#I think I described her as smelling like freshly baked bread at one point

[smilestrawbunny]

Does strawberry actually smell like strawberries 👀

She smells like strawberry shortcake! <3

[fieldofdaisiies]

Elucien | The Things that Go Bump in the Night

type: drabble warning(s): none word count: ~1.2k words summary: at breakfast Elain and Lucien’s daughter has some questions about the things she heard the previous night, a little afraid her parents were fighting, and of course Nesta and Cassian are present, making it even more uncomfortable; this is inspired by a scene from bad moms

- all rights reserved -

Elain kisses the top of Lucien’s head while she listens to Nesta talk about the Valkyrie training. She has just placed the last basket with freshly baked bread onto the table and a lovely smell lies in the air.

She smiles at her sister, loving how despite being six months pregnant she still does a little bit of training. Lucien’s curls his arm around his mate who is standing next to the chair he is sitting on. Elain leans onto him, her own arm wrapping around his shoulders and she smiles both at what Nesta is saying and at how much she loves her mate. Next to the table, Cassian is swirling young Dalia, Elain and Lucien’s daughter around. He keeps throwing her into the air and catching her again which makes the young girl squeal and giggle joyfully. She spreads her arms, laughing loudly and lands in Cassian’s arms once again. “If you had wings you would be unstoppable,” the tall Illyrian tells her and squeezes her gently to which grins brightly. But then her eyes move to her parents and she pouts. “They look happy, right?” she says with a tinge of sadness in her voice. The corners of her mouth are downcast and gone is the former happiness, the sparkle in her russet eyes vanishing. She brings one hand up and brushes back the red strands of hair that fell into her face.  

Cassian eyes follow the direction she is looking at and he nods his head. “Of course. They look very happy. They are very happy.” He smiles, but there is still a pout on Dalia’s lips which makes him furrow his brows. His heart feels a little heavy at Elain doubting her parents’ love for one another. “Why would you ask, little one?” 

“Because they were fighting last night.” Cassian can hardly imagine that. Yes, he and Nes fight from time to time, but Lucien and Elain…they never do somehow. And Cassian is not the only one who is perplexed about Dalia’s statement. Elain has caught some parts of their conversation and turns, her hand still resting on Lucien’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, why would you think your father and I were fighting?”

Dalia releases a loud sigh, her shoulders lifting and dropping in a dramatic manner. She pouts her lips again and rests her own tiny hand on Cassian’s broad shoulder. “I heard you and daddy in the bedroom last night.”

Colour drains form Elain’s face and her eyes widen so much that her eye-balls threaten to fall out of their sockets. Lucien’s whole body goes rigid, on his face a slightly shocked expression. Wide-eyed, he stares at his daughter, shaking his head little. 

“You kept screaming at him, mummy,” Dalia continues, her lips pursed.

“Oh…” Elain stutters, squeezing her mate’s shoulder, hoping he will help her. But Lucien is lost for words, his body as stiff as a board. Elain curses him internally and swallows thickly, hearing Nesta, who folds a hand over her mouth, chuckle under her breath. 

“Sweetheart…those were happy screams. Not sad ones.”

Nesta can barely contain it anymore, grinding her teeth to not laugh loudly. And the same goes for Cassian. His posture is fully rigid, his eyes trained on the wall behind Elain, fully focused so he won’t break into a laughing fit. “But you punched the wall. Over and over again. It went bump, bump, bump…” Dalia is boxing the air with one hand to make her point clear. “And bump, and bump again, mummy. Almost like a piece of furniture banged against the wall.” Dalia’s eyes widen as well, as she describes the situation in very much detail. 

Colour has returned to Elain’s face, her cheeks and cleavage now bright red and heat probably radiating from her skin. Her finger tips dig into Lucien’s shoulder. 

“I think you might have heard our cat, Dalia,” Lucien comes to Elain’s rescue…or not. He really is not helpful, but it was the only thing he could think of. 

“The cat was sleeping in my bed, daddy. And then you were shouting, mummy. You shouted the bad word I am not allowed to say.” Dalia grimaces, grits her teeth and in a hushed voice she says, “The f-word.”

She is still grimacing when she meets her mother’s eyes, Elain’s face now a beetroot red, a grimace on her face as well. “And you shouted, Gods Lucien, and that over and over again. And you always say that when you are mad at daddy, so you were fighting. I know it.” Dalia rapidly blinks her eyes, waving her index finger around in the air, like she has just discovered the greatest secret. 

A silent chuckle parts Nesta’s lips, but she quickly grabs her glass of water and takes a huge gulp from it, hoping to drown it. In the meantime, Cassian is calling upon every rational part of himself to not laugh, he still stares at the wall, inhaling deep breaths. He can’t look at Elain nor Lucien, and never in the world at his mate who is trying so hard not to laugh. 

Elain’s palm is sweaty and she taps her fingers against Lucien’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, mummy and daddy were not fighting…..We were…we were playing a game.”

“A game where you have to punch the wall?” Dalia furrows her brows again. Lucien is nodding frantically and so is his mate. “Yes, Dalia. It is a special grown-up game,” the Vanserra male says.

Dalia shrugs a little, still unsure if they tell her the truth and are not lying to her about fighting. 

“You played the game seven times,” she says matter-of-factly, lifts one brow and tilts her head to the side. Nesta is now biting the insides of her cheeks and so is Cassian. Who would have thought that about Elain?

A small chuckle slips through Lucien’s lips. “Well, you must know that it is your mummy’s favourite game.” Lucien grins and folds his hand over Elain’s that is still on his shoulder. “She just can’t get enough of it, wants to play it over and over again. Never grows tired. Always begging me to play.”

