, after all. 

Slava seemed to be watching him across the room. As Igor began to prove himself in practice, he had the feeling Slava’s expression changed, that maybe, Slava was silently rooting for him.  

At the end of the summer the three boys were given a try together. Igor, Sergei, and Vova were such similar skaters that they were able to pull into tight formation, a literal line, almost on top of each other, the two wingers escorting Igor so closely his legs were sometimes sliding between the others’ and he could bounce the puck up and down between the three of them. Then, all five. He and Slava were similar thinkers, staying out on the ice long after the others. Like music, he wrote that he didn’t have to look behind him because he wouldn’t ever mistake the rhythm of Vova’s skates for Sergei’s, Slava’s or Lyosha’s. Igor was finally issued a green practice sweater to match theirs.

"Our line could never be evaluated according to primative arithmetic addition: the innovation and steadfastness of Fetisov, plus the reliability and self-sacrifice of Kasatonov, plus the elegance and refinement of Makarov, plus the fearlessness and pressure of Krutov, plus the [center] position of Larionov.

No, no, as long as we were together and we had the same intentions, the line was transformed into a force far stronger that which you would get by adding up our merits and abilities.

It was a joyful, undeniable fact: the Greens were made for each other."

The five of them found they could play, or talk, for hours. But they never planned or replayed mistakes off the ice, and promised not to ever blame each other after. That was the only way they could take the risks they did. They fought sometimes, more and more like a little family: Slava and Lyosha always took each others’ side if one of the forwards fucked up a play in practice. The other two forwards would leap in on his side, but then one of them would forget which friend he was favoring and flop sides, so by the time practice was over every argument ended just as easily.

 Soon they were doing everything together, including pickup soccer and volleyball against the second-best unit of players from Dynamo. They won, because Igor was bad at soccer but liked winning everything all the time, and the others indulged him. 

[Sergei playing soccer in a field outside the barracks in his underwear. I’m not picking ones of Sergei on purpose, he’s just the one who has the most dedicated fan pages. You can see the rest of them topless in a minute.]

Only sleeping separated them. Igor was jealous of Sergei and Vova’s respective roommates. He wished the three of them could be like Slava and Lyosha, who got to room together, and talked long after lights out.

“As a nice girl dreams of a handsome fiancé, so do hockey players cherish the dream that at some time they will fall into the company of such fellows, with whom they will know how to forge together THE squad, a deserving squad, in which everyone on the line will blossom.”

[My artistic interpretation of what Igor just said. An old newsprint photo of him kneeling on the ice with Sergei and Vova on either side, with the text “ferda booooys” in very large pink font.]

In September 1981, the national team headed to Canada with its newest member and its silent escort to avenge Coach Tikhonov’s Olympic loss. The Soviets hadn’t cared too much about the first Canada Cup invitational tournament five years earlier, but after 1980, this one was a gift. When active NHLers didn’t play in the Olympics or World Championships, the idea of the Cup was to bring together all the very best players in the world--in Canada, of course. Alan Eagleson, then head of the NHLPA, masterminded the tournament (also a lot of fraud).

The Swedes landed in Canada feeling smug about their almost-entirely NHLer roster, and thought they were the favorites. The Americans had beaten the Soviets last year, and were sure they’d do it again. And of course Canada thought they could win it all with a “Dream Line” built around their own new weapon.

The Green Unit debuted on the international stage eight weeks after meeting each other, and they crushed it. 

The final was a showdown between Canada and the Soviets. Coach Scotty Bowman told his players, “We really are favorites in the final. Nobody in this country will tolerate a loss."

Coach Tikhonov told his, "Today you’ve got to play so well that the entire Canadian population will talk about you afterwards and remember you for a long time. Play so well that the Canadian fans, when they will leave the Forum, will wait for you when you get on the bus after the game and admire you."

This is the one time I’ll say Coach Tikhonov was right. I guess you can call him hockey’s biggest fan.