If her eyes could throw daggers, Elain would do that right now to the back of Lucien’s head. Instead she just digs her nails into his shoulder, her lips forming a mischievous grin. “Oh…” she coos. “Am I really the one to always begs to play? I think we could easily take a break for a few weeks? Months maybe? And then we will see who is the one begging?” Elain leans down and presses a quick kiss to Lucien’s cheek who really wants to flip off his mate. Yet he just grins, loving her and her feisty side just too much. His eyes follow her swaying hips when she walks past him and up to Cassian, taking Dalia from his hold to cuddle her to her chest. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. We really were not fighting. Mummy and daddy love each other so much, there is no reason for you to worry. And we love you so much, please don’t worry, sweetheart.” Elain kisses young Dalia’s cheek who slings her arms around her mother and cuddles her tightly. “If you say so.” She smiles, her nose pressing into Elain’s cheek. “But what game was it?”  

~~~~~~~~ tags: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel@aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

[teecupangel]

An Altair/Malik/Desmond A/B/O prompt in canon AC1 storyline? (with exceptions, like Kadar can be saved, hopefully.)

So we’re going for a time-travel setup and we’ll start the plot after Desmond keeps Kadar alive after the disaster that was the Jerusalem mission.

This would give us a way for Malik and Desmond to meet because, when Malik became Dai, he recognized Kadar’s scent in one of the houses in the Poor District while he was getting the lay of the land, so to speak. Kadar is still injured and Desmond tells him it would be risky to move him right now so, instead, Malik starts visiting the house daily.

First, it was just to check up on Kadar.

But later on, he took an interest in the omega who saved Kadar but refused to show his face.

Not that it was anything strange. It was normal for those in Levant and its neighboring kingdom and settlements to have their omegas covered from head to toe. It was a sign that they were unmated and ‘pure’. Their clothes also serve to mask their scent although it could only block so much, especially when the omega goes in heat.

When Altaïr finally makes his way to Jerusalem, Desmond and Kadar are still in the house in the Poor District but Malik didn’t think of telling Altaïr about Kadar’s survival. Desmond told him that he heard the Crusaders say they had someone of high regard helping them in Masyaf (it was a way for him to point a finger at Al Mualim without saying his name) but Malik doesn’t trust anyone, especially Altaïr who is actually the top of his list of suspects.

To keep Desmond safe, they also covered Kadar in the same scent-blocking fabrics that omegas' use while he heals so no one would recognize his scent.

Altaïr goes to the Poor District not to find any information that he may be able to use for his mission but because there’s a scent in the air that just kept knocking his mind, not letting him have a moment’s rest.

He finally finds the source of the scent in a small house and comes face to face with an omega that…

Ran away from him as soon as he saw him.

Of course, this being Altaïr… he chases after the omega.

He does finally tackle the omega and they stumble inside one of the rooftop gardens. Their close proximity and their sweat magnified their scent and Altaïr realized how compatible their scents were.

And how intoxicating the omega’s scent was.

How to smelled like how Altaïr always felt like what home would feel like.

Unorganized Notes:

Both Altaïr and Malik are alphas, Kadar is a beta and Desmond is an omega.

Altaïr never cared about omega scents. He found most of them nauseatingly sweet (even if everyone else thinks they smell fine). Al Mualim thinks Altaïr’s mastery of the Eagle Vision makes him more sensitive to scents and that’s why an omega’s scent annoys him.

The only omega Altaïr could tolerate was Adha because they’re childhood friends so he got used to her scent early on.

Malik has no interest in having an omega spouse before Desmond. He always expected Kadar to continue the Al-Sayf line.

They don’t actually describe the scents as something tangible like cinnamon or citrus-y. The scent is more of a feeling that is unique to everyone.

Desmond smells like the concept of home to Altaïr and he can’t explain it any other way. Desmond smells like the first spring morning to Malik. Kadar thinks Desmond smells like freshly baked bread. (“Is that your way of saying you want to eat me?” “I don’t know. You just smell… warm, I guess?”)

Desmond loves Altaïr at this point but it’s up to Altaïr to make Desmond fall in love with him. Desmond didn’t really think Malik would be attracted to him.

Both Altaïr and Malik would court Desmond and it would definitely get heated… in more ways than one. They both have feelings for Desmond but their alpha-ness is making them compete for Desmond’s affection. A lot of dick-measuring will happen with Kadar having first row seat in the entire thing.

Malik is gentler in his approach. Courting gifts, quiet walks, peaceful tea parties. He knows the proper etiquette of how to court an omega and he’s definitely sticking to the rules. Desmond thinks he’s quite sweet and he may be enjoying being treated with such care for once (thanks for the issues, Bill)

Altaïr has the courting habits of an eagle and a cat rolled into one (so I guess a griffin?). Making sure no one bothers Desmond. Giving gifts that would never be considered as courting gifst like throwing knives and Desmond was pretty sure the pretty necklace he just got had been on the neck of a very annoying and cutthroat merchant. He also has no sense of personal space and Desmond is pretty sure Altaïr keeps sniffing at him. Altaïr does have a leg up because Desmond knows this is how Altaïr shows his feelings and he finds it sweet in its own strange way.

In the end, Kadar would be the one to suggest Desmond just take both Altaïr and Malik as his mates. It’s not… well… it doesn’t happen often because of all the Alpha posturing that would happen but he has complete confidence that his brother and Altaïr could make it work for Desmond’s sake.

Desmond also believes that since Altaïr and Malik did end up being close friends in the original timeline.

If you want to include Altaïr x Malik in this: their relationship is more of competitive alphas who enjoys winning against the other. This meant that Desmond tend to act as either their judge or the focus of their competition and Desmond reaps the reward while the two do all the work.

Since this is A/B/O, no one is sure who the father of Desmond’s children is. Desmond only agreed to get pregnant once the Apple gave enough information to make the whole ‘giving birth during the 12th century’ less deadly.

Altaïr usually has a level head but he tends to get carried away when Desmond is involved which meant Malik has to be the one to make sure the two don’t do anything stupid.

Altaïr likes to prepare for Desmond’s heats, making sure they have all they need. Malik takes care of making sure nothing will happen whenever Desmond does go in heat in terms of the operations of the Levantine Brotherhood.

They once tried having just one of them with Desmond during his heat but the one left outside was unbearable to work with so everyone just agreed that the two Alphas stay with their omegas and they’ll take care of everything.

[mediocreauthor]

Fuck it, relationships in Nana as Taylor Swift songs part 2.

You can read part 1 (Nana and Ren) here! Takumi and Reira - Hoax In a story full of dysfunctional relationships, this pair manages to be most destructive of them all. Takumi and Reira cannot exist with or without one another. Reira hates Takumi even though he is all she wants. Ren summarizes this perfectly: “Reira says she wants to be happy like a normal person. But to me, it seems she just wants to go to hell with you.” She despises Takumi, thinks he belongs to hell, and her home is wherever he is. Metaphorically, Takumi and Reira sailed away on a ship, with a goal in their mind. She misses the land, flowers, smell of freshly baked bread. Ever crashing waves makes her sick, sun burns her skin, she wants to get out or she will explode. She doesn’t have the courage to request this from Takumi, because this mutual goal, this journey is the foundation of their love. If she gets off, what will happen to them? Reira loves Takumi so desperately, she will stand by him as the waves rock their ship, and hate him for leading it (not me suddenly being an English teacher😭). Anyways, Reira wants to destroy anything Takumi treasures, and her beautiful voice that cursed their relationship is on top of her list.

“My only one My smoking gun My eclipsed sun This has broken me down My twisted knife My sleepless night My win-less fight This has frozen my ground” As for Takumi, he is cursed with consciousness. He is hyper-aware of his inability to form meaningful connections, to treasure and love someone properly. That’s why he tries to keep an arm distance with Reira (keyword being ‘try’). He has devoted her entire being to Reira, ensuring her happiness, her success is the primary goal in his life. He built a kingdom, just so Reira can sit on the throne. He almost considers her as an ethereal being. Since he holds her in such a  high regard, this false perception combined with his general lack of empathy inevitably drags Reira to ultimate misery. She is not sitting in the throne Takumi built for her; she is in the dungeons, held captive by this love.  “Stood on the cliffside Screaming, "Give me a reason" Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in Don't want no other shade of blue But you No other sadness in the world would do” If I had to describe Takumi’s love in one word it would be faithless. Second would be devoted. That’s how contradictory his actions and feelings are. “My best laid plan Your sleight of hand My barren land I am ash from your fire” Reira is Takumi’s  pièce de résistance. Trapnest is his masterpiece that he has sacrificed everything to maintain. “You know I left a part of me back in New York You knew the hero died, so what's the movie for? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart” I think Reira -just like Shin, has always felt like torn apart because she is mixed race. She loves New York, her mother is there and refuses to come to Japan she has many reasons to live there. But she stays. For Takumi. The media, paparazzis, general public literally pulled Reira apart. She has faced every repercussion of being a public figure, was under in constant pressure to maintain her facade, met everyone’s - her band mate’s, her agency’s, fan’s, journalist’s, Shin’s, Takumi’s expectations and she was always inadequate in one way or another.   “You knew the password, so I let you in the door You knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart But what you did was just as dark Darling, this was just as hard As when they pulled me apart” What happens next? Reira crumbles under the pressure, afraid of dying alone as Takumi builds a pseudo-family with Hachi. She begs for his love and Takumi grants her the honesty that he never showed any other women.  “Do you really want to be one of my many lovers?” Even to her queen, Takumi his unable to offer his full loyalty. Desperate, Reira accepts.  But she feels even more used, exploited, taken advantage of. Even though Takumi obliged, Reira feels completely worthless in the eyes of the man she loves so helplessly. She is full of resentment and anger.  “My only one My kingdom come undone My broken drum You have beaten my heartDon't want no other shade of blue But you No other sadness in the world would do” Being a workaholic was a defining characteristics of Takumi throughout the series, but later on we find out that it’s only for Reira’s happiness. There is no point of Trapnest’s existence unless she is content. Takumi’s intentions are never to monopolize Reira’s voice, he just wanted to see Reira on top of the kingdom, where he thinks she belongs.  In the end, it’s his songbird who causes the kingdom’s fall. Reira deprives Takumi of her voice, refuses to sing for anyone but his son (who she should hate, but can’t).  In a way, I find their story more tragic than Nana and Ren’s. Their love is so solid that you can almost touch it with your hand, but they don’t know how to handle it. Reira’s voice that bewitched Takumi, and it becomes the downfall of their love. I don’t think they can ever be together or separate from each other. I don’t believe they will ever be really happy, it’s so hopeless.These lovers are truly the demise of one another and will never ever be freed. Hachi once said that “people need to connect. Otherwise they are just bound by hand and foot.” - or something along those lines and think that’s how Reira and Takumi will die. Unable to connect, to love each other yet unable to seperate, bound by hand and foot.

[prettyboyreid]

visions

Mr. Scratch, expecting Aaron Hotchner, ends up face to face with the reader at Dr. Regan’s home. 

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: gun violence, mentions of blood, drugging, knife violence

Word Count: 3.7k

I wouldn’t say that I knew Dr. Regan well.  I repeated that to Hotch more times than I could count as I pleaded with him to let me go with the rest of the team to her house.  My mother had known her when I was a child and I attended a few dinner parties with her.  I didn’t know her well at all.  I could watch him scanning my face as we got to the elevators of the BAU before he nodded, finally allowing me to go along with him. 

It was a silent car ride for the two of us.  I strapped on my bullet proof vest in the passenger seat while the unit chief sped down the Virginia streets towards a house I almost didn’t recognize once he pulled into the driveway.  I pulled my gun from the holster once the SUV had come to a full stop, pushing open the car door before heading towards the front entryway.  Hotch signaled that he would make his way around the back, just to make sure we didn’t have any other exterior threats.  I nodded softly, knocking softly on the door before pushing it open slowly. 

“Dr. Regan? FBI,” I called out cautiously, my gun pointed at the floor as I peered around the room for a moment.  Once I could tell it was clear, I held the firearm upward as I made my way into the foyer. 

“In here, Agent Y/L/N.  In the study,” an almost unfamiliar voice called out.  I cautiously followed the sound of her voice, my eyes darting to every inch of the room before slowly inching forward.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she added.  I almost didn’t pay attention to anything that came out of her mouth, only worried that no one else was there to harm her. I was doing my job. 

I thought I was doing my job. 

I had finally reached the study after a few moments of stalking through her house, peering around her for a moment before I noticed the blade she held to her throat. 

“He wanted you to see this.” 

I didn’t even have time to react. I had lowered my weapon and practically sprinted towards her, but she moved the blade much quicker than I could move.  She fell to the ground at my feet.  I leaned down instinctively and pressed two fingers to where her pulse point was, letting out a sigh as I felt nothing.  I stood up, leaning into the vest to tell Hotch what had just happened, before the stench of sage flooded my senses.  It was strong, much more than the plant usually would smell. 

I held my weapon up again as I made my way into the living room that attaches to the study, doing my best to stifle any coughs and sniffles that threatened my sinuses.  Once the room seemed clear, I sat down on the sofa to try and gather my bearings.  I rubbed at my eyes, trying to comprehend the whole situation before a soft voice buzzed in my ear.  It was barely above a whisper, but repeated the same sentence over and over again. 

“You’ll see what I want you to see.”

I gripped tighter onto my gun as I looked around the room again, my vision slowly blurring once I checked behind the couch.  My body soon felt limp, my limbs barely able to move on their own.  I tried to stand, but my knees buckled at the very thought of moving one step.  The second I hit the ground, I let out a quiet groan before leaning against the couch as best as I could. 

My eyes scanned over the decorative room all over again, until everything had watered out.  All I could rely on was what the voice repeated to me faster than I could take a breath. 

“You’ll see what I want you to see.”

I soon felt someone else’s presence next to me, sitting on the sofa as close to me as possible.  I noticed the repetitive phrase getting louder once the person was beside me, my hands barely strong enough to reach my eyes and rub them until my vision cleared once again before they heavily dropped into my lap.  I tried to grab for my gun, only to find out it had been missing from the holster. 

When did I take my gun out?

Why did I take my gun out?

I carefully craned my neck up towards the somewhat shadowy figure next to me, seeing a face that I couldn’t place.  His dark brown hair spiked up in the front, and his square face was only accented with a pair of beady eyes and a taunting grin hidden behind a mask. 

“You’ll see what I want you to see.”

“Wh… what do you want me to... to see?” I asked, my words slurring together as if I were intoxicated.  My mind swam as I found myself finally able to focus on the man beside me, who looked as if he were deciding my fate, that he held it in his coarse hands.

And I hated to think that that was true.

“Tell me, Agent Y/L/N, what do you think of Dr. Spencer Reid?” he asked, his voice raspy through the mask that kept him from the state I was in. He stood up for a brief moment before he crouched down beside me.  His hands traced down my features as he spoke, doing my best to snake out of his touch.  The only word to describe the feel of his hands on me was dirty. 

“He’s… he’s my partner,” I breathed out, my lungs feeling tight in my rib cage, burning for fresh air that I wouldn’t find in the small, confined house.  He tutted at my response, obviously expecting something more of it. 

“Is that all he is, though, Agent?  You live in his apartment, last I checked.  And, as if that’s not enough, you seemed pretty happy last weekend on your date to a little Italian restaurant where you had your first date.  Am I wrong, Agent Y/L/N?” he prodded, grabbing my jaw as he forced me to look at him.  At just the mention of Spencer, it was hard for me to not think of what he had asked me. 

“I really hope you’re in the mood for Italian,” he had told me, one of his hands entwined with my own as the other fidgeted in his pocket.  He had always been awkward, sure, but he looked downright anxious at this moment. 

He led me into the restaurant, the warm string lights and the scent of pasta and freshly baked bread welcoming the two of you. 

“Um, hi.  Two for Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said to the hostess, squeezing my hand softly as his eyes seemed fixated on anything that stood in front of him.  Once the hostess grabbed two menus, she nodded for us to follow her.  He quickly followed behind the younger woman, almost as if he was worried the table wouldn’t be there when we arrived if we moved any slower.  I ran my thumb across his knuckles, doing my best to try and relieve whatever nerves he was keeping bottled up inside of him.  He let out a soft sigh as the waitress set the menus on a circular table that was surrounded by a circular booth, giving us a small smile before she headed back to her station. 

Spencer let me slide in first, as always, before he made his way in next to me.  He leaned back into the soft cushioning and let out a heavy sigh, yet his leg still bounced beneath the table.  

I scooted closer to him before resting my hand just above his knee, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.  “Hey, what’s up?”  I asked him cautiously, not wanting to pressure him into telling me anything if he was feeling uncomfortable.  He blinked a few times before turning to me, as if he had entranced himself into his thoughts once again. 

“Hm? No, I-I’m fine.  I’m just… I’ve got a lot on my mind, is all,” he explained, resting his hand on my leg before squeezing it reassuringly.  I gave him a soft smile before nodding, looking through the menu before our waitress would arrive.

The dinner was sweet.  He made a joke about how we had ordered the same thing we had on our first date, down to the drinks and appetizers.  We hardly talked about work at all, which was such a relief given the past month we had just had.  We got back two days ago from a case we’d been away on for three weeks in Montana, and it was draining, to say the very least.  Frankly, the both of you were just happy to be home for a bit.  You talked about your families, memories, and anything you could possibly think of.  It was one of those dates with him that you knew you’d always cherish.  Especially when he turned his full attention to you, taking both of your hands in his much larger ones. 

“I know it hasn’t been very long - three years, five months, and sixteen days - but god it feels like it’s been forever since the first time I asked you out.  I know it seems so silly, but I knew I wanted to marry you the second I sat down at this booth with you.  I never want to be away from you.  I couldn’t help but think this week that I would have gone out of my mind if I didn’t have you with me during that case.  And I just knew that I couldn’t ever worry about you being away from me again.”  He carefully took his hands off of mine, quickly fumbling into his pocket before taking out a small, navy blue velvet box.  He carefully flipped it open, making sure he didn’t alter the gift he had waiting for me before turning it to me.  Inside was a silver ring with a diamond band, and a much larger diamond on top of it.  He took it out of the box and handed it to me, which is when I noticed a small inscription on the inside of the band: I love you, always. Spence. 

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Hey!”

 The muffled raspy voice knocked me out of the memory, blinking a few times before I looked back up at him.  I partially expected to see Spencer there, instead only seeing the man who had been keeping me company during my delirious state. God, I really wish it was Spencer. 

“It is so much more than that, isn’t it?  He’s not just your partner, Agent,”  he taunted, standing up and moving out of my immediate line of sight.  I tried to look around for him, but my head just leaned back onto the cushions of the couch.  “So, you probably trust him with your life, don’t you?”  His voice seemed to distance farther and farther away from me, even the distance he placed between us taunting me and how inebriated I felt. 

“Can he trust you with his?” 

The front door pushed open loudly, and the familiar voice that immediately soothed me called out.  “Y/N?”  I let out a heavy sigh, sitting up carefully as I tried to look for him.  

“Spence! I’m in here,” I called out as loud as I could, though it only sounded like a heavy breath to me.  The sound of quick footsteps approached towards the living room, and the sight of my fiance let relief wash over me.

“Spence... Spence, he went out the back,” I murmured out as he knelt down in front of me, his hands ghosting above mine.  He looked over my face to see if I had been hurt, but he quickly deduced that I’d just been gassed, just like all of the other victims we had been able to find. 

“Morgan’s going to take care of it.  We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?  Can you stand up?”  he asked me softly, carefully adjusting his stance so he was on his feet.  He was about to reach out for my hands to help me up before the sound of a gun clicking came from behind him, a shadowy figure pressing the metal chamber to the back of his head. 

“No, no, no,” I whispered, watching as his face twitched from worried to scared.  One of the things you knew he hated most about his job was that he was always put in the line of fire.  This just was never something he had in mind. 

“Y/N…” he said back to me in the same tone.  I could tell he was trying to keep me calm more than himself; he knew that I’d be the one who’d suffer the most in a few moments.  Typical of him - always thinking of someone else’s well being before his own.  

He had opened his mouth to say something else, and I was almost positive I knew what he wanted to say, but the sound of the gun ringing out through my ears and his body falling into my lap made everything else go numb.  I couldn’t hear or feel anything.  I was petrified to the point where I was frozen in place.  I couldn’t move even if I had wanted to. 

“No... no, no, no, no, no…” I repeatedly whispered to him, my arms trying to cradle him the best that I could from my position and from how weak I was still rendered.  

I wanted to take the last moment back desperately, wishing it had been myself instead.  It felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest, and I was now holding it, trying to figure out how I was going to ever go on without it.  I let out a few choked sobs I had been holding back, trying to pull his body closer to me, wanting to try and fix him and help him. 

 All I wanted to do right now was help him. 

Why couldn’t I have helped him?

“Tell me, Agent, should he trust you?”

Spencer’s POV

As soon as the SUV had pulled up to the house, I was out of the vehicle and making my way towards the house before Hotch stopped me. 

“We don’t know what it’s like in there.  Her com went dead minutes after she went in.  If he’s in there, he’s probably drugged her,” he explained to me calmly.

I never could understand how he could be so calm in these situations, especially when it came to the people he cared the most about. 

“We have two masks in each car.  You need to take one if you want to go in there,” he told me.  I quickly made my way back to the passenger side of the car and dug through the kits we always kept on hand, frantically digging through it until I found one of the masks. I slipped it on over my head before removing my gun from my holster.  

“Were you ever able to get a visual?”  I asked our unit chief as we made our way to the front door that was left just barely ajar.  That was a good sign, at least; the gas would be able to filter out more quickly if it had been open the entire time. 

“Negative, but I heard something from the back living room a while ago.  It sounded like yelling but I can’t be sure,”  he informed me, putting on the mask he had gotten from the car he and Y/N had taken here. 

I paused for a moment before pushing the door open, peering around the corner before Hotch and I silently made our way into the threshold of the house.  Aaron pushed his way in front of me to take the lead, knowing it was best for him to be able to assess the situation first.  I couldn’t say I disagreed with him this time.  

He looked around the corner once again before leading me through the foyer and the study, each step more cautious than the last.  His gun was kept pointed at a sharp angle, ready to take any shot he would have to make.  Once we had gotten to the living room, all we could hear was soft murmurs coming from the couch.  Hotch looked around the corner in time to see the unsub escaping through a back door, chasing after him. 

Once I made sure that he was taken care of, I quickly made my way over to my fiance, watching as she rocked herself back and forth with tears spilling from her eyes.  I quickly holstered my gun before kneeling down in front of her. 

Y/N’s POV

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I heard a soft voice whispering to me.  At some point I had closed my eyes, doing my best to keep myself from crying and having to look at what had just happened.  Once I opened them, everything had faded away, from the limp body in my lap to the last crimson drop that had fallen onto my skin.  I looked up and saw a worried Spencer, tugging off a mask covering most of his face. His hands rested on my shoulders as he looked to see if I was alright, not just physically.  

“You’re okay?”  I sniffled softly, my hands holding onto his shoulders as I struggled to find the balance I needed to stand up.  His arms went around my waist to help me up, pausing for a moment when I was finally on my feet to make sure I was steady before looking down at me again. 

“Yeah, princess.  I’m okay,” he reassured me, somehow knowing it was just the thing that I needed to hear (if my facial expressions didn’t already tell him that).  “Are you okay?” he asked softly, one of his hands cupping my jaw, his touch delicate as if he was afraid I’d break if he applied too much pressure. 

“I-I think so,” I said, looking down at myself before looking back up into his amber eyes.  I breathed out a heavy sigh, my body practically becoming limp all over again. 

“It was so real, Spence.  I th-thought that he…” I stuttered over my words, not even sure how to explain what had just happened to me.  I don’t know if I’d ever be able to find the words for it.

He wrapped his arms around me carefully yet protectively once he noticed tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head as my face buried itself in the center of his chest.  His hand smoothed out my hair gently, carefully swaying the two of us back and forth to calm me down. 

We stood there for a while.  I’m not really sure how long.  When I finally pulled away with a shaky breath, I couldn’t help but notice the tear stains I had left on his vest.  

“Hotch wants to have the medics check you out, then we can go home, alright?”  he promised me, making sure my eyes met his so I would know he was telling the truth.  I wouldn’t have doubted him either way. 

He kept his arm wrapped around my torso as he led me out of the house, my gaze stuck on the woman left in her study.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her until she was out of my line of sight, when I finally reached the front door with him. 

Spencer led me down the stairs and towards an ambulance parked beside the SUVs we had all taken to the scene, carefully helping me sit down on the edge of the vehicle as an EMT checked me over.  

He never left my side; even though the EMTs asked him more than once to step back for a moment, he held my hand the entire time, wanting me to know he was there with me.

Just as they had run the final quick test that they needed to, Hotch was walking around the house with a man in handcuffs.  

It was the same man from inside the house, the man that I prayed to any and every god that I would never have to face again. 

“His name’s Peter Lewis,” Spencer whispered softly to me as he led me back to the car that he had taken.  The man looked back towards me, the same maniacal grin spread across his thin, pink lips. 

“You’ll only see what I want you to see, Agent Y/L/N,” he called out with a laugh before Hotch shoved him into the back of a police car.  I couldn’t help but shudder as a chill ran through my spine, remembering what I had seen less than an hour before.  I looked down at my cold, clammy hands, expecting Spencer’s blood to be on them before looking back up at him.  I gave him a soft smile as he opened the back door for me, offering a hand to help me inside.  He followed me in once he made sure I was all settled, helping me with the seat belt in case my arms were still a little numb. 

I looked back up at him lovingly as JJ got into the driver’s seat and backed out of the driveway, wanting to make sure we got home so our day could just be over.  He looked down at me after a few moments, giving me a soft smile before pressing a gentle and delicate kiss to my lips. 

I don’t think I had ever felt as safe with him than in that moment.  Nothing would ever feel as safe as being held by him, just being in his presence when I needed him the most.  It was something I knew that Peter Lewis didn’t want me to see.  I grinned at the thought, resting my head on his shoulder before letting my eyes close, sighing heavily as he lulled me to sleep by combing his fingers through my hair. 

“I love you, Spence.”

“I love you, always.”

tags: @pinkprincenamjoon​

[fandomsonrequests]

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓..? [𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 5]

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: prince! park seonghwa

reader: fem! knight

word count: 2.2k+

summary:  It was time for another Selection. No- not a Selection for a bride but rather a well-trained knight to keep Prince Seonghwa safe after a failed assassination attempt. You, a blacksmith’s daughter, manage to make it to the elite group of knights worthy and skilled enough to protect the crown prince after months and months of training. This alone catches Seonghwa’s eyes- in more ways than one

a/n: part 5 here we go! i’m sorry if its taking too long, school started so i dont have much time to write as often ;^; this is kind of unedited (im using grammarly sue me sujsk) so im sorry for any errors! 

taglist: @iwanttohitmyself​ @barcelona-sergei​ @minihongjoong​ @i-purrple-u​

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The Capitol was certainly different from the quaint town of Trelark. 

The Capitol was… colorful to put it simply. Several people milled about the streets, bustling around and going about their daily lives. What the city folk wore was flashier and livelier than the dull brown or grey tones of the clothes the townsfolk wore. It sparked some sort of insecurity within you, making you clutch at the fabric of your pants as you look out the carriage window, seeing young women your age float through the streets in bright yellow skirts or green pleated dresses. 

The streets were wider and tiled with smooth stones compared to the rocky ground that rocked the carriages up in the village of Trelark. The shops were bigger and the smell- the smell of the place was better for some reason. Delicious aromas of freshly baked bread or roasted pig wafted through the air instead of some goat or horse dung. It made your stomach rumble. You had eaten your packed lunch and shared it with your friends in the carriage that brought you over to the Capitol. 

Speaking of which-

“Oh my gods, look at that dress,” Siyeon says as she presses herself against the carriage window and points to a dress in the display window of a seamstress’s shop. It had a sweetheart neckline with bell sleeves in an elegant shade of red, a transparent lace on the hem. Despite how simple it looked, you only wondered how expensive it was. 

“I’d give anything to wear that.” She continues and releases a small whine as she slumps back into her seat. “I wish this Selection was for a princess instead of a knight.”

Raviv, who was beside you, laughed at the young woman across you. “Maybe next time. You never know.” He says as he picks at the loose threads of his shirt again. “You can just drop out y’know?”

“And miss out living in the palace and bring shame to my family at the same time? Uh, no thanks. I’ll do my best until I give out.” 

You roll your eyes and huff in amusement at the two as they continue to banter. You loved the two a lot- you really did. Siyeon was like the sister you never had and Raviv had a special place in your heart. But you on the other hand were firm in your resolve and promised to yourself that you’d try to outdo them without having to step on them. 

You saw more of the city as the carriages pulled through the cobbled streets of the Capitol. Sure it had its fair share of beauty but not every place was perfect. You caught a glimpse of some street kids, covered in dirt from head to toe, in the alleyways between houses and shops. Some of them would be begging for some alms while others just went about and played. 

Suppose it couldn’t be helped- the world was cruel like that. But it still breaks your heart every time. You didn’t have much yourself but you were happy and had a roof over your head. Maybe life for the unfortunate was a lot tougher here in the Capitol. 

Eventually, the carriages that came from the village of Trelark finally reached the lavish gates of the castle. There was a drawbridge, just like you imagined, but what you didn’t anticipate was the lavish gate that lay behind it. 

As soon as the drawbridge lowered, a rather beautiful gate greeted your eyes. There were pillars made of stone and marble running down the sides while gold figurines of horses decorated the top. Black iron bars with gold-tipped ends that pointed up into the sky lined the space between each pillar. 

But the gate was nothing compared to the palace itself. 

The three of you all looked out the window, eyes gleaming and mouth agape as you gawked at the sight that beheld you. The palace was surprisingly similar to the ones described in the books- pearly and white, tall with several towers striking out from each side, buttresses that supported the building, and a large flag bearing the current family’s crews right on top of the centermost tower. The palace was huge. You couldn’t even see where the walls ended on each side. 

“You know,” Raviv starts out softly. “If we were ever supposed to go through this place, I think we’d get lost.” 

“No kidding,” Siyeon says, just as quiet like him. “I think I’d be starving and thirsty the minute I find my way back to the entrance.” 

“Or one of the undead.” You added, and lightly kicked at Siyeon’s foot. 

She then proceeded to flop down against the seat and rise with her hands in front of her, making growling noises as she imitated a zombie, lunging at the both of you. The trio laughs at the antics and pushes her back onto her seat when she pretends to take a bite of your arm. 

“Oi, behave in there!” Called out the driver and patted the side of the carriage, effectively hushing you and your companions. 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you though. “Whoops.” 

~

“Seonghwa there you are!” The Queen exclaims when he arrives, lapels of his clothes properly pinned and his crown sitting on top of his soft locks. 

Seonghwa greets his parents who were sitting upon their thrones, awaiting the delegates that were to arrive at any moment. He kisses each of their cheeks and sat on the right side of his father’s throne, back straight and head high- just as he was taught since the age of five. 

A few servants ran around the throne room, sweeping up the linoleum floors and dusting the marble columns. The velvet rug that led from the entrance up to the elevated floor that held the thrones were freshly pressed and practically spotless. The King wanted to leave a good first impression on his people. 

“How many do you think there will be, father?” Seonghwa asks, looking over to the man. 

The King only straightened up and looked ahead. “Many,” He replies without turning his head to his son. “They come from all parts of our kingdom. I think half of this room may be filled.” 

The prince manages to hold back a sigh. Instead, he exhales through his nose and curls his fingers around the armrests of his seat. He thought it was a bit of an overkill to have all these people train just to protect him. Despite the assassin coming from a different kingdom, he thought that bringing other people from within their kingdom imposed a risk as well- you never know if there could be traitors out there.

Nevertheless, he just learned to trust his father’s decision. He knew that his father was wise and well-aware of his decisions. He just hoped this method wouldn’t backfire… 

“They’re all here already your highness,” A servant announces as they enter the throne room. “There’s quite more than a handful.”

With a nod and a wave of his hand, the king tells the servant to allow the delegates to enter. The servant gives a low bow and exits the door only to return a few moments later with the young adults. Quietly, they filed into the throne room, wearing different garments that fit with the place they came from. 

People from the field lands wore hard, boots dried with mud and loose-fitting clothes to help them move around. Folks near the dock wore almost similar clothing but had more loose-fitting shoes and or sandals. The delegates from the mountain had already shed off their coats as the weather in the Capitol was much warmer. And finally, the folks from the city were more well-dressed, with button-ups, well-tailored pants, and sturdy boots. 

You glance around as you shuffle in with your companions near the edge of the group. You hadn’t anticipated this many people to attend. It made your stomach churn with nervousness- there was big competition here. But you weren’t taught to quit this early- you were going to push on until you give out. 

Others slinked away or flinched whenever a city-dweller looked over at them. It was a bit hard not to- they just radiated some sort of energy. An aura of power to be exact. 

Seonghwa scans the faces of the delegates. They were all so different- in height, background, wear, and everything else. Many looked like they were reluctant to be there but many also had this look of determination in their eyes. 

There was one gaze that caught his in particular. It belonged to a woman, maybe his age, standing near the back. He could tell from her garments, specifically the coat that hung over her arm, that she lived in one of the mountain villages. 

Her lips were pursed together as she observed the palace around her. There were wonder and awe in them- but as soon as her gaze landed on him and his family, they steeled into something harder, one that read that it would take more than would think to take her down. 

Seonghwa is pulled out of his thoughts by his father’s voice welcoming all the participants to the palace. 

“Welcome to the Capitol,” The King booms, a warm smile on his face and his arms outstretched. “I’ll keep this brief, but I’d like to thank you for coming all this way. It means a lot to me, my wife, and of course- my son.” 

All eyes shift over to the prince. It wasn’t the first time many sets of eyes were trained onto him but he felt nervous this particular time. Maybe it had to do with the fact that the circumstances were different, that they weren’t looking up at him while he stood beside his father during speeches or city celebrations or whenever he had to deliver the occasional speech. Yeah, that must be it.

The young man folded an arm over his torso and bowed a perfect ninety-degree angle. It was a silent gesture of his gratefulness for their efforts, eyes glistening as if all the stars were placed into them. 

The King looked to his side and gave a nod. Two men came out from behind a pillar and stood at the foot of the elevated platform that held the thrones. 

The first was a tall and burly man. A long white but faded scar ran from the top of his head and across his brow, just catching the edges of his eyelids. Because of the long healed injury- part of his injured eye had a milky-blue color to it, showing that he was partially blind. HIs muscled under his pressed dress suit flexed as he gave a bow and straightened up. He was the literal embodiment of tall, dark, and strong. Despite this though, he radiated a warm and inviting energy- especially with that soft smile of his. 

The second was the man most people hated. It was the nobleman that went to the town of Trelark. He wore less warm clothing but his stupid purple feather plume hat remained. His silver beard seemed extra curled today and a shit-eating smirk was plastered across his lips. 

The majority of the folk that came from the mountain villages had a sour look on their face when they saw the nobleman. They tried to mask it though to avoid any offense that it could bring to the king. 

“This is Byron,” The King introduces the first man. “He shall be training all of you till one of you manages to succeed as the prince’s protector. And this is Duke Hae-seong, one of my royal advisers and a Duke of the kingdom. He shall help manage you and educate you around the protocols of the palace and the kingdom.”

“Yes, that’s right.” The Queen says softly, voice warm and gentle. “It is important not to only train the body but the mind as well. The prince’s protector needs to be knowledgeable of the kingdom’s laws and what his or her rights are as a protector.” 

It was a very wise move on the royal family’s part and it made sense. They didn’t want the protector to overstep any boundaries, whether intentional or not or have any abuse in power on their part. 

Many delegates didn’t seem pleased to learn that Hae-seong would be tutoring them though. He was impatient and very brash- he clearly was displeased with the way the king and queen took commoners into the palace without a single thought of doubt; he was just good at hiding it.

“Ladies, please follow Mina to your quarters. Gentlemen, Sir Byron will be the one to take you to yours. I hope you don’t mind sharing with others.” The King says and gestures to the crowd gathered in front of them. “And to show our gratitude, we shall be throwing you a feast tonight to commemorate your arrival.”

This seemed to brighten up the spirits of the young delegates. Energy fills them as the adrenaline of excitement rushes through their bodies. A few of them now their heads gratefully to the royal couple while the rest showed their appreciation through bright smiles.

“I thank you all once again for going through all this trouble. Now, freshen up. You’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

The group bows down to the family before them and separate into two groups to head over to their bunkers to rest and recuperate. You look back at the royal family again, seeing them step down from the throne and head to wherever they needed to be in this gigantic castle. 

This was it. The game was on- and you were determined to win it.

[discopiratetanis]

Oh Goodness, this is pretty cute!! I would ask you for a number 1?? I like the idea of Geralt smelling Jaskier and enjoy his smell. Deep inside Geralt is a softie. If you ask me this will be cute! Thanks, dear

Prompt: 1. You smell really nice

Words: 1685

Prompt list

Read on Ao3

Ko-fi

I can’t believe I wrote this in less than twenty-four hours xD

I hope you like it ❤

It had been two weeks since the last time they had set foot in a minimally civilized place. Because it was cheaper and because the villagers didn’t like to see witchers near if there weren’t any monsters eating their sheep. Geralt was used to that, to the wildlife, the paths through mountains, woodlands and almost endless meadows with no village in miles and miles around. 

It meant more peace.

But less money, remember that, my dear friend.

That was Jaskier would say. Monsters far away from towns were no prey for witchers. Not if the monsters didn’t attack them. Not if there was no payment after.

That was the first rule. 

That was the first thing Jaskier had to learn. Yes, tales about witchers said they didn’t kill monsters for the greatest good, but tales were tales and Jaskier knew better than anyone that all the stories, all the ballads, and all the poems were enriched with lies. One of those lies was that witchers killed all monsters even if nobody paid them. That witchers hunted down monsters without a contract, not for the greatest good but for the sake of the hunt. And because witchers were monsters too and the only living being able to kill a monster was, deep down, another monster.

But Jaskier also knew Geralt was no monster.

And what Geralt thought about that was… It was a lie. 

The Lie.

Still.

Brown and golden leaves covered the forest ground forming an orange and yellowish mantle, sometimes dark and putrid where the fungi devoured the dead remains of other plants. There was a pleasant semi-silence, broken by the creaking of the leaves under boots and hooves, Roach’s occasionally huffs, and the chirps of the afternoon last birds. Geralt was walking beside Roach, guiding her by the bridles, waiting for the night to set the camp. Jaskier was walking a few steps behind mare and witcher, distracted with the view of the woods under the sunset amber light. Sometimes he picked up a leaf, recited some more or less poetic phrase and then threw the leaf with drama.

And Geralt couldn’t help finding himself smiling a little.

“New song?” he asked after one of those not quite poetic phrases. 

He heard how Jaskier, in light of the question, rushed his pace for matching Geralt’s speed. The witcher curved a new and tiny, very tiny, smile that faded away before the bard could see it.

“Well, no, not really,” Jaskier replied with a grin of enjoyment. “I’m practicing, I want to describe better sights, nicer, you know? I know I lack that.”

“You think so?” Geralt couldn’t tell if that was true, all of Jaskier’s songs were the same for him. Good songs, music he had learned to admire and respect, but all the same.

“I know so,” Jaskier sounded serious and convinced, still the amusement in his voice. He let out a loud and theatrical sigh and waved his hand pointing out the woods. “Look, Geralt, isn’t it beautiful? The trees with this light, all this orange, this full spectacle of color and shades, the shimmer in the horizon shattered by the leaves and the trunks?” Jaskier trotted a little ahead and faced Geralt while walking backward and framed the witcher with both hands. “Then you, the dark contrast in all this glow, the shadow, all black and leather, all brooding silence, all stiffness, a witcher walking alongside his loyal companion.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and snorted.

“You are going to fall,” he said.

“Excuse me,” Jaskier disagreed, with the most dignified expression he was capable of performing. “But I’m not that clumsy, thank you, I'm–”

Then, as if Geralt has had seen the future, Jaskier tripped and fell on his butt. Geralt stopped and Roach neighed with happiness. This time Geralt didn’t hide a smile.

“Ha-ha, very funny, ” Jaskier growled from the ground, legs spread and hands plunged in the mantle of leaves. He whined. “Oh, Gods and Fate, the ground is wet. Geralt–” He looked up at the witcher, noticed his delightful face, and puffed out his cheeks feeling them burning. “Geralt, stop laughing at me and help me.”

Geralt shook his head and stepped towards him, offering Jaskier a hand. The bard grabbed it and got up fast as if he was a feather because Geralt could lift him with no effort. Jaskier huffed, faking being outraged, and rubbed his hands in his pants with all the pain of his heart. Geralt watched him in silence, only one step away from him, still smiling, and took a deep breath.

And then he lost himself.

It wasn’t as if he never sensed Jaskier’s scent before, of course. In fact, he was more than used to it. It was everywhere.

All the time. 

He could recognize it among a crowd of villagers who hadn’t bathed in years. He could keep track of it even if Jaskier was days ahead of him and the trail was already cold for everyone else. He could know through it if Jaskier was happy, anxious, worried, sad or satisfied among other things. He could know if Jaskier was horny and didn’t want Geralt to know it. Wich was funny because Jaskier knew witchers could see, hear and smell everything. 

Not really everything but everything.

For the rest of the people, Jaskier smelled different every day. The bard took good care of that. He would use whatever he could use to mask any scent he didn’t want to smell in himself, either were perfumes, soap, incense, oils, ointments or flowers from the road itself. It didn’t matter what.

And certainly, it didn’t matter to Geralt either. The core was always the same and that was what he liked.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice, curious and inquisitive, almost caught him off-guard. Geralt closed his eyes for a second and breathed out a deep grunt. “Everything it’s okay? It’s a monster? Do you want to take another path?” The bard held his breath, looked around and gripped the strap of his lute case. “Now I can picture a new song,” he said. “The Ballad of the Bright Amber Woods, where Geralt of Rivia, the Mighty Witcher, the White Wolf, fought a dangerous and terrible…” He turned around, facing Geralt. “What monster is?”

Gerald opened his eyes and gazed at Jaskier, at his pretty blue eyes, his slightly parted pale pink lips, his face still somewhere between childhood and adulthood with soft and sharp features mixed. Geralt tilted his head a little. He smelled worried in Jaskier, alongside… wonder. He wanted to sink his face in the bard’s neck and inhale deeply, taste his scent with tongue and teeth.

“Geralt?”

“You smell really nice.” It was a whisper, a low and hoarse rumor that made Jaskier feel a shiver running down his body.

“I… what?” Jaskier babbled. Beside Geralt, Roach caressed the witcher’s hair and shoulder with her snout, huffing softly on him. Geralt curved a small smile and patted the mare’s neck. Jaskier blinked, realizing there was no monster near. “Geralt, my sweet witcher, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t had a bath for a week and a half, I can feel the dirt crawling for all my body, it’s impossible for me to smell nice right now.”

Geralt tilted his head.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. He took one step ahead and entered Jaskier’s personal bubble. He heard the bard’s heartbeat speed up in half a second and smelled his sudden nervousness that made his blue eyes glow a little more. Geralt’s gaze shifted between his eyes and his lips. Twice. “Maybe you haven’t had a bath in a long time, maybe you smell like sweat, mud, and grime. Maybe you are covered in dust. I know that what you most want right now is submerging yourself in rose water. I could feel it, it makes you want to howl in despair.” Geralt raised his free hand. Jaskier had his doublet unlaced, the chemise mid open, as always, even if those days the wind were almost cold. And Geralt knew why. He touched skin, Jaskier’s chest between pecs, and tapped once there with two fingers. The heartbeat turned out impossibly fast and Jaskier began to irradiate heat as if he were the sun. 

“But deep down, Jaskier, you smell like soft feathers, like freshly baked bread, like buttercup and daisies, like oil and wood.” Geralt narrowed his eyes a little, slowly. “Like a safe bonfire in the middle of the night. Like sweet ale. It doesn’t matter if you covered yourself in whatever cheap cologne you want to use or if you hadn’t bathed in years. That’s your core scent and that’s the smell I’ll sense on you always.”

And then Geralt, as if he had realized how much he had talked without thinking, blinked, went stiff and walked away from Jaskier with Roach huffing happy behind him. Jaskier, who was trembling without realizing it, exhaled a deep broken breath and hurried to follow Geralt.

“Wait, wait a moment,” he said out of breath, still shaking, feeling his head full of bees. “You can’t say those things and not kiss me after, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Geralt sighed, no, grunted.

“Nothing is wrong with me. I said too much, forget it,” he said.

“Of course I won’t. That was the most beautiful thing someone had said to me in my life,” Jaskier complained and then his expression softened. “And it was you who said it…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt saw Jaskier biting his lower lip, and he smelled happiness, pure joy, and unconditional love. He could recognize it, it was a sweet scent. Jaskier walked beside him in a new and comfortable silence, with the last glint of bright sunlight shining in Jaskier’s hair with little and glossy yellow diamonds.

“I love you too, you know,” Jaskier said then, with a weak and confident whisper. 

Geralt kept walking without looking at him, feeling surrounded by the bard’s scent, strong, powerful and cozy. He flashed a grin. Then he said:

“Yes, I know.”

[thomothysdoodles]

1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 17, 18, 20, 23, 26, 17, 28, 31, 32, 35, 37, 38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67,, 68, 69, 70, 71, 73, 74, 75, 85, 86, 87, 88, 90, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 98

I am so sorry, I literally have no idea what came over me

Wow Lulu you really said ‘let’s ask this bitch EVERYTHING’. I love it tho lmao. Since it’s long imma put it under the cut tho

4. How did your elementary school teachers describe you?

“A pleasure to have in class, a bit lost in their mind, if they committed and focused more they’d excell but they settle for good grades”

From elementary to high school lol

5. Do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

I like soda cans

6. Pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Somewhere between tomboy and grunge I think

8. Movies or tv shows?

Tv shows

9. Favorite smell in the summer?

Sunscreen and freshly baked bread

11. What do you have for breakfast on an average day?

A cup of milk with some cereal or biscuits. For the past month I’ve been following the keto diet tho, and I usually are some ricotta with peanut butter for breakfast

12. Name of your favorite playlist?

“Sad but vibing” lol

14. Favorite non chocolate candy?

Strawberry lollipops

17. Most frequently worn pair of shoes?

A black vans pair, I bought em in August but the left one already got a hole on the front 😤

18. Ideal weather?

Cloudy but not too windy or cold. I just don’t like the sunlight in my face

20. Preferred place to write?

On my phone’s notes app lol, I’ve got almost two thousand notes in here

23. Strange habits?

I hide stuff in my room with no apparent reason. I’ve got money stashed around my room in four different points lol

26. Favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Given the chance, I like to race with my bike to get some refreshing wind

27. Favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Cozy up in a blanket and watch some tv

28. Five songs to describe you.

Karma— AJR

Ultimately— Khai Dreams

Putting a spin on Slow Dancing in the Dark— egg

Mars— YungBlud

Gotta be a Reason— Alec Benjamin

31. What outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

Black jeans, black sturdy boots, and a silly little hoodie lmao

32. Top five favorite vines?

‘DONT FUCK WITH ME, IVE GOT THE POWER OF GOD AND ANIME ON MY SIDE— AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA’

‘Let me see what you have!’ ‘A KNIFE!’ ‘NO!!!’

‘Hey bro, what do you wanna eat?’ (‘The souuuls of my enemies’) ‘A bagel’ (‘NOOO’) ‘..two bagels.’

FR E SH A VOCA DO

‘Two shots of vodka..’ *pours half a bottle of vodka*

35. Average time you fall asleep?

I am terrible at this. I love sleeping but I also love feeling ✨ unbothered ✨ doing whatever I want in the middle of the night. So, never before 3am usually

37. Suitcase or duffel bag?

Suitcase

38. Lemonade or tea?

Tea

40. Weirdest thing to happen at your school?

I dunno how weird it is, but I always found peculiar that there were cigarette butts on the ceiling of the bathrooms. Like, seven feet tall ceilings. How did those cigs get there??

41. Last person you texted?

My best friend to tell her that my sister found a way to let me watch supernatural on American Netflix >:3c

42. Jacket pockets or pant pockets?

Jacket pockets

43. Hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Hoodie and/or jean jacket

44. Favorite scent for soap?

I dunno. Talcum powder I think

45. Which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Superhero

46. Most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Tee and boxers. Sometimes socks too