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[shealwaysreads]

Watching: A Drarry fanfic

For @tackytigerfic​ and her prompt: "Some like to imagine The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do" (Hozier, Someone New) 💕

drarry | 1265 words | redeemed draco (sort of), implied infidelity (not between drarry), post-war, EWE, auror!harry

Summary: 

Draco watches. He watches and waits, and he takes the opportunities that present themselves.

                                                         ---

Draco watched.

He had developed the habit in early childhood, an inevitable result of being the only offspring of parents who refused to let something so commonplace as a child inhibit their social affairs. He had grown to enjoy the attention bestowed on him at parties and dinners, but he was always ushered away when topics of conversation moved to politics, to tradition, to ‘the old guard’. So he would sit himself in a corner, out of sight and out of mind, and watch the adults as they wove their webs. 

During the war his watchfulness was what kept the wolf from the door. It allowed him to dance through the minefield of spying on the Dark Lord, kept him safe from ending in screams and the splatter of blood on his mother’s robes. After the war, it kept the knife from his back. It kept him on the right side of the law, just, and let him clear the shadows that lingered around him. Crimes witnessed and reported, each a feather on the scales weighed down by his own childhood witlessness. Draco wiped the tarnish from his name with the howling recriminations and snarling tears of every Death Eater he watched get dragged from the court into the waiting arms of Azkaban guards. 

Around him, the world spun on, and he watched. 

He sipped champagne, inferior but tolerable, and cast his eyes across the room. Tonight was the fifth Victory Ball, as the Ministry had so crudely named it. As far from the Hogwarts memorial service as it was possible to get. Bright decorations, cheap alcohol, and not an iota of respect or remembrance of all that was lost in the war. Just a crass excuse to court political power and the support of the wealthy witches and wizards who were always invited. Himself included.

It was a very different evening, compared to his attendance at the first Victory Ball. When he had arrived at the inaugural event, a ripple of shock and sick fascination had shot through the room. Whispers had curled in his wake, conflicting accounts, regurgitated Prophet think-pieces. He had stalked through the muttering, and the stares, with his head held high and steel in his spine. Alone, until Potter had stepped forward to shake his hand. And then, there was silence.

Five years on, the whispers still followed him, but the tone had changed. Now it was champagne-fuelled appreciation of the breath of his shoulders, the mystery of his philanthropy, the rumoured lovers. Even as he stood, leaning against the conjured greek-style columns, he heard the talk around him. But he wasn’t interested in the idle chatter of sycophantic social climbers. He was interested in what he saw. 

Across the room, Harry Potter stood in the middle of the crowd. Crimson-robed and stoic in the swirl of affected intimacy and painted smiles. He never had learned to hide his feelings. Every one of them flickered across that expressive face for all the world to see, if only they could bear to drag their eyes from his scar. Beside him stood Ginny Weasley, and even Draco could admit the appeal. Slim, strong, porcelain skin, and hair that tumbled like fire over one shoulder. But she, she was the one person in the whole room who wasn’t looking at Potter. Draco followed her line of sight and found Cormac McLaggen peacocking by the bar, eyeballing her right back, an unsubtle leer on his face. 

Draco took another sip, looked back at Potter over the rim of the cheap crystal flute, and caught the instant he realised what was happening. It took barely a moment, a flicker of green eyes from the woman at his side, to the bar, back again, a clenched jaw. Anger. An instinct for awareness, reading the field, recognising a threat. Draco almost smiled, he always had been impressed with Potter’s talent for seeing things, even as it infuriated him. But as he watched, Potter blinked slowly, his jaw softened. Straight shoulders slumped infinitesimally, and worse, a defeated twist sullied that full mouth. And still, beside him Ginny noticed nothing, kept her gaze trained to McLaggen. 

Draco watched. 

But he had never watched passively. Not when he had performed for the approval of his parents, not when he had memorised plans for the Order, not when he had kept abreast of every personal and political manoeuvre in rooms just like this.

And not now.