48. If you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Umh. Clementines maybe. Easy to peel, sweet but also not, sometimes with seeds.. and some people loathe the little white stripes they have and they spend hours peeling those away

49. What saying or quote do you live by?

“Like any / unloved thing, I don’t know if I’m real /when I’m not being touched.” —Natalie Wee

50. What made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

My best friends always make me wheeze, it can be the stupidest dumbest thing ever, I’m really fucking easy to amuse lol

51. current stresses?

My driver license my driver license my driver license my driver license my driver license my d

52. Favorite font?

I have no idea. This one? Lol

53. What is the current state of your hands?

Good. I just cut my nails, I really wanna put some nail polish but my dad comes back home tomorrow and he always looks me weird when I put it

55. Favorite fairy tail?

The little mermaid

56. Favorite tradition?

A tradition I have with my friends is that when we celebrate someone’s birthday, we go to the thrift shop and buy them stupid stuff to wear or put on. On my birthday a couple days ago I had to wear playboy bunny ears and a black glittery bow tie lol. Once I bought my best friend a tiny pirate hat, and for another my friend took a boa with pink feathers lol

57. The 3 biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Mmmh

I’m having a hard time with my parents since I dropped out of uni but I think I’m starting to overcome it finally

When my parents were about to divorce and in was dreading the idea of moving from this city

That time in middle school I spent a couple weeks at the hospital to run a bunch of neurological tests

58. Four talents you’re proud having?

I’m pretty good at multitasking

It’s very difficult to enrage me (yes I consider it a talent)

I can juggle lol

I can read in moving cars/trains etc without getting sick :D

59. If you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“What the f—“

61. Favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/ etc?

“Happiness isn't in the having. It's just in the being. It's in just saying it.” Aka Castiel’s love confession (OF COURSE I WAS GONNA SAY SOMETHING DESTIEL RELATED)

62. Seven characters you relate to?

No specific order:

Dean Winchester

Eric Derekson

Jake Peralta

Doug Eiffel (👀)

Tony Stark

Klaus Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

63. Five songs that would play in your club?

Anything from P!ATD

Bang!— AJR

Natural— Imagine Dragons

Anything from Set It Off

Maniac— Conan Gray

64. Favorite website from your childhood?

I didn’t use computers in my childhood lol

66. Favorite flower(s)?

Fresias 💕

67. Good luck charms?

I used to keep in my pocket a little hazelnut my dad gave me once telling me that it was a good luck charm. I took it away tho. I dunno, maybe my rings

68. Worst flavor of any food of drink you’ve ever tried?

I have to admit I never tasted it, but the smell of truffle literally makes me gag, so that

69. A fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Apparently your love language is both the one you give AND want love, and also the one you most lacked growing up. So. Mull that over.

70. Left or right handed?

Rightie

71. Least favorite pattern?

Holey ones. Make my sight go double

74. At what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an Advil of ibuprofen?

A seven I guess. I usually try to sleep off anything I have, I hate to take medicines, and loathe to call the doctor lol

75. When did you lose your first tooth?

Around.. six I think?

85. Fairy tails or mythology?

Mythology forever

86. Cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies 🍪

87. Your greatest fear?

That the other shoe will drop and I’ll be alone and lonely

88. Your greatest wish?

To have enough stubbornness to do what I wish to do without getting demoralized so easily

90. Luckiest mistake?

Me and one of my best friends got to know each other through other common friends, and once they both couldn’t come and we ended up spending the day together. We had lots of fun, but we also got drunk and I lost my mcfreaking watch lmao

92. Lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Lamps

94. Favorite season?

Winter ❄️

95. Favorite app on your phone?

Tumblr! (And the music one. And the podcasts one. And— jk lol)

[mandy23bwrites]

Do You Ever?

This is set in the same universe as my first Danny fic, “What’s Cookin’ Good Lookin’?” - this can be read alone but if you would like more of this dynamic, you can read it here.

Fandom: Bloodline (Netflix)

Character/Pairing: Danny Rayburn x Reader

Disclaimer: Unlike “What’s Cookin’ Good Lookin’?”, the reader in this is not gender neutral. Female pronouns will be used to describe them.

Tags/Warnings: Female reader, established relationship, kissing

Word Count: 494

Summary: Baking? Cooking? Those things might be an intimate part of your lives but so is love (and love is timeless).

Read on AO3

“Do you ever get tired of baking?”

You don’t bother looking up at the man in question, too busy switching pans in and out of the oven. For a man who’s just come home to the smell of freshly baked cookies, Danny Rayburn has a funny way of showing his appreciation. Then again… he just finished a shift at your bakery, so maybe he has a point.

“Do you ever get tired of cooking?” You call back. You take every chance you can to tease him about his culinary background, finding endless amusement in the fact that you are both dating, and employing, a chef. You are even more amused not to get some sassy remark back from him. You can imagine what he’s thinking: touché. “Besides! I have to test this new recipe on someone!”

You toss your oven mitts onto the counter and turn to see him entering the kitchen. Holding your arms out to him, he melts into your embrace. You tangle your fingers in his coarse locks and he hums, burying his face in your neck. You stay like this for a while until he pulls back just enough to kiss you.

You’re interrupted by the oven timer, forcing you to pull away to retrieve the last pan of cookies. 

“How was work, baby?”

You catch sight of him grinning as you put your mitts away.

“My boss is a bitch and works me to the bone.” You snort, knowing full well you scheduled him to be in the back today, making the dough for tomorrow’s bread - his favorite thing to do. “But she pays me well so I can’t complain… too much.” His hands are immediately on your hips, tugging you back into his arms the moment you’re done turning off the oven.

“She sounds terrible, how can you stand her?” You murmur, pressing another kiss to his lips. 

“I think if I seduce her, she might finally give me a break.” You can’t help but laugh. 

“Sounds like it could get messy. I hope that works out for you.” He grins.

“I have a good feeling it will.” You shake your head and give him one last kiss before pulling away again.

“Well Mr. Rayburn, that *bitch* wants help making dinner, and since you never tire of cooking, you’re just the candidate to assist me.” He chuckles and moves to wash his hands as you grab some pots and pans. 

“For the record,” he says, glancing at you over his shoulder, “I think I would get tired of cooking far sooner than I would get tired of you.”

You can’t help but pause, your heart aching at his words. He’s drying his hands when you come up behind him and hug him, kissing between his shoulder blades. You don’t know it yet, but you’ll both say something just like that in your wedding vows. For now, though, it’s one of the sweetest “I love you’s” you've ever heard.

[the-a-word-2214]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

The Singer

Anthony Ramos x OC

Warnings: Some swearing, drinking

A/N: Thank you so much to @charming-charlie for collborating with me on this! All credit goes to her on this chapter.

Summary: Anthony and Scarlett get to know each other, in what one would consider a first date. Who knew it would end in embarrassment?

2,147 words

Chapter 2: The First Date

New York City was bustling with people, especially at night. The tourists were gone, sleeping in their hotel rooms, leaving the regular city dwellers to finally come out and enjoy their hometown. Scarlett saw instantly how Anthony was able to blend in. Despite being on one of the biggest productions on Broadway, no on was flocking to him, grabbing at him, desperate for some attention. He seemed to know how to avoid detection, which allowed Scarlett to think that he snuck away like this before.

The walk was quiet, with a few pleasantries between the singers. She wanted to ask him some questions, get to know him, but she didn’t want to dominate the conversation, or say something that could be taken in a different way. She just met the man and she didn’t want to say the wrong thing. However, she kept telling herself that if she didn’t say something, he might take it as she wasn’t interested.

The restaurant was nestled in between a music store and a bagel shop. Scarlett almost missed it and she probably would have if Anthony didn’t steer her in the right direction. Their shoulders crashed against one another as he nodded toward the Italian bistro and Scarlett followed his line of sight. The restaurant had tall dark windows, a café area outside that was surrounded by white lights, and a revolving door that led to the inside. One thing Scarlett saw about this place that stood out: it was small. Like, impractically small. There’s no way the two of them would find a table, let alone be seated comfortably.

Yet Anthony’s smile was as bright as ever.

The pair walked in and the hostess smiled in greeting. “Hey Anthony. Usual table?” she asked politely as she turned to start fishing out menus from the box behind her. Anthony shook his head. “Nah, I don’t have my whole crew with me tonight. Table for two instead.” The hostess nodded approvingly, removing two black menus from the box, and motioning Anthony to follow her.

Scarlett was right. The place was jam packed, lively and jovial. It reminded her of her club on a Saturday night. Loud and boisterous, but still classy and respectful. She was so in trance with all the people, mostly because it only seemed to add to her anxiety, that she was completely caught off guard when she reached a staircase. “You coming?” she heard Anthony above her.

Looking up, she saw the Broadway star was halfway up the stairs, his body turned to look at her with confusion. “Don’t tell me you have a fear of stairs,” Anthony said, although his tone was meant to be taken in jest. Scarlett shook her head as she followed him up the flight of steps.

The second floor of the restaurant was much quieter and had less people. The blonde caught on quickly. They were in the VIP area of the restaurant, and Anthony frequented this place enough to have a table to himself. It was surprising, and Scarlett had to admit, she may even felt a little bit jealous at the connection that Anthony had. He didn’t seem to flaunt the fact that he was this ginormous Broadway star.

The couple took a seat at a small table in the back and Scarlett could feel her exhaling a sigh of relief that they were not in center view. She was shy, especially in big crowds. This was a good setting for her. The menus were placed in front of them, along with a complimentary basket of breadsticks. Scarlett did not feel hungry. Her nerves were getting to her.

“Can I start you off with any drinks?” a waiter appeared suddenly, as if on cue. Then again, Scarlett shouldn’t be surprised. It was the VIP area after all. “A bottle of Chardonnay sound good?” Anthony asked Scarlett, who merely nodded at the suggestion. “A’ight, we will start with that.” The waiter left after being dismissed to fetch the wine, leaving Anthony and Scarlett alone for a few minutes.

Say something, Scarlett told herself. She practically had a celebrity, a Broadway idol, in front of her and she couldn’t get her mouth to work. He sang, acted, and danced every night. Maybe he has a few pointers for a singer like herself. That’s what they have in common so far. Talk about that, she told herself. It was at this point she was started to mentally curse her nervous and shy personality.

“How long have you been singing?” Anthony asked. He took a breadstick from the basket and began munching on it. Scarlett looked at him with a sort of crinkled face. It was like she was studying him, like she had a test about him the next day. Anthony didn’t waver; he must be used to people gawking at him like that. “A while. I was a waitress at the bar until my boss caught me singing a tune in the back while washing out the glasses. Since then, I was promoted to the spotlight,” Scarlett answered as calmly as she could. Her hands were pressed tightly in her lap and she knew they would start trembling if she let them go.

The waiter came back, popped the cork on the bottle, and filled two wine glasses with the white liquid before leaving the bottle in an ice bucket on the table. Once he left, Scarlett found her hand wrapped tightly around the glass and bringing it to her lips, where she took a small sip, followed by a larger sip before setting the glass down. From that point on, she started to loosen up. She could feel it. Good, this was good. Maybe now she could relax and enjoy Anthony’s company without worrying about her shy demeanor.

The pair talked about anything and everything after that. Anthony told her about the jokes and hijinks that went on backstage at Hamilton, including the time he hid the king’s crown from Jonathan Groff. Poor Jonathan was forced to go onstage in a cheap and flimsy king’s hat from a costume store. Scarlett told Anthony about the time she took up horseback riding, only to end up with a broken arm in the process. When she revealed that the horse’s name was Bad Luck, Anthony broke out into a fit of giggles at how poetically karmic the name was.

At that point, the bottle of Chardonnay was totally empty, including half of the breadstick basket. Anthony had already paid for their next-to-nothing meal and pocketing his credit card when Scarlett was coming back to reality. Something didn’t feel right. Anthony noticed immediately and looked at her with concern. “You okay?” he asked and the blonde nodded. The Broadway star seemed unconvinced. “Where do you live?” he questioned with a cocked eyebrow. “Down the road. Like two blocks that way,” Scarlett ended up answering. She tried to point in one direction, but her arm was twirling in the air, pointing everywhere. She lowered her arm, confused as to why her appendages were not obeying the commands from her brain. “Near the bakery,” Scarlett mentioned. She loved waking up to the smell of freshly baked bread and cookies. Her apartment complex was right next door.

Anthony nodded. He knew the place well enough. Once or twice, the cast and crew received treats from the bakery. “C’mon, let’s get you home.” He stood up easily, like he didn’t have a drink at all. Scarlett, however, seemed to stumble just to get on her feet. Anthony approached her, grabbing her by the arm and carefully guiding her. It practically hit Scarlett as the two were making their way across the room to the stairs, that maybe Anthony only drank his own glass of wine. That meant… shit, Scarlett! You drank the whole damn bottle!

There were no words to describe what she felt. Anger at herself for being so stupid and careless was at the top of the list. Now Anthony was seeing her in a drunken stupor, and the pair only just met tonight. This was not looking good.

Scarlett had to grip the railing, with Anthony holding tightly around her waist, as she practically hobbled down the stairs. She could walk but not in a straight line. More than once, Anthony had to pick her up and help her down the flight of stairs, like she was a child. The embarrassment that seeped inside her was also not helping. Once outside, she was hoping the fresh air would do her some good, yet all she really wanted to do was run up and down the street with her arms spread wide. Thank god Anthony continued to keep a tight grip on her.

Normally, he would call for a cab, but since Scarlett lived so close, and he wanted to see that she got home safely, he stayed by her side. “How much did I drink?” Scarlett asked, her words were slurring a bit. Anthony almost thought she asked something else, something with a bit of gibberish in it, but he was able to pick out the phrase. “A lot,” he said with a laugh. Scarlett felt herself turn red from embarrassment. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Either way, it did nothing to help with her mental state.

The apartment complex was a bit rundown. It was a newer building but from the looks of things, it gave the impression that the construction company rushed to get it ready. The roof was in need of cleaning, the paint was chipping off, and it gave off this feeling that rent was cheaper than normal, especially in a city like New York. “What floor?” Anthony asked. Scarlett was clinging to him now. Her arm was wrapped around his shoulders and she just raised one finger in the air.

It took a while to figure out exactly which apartment was hers. She would giggle when he asked and even tried to keep the key away from him in some weird game of keep-away. Once inside, Anthony was surprised to find it sort of normal. Despite Scarlett having too much to drink, which he felt was fine considering everything, he enjoyed talking to her and getting to know her tonight. In his experience, that often came with hidden secrets from girls he would be interested in. A messy home, a kid he didn’t know the girl had, money problems, so on and so forth. Scarlett continued to surprise him.

He set her down on the couch and went into the kitchen. When he came back, he had a glass of water in his hand and was offering it to the blonde. “Here, this’ll help,” he said gently. He sat next to her and Scarlett took the water, along with a few sips of the helpful drink. It did do wonders. She knew the reason she was hit so hard from the bottle of wine was because she drank on an empty stomach. That was on her and she wouldn’t blame Anthony if he didn’t want to see her again. With that thought, she felt like maybe she should tell him how she was feeling, especially when she had liquid courage working its way through her system.

“Thanks for bringing me home,” she said while setting the glass of water down on the coffee table in front of her. She turned to look at the Broadway star with a smile. Anthony was about to say something but Scarlett kept talking. “You’re really cute,” she said while leaning into him, “Like, really, really cute.” That was not how she wanted to start the conversation but oh well, it’s out in the open now.

“I kinda like you,” Scarlett continued. She caught Anthony off guard, she could tell by the look on his face, yet her drunken stupor apparently didn’t care. “I think you are funny, good-looking, and that smile, dude,” she replied. Anthony was beaming at the compliments, but he remained composed. He was determined to keep his hands to himself. One bad news story and the tickets for his show would flop, plus he might be out of a job. That was partly why he didn’t drink it up at parties and such. He had to retain this public image.

He was about to say something, but Scarlett never got to find out what that was. In a moment, an instant, she ended up kissing him. His lips were right there, and she couldn’t help it. She was leaning toward him, unaware of what exactly she was doing. It just felt right, in that moment. However, Scarlett wished she could remember what happened next because, once her eyes closed and she gave herself over to her drunk side completely, she passed out. As if the night couldn’t get any worse or embarrassing, she was laying right on Anthony’s lap.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

[champagnedreams]

End of Summer

The summer was officially over. The first day of the new year was effectively tomorrow. Unlike most of the students at EHS, Nari lived in Geneva. Because of that, it really was not too hard for her to set up her room and did not need to come to EHS a few days earlier to do so. Not that she had too much stuff to begin with anyway. But that was besides the point. Having already set up her room, Nari decided to spend her last few days of summer with her aunt Valentina, helping her as she usually did at her café, Sternenlicht.

Sternenlicht was Valentina’s café. Valentina had set it up about 15 odd years ago, when Nari was still quite young. Young enough that her adopted mother, Sofia was still in the picture. Nari grew up helping Valentina run the café of her dreams. She had always wanted to run a café, and when she had earned enough, she promptly quit her job at the bank. Valentina had always hated that job and frequently described it as a “soul-sucking profession.” When she ammased enough savings, Valentina bought a small café. It was quite run down when Valentina bought it, but she instantly fell in love with the location. She loved the quiet, cobble-stone street it was located on. She also loved the fact that the café had a small apartment above it, which made it a perfect place for Valentina and a young Nari to live in. Over the course of the years, Nari and Valentina fixed up the café’s interiors and eventually, had a successful café. The café was known for its baked goods and cakes, although they made great coffee as well. Most of their business was during the summer when tourists frequented Geneva. Because of this, Valentina encouraged Sofia to go to EHS when she was offered the scholarship, knowing that she would not be as busy during the rest of the year. And while Nari loved her aunt for sending her to EHS, she still missed Sternenlicht dearly.

Seeing her bus stop approach, Nari quickly snapped out of her thoughts and stood up, walking to the front of the bus. A few seconds later, she stepped off the bus, waving goodbye to the conductor. After doing so, Nari turned around and began to walk down the street. The café was a short walk from the bus stop. Within 10 minutes, Nari would arrive. But as she did, Nari relished the familiar streets of the neighborhood she grew up in- old, Swiss chalet-style buildings, cobble-stone pathways filled with tourists and shopkeepers, bustling storefronts selling everything from flowers to clothes, food, wine, and chocolates. Smiling and waving at familiar faces, Nari reached the café. As soon as she saw the exterior of Sternenlicht, a wide smile broke out across Nari’s lips. The three outdoor cast-iron tables were occupied by groups of young people drinking coffee and eating various baked goods. Inside, all of the café’s tables were occupied. A group of customers were collected by the bakery, curiously browsing the café’s selection of freshly baked breads and cakes. A small line of 3 people patiently stood for their turn by the cashier. Nari’s eyes carefully surveyed the café for her aunt and when she could not see her, Nari knew it was time for her to go back into the kitchen. Nari knew that her aunt would most certainly be found there, and she was right.

Walking back, Nari pushed open the doors to the kitchen and there was her aunt. Valentina stood behind the counter, wearing her apron, her long blonde hair tied up tightly as she kneaded the dough with great concentration. Valentina had not even noticed Nari enter the kitchen. Behind Valentina, a group of 2 chefs worked to make various baked goods- taking out bread and tarts from the oven, icing cakes and pastries, etc. Nari waved at them with a smile before walking over to her aunt, who still had not noticed her. Wanting to take advantage of this, Nari walked as quietly as she could and hovered her palm over the dough her aunt was kneading. For a second, Valentina was stunned. But she quickly recovered and when she did, a smile broke out across her lips as well. Letting out a light laugh, Valentina quickly hugged Nari, careful not to let her dough-covered palms touch Nari’s clothes or hair.

“Hello love, I didn’t know you were coming today,” Valentina greeted.

Nari grinned in response. “I know,” she admitted. “I thought I’d surprise you and see if you needed any help today.”

Valentina smiled in response as she returned to kneading the dough. “Well you certainly did surprise me,” she admitted. “But love, I don’t need any help today. You’ve worked hard enough all summer as it is. It’s your turn to enjoy and relax a bit,” Valentina continued. “Aren’t your friends back yet?” she asked.

Nari shook her head lightly in denial. “Not yet,” she admitted. “I think they’re all coming next week- Kat might come earlier though, but I am not too sure,” she explained.

Valentina nodded as she listened to Nari. “And what about that boy?” she asked cheekily.

Nari rolled her eyes at her aunt’s reaction. “Aunt Val, I already told you, Henri’s just a friend. Besides, I think he went back to Sweden until school starts back up again,” she explained.

Valentina rolled her eyes lightly at Nari. “Sure, he is,” she commented dryly.

“He is!” Nari insisted with a grin. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be against me dating?” she teased.

Valentina rolled her eyes at that. “I should be, but I know I raised you to be smart enough to know what are the bad apples so to speak,” she replied, as she placed the kneaded dough in a bowl.

Nari nodded with a grin. “You sure did,” she admitted.

As a child, Valentina had never been overprotective towards Nari. Nor had she been especially strict. However, Valentina had taught Nari how to read people at a young age. She had taught her how to distinguish between trouble and kind people, and that was one of the most valuable lessons Nari had ever learned. It was because of Valentina that Nari was able to navigate EHS as well as she had done so far. Nari to be honest, was one of the few students at EHS who has not involved in any drama. While a scholarship student, she got on well with almost everyone-those on scholarships like her, and those who weren’t either. She also was excellent at navigating her way out of unnecessary drama and scandal. It was because of this that Nari was really on good terms with almost everyone at EHS.

“Anyway,” Valentina began. “Since you are here, have you eaten?” she asked, as she put away the bowl of dough to rest.

Nari nodded lightly in response. “Yes, I had a fruit on my way here,” she explained as she watched her aunt roll her eyes. “Fruits are snacks not meals,” Valentina retorted quickly, reaching for a freshly baked croissant, fresh from the oven. Removing it delicately from the hot pan, she placed it on a plate, accompanied by some fresh butter and blueberry jam. “Eat,” she ordered Nari as she handed her the plate. Nari nodded in response with a grin. The scent of the freshly baked croissant was addictive.  She could smell the butter in the air. She could see the steam seeping from the baked pastry and the sight of it was almost irresistible to her. Once it cooled a little, Nari carefully picked up the croissant and took a small bite of it- she could hear the crunch of the pastry and could feel the pastry dissolve on her tongue. It was beyond delicious.

“This is so good,” Nari spoke, her eyes closed as she savored the taste of the croissant.

Valentina grinned in response. “Good, I’m glad,” she responded as she watched Nari eat the croissant.

“Tell me when your friends come back. I’ll bring by a basket of croissants and cakes for them,” she offered as Nari nodded. “Luca would legitimately love you for that,” Nari commented between bites of croissants. Valentina laughed lightly at that.

“Do you want another one?” Valentina asked as Nari shook her head lightly in denial. “No,” she admitted. “This is enough for now,” she added as she moved to tie her hair back. Carefully looking around the room, Nari walked to pick up her apron hanging from the wall. Tying it, she turned to her aunt. “So, what do you need me to do today?” she asked.

Valentina rolled her eyes lightly at her niece. “Love, I said take the day off. You don’t need to help me today- Christopher and John are here,” she explained, motioning to the two chefs in the kitchen who grinned at Nari. Nari, grinned at them in return too. “I know,” she admitted turning to face her aunt. “But I want to, you know how much I love baking,” she added as Valentina nodded with a light laugh. “I certainly do,” she agreed. Nari nodded in response with a grin. “So, let me help you,” she began. “It’s not like I have anything else particularly pressing to do- none of my friends are here anyway,” she admitted.

Valentina nodded as she heard Nari. “Fine,” she responded. “Do you want to help me with the tarts then?” she asked. Nari nodded excitedly with a wide grin. “of course!” she admitted enthusiastically. “What tarts by the way?” she asked.

Valentina grinned at her niece’s enthusiasm and gestured to a tray of strawberry tarts which were to be placed in the display case next. “We just got the freshest strawberries, so I thought I’d make strawberry tarts and a vanilla-strawberry cake,” Valentina explained. Nari nodded excitedly. “That sounds amazing!” she admitted. Valentina laughed at Nari’s response lightly. “It is,” she admitted.

“So, do you want to do the tart or the cake” Valentina asked. “I can do the tarts and help you with the cake when I’m done,” Nari responded. Valentina nodded at Nari’s response. “Alright,” she replied with a smile.

A few moments later, Nari was busy measuring ingredients for the strawberry tart filling, while Valentina began shaping more breads from the dough, she had previously kneaded. And just like that, Nari’s last day of summer was spent at her favorite place doing exactly what she loved the most- baking at Sternenlicht with her aunt Valentina.

[bugheadotp]

a birthday to remember

so this is a really really late secret santa gift for @betts-and-jug​. i took your prompt and put my twist on it, i hope you enjoy!

ao3 link: archiveofourown.org/works/13381398

~~~~~

“I don’t understand how you can be so cheery so early in the morning, Betty,” FP yawned as opened to the trailer door wider to let her in.

“It’s an exciting day Mr. Jones, and thank you again for agreeing to help me. I know you’d probably rather be sleeping,” Betty said as she unpacked food from the brown grocery bag she’d been carrying. “It’s not every day your son turns eighteen.”

“God, where did the time go?” he sighed. “It seems like only yesterday you, Jughead and Archie would play in Fred’s backyard and piss Alice off with the mess you’d make in her kitchen.”

Betty smiled at the memories, “Yeah, much simpler times.” She reached into the cupboard above her to retrieve the carton of eggs and cracked all six eggs into a bowl. “Can you heat a pan up please Mr. Jones?”

“You know it’s FP, Betty.” She nodded bashfully and FP moved to the stove and turned the dial on the right to a medium heat. The blonde also handed him a frying pan from the clean dishes next to the sink, which he placed on the back burner of the stove..

Betty continued to whisk the eggs, then moved onto making a pancake mixture. FP made a pot of coffee before sitting at the small table, knowing that she’d rather not have him in the way. He smiled at the thought of his son. FP was always proud of him, even when he wasn’t around that much, knowing that Jughead wasn’t following in his footsteps had made him a better person already.

“Do you kids have plans today?”

“We’re going to Pop’s where Veronica, Archie and Kevin are meeting us. Then the Bijou this evening and then to my house. I told my mom that Jug doesn’t really like his birthday but she was insisting that he had to do something on his eighteenth, so she’s baked him a cake. You’re still  okay to come right?”

“Of course, Alice has been texting me all week. I think she thinks I’m going to forget or something,” FP sighed as he got up to refill his coffee cup.