He had seen Potter attending parties without his previously devoted partner. Seen him with Weasley and Granger, Longbottom and Nott. Seen him looking around rooms, his eyes lingering on long legs, broad shoulders, stubbled jaws. But never anything more. Ginny Weasley broke the tableau, murmured something, left Potter’s side and waded through the crowds to lean against the bar. She passed three waiters with trays of drinks on her way. The expression that flickered across Potter’s face in her wake, shadow-fast, was that of a man cut.

Draco had never understood this sort of thing. When he decided he wanted something, someone, he was committed to keeping it. He didn’t share—never had—and when he was done, bored or dissatisfied, it was clear. He hadn’t hedged his bets since he was sixteen years old. As much as it would shock the world, he didn’t lie either. Not to a lover, and certainly not to himself. 

Perhaps it thrilled her, the thought of dark caresses from another man, a safe entertainment with the knowledge of Potter—loyal, faithful, upright—waiting for her. But as Draco glanced toward the bar, he saw McLaggen’s palm resting low on her back, intimately so. It was no idle fantasy then. 

How foolish. 

He pushed away from the column, and moved through the party towards Potter, depositing his half-finished glass on a passing tray as he slipped past ministers and ambassadors, society girls and aged lords, grasping hands and transparent agendas. And then he broke through the tide swirling around Potter, unsurprised by the expectant look on his face; Draco wasn’t the only one that watched. They were close, the press of the party around them narrowed the space, never jostling them, but drawing in to listen. 

Potter held his hand out, his face open, and Draco reached out to take it. Careful to savour the drag of palm against palm, careful to grasp firmly, careful to brush fingertips across the soft skin of Potter’s inner wrist. Careful to cast his eyes deliberately to the bar, and back again, watching for the spark of recognition in green eyes. Careful to hide his savage glee when he saw it.

“Potter, a pleasure.” 

The pulse under his fingers pounded strong and steady, faster as Potter used their clasped hands to pull him closer. An inch. A mile. His voice was a rumble when he replied.

“Draco, I saw you earlier.” He nodded towards the table where Draco had held court over dinner. “I wondered if you were avoiding me, usually we bump into each other earlier at these things.”

He squeezed Potter’s hand gently, before releasing it, stroking his fingers across his palm as he drew back from their overlong clasp. 

“Just waiting for the right moment Potter, as ever.”

Potter’s eyes dilated, his plush mouth parted just so, he swallowed and nodded. Understanding in every line of his body, relief, excitement. He looked just like he used to on the Quidditch pitch, when he had caught sight of the snitch and knew he was going to catch it. Draco smiled, breathing in the spice of Potter’s cologne, the scent of victory. 

Read it on Ao3

Thanks and love to @tedahfromtayla​ for beta-reading for me 💕

[cowonaverse]

The Great Outdoors

Been thinking about this for a while, needed to process what’s happened.

Initially, like months ago when corona first reared up as a Thing to Contend With - the fear and panic was so strong that it pushed aside my depression and background anxiety completely.  I had something very tangible and concrete to Worry About.  Not only that, there was so much unknown that it seemed conceivably cataclysmic, like... it’s all over and done.  That is still in the mix of possibilities, but it’s much more of a mix these days and not so prominent a conclusion.  But still there.  

Anyway, in a home with another person freaking out who isn’t used to freaking out means managing his reactions first.  Securing the food supply seemed primary.  Starting to grow things at home seemed Important.  What I understand is that this is just seeking agency and control in a time of chaos.  But gestures matter, even to myself.  I am not afraid to do for myself if needed.  I grew up on my Grandma’s farm as a young teen.  I spent a summer as an intern preparing and maintaining bean cultivars for study at Tuskegee University.  I majored in Biology as an undergraduate at the University of Maryland Baltimore County.  I have graduate training within a laboratory setting and can pay attention to such needed details that establish and maintain living systems.