“Yeah, she does that a lot. I’ve had three texts from her this morning already.”

FP watched Betty move around the kitchen like it was her own. It wasn’t an unusual sight. Ever since Jughead had first asked her out, Betty had slowly started to add her own touch to the trailer.

It started with her own body wash on the small shelf in the shower, and a very sleepy FP not realizing he used it until he was popping bread in the toaster and Jughead had asked why he smelled like strawberries.  

A month later he’d returned to his trailer, after a long day at a construction site, and was greeted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. FP knew that he didn’t have anything in his kitchen cupboards that would assist in the baking of said cookies and walked into the kitchen to see new mixing bowls stacked on the counter and Jughead who was washing up a bowl. Betty was using a smaller bowl to mix icing and insisted that he need not pay her for any of the newly bought things.

Betty had a printed chore chart for housework stuck on the fridge, color-coded and laminated, that had the three of them alternating between washing up, laundry and vacuuming. Jughead had started to learn to cook, basic things like rice and pasta, to accompany whatever feast Betty was making alongside him. They’d work together effortlessly every time.

FP smiled at all of the memories, his son was lucky to have Betty in his life.

He glanced around the living room, noting the wrapped box next to the TV stand. “Can I ask what you got him? Or is that something private?”

“Not at all.” Betty moved the pancake she’d just made onto the stack of others and, after turning the heat to low on the stove moved to sit opposite FP with a glass of orange juice. “It’s sort of like a memory box of us, from things I found when mom was cleaning out the garage. It has some pictures of us that I didn’t even know existed, the ticket stubs from our first date, the first article we co-wrote for the Blue and Gold, things like that.”

“Wow, and all I got him was a voucher for Pop’s.” The silence grew between them once again, neither knowing how to continue the conversation from there. Betty got up to resume making pancakes when FP two of the photos on the fridge caught his eye. They were taken simultaneously, on the first day of Pre-K. One of Betty and Jughead, the small blonde’s arms wrapped tightly around his son and the other of them smiling brightly at each other. “Did you know the first day he met you, he told me he wanted to marry you?”

Betty turned around, a shocked look on her face, “What?”

He indicated for her to sit back down, which she did, pouring them both another glass of orange juice (FP limited himself to two cups of coffee a day.) “The first day you met, your mom, Fred, and I had met up beforehand so that you’d all become acquainted with each other before school. We’d all arranged to meet in the park, Fred was running late but you and your mom were already there, sitting on one of the benches. As we were walking up to you, Jug tapped my leg and said you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.”

Betty’s face turned a light pink and she gulped down the remainder of juice in her glass. “How do you remember that?”

“It’s one of those things that stick, I guess. When your first day finished and he came out of school, he begged me to take him to your house to play. In the truck, all he talked about was you and for a four-year-old, he knew a lot of words to describe you. That night when I was tucking him into bed, he said ‘One day, I’m gonna marry her.’

“When he was seven, Gladys and I forgot his birthday, but you didn’t and had brought in a cupcake for him. He kept the candle too and before he went to bed, he came and told me that you wore your special dress when you brought it him, the one you only wore to Church at Easter and Christmas.”

“I remember that. I spent days convincing my mom to let me wear it even though it was about fifty degrees out. Juggie deserved me looking my best.”

“Betty, my boy’s been in love with you for as long as I can remember. You could have worn the worst thing you can think of and he’d still think the world of you,” FP explained with a laugh.

“For the record, I still want to marry you,” Jughead said, leaning on the short counter between the kitchen and the living room.

FP looked between them then got up, “I’ll leave you both to talk. Call me when you’re ready to eat?” He walked towards his room, pausing to give Jughead a hug, “Happy birthday, son.”

“Thanks, dad,” he responded then greeted Betty with a kiss to her forehead and sat where his father had just vacated.

Before Betty could say anything, Jughead opened his hand to reveal a ring. Her eyes widened as she gazed from his hand, back up to his face, “Juggie, I-”

“Betty, I do want to marry you someday. You told me that in your life plan, you wanted to get married by 25 and no sooner, so think of this as a promise ring. We’ll carry on with life, moving to New York, going to college, getting jobs, we’ll do all of that and this,” he held the ring between his thumb and index finger, “this means we’ll do it all together. Through everything that’ll inevitably happen, we will stick together. If you want to that is.”

“Of course I want to Juggie, I love you.” She closed the gap between them, kissing him.

Breaking the kiss he took Betty’s left hand and said, “I read that promise rings go on the ring finger of the left hand.”

Betty nodded and wiggled her finger slightly to help ease the ring past the knuckle. She wrapped her arms around Jughead’s neck and sat on his lap, hugging him tightly.

“Is it safe to come out kids?” FP yelled from his room.

The blonde pressed a kiss to her boyfriend’s lips before telling FP he could return. Betty resumed cooking, plating up what was ready to be consumed.

                                                              ~

After finishing breakfast,  FP gave Jughead his gift then left for work. Betty had finished drying the dishes, with Jughead’s help, when she remembered the present in the living room. She took his hand and led him to the couch and handed him the box.

“I hope you like it, Juggie,” she said pressing a kiss to his cheek then taking a seat next to him.

Jughead opened the box, “Betts, what?”

“It’s a box of our memories Juggie, everything from the plastic toy you gave me when we first met to the pictures you had developed of us yesterday.” Betty said as Jughead went through everything in the box, telling each other the stories associated.

                                                              ~

Later that night after the annual tradition of an ‘inner circle’ lunch at Pop’s, followed by Betty and Jughead’s date night at the Bijou, they arrived back at the Cooper’s house to Alice, Hal and Polly (as well as her twins - who were only just awake) in the kitchen, Alice holding a cake with an 18 candle lit. They all sang happy birthday and Polly’s twins, Junior and Emily, hugged their uncle before being taken to bed. Alice and Hal ate a slice with them before retiring to bed.

Whilst Betty was getting ready for bed, Jughead was sitting at her dressing table, and opened up his email on her laptop to watch a video he’d received from his sister and mom earlier in the day, blowing party horns and singing happy birthday. He typed back a reply about his day, using several exclamation points about his proposal/lifelong promise to Betty, and that the following week when JB’s in town, he’s going to spoil her rotten with the voucher for Pop’s.

Betty walked back into the room, wearing grey pajama shorts and a white tank top, kissed him on the cheek then settled into bed. He logged off and joined her, wrapping his arm around her waist and entangled their fingers, lying gently on her stomach. She turned her head back and glanced up at his blue eyes, kissing him again. “Love you, Juggie.”

“Love you too, Betts,” he replied bringing her closer to him.

[miraculousstorytelling]

The Sweeter Side of Life Chapter 1: My New Roommate

Hello @perditaalottachocolate-blog​! Here is your gift for @mlsecretsanta​! I had a lot of fun with this, and it actually turned out to be long enough that I’ve broken it up into chapters. Here is chapter one! I hope you enjoy!

The plot is very, very loosely based on a synopsis for a lifetime movie called The Sweeter Side of Life. (By this, I mean I looked at the description on imdb and made my own au based off of it, and it barely resembles the synposis anymore, but I liked the title.)

Marinette never expected to end up back here again.

Nostalgia fell over her in waves as she stared at the familiar gold script across the windows of her parents' bakery. She could remember walking home from school with Alya, gossiping about Adrien's latest photo shoot or complaining about history class. The comforting smell of freshly baked bread lingered at the edges of her memory, reminding her that she was only steps away from finally being home.

She peeked into her bag to catch one more glimpse of Tikki before going inside. "We're here!"

Tikki was already grinning up at her. "I know! I can smell it!"

Marinette chuckled. "Me, too. It's good to be back."

She took a deep breath and stepped inside. The cheery ring of the bell over the doorway brought back more memories. Running home after school to finish an assignment or quick visits to grab a pastry between classes while she was at university.

"Hello, and-" Her mother paused mid-greeting, eyes wide when she saw just who was walking inside. "Marinette?"

"Hey, Mom." Marinette waved, clutching onto her suitcase a bit tighter now that Sabine was staring at her. "Surprise?"

Sabine beamed and came around the counter. "It certainly is!" She paused and rushed to the back to call out, "Tom! Marinette's here!"

Her father shouted from the back, "She is? Did I forget she was coming?"

"No, Papa! I didn't tell you!" Marinette answered, smiling at the familiarity of shouting back and forth while her father worked in the back.

"So, it was supposed to be a surprise!" He laughed and wiped some of the flour off his hands. "Wonderful! We're always glad to have you home."

Marinette finally dropped her bags and stepped forward to hug her parents. "Thank you." She felt safe here, as if the past year somehow hadn’t happened at all.

"How long are you staying?" he asked. "I thought you had work."

She bit her lip. "Well, umm..." The tension in her shoulders returned all at once when she leaned back to look at them. "The thing is... This isn't exactly a visit. I quit, and I was actually wondering if I could move back in."

"Oh!" Sabine glanced at her husband. "That... Well, of course!"

Tom rubbed the back of his neck, which was an immediate red flag for Marinette. "We'd love that, honey." He only did that when he was keeping something from her.

Marinette frowned, her nerves replaced with suspicion. "But...?"

"But-"

Footsteps and a soft yawn interrupted Sabine before she could answer. "Morning."

Marinette peeked over Tom's shoulder and let out a sound that could only be described as a panicked squeak.

Adrien Agreste was walking downstairs and into her parents' bakery with annoyingly perfect bed hair and an apron with his name pinned on it.

"Is..." Marinette cleared her throat, reminding herself that she was absolutely not fifteen anymore, and Adrien was no longer her crush. "Why is Adrien here?"

Adrien stepped around her parents, eyes wide when he saw her. "Marinette?"

"Did he come from the apartment?" Marinette asked, struggling to process exactly what she was seeing.

"The thing is-" Tom began.

"Is he living with you?" she asked again before anyone could answer.

"Well, he's working for us, and he needed a place to stay," Sabine answered, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“He’s...what?”

“And since you weren’t here,” Sabine continued, “We assumed you wouldn’t mind.”

If it had been literally anyone else, she wouldn’t. Her parents could have invited Hawkmoth himself to stay in her room and somehow it still would have been less awkward than Adrien freaking Agreste sleeping in her bed and decorating walls that were once covered in his posters and sitting out on the balcony where she and Alya had talked about him for hours.

This absolutely could not be happening.

Her parents shared a look, and Adrien frowned. "Is...something wrong?"

"No," Marinette answered a bit too quickly and a bit too high-pitched to be believable. "Nothing's wrong. I was just..."

Then, he saw her luggage, laying across the floor by her feet, and he paused. "Oh, you're moving back in."

And then she saw it. The worst possible thing she could have seen. She saw the way his expression shut down and his eyes dimmed. It was the same expression she’d seen him wear around his father, and it was the same look Adrien always had when he wanted something he knew he couldn’t have.

She’d learned to hate Gabriel Agreste for teaching him that look, and now that she had a chance to stop it in its tracks, she knew she had to think fast.

“I am, but...” she began, not quite sure where she was going, but at this point, anything that would bring the light back to his eyes would work, "We, um, we could just share a room.” She could almost hear Tikki gasp from her bag. Honestly, she couldn’t blame her, since even Marinette hadn’t expected to hear those words leave her lips. “I mean, it's big enough, and we have the guest bed in there now."

Her mother's jaw dropped, and her father looked like he was caught between shock and laughter.

"Share...a room?" Adrien echoed, staring at her with those perfect green eyes.

"Y-yeah! Why not?" At least he was looking normal again, even if she sounded completely absurd right now.

He traded looks with her parents, as though checking to see if they were okay with it, then he shrugged and chuckled. "Okay. Sure, why not?"

Marinette could list a dozen reasons off the top of her head, but by now it was too late to share them, so instead, she scooped up her luggage and smiled. "I'll go...drop my stuff off and get changed so I can help out."

"No, no!" Sabine took one of her bags. "You've traveled all this way. You should get some rest. Adrien can help us, and you can join tomorrow."

Marinette raised a brow. "Are you sure?" She couldn't remember a time when her mother let her miss out on helping with the morning baking.

"Positive," Adrien said, already heading into the back to help her father. "Get some sleep!"

The funny thing was, she could almost swear it sounded like a pun, like he might have meant to say pawsitive instead, but maybe that was because she was itching to meet up with her partner tonight, and she was so accustomed to his particular brand of humor.

When they reached her old room, Sabine paused and looked over at her. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Marinette nodded. "I don't want to make him go, and honestly, I'll be looking for a place of my own anyway, so this isn't permanent."

"I see." Sabine set her bag down. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Marinette was quiet for a long moment, then she sighed and dropped down onto the guest bed underneath the loft where she assumed Adrien was sleeping. "Not yet."

"Okay." Sabine smiled. "You know, I heard Alya's back in town. Maybe you could try calling her."

"Maybe..." Marinette answered, guilt over their last conversation gnawing away at her all over again.

“Well, think about it.” Her mother sat beside her and brushed a strand of hair off Marinette’s cheek. "We can talk when you're ready, okay?"

Marinette reached out to squeeze her mother's hand, almost too relieved for words. "Thanks, Mom."

"Get some rest." And with that, Marinette was alone again.

Well, almost.

Tikki flew out of her bag and looked up at her. "Marinette?"

"I know, Tikki." Marinette knew exactly how bad of an idea this was. She knew Tikki had every right to be concerned and question her judgment.

"Are you sure about this?" Tikki asked.

"Not at all." Marinette rolled over and closed her eyes, hoping that somehow she'd wake up in a universe where she still had a shred of luck.

 Instead, she woke up to Adrien Agreste bringing her lunch in bed. In theory, a sight like that should be the high point of her life. When else would a literal super model, retired or not, ever bring her any kind of meal in bed? In reality, however, she could feel the weight of all her terrible choices crashing down on her at once, and frankly that was not a pleasant way to wake up.

"Hey, Marinette. Your mom asked me to bring this up to you." He set the tray down beside her. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Ummm..." She sat up and rubbed her eyes, already regretting her decision not to take five minutes to remove her makeup before falling asleep. "Yeah, a little."

"That's good." He chuckled when he noticed her eyes. "Need some makeup remover?"

"Do you have any?" she asked, briefly forgetting that of course he would.

To his credit, he didn't make fun of her for asking. He just walked over to the closet and retrieved some wipes. "Here."

"Thank you." She took the container from him and gently cleaned her face. "You're amazing."

He chuckled. "Thanks." He watched her for a moment before clearing his throat. "You know, I'm meeting Nino and Alya after work. Maybe, I mean if you want, you could join us."

Marinette froze, the wipe halfway across her cheek. "Uhh..." She slipped out of bed. "You know, I'm not sure if that's a good idea." Honestly, she wasn't sure if she was ready to face Alya yet.

"Are you sure?" He frowned and finally sat on the edge of the bed. "If you're worried about Alya-"

"I'm not," she lied.

"I think she'd be happy to see you, too," he continued, soft and sincere, and honestly this was not fair. How could she possibly say no to him?

"I..." I disagree, she could say. Alya was, after all, the queen of holding grudges. "Um..." I don't want to ruin your afternoon, she could explain. After their last conversation, she’d be lucky if Alya even looked at her again. “Well...” Anything would work. Any excuse. She could say she was tired, not feeling up to it, or she just needed some time to adjust. "Okay," she murmured instead, because those gorgeous green eyes still had a hold over her, no matter how long it had been.

"Great!" He brightened up. "I'll tell them you're coming, too. We're meeting in a few hours." He glanced at the clock and stood back up. "I need to get back to work, but I'll see you later?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Later.”

Then, Adrien left her... no, their room, and Marinette grabbed a pillow to stifle a scream.

[betweensceneswriter]

Jimjeran-Chapter 26 : House Warming

Two lovebirds enjoying their new marriage...

Click Here to Hop to the Table of Contents

Or Read the Entire Work on Archive of Our Own

Previously on Jimjeran- Chapter 25 : The Visitor You wouldn’t expect this on your honeymoon!

     “Miss Peachay.  Meester Shamie,” said a little voice.  “Miss Peachay.  Meester Shamie!”

     I pushed myself up, blinking my eyes.  Jamie and I had created a little nest for ourselves in the beach grass, spreading out the sheet and blanket  and wrapping it around us.  Apparently I’d been using Jamie’s chest as a pillow.  He stretched as well, opening one eye.