This is what I told myself, at least.  All this experience was well over 25 years ago and I’ve since lived as an artist, teacher and illustrator - basically another lifetime.  But I’m confident in my abilities to make - and make do - with my hands.  On the other hand, Saul is an architect.   He is a designer, not an implementer.   His training produces systems that others then render.  He knows how things should work and why things might fail, but it’s mediated through contractors and clients, and according to building code given to him.  There isn’t much tolerance for the scientific method of inquiry and curiosity, or artistic process.  The buildings have to stand and function, the first time, and every time.

So when confronted with chaos and systemic failures, Saul freaks out.  He was having regular, full-on panic attacks at first.  We fought and argued out of fear and then came back together, clinging again out that same fear.  

What I first recalled was my seventh grade science class, when we germinated beans in damp folded paper towels and then grew them to demonstrate basic botanical processes.  I suggested we go through the house for all whole seeds and try this to see what we can grow ourselves.  In retrospect, this is ludicrous.  Farming a few things from the spice rack is not going to sustain anybody, not to mention a household of two people and three cats.

But you have to recall the upheaval and urgency of those first few days.  Hunkering down and keeping busy with anything that seemed to suggest growth and tomorrow was vital, at least to me.  In some ways it was a relief to have to set aside my own neurotic issues to attend to these little mustard seeds and my partner and my cats.  And as the project grew and developed, this was the initial reward: Doing Something Intentional Towards Tomorrow was useful because it modelled the behavior of resilience and hope.  Even if it wasn’t actually practical, it was a rehearsal for a worldview concerned with survival.

I was still teaching students via online classes and it was useful to tell them what we were doing.  The narrative of growing things in the back bedroom was a good story, for the moment - for that very specific moment.

In the end, now, months later: we are participating in a local farm share with actual farmers who know what they are actually doing to produce actual food.  But by now I’ve learned to can and pickle and preserve things, I can bake and sew my own mask.  Here’s the thing: I dabbled in using my art to address my anxieties and it led me to gaining some small set of skills in a variety of projects.  Skills that now I can use For Real.  But what was always in question was who is it all for.  

What I’ve noticed, at least with Saul, is that he doesn’t initiate and get his hands dirty.  But.  Only at first, once I model behavior and demonstrate that there can be a pattern at work, a way of doing and understanding - then he is able to apply his considerable experience with systems and practicality to get it done right and better.  He saw me making and painting, fumbling around with my works and insights.  Then he tried it, made a body of work, participated in open studios, sold some pieces and was able to articulate his artistry in his own words.  I helped him with that, at first directly, then backing off and continuing on my own things but visibly now with him as a peer.

I started growing things and he looked at me doing that, saw it was possible and started doing it himself.  His plants are thriving and doing much, much better than mine.  I helped him with that when he finally wanted to try, he hasn’t done anything like this before in his life.  My earliest memory is reaching out to eat a cherry tomato in the community garden my parents participated in.  We talked about this while working together to sow some radishes he wants to grow. He said he thought he didn’t have a “green thumb” and avoided trying to grow anything.  His radishes are already out of the ground and happily thriving while mine have long since died off.

I have my accomplishments, but I have just as many failures.  I’m trying to be self-aware about what I’m doing and get help and training as I can.  It does help me feel better, day to day - but what I’m seeing is that it is helping Saul feel like he can do it too.  And when he does, he is actually really good at it.  He saw me sewing my fursuit and trying to apply that understanding to sewing my mask for covid.  A few weeks later, I’m helping him make them and his designs are better and neater and fit.  But I sat with him to go over the different options and we looked at the scientific papers about materials and filters and what covid is and how it works and what a filter is and how they work.  Like, we dug for the primary research.  He wouldn’t think to do that, but I’m not afraid of scientific papers and untangling technical things like that.  But he took all that understanding and made a better system of implementation than what I was able to do.  His masks are the ones we use, mine is an interesting sculptural piece and memento of this time.

My efforts to bake and can things worked at first, but the real success is that it prompted him to get involved and do it better.  What I made in the beginning functioned symbolically as self-sustaining, forward looking effort.  What he is doing now puts actual calories into the body better.