     One of the youngest Rosa girls was staring at us curiously.  She had dark hair and eyes, was wearing a brightly colored dress, and stood grinning at us.  She and Jamie had a quick conversation, much of which I didn’t understand, and she went skipping off toward the house we could see through the trees.

      “We may be in luck, Ripālle,” Jamie said.  “It sounds like Mr. Botla was planning on coming down this direction with the truck this morning, so we may not have to walk all five miles home.”

      “Ugh,” I said.  “I just want a shower.  Or even better, a bath.  Soaking in hot water would be divine…”  I groaned, stretched, and caught Jamie’s gaze at me. I raised my eyebrows at him.

     Jamie grinned at me sheepishly, “Aye, Ripālle, ye caught me thinking of ye naked. We are still freshly married, ye ken.”

      We picked up the rest of our things and limped towards the Rosa’s house.  I hadn’t realized that my sandals were giving me blisters as we walked, but now that I wasn’t running on adrenaline, I could feel the stinging sensation of sand under the straps rubbing on raw flesh.

     When we arrived at their house, we were ushered inside, seated on pandanus mats, and fussed over by several mamas and bubus who put coconut salve on my feet and fed us pancakes and papaya with lime.  I had always hated the flavor of papayas I tried in the states: floral, almost like perfume, and sickly sweet.  With fresh limes squeezed on top, suddenly the sweet was balanced with tanginess, and I actually liked the fresh rosy-orange slices.  Maybe it helped that I had burned countless calories slogging through the sand and swimming through the water the previous day and night and was starving.  Whatever the case, I was grateful to be fed and fussed over. 

     Again I felt jealous that Jamie was able to communicate so clearly with them, which made me want to work to learn more Marshallese. He had the ladies laughing as well as gasping in shock as he described our travails in detail.  I felt rested by the time the truck arrived. When Mr. Botla had his cargo loaded up, he stuck his head in the door to let us know our ride awaited.

      “Not too long now, Ripālle,” Jamie said, handing me up into the front seat of the truck. I felt awkward sitting in the front with Jamie in the back.

      “Kommol tata,” I said to Mr. Botla. 

      “You’re welcome,” he said, smiling as he started the truck.

      “You speak English?”

      “Yes—educated at the Peace Corps school and college in Majuro.  And I actually came home to Arno when I graduated.”

      “Not everyone does?” I asked.

      “The way we live in the outer islands is a dying way of life,” he answered, resigned.  “Climate change has impacted us already. We didn’t use to get typhoons here, but now our storms are stronger and more frequent. With an average elevation of 10 feet, an atoll can’t withstand much of a storm surge. Being flooded by salt water ruins the ground for growing, and then we also have periods of drought. If people who doubt that something is happening came here, they’d at least do something.”

      “And so when the kids get educated?”

      “They move on.  Majuro, Hawaii, mainland United States.  There’s not work for educated people here. Making copra and perhaps fishing are really the only ways to earn money.  Those levels of income can’t support the growth of service industries.

     I glanced towards the iar and ocean on either side of the road. At this point both were clearly visible, the island narrowing to about 200 feet wide.  I imagined a storm surge at the front of a huge squall like Jamie and I had experienced, but with winds of 75 or more and shuddered at the thought.  

     I’d experienced typhoons on Guam, and knew how devastating they could be. On Guam, building codes demanded that new structures be built of reinforced concrete with poured concrete roofs. Those buildings were immovable fortresses in a big storm—all you had to do was board the windows. Most houses had metal tracks outside the windows, and when storms were impending, you’d go outside and slide plywood securely into the tracks, then retreat into the house ready for the inevitable power outages. But here, the cobbled together structures weren’t meant to last through typhoons; they’d never had to in the past.

     I was grateful when I saw the clinic come into view. Jamie and I climbed out of the truck and grabbed our few rescued items.  As we approached, I could see our white sheets billowing in the breeze from the laundry lines.  I could smell a familiar scent that I couldn’t currently place coming from our windows, and I came into the apartment to find my mom, hair tied into a knot, on her knees scrubbing the shelves in my kitchen.

     At my footsteps she turned.

      “Claire!” She hopped up to hug us. “What a treat!!  We thought we’d be long gone by the time you got back.”

     She pushed me to arms length away from her. “Whatever happened to you two?  You look horrible!”

      “Thanks, Mom.  Long story,” I said. “But we’re glad to be here.” That’s when I first noticed Jamie’s wedding gift to me.  One section of the kitchen shelving had been sawed away to create space for a shiny white propane stove. “What?” I exclaimed. “There’s a stove in the kitchen now!” 

     In the bustle around the wedding, I had noticed but not noted the strange crate in our yard.  Now it was revealed that Jamie had purchased a propane oven in Majuro, and while we were gone, my parents had installed it in our house.  And currently there were two loaves of mom’s homemade bread baking.

      “Get showered and let me feed you,” Mom said.  She didn’t have to ask us twice.

     Dad was quite proud that he had mastered the wrist flick for perfectly drawing water from the well, so he bustled off to fill the shower bucket for me while I heated a pot of water on my brand-new stove.

     Clean water and shampoo, dry panties and clothes, a real tampon instead of a makeshift pad, and I was soon feeling much better.  Jamie took his turn after me and emerged from the shower, scrubbed and ruddy, at about the same time Mom was pulling the loaves from the oven. We ate the soft and delicious slices with peanut butter and honey, and both Jamie and I groaned at the sensation.

      “Come see what Dad and I did!”  My mom said excitedly when we were done with our snack.  In a sunny patch of the yard, they had built up two rectangular garden boxes with wood salvaged from the crate. They had hauled some soil from the jungle across the road, but my mom told me she thought I should get some chickens to provide eggs and manure; the sandy soil wasn’t very rich.

     Jamie followed us in amusement, listening as my mom and I chattered, with a few comments.  It turned out his family were farmers back in Scotland, and he knew a bit about gardening.

     Mom wrote out the bread recipe for me and helped me make the bed, and then it was time for them to be picked up for the trip to the air field; with a few tears, we said goodbye.

     And then Jamie and I turned and entered our house again. With the sound of the door latching and the click of the lock indicating complete privacy, there were a couple of things I felt like doing, but there was still something troubling me.

      “Are ye as tired as I am, Ripālle?” asked Jamie, heading for the bed.

       “Are you just trying to get me into bed, or are you actually going to let me sleep?” I asked.

     Jamie answered with a smile, peeling off his tee shirt. “I will let ye sleep, but it’s probably the other purpose, if I’m being honest,” he chuckled. “Though I ken we canna make love yet.”

      “I guess I don’t care which reason,” I yawned.  “However, I do feel like we should talk before anything.”  Jamie responded with a wary glance as we pulled down the covers and crawled under.

      “Jamie, I did tell you to be a little more evil yesterday,” I said.  “But you hit me last night.  Physical or emotional abuse has always been one of my deal-breakers.”

     Jamie raised his eyebrows.  “I would hope you wouldn't think of that as me abusing you, Ripālle. I dinna say it last night, but I was scared. The tide was coming in, and we were already taking too much time to get across that last stretch.”

      “But you smacked me, Jamie, like you were my father and I was a kid.”

      “Ye were right, ye arna a child, and I probably shouldna be smacking you.  Even if it was on your luscious little bum.” Jamie reached his hand down and stroked my hip.

      “Don’t joke, Jamie, I’m serious,” I said.  “Why resort to physical force with me?”

      “Huh,” he grunted.  “Here were my thoughts last night.  We had to keep moving, and ye were sleep deprived and in pain.  Did I have time to wait for ye to come around to logic?  Did I have time to hold ye gently while ye cried?  Could I carry ye?  I dinna ken so.  And if not, then tell me, please, what would ye have done?”

      “I don’t know,” I said, “But I wouldn’t have hit you.”

      “Did ye never get spanked as a child?” he asked.  “Sometimes that was the only way my ma or da could calm me down enough to get me to obey.  That was my intent, Ripālle—to get you to listen to me and do as I said—to save ye.  I didn’t do it out of anger. I didna hurt ye; I shocked ye. It stimulated your adrenaline system, which got yer brain working well enough and got ye just mad enough to start walking.”

      “It didn’t really hurt,” I said, “But it does make me nervous. I had a controlling, abusive boyfriend in high school, and I never want that sort of relationship again.”

      “I understand that,” Jamie responded, pulling me closer.  “Back in Scotland there was a girl…” he paused briefly, as if remembering.  “She was very possessive.  She didna want me talking to any other girls, didna like me doing things wi’ my friends. She wanted to own me.  Leaving Scotland, the relationship with her was something I was glad to leave behind.  So I ken what ye are talking about, and I understand yer concern.”

      “Was she your other second base?” I asked teasingly.

      “Aye, though the way yer talking to me, I’m a little afraid I’m never going to get there wi’ ye again,” Jamie sighed.  He took one of my hands in both of his.  “I willna say every single decision I’ve ever made has been the right one. But marrying ye?  I think it was the most important decision I’ve ever made.  We Frasers are a loyal lot; I’ve given you my name, but more importantly I’ve vowed myself to you. I will fight for ye, protect ye with my life, sacrifice myself. I promise I willna hurt ye.”

     I was quiet, considering. 

      “Can ye forgive me, Claire?”  Jamie asked. “Can ye please trust me?” 

     I looked into his eyes. This was not the face of a manipulator, and by the light of day I could empathize with him.  I had been distraught, tired, and impossible to reason with.   “Maybe there would have been a better way, Jamie,” I said.  “But your intentions were right, and we’re here safely now.”  I stroked the back of his hand.

      “Can I make it up to ye, then?” Jamie asked, a tiny smile quirking the edge of his lips.  “If I hurt you, I should make ye feel good as penance.” My eyes must have questioned his motives, so Jamie explained, “I saw Mrs. Botla putting the coconut salve on yer feet.  Ye liked it—I could see it on yer face.  If ye had any oil or lotion, I could massage yer feet for you.”

     I looked skeptically at him.

      “Dammit, Ripālle,” he said with a shamefaced grin. “Yer like Wonder Woman and her golden lasso!  If I canna make love to you, can I at least see your body and touch you?  Of course I plan to massage more than yer feet. But I had to start somewhere!”

      “Well, I haven’t had a decent massage in forever, and I do have some aloe vera massage oil,” I said.  I located the oil, laid a beach towel on our bed, stripped to my bra and panties, and lay face down.

      “Are ye keeping this on then?” asked Jamie, running his finger across my bra band.

      “You need some practice unhooking it,” I said cheekily, then shrugged the bra off and tossed over toward the closet when he succeeded.

     True to his word, Jamie did start with my feet; his strong hands, just a little rough from physical labor, gently rubbing the oil into my skin. He then moved gradually upwards,  first working from the left side of the bed til he'd massaged my left thigh,  then kneeling on the bed beside me to massage my right leg. By the time he finished my back and shoulders, I felt a combination of hyper-alertness and relaxation.

      “Well,” I sighed. “I think that more than made up for your sin.  Now I think it's my turn to touch you!” I looked up at his eyes and could see how that suggestion was affecting him.

     I didn't put my clothes back on. Wearing just my panties, I massaged Jamie's muscular legs, though it was hard to get him to relax, since he kept turning to watch me at my work.

      “Stop watching me,” I scolded, finally making it impossible by climbing astride him and kneeling as I massaged his shoulders and back. Touching him was pleasurable, his muscles defined under his smooth tanned skin. He was more ticklish than I expected, wriggling especially when I got anywhere near his sides.

      “I'm going mad wi’ desire,” Jamie groaned finally, as with my hands I traced the length of his arms which were bent above his head, once again letting my breasts drift across his skin. He reached back with his right hand and gripped my right ankle, then in one smooth motion rolled himself over underneath me.

     I was feeling my share of arousal from being touched, from the silky feel of lotion on Jamie‘s smooth skin, from knowing I was giving him pleasure, and from seeing his beautiful masculine body. Now I could feel his desire as well, hard beneath me.  As I saw the look of hunger on his face, I bent to kiss him.

      “Oh, God, Claire,” Jamie groaned, thrusting his hands into my hair and pulling me down to him.  “I dinna ken how I’m going to wait. In answer, I took one of his hands and placed it on my breast, and then started moving over him, rubbing myself against him. 

      “I wish I was done, too,” I whispered in his ear.  “I can’t wait until I can have you inside me again.”

       Jamie flipped us over and pressed his body against me, kissing me with enthusiastic urgency—my lips, my neck, and breasts.  I wasn’t surprised when it happened, as aroused as I was, but it shocked Jamie.

      “Did you just…come?” Jamie pulled back from me, looking stunned. “So it doesn’t take…”

      “Intercourse?” I said.

      “No, I know it doesn’t take that—remember the shower?”  Jamie smiled.  I definitely remembered.  “No, I'm wondering--it doesn’t take direct contact?”

      “That pressure was pretty direct,” I said, looking up at him.  “Now, I’m not going to make you go without.  Lie back, and let me take care of you.”

Chapter Notes: In researching and looking up pictures of Arno, I ended up at the website of Philip Jessup, who has written a photo book chronicling the challenges of the current islanders on Arno. His pictures brought tears to my eyes, they were so beautiful. But I was also devastated to learn how even a few centimeters of ocean depth is having life-altering consequences for the islanders in this place that I loved.

Philip's Beautiful Pictures

On to Chapter 27 : Feels like Home It's starting to feel like home--on Arno, and in Jamie's arms.

[vir-tanadahl]

As the Moon Rises

Chapter 9

Summary: Isera Lavellan was sent to her brother, the Inquisitor, at the urging of their mother. The world is changing and Isera needs to be there to help.

Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1] [Ch2] [Ch3] [Ch4] [Ch5] [Ch6] [Ch7] [Ch8] [Ch9]

The golden rays of the early morning sunlight radiate of off Isera as she blinks open her eyes. She is an early riser. On a typical day, she would begin brewing potions that are most needed. As the herbs steeped, she would head to the kitchen for a cup of tea and some breakfast. However, this morning is different—no potions are needing to be brewed and nothing in desperate need of her attention.

She rubs the sleep out of her eyes as she turns to look at Solas. There is a soft glow from the sun bouncing off of his skin as his chest gently rises and falls as he sleeps. His face is peaceful and undisturbed.

Isera slides out of bed. Isera wraps a silken robe around her body. There is a small balcony attached to her quarters. Isera makes her way over to watch the sunrise. The smell of the freshly baked bread is coming from the nearby bakery. Her eyes flutter close as she enjoys the sound of the breeze rustles the nearby tree.

The sound of laughter fills her ears. Isera turns around in confusion. The laughter continues. Isera walks back into the room. A small, wispy sphere is dancing around Solas as another laugh echoes the room. Solas is still asleep as a small smile crosses his face. The wisp giggles something in elven? The language is similar to what the Dalish speak, but it’s different. Some of the words sound foreign to her ears, yet familiar.

“Hello?” Isera’s voice is soft as she speaks in elven. The wisp gasps and begins spinning dramatically in circles in fear. “Shh…” Isera continues as she opens her hands towards it. “It’s okay; you’re okay.”

The wisp continues to spin rushing around but with less vigor than before. Isera kneels leaving her palms up and open for the wisp to come to her. “Come here, please. You’re safe.” Her voice is faint.

The wisp hovers for a moment before continuously moving towards her. It speaks in a childlike voice as it nestles itself into Isera’s hands. Isera can only understand certain words. The wisps say something about loneliness, missing, and…Arlathan?

“What are you doing?” Solas asks, his voice rough from his deep sleep. He sits up and looks at her from the bed. The wisp jumps up, loudly squealing as it buzzes around between the two of them. It babbles odder elvish in excitement before disappearing into the Veil, back into the Fade.

Solas studies her as she stands up and walks to the bed. “Huh,” she hums. “That was interesting.”

Solas shifts in the bed. “Did you understand the language?” He asks. Isera shrugs. “Not really. I think it was speaking old elven.”

His shoulders drop as he relaxes as against the wall. “Yes.” He confirms.

Isera is fixated where the wisp disappeared. “How does it know? The Dalish barely have the knowledge of what the old words are.”

Solas nods in agreement. “Time is a concept created by men. The spirits of the Fade have no concept of such things.”