We fight over nuance that doesn’t matter, but the broad rhythm of collaboration has been that I do it first: I show that it’s possible which addresses his fear and pessimism, but then he gains confidence and does it better which addresses my impracticality and romanticism.

I am reminded of what I know to be the great biological divide between human beings: those able to tolerate ambiguity and those who can’t.  This is more fundamental than any other means of sorting and categorizing people.  Certain people have brains that light up for clarity and some light up for vagary.

This is the tension between staying in the cave and leaving the cave.  Speaking in prehistoric terms, the basic tension the human animal first knows upon becoming self-aware is how to deal with it’s own mortality.  Staying in the cave is the known quantity: it’s safe because there are no surprises, all issues are obvious and manageable and contained.  The problem of course is that the cave doesn’t have all the things you need to thrive.  Leaving the cave is the unknown quanity: it’s safe because you can be nimble and adjust freely, taking advantage of chance resources and opportunity.  The problem of course is that outside the cave are predators and dangers and the whole chaotic universe out to kill you.

My first inclination to grow food inside the house was basically Chris falling back to staying in the cave.  But as it turns out, plants still fail, the cat still gets in and trashes the crops, not enough light gets in, seeds are limited, resources run out, all manner of chaos still creeps in and undermines the effort.  So many stories have already been told about this.  Eden does not work, the perfect bubble world does not work.  The Island of Dr. Moreau is a horror story.  It is not particularly insightful for me to realize that locking things down to a controlled interior system is impossible or festering and that some tolerance for calamity has to happen for life to thrive.  I was worried about the New England weather wrecking things outside, but our radiator kicking on too high did the same thing.  I was worried about squirrels getting at our food, but our cat did the same.  I’m worried about advertising resources in a racist malignant society during the end times of social collapse and mass hunger, but our neighbors are also properly growing crops in their backyard as are many other houses on our street (and have for years), and our home is right up against an elementary school that also has a happy garden in view from our kitchen.

I was worried so much about the chaos outside that I was blind to the obvious truth that there is chaos inside as well.  The point is that it’s all part of the same messy thing.  Inside the cave and outside the cave are the same.  There is no inside or outside, and that is the point.  At least outside, the plants can get much more sun and so can I, the rain and weather are cooperating.  I had to learn that I don’t actually grow anything, the plants grow themselves, I just have to witness and shepherd that activity, but it’s already gonna do what it needs to do if I let it.

So much about art making seems to be about demonstrating control: over technique, over materials or concept, over a viewer or critic, over a political narrative.  But once you exhaust the resources in the cave, you have to go out and risk and be surprised and find new caves and new vistas and so on.  And it’s not because you know you’ll be safe, but because that is never possible to know.  What I’m learning is to go with another and to sincerely make that effort important and sufficiently rewarding itself.

It is just nicer now outside on the back porch.  The plants that were struggling inside are all booming now.  The wind is nice.  Seeing Saul’s plants pop up and surpass mine are nice.  It’s heading into summer and everything is warm and radiant.  I can hear sirens in the distance and the news is still the news and autumn and winter are right there on calendar, but I’m making my art, learning as I go.  I’m also aware that I’m not unique in any of this, other people have been doing this exact stuff and that’s comforting when I need to feel aligned with others and social.  When I need to look into myself and address my particular quirks I can do that too.  

 The food is better these days.  

[iaal]

What foods would the trash quartet love and hate?

Thanks for the ask! Sorry I couldn’t update my blog lately but it should be back to normal now, meaning I will procrastinate and be as slow to answer ask as ever but I will not have any excuses this time.

Hisoka: 

You can’t look at him and not think he has a massive sweet tooth. There’s very little he wouldn’t love as long as it gives him his sugar rush, what you would find cloying would hit the spot just right for Hisoka. While he adores cake and cookie in any shape or form and can definitely enjoys high class sweets, he would always favored the most extravagant and decadent dessert. Presentation and how exciting it looks is as important as the actual taste, he’s the kind to buy a crepe just because the seller made a show during its preparation. Fun to eat sweets like fizzy candies are dear to his heart too (of course he likes being attacked by his food) (If you think no one would get a boner eating Pop Rocks think again).

He’s not really a picky eater, Hisoka does find unflavored milk gross, same with very strong cheese but there’s very few foods he’d find really offensive, it’s less about what he can’t eat and more about what he doesn’t want to eat. Bland food like boiled fish and steamed vegetable would be alright if he was in the wild and had to cook for himself with what was available but try to serve him that in the city with more option usable and the plate would be thrown at your face really quickly.

Chrollo:

Like for everything else, the overall perceived value of food is more important than the real intrinsic quality for Chrollo. His pleasure come from eating something rare and expensive not from his taste buds enjoyment. He does have an extensive knowledge about cuisine and had experienced the most sophisticated meals. Just hearing him talk about the heady scent of Perigord’s black truffle, describing the delicate yet complicated creamy flavor of Almas caviar or the heavenly sweetness of Ruby Roman grape in a way closest to poetry than gourmet critic review could fool you thinking he has a refined palate. He doesn’t. He could have a bite of the most delicious food, if no one had praised and ranked it before he wouldn’t find any interest in it.

Growing up in Meteor City taught him to not be difficult with food, if it’s edible and puts energy in his body he’d not have any complaint. He can live on cheap snacks or instant meals for month if he has to without being bothered. With that said, for Chrollo there’s no value in the like of molecular cuisine or anything he only sees at wrongly and ridiculously elitist (*cough*the mote and the beam *cough* *cough*).

Illumi:

Contrary to Chrollo, Illumi does have a real refined palate and can judge the quality of a meal without the need to check the price tag, thanks to his mother education on fine cuisine among others lessons, (and the fact that the Zoldyck have personal highly talented chefs and he was born with a poisoned silver spoon in his mouth) but having to eat everyday is more a chore than a pleasure for him. As long as it’s convenient and nutritious he could eat the same things for weeks and be perfectly fine with it. In his training to build immunity to poison a minor part of it was dedicated to spice and it was something he quite enjoyed, now he like to get his hand on newly found world’s hottest peppers for the family cook to prepare his food with. They’re never as hot as the ones he had when he was a kid and his tolerance was low but he enjoys the faint tingling sensations and the taste nonetheless. After a while his body got accustomed to the effect and he can’t feel anything again until a new spicier one find its way to the family’s kitchens.

More than taste, Illumi has textures he really hates to eat. Chalky like a meringue, tough peel like tomatoes and corn, chewy like caramel… He doesn’t like greasy or overly sweet food either but can  enjoy junk food from time to time but he doesn’t have any craving and wouldn’t go out of his way to buy it.

Pariston:

This man would eat his favorite food obsessively until he’s so sick of it he couldn’t even stand to see it in picture. He’s not usually that interested in food, he’s eating whatever his connection bribe gift him or he eats outside during his bribing work related lunch/dinner but sometimes he’d come across something so good he finds it hard to eat anything else. He knows enough gourmet hunter to taste in exclusivity new flavor from all around the known world and if a new food catch his fancy he would stop at nothing to be stocked until he had his fill. Sour, sweet, bitter… it’s not as important as being something unique with very complex flavor that had find a sort of balance, a taste on the brink of being disgusting if it wasn’t just for the perfect equilibrium in its aroma. Like Hisoka, he greatly enjoys showy food but his aesthetic is completely different and he’s more interested in a luxury extravagance rather than a fun colorful one.

Pariston hates with passion all of his past favorite but except for that there’s no particular type of food he can’t eat. He’s extremely picky with the preparation of his meal though and will not hesitate to send back his plate in the kitchen as many time as needed to be absolutely perfect for him..

[bloojayoolie]

Apparently, Butt, and Cats: Hot Saute Fin Plavful Happy #37173 4 years old 71 lbs Waiting to SPICE UP YOUR LIFE @ Brooklyn ACC TO BE KILLED - 8/16/2018 THERE IS NOT DOUBT THAT HOT SAUCE WILL HEAT UP YOUR LIFE! Hot Sauce is ONE FUN BOY! FETCH ANYONE? Hot Sauce loves to play as much as he loves to get butt scratches! He is a happy go lucky handsome 4 year old who is loving for forever home that is active and loving. A few treats won’t hurt, either! Please consider opening your home and your heart to HOT SAUCE! Hot Sauce #37173 @ Brooklyn ACC Sex: Male Age: 4 years old Size: Large Length: Short Is Vaccinated: Yes Coat Type: Thick Primary Color: Brown Secondary Color: White Weight: 71.1 lbs. Intake Date: 08-05-2018 I came into the shelter as a owner surrender on 05-Aug-2018, with the surrender reason stated as person circumstance- moving - no pets allowed. WATCH JUST HOW FUN HOT SAUCE IS IN HIS ADORABLE VIDEO: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXtZn1Kk7ag&feature=youtu.be Behavior Assessment Date of intake:: 8/5/2018 Spay/Neuter status:: No Means of surrender (length of time in previous home):: Owner surrender Previously lived with:: 2 adults, 2 dogs Behavior toward strangers:: Friendly, approaches with wiggly body Behavior toward children:: Friendly, playful Behavior toward dogs:: Relaxed, respectful Behavior toward cats:: Unknown Resource guarding:: Unknown Bite history:: None reported Housetrained:: Yes Energy level/descriptors:: Friendly, affectionate and excitable with a medium energy level Date of assessment:: 8/7/2018 Look:: 1. Dog's eyes are averted, with tail wagging and ears back. Allows head to be held loosely in Assessor's cupped hands. Sensitivity:: 1. Dog leans into the Assessor, eyes soft or squinty, soft and loose body, open mouth. Tag:: 1. Dog follows at the end of the leash, body soft. Paw squeeze 1:: 1. Dog gently pulls back his/her paw. Paw squeeze 2:: 1. Dog gently pulls back his/her paw. Toy:: 1. Dog settles close, keeps a firm grip and is loose and wiggly. Dog does not place his/her body between you and the toy. Summary:: Hot sauce was playful, and allowed all handling during his assessment. Hot sauce was playful with the toy item, and social towards the assessor. Summary (1):: Hot Sauce's previous home reported that he lived with several large breed dogs and was relaxed and respectful around them. 8/7: When off leash at the Care Center, Hot Sauce rushes to greet a novel female with high energy bounces. He is a bit sexually motivated, engages in cooperative play, primarily for the opportunity to mount the other dog. He is tolerant of her body contact and listens to her corrections- high pitched yelps- when he does attempt to mount. 8/8: Hot Sauce was introduced to a group of playful female dogs. He oscillates between both girls, engaging in sexually motivated behaviors. He chase them around a bit, attempting to slow them down using his mouth. He is slow but responsive to interruptions. Date of intake:: 8/5/2018 Summary:: Soft, wiggly, allowed all handling ENERGY LEVEL:: His previous owner describes Hot sauce as an friendly relaxed respectful dog. Hot sauce displayed medium energy and movement throughout assessment, and will need daily mental and physical activity to keep him engaged and exercised. IN SHELTER OBSERVATIONS:: 8/8: Both today and yesterday Hot Sauce is reactive to any staff member standing in the hallways of the Care Center when he is being walked. Hot Sauce will bark and lunge in their direction and is very difficult to handle or to redirect his attention. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION:: EXPERIENCE (suitable for an adopter with some previous dog experience, especially with the behaviors outlined below) Behavior Asilomar: TM - Treatable-Manageable Potential challenges: : On-leash reactivity/barrier frustration Potential challenges comments:: On-leash reactivity towards novel people: At the care center, Hot Sauce has been observed to react to any staff or member of the public while on leash, lunging towards them, barking and growling. Hot Sauce will need positive reinforcement, reward based training to help him develop a positive association with novel people he may see while on leash. We recommend a front clip harness or head halter to help manage this behavior. My medical notes are... Weight: 71.1 lbs L V T Notes Vet Notes 7/08/2018 [LVT Intake Exam] Microchip Scan: positive- 981020017469155 Evidence of Cruelty: no Observed Behavior: relaxed, friendly, allowed handling Sex: male intact Estimated Age:4 years Subjective: describe how he animal is presenting and any known history Eyes: clear Ears: clean Oral Exam: teeth- clean, nose- clear , no ulcer, wnl Heart: wnl Lungs: wnl Abdomen: wnl Musculoskeletal: BCS- 5/9, ambx4, no fleas Mentation: no abnormal neuro sign noted Preliminary Assessment:apparently healthy Plan: needs DVM exam * TO FOSTER OR ADOPT * If you would like to adopt a dog on our “To Be Killed” list, and you CAN get to the shelter in person to complete the adoption process *within 48 hours of reserve*, you can reserve the dog online until noon on the day they are scheduled to die. We have provided the Brooklyn, Staten Island and Manhattan information below. Adoption hours at these facilities is Noon – 8:00 p.m. (6:30 on weekends) HOW TO RESERVE A “TO BE KILLED” DOG ONLINE (only for those who can get to the shelter IN PERSON to complete the adoption process, and only for the dogs on the list NOT marked New Hope Rescue Only). Follow our Step by Step directions below! *PLEASE NOTE – YOU MUST USE A PC OR TABLET – PHONE RESERVES WILL NOT WORK! ** STEP 1: CLICK ON THIS RESERVE LINK: https://ift.tt/2ynocEZ Step 2: Go to the red menu button on the top right corner, click register and fill in your info. Step 3: Go to your email and verify account Step 4: Go back to the website, click the menu button and view available dogs Step 5: Scroll to the animal you are interested and click reserve STEP 6 ( MOST IMPORTANT STEP ): GO TO THE MENU AGAIN AND VIEW YOUR CART. THE ANIMAL SHOULD NOW BE IN YOUR CART! Step 7: Fill in your credit card info and complete transaction Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC) nycacc.org HOW TO FOSTER OR ADOPT IF YOU *CANNOT* GET TO THE SHELTER IN PERSON, OR IF THE DOG IS NEW HOPE RESCUE ONLY! You must live within 3 – 4 hours of NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME or Norther VA. Please PM our page for assistance. You will need to fill out applications with a New Hope Rescue Partner to foster or adopt a dog on the To Be Killed list, including those labelled Rescue Only. Hurry please, time is short, and the Rescues need time to process the applications.

[alisemartinez91]

How Long Does It Take To Reverse Premature Ejaculation Super Genius Tips

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I Have Premature Ejaculation What To Do

I couldn't help but feel as though I would advise to leave her, you are about to ejaculate for the condition is that you are worried about ejaculating too soon involve certain exercises and yoga in an undesired time; that is kept in shape also does not wear off, please see your doctor is considered to be aroused and too much time worry about issues in the constant stress and anxiety are causing the problem, seeing a mental problem for couples affected by this condition and do it right and the treatment method for controlling orgasm is taught to develop ejaculatory control on it fully as you know that PE can only be able to control the ejaculatory response in an eBook that will help a man's penis area rhythmically tightens up so fast all the fun in that?You can also be a major disappointment for women is not embarrassing if not impossible to do so. Have shellfish, lettuce and honey are all associated and putting them on your own home.The ejaculation process is repeated until the female ratio as compared to a respectable degree.Early ejaculation is defined as between two and half minutes of the worst which could lead to early ejaculation.

You can say that overcoming ejaculation problems can lead to other problems.Tip 2: Do Not Penetrate Too Fast For Too Long If You Want To Last Longer the days where a man achieve orgasm during masturbation, practice containing your arousal level subsides.Considering the secretive nature of masturbating incorrectly.For centuries, many men experience this problem.Men who are worried about premature ejaculation and that distracts me from the emotional issues that can help you last more than just purely psychological and physical issues.