Isera takes a moment to process what he said.

“Bring it back.” She demands.

Solas chuckles at her request. “I cannot will it to come back.”

“If it knows the history of Arlathan or even the Dales, I want to know it. You can bring it back.” She tells him as she climbs into the bed.

He frowns at her statement. “I will not force it to come back, Isera. It is a living creature.”

Isera stares at him, ignoring his statement. “You can ask it to come back.” She emphasizes.

He sighs, “What would you ask of it?”

Isera was quick to answer. “Everything. We have lost so much. We struggle to remember and retain. If spirits hold the key to discovering our history, then I would seek to ask them questions.”

“What if it shares with you something you do not like…something you wouldn’t have expected? Would you believe it?”

“You said spirits only violate in their purpose based on our intentions. If my intentions are pure, I would not think it would lie.” She answers still deep in thought.

Solas hums, but whether it is approval or disapproval, Isera is unable to tell. “Nonetheless, it shall not rejoin us.” He looks towards the window. The sun is higher in the sky. “I should be going before our companions awaken.” He leans over the edge of the bed, grabbing his pants and sliding them on.

Isera crawls over to him. His back is facing her as she dangles her arms around his neck. “If you insist” she murmurs into his neck. Solas is far more muscular and leaner than most elven men and slightly taller. Isera begins gently biting his neck. He tilts his head to the side, allowing her greater access. “You are delaying the inevitable.”

“Would you expect anything less?” She purrs before giving a gentle tug at the lobe of his ear with her lips. He chuckles, gently shrugging her off as he collects his clothing.

Suddenly her door swings open. “Isera, I’m—“ Banreas halts. He stares wide-eyed at them. “—oh!”

Isera freezes, holding her breath for what to happen next. There is an uncomfortable silence.

“Inquisitor,” Solas announces before nodding. He makes his way out of the room. He appears unbothered at the intrusion.

The door shuts and Banreas coughs in discomfort. “I…do I need to?” He mutters. “Should I talk to him about…? Isn’t that the brotherly thing to do? He…took your…virtue?” He rambles. His hands move back and forth before throwing his arms in the air.

Isera snickers shaking her head at the awkwardness of it all. “He didn’t take anything. There was nothing to take. And at least he had pants on.”

“Really? When?” he continues to look at her with wide eyes.

Isera chuckles. “Twelve years ago? I was sixteen, I think? It was a hunter from Clan Sabre. Tamlen was his name?” Isera answers as she walks to the closet and begins pulling out clothing.

“Tamlen? Why does that sound familiar?” Banreas asks as he sits down.

Isera steps behand an Orlesian room divider to change. “He was an accomplished young hunter. Do you remember before the blight began and two hunters went missing and only one returned?”

“Vaguely?” He states.

Isera sighs. “Do you remember when the Keepers ordered everyone to not touch any eluvians if we were to come across them in ruins?”

Banreas perks up. “Yes! I remember that. Keeper Istimaethoriel banned us from searching any ruins without a First for months.”

“Well, that is because Tamlen and Lyna found an active eluvian and he went through. I don’t know what happened exactly. But Lyna returned gravely ill and was taken by the Grey Wardens. Talmen was never found.”

Banreas is humming in thought. “That’s how she became a Warden? I thought they just took her against the Keepers request.”

“I overheard the story from a craftsman from that clan. But you know, they do love their stories.” Isera shrugs. “But what did you want? Or do you want to know about all the people I have had sex with?”

“Oh, no.” Banreas shakes his head. “I came by to say sorry. I should trust you more. I just want to protect you.”

Isera nods. “I understand, but you should trust me more. And I can protect myself.”

“I know, I know. I just…never got the change to be the brother and keep you safe.” Banreas rubs the back of his neck.

Isera stares at him with a small smile. He is scared of losing her again, be it death, injury, or returning back to mother. “I’m the oldest, I protect you, silly.” She jokes as she steps out from the divider.

Banreas snorts. “You are older by a minute!”

“Still older!” Isera giggles as she hugs him. “It’s okay.”

“Now,” he jokes, “let’s talk about your choice in men.” Isera shakes her head in disbelief. “Let’s talk about your choice in women! Specifically, the one that is not Dalish!”

“Anywaaaay” Banreas changes the subject, as he steps back from here, “We are leaving in an hour back to Skyhold.”

“Mhm!” Isera hums as she shoos him out. --- Banreas had brought a mage from the court by the name of Morrigan back to Skyhold. He had shared that Leliana had dealings with her in the past, but it is clear that the two hold no love for each other. Banreas made a comment on how he met her son and only described him as polite, but odd. Morrigan also brought an eluvian.

Isera had argued with him that it was dangerous to have. She reminded him, again, of what happened to Tamlen when he found one. Banreas assured her that Morrigan assured him that the eluvian was safe. She was still skeptical.

Secretly, Isera had snuck into space where the eluvian is being kept. It is the same space that had the mural that Solas had created for her. Thus if she was caught, she had crafted an excuse for being there.

The mirror was inactive and appeared clean of any taint or dark magic, but Isera still did not trust the intent of the witch.

Rumors have been swirling about Corypheus’s next move. There had been Red Templars seen scouting in the Arbor Wilds. There are whispers that there is an elven temple he is trying to gain access to.

---

Isera is sitting at her desk studying the circlet she stole from the Winter Palace. It has been extremely well created. It is golden with two small arches that settle inches behind the ears, Isera believes the gems are that decorate the circlet are white moonstones. Her mother, at one point, tried to teach Isera about healing gems, but Isera hadn’t been a good student.

The gems are glowing a dull, off-white color. It clearly has magical properties, but they are dormant. To her knowledge, Southern Thedas does not keep track of the moon cycle to the complexity that she is needing.

The Seers in Rivain did. They claimed that the cycles of the moon brought different magical properties out and overall strength of a spell.

Isera taps her fingers against her desk as she becomes impatient. She has a vague recollection of a spell that she had participated in years ago that involved moonstones. It could be worth the effort of recalling spell if it could unlock the hidden magic. She will need alcohol, extract of Royal Elf Root, the salve of Andraste’s Grace, a wind chime, and a bowl.

---

The moon is beginning to rise as Isera hangs the wind chime off a nail. It sings as the wind starts to blow gently. It is brighter than normal. The light of the rising moon bounces off the misty clouds that are hanging low tonight. If she remembers correctly, the moon will be at its highest point very soon.

The wind chime is meant to attract the spirits. She can see them peeking through the Veil. Isera welcomes the spirits into her. The Seers use spirits to assist with more powerful spells. Isera sits down and opens of salve of Andrate’s Grace scooping some of it onto her fingers. She begins tracing a rune onto her forehead, cheeks, and the top of her hands while whispering a spell.

The spirit is calm, gently speaking to her and guiding her through the ritual.  

Isera feels the spirit guiding her movements as she places alcohol and royal elf root into the bowl. She begins humming as the moon aligns. The moonstones start glowing and vibrating with awakening magic. Isera and the spirit begin chanting as she adds the circlet into the bowl. There is a magical charge that bursts inside her. It is done.

Her fingers are tingling, and arms feel heavy as the magic dissipates. She welcomes the spirit to leave her as she falls backward.

Isera wakes up as the sun begins to rise and a raven nipping at her face. She groggily sits up as she looks around. There are scorch marks stretching out from where she is at. The magic was stronger than she prepared for. Isera grabs the circlet from the empty bowl and fiddles with it. It looks the same.

Isera sighs as she climbs down the stairs into her quarters and tosses the circlet onto her bed. There will be time to try again later.

[ntrending]

McDonald’s flips fortunes with back to basics approach

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/mcdonalds-flips-fortunes-with-back-to-basics-approach/

McDonald’s flips fortunes with back to basics approach

It is the “dead zone” lull between lunch and dinner, yet McDonald’s is bustling with customers tapping their orders on huge screens. The Chicago store is acting as a blueprint for an overhaul of the world’s biggest fast-food chain in its biggest market. A glass case displays freshly baked apple pies and croissants. Smiling employees, dressed all in black, carry trays of burgers and fries to minimalist tables. “It doesn’t even smell like a McDonald’s,” says a colleague.

When asked why he is spending $2bn to remodel thousands of US restaurants to mimic this one, Steve Easterbrook, McDonald’s chief executive, is interrupted by a customer who asks for his Instagram handle. “You have IG, right?”, he shouts, waving his iPhone. He is an aspiring photographer looking for social media followers, and his question answers mine — this is the consumer the 62-year-old burger chain is chasing.

Mr Easterbrook, a soft-spoken British accountant, has worked at the fast-food chain the more than two decades. He took over in 2015 charged with reviving its reputation and regaining some of the half a billion customer orders it had lost in the US since 2012 and made it his mission to reinvent McDonald’s as a “modern, progressive burger company”.

It is a phrase he used with investors when he first took the top job a month after the company reported its first annual drop in same-store sales in the US in 12 years. At the time observers declared the company, which helped define American diets, had lost its identity. Mr Easterbrook repeated the words throughout subsequent earnings calls.

“That was sort of their North Star,” says Sara Senatore, an analyst at Bernstein. A former employee is more blunt, describing it as a “cliché phrase” that could mean “anything and everything”.

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However vague the plan remains, it does appear to be working. It is a challenging time for the US restaurant business. The industry has seen “little to no” growth in visits to restaurants in the past two years, according to market researchers NPD Group, while trade publication QSR declared last year the worst for restaurants since the financial crisis, after sales dropped sharply in the second half of the year. Grocery price deflation has made a stronger case for cooking at home, and a glut of restaurants has given people more choice if they do decide to go out.

But after four years of shrinking traffic, McDonald’s this summer lured people back through its doors, posting a rise in customer visits in the second and third quarters. Comparable sales rose between 4 and 7 per cent each quarter this year. Investors have lauded Mr Easterbrook’s progress: the company’s share price has soared 70 per cent to $168 since he took over. The makeover has already been rolled out in much of Europe, with about one-third of French and German restaurants having been remodelled.

McDonald’s feeds nearly 70m people every day, making the tale of how it dug itself out of “staggering” customer losses a case study for the business of eating. McDonald’s executives insist the success is built on a return to low prices and convenience, rather than chasing the whims of diners. With $25bn in annual sales and one of the most recognisable brands, the odds were in its favour to stage a comeback. But the way in which McDonald’s achieved it came as a surprise even to its own bosses.

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Back in 2014 the prevailing wisdom was that McDonald’s was being dethroned by new rivals such as Chipotle Mexican Grill, in a sector dubbed “fast casual”. These outlets emerged after the financial crisis with price points a few dollars higher than traditional fast food, but with a perception that the food might be healthier.

Growth in global same-store sales for McDonald’s had been hovering around zero for the past few years, with demand sagging across the US, Asia and Europe, before plunging more than 3 per cent towards the end of 2014. This compelled Don Thompson, then chief executive, to promise “decisive action to fundamentally change” its business.

He pledged to slash costs by $300m and open fewer stores, before being replaced by Mr Easterbrook four months later. Its market share of US fast food slipped from 17.4 per cent in 2012 to 15.4 per cent in 2016, according to Euromonitor.

Last year Mr Easterbrook hired Lucy Brady, a longtime Boston Consulting Group executive, to investigate what was going wrong. She led a wide-ranging study to dissect where people were eating. Her results, which Mr Easterbrook describes as “frustrating, but actually reassuring”, showed that the majority of the missing McDonald’s customers were going to other burger chains, such as Wendy’s and Burger King rather than rival fast casual outlets.

Customers didn’t stop wanting fast food, they just didn’t want McDonald’s fast food. Mr Easterbrook’s response was to adapt the “modern progressive” doctrine and adopt a less aspirational focus: “the day-to-day basics”. This has materialised in cutting prices for coffee and soda, serving breakfast all day, offering mobile ordering and delivery, and improving the quality, if not the nutritional value, of its food.

“To Steve’s credit, he is not stubborn,” says Larry Light, McDonald’s former chief marketing officer. “Instead of trying to come up with new kale and bean salads, fix the familiar. Fast food is not in decline, and I think it will always be the number one way the world eats.”

To walk through the McDonald’s campus is to go back in time. Four levels of faded brick balconies envelope a 1970s atrium, making it feel more like a bare bones public library than the headquarters of a $136bn burger company. The group is about to shift its offices to downtown Chicago, where its neighbours will include the likes of Google, after six decades sprawled across 150 wooded acres in suburban Illinois.

Since first opening in 1955, McDonald’s has billed itself as a place to eat cheaply. It embedded fast food into American diets as the US industrial farm system developed to make $1 cheeseburgers feasible.

McDonald’s executives, former employees and analysts all agree that pricing is one reason the company has bled customers.

“McDonald’s lost the plot on value,” says Ms Senatore. “After the company stopped marketing its dollar value menu in 2013, they never came up with anything that was equally compelling.” The dollar menu accounted for about 14 per cent of total US sales at the time.

After keeping a lid on prices for years, rising commodity costs and wages put pressure on the independent franchisees who operate most of its 37,000 worldwide restaurants. They began increasing prices, which “destroyed the overall value message”, says Richard Adams, former director of franchising for the western US, who has since sold his restaurants and now consults for other franchisees. “They couldn’t advertise the dollar menu [nationally] because franchisees had raised prices way above that.”

Wendy’s and Burger King churned out deals such as four items for $4, helping each preserve a market share of about 11 per cent of the US fast food market, while growth in smaller chains such as Sonic Burger and Jack in the Box loosened McDonald’s grip on the market.

Some question the wisdom of the company’s decision to begin customising its menu by region in 2004. Mr Light, who led the effort, says it was internally “controversial” for a company who had codified its menu down to how many pickles are placed on different burgers.

By 2014, facing fast casual insurgents, McDonald’s took it one stage further, offering mixed and sometimes awkward messages about its menu. The company put clementines into Happy Meals and avocado on chicken sandwiches, while still trying to tap into burger nostalgia with adverts mocking the new lifestyle trends. “There will never be kale here,” declared a 2015 advert for the Big Mac.

Under Mr Easterbrook’s watch, the company has taken a “barbell approach” to its menu, beefing up its offers on both the low and high end of prices. Discounts are a core part of the Easterbrook ethos, with McDonald’s churning out $1 and $2 offers for coffee and soda.

In a nod to more health conscious consumers the chain has also promised to strip antibiotics from its chicken meat and corn syrup from bread buns, replaced butter with margarine and is working towards using fresh beef in its Quarter Pounders.

But can the food be cheap and higher quality? “It’s about balance,” says Mr Easterbrook. “You can’t just go all in on the premium end, because then you disenfranchise more price-driven customers.” A new “value menu” will be unveiled next year, with price points of $1, $2 and $3.

The premium offerings are not necessarily healthy. Its maple-bacon dijon sandwich with buttermilk crispy chicken contains 740 calories and 1,780mg of sodium, nearly 80 per cent of the recommended daily intakes. “American palates have become more sophisticated,” says Ms Senatore. “It’s not necessarily about lower calories, it’s about using whole foods, and McDonald’s is playing to that. But fundamentally the food is still pretty indulgent.”

Mr Easterbrook spent much of his tenure in the UK defending the golden arches’ image, going so far as to request the Oxford English Dictionary change its definition of the phrase McJob from “an unstimulating, low-paid job”. The OED refused. But his tactics paid off, and he was credited with reviving British sales in 2006.

For decades the company has taken flak for its implied role in the global obesity crisis. Governments are stepping up their healthy eating campaigns, which analysts warn could threaten McDonald’s recovery. They caution that the company is not out of the woods. “We may have seen the end of market share losses,” say analysts at RBC. “[But] in the past, headlines related to the obesity epidemic have resulted in negative publicity for McDonald’s.”

Any new regulations, such as mandated calorie counts, could “negatively impact margins”, they added. Still, analysts who cover McDonald’s remain bullish: more than two-thirds rate it as a “strong buy” even after its stock has already soared by more than 40 per cent in the past year.

The trend towards organic, customised products has jolted large consumer groups from PepsiCo to Procter & Gamble. While fielding online questions ranging from “do you even sell real food?” to “do you use pink slime in your burgers?”, McDonald’s now assures customers that it uses freshly cracked eggs in its Egg McMuffins and ground pork shoulder in its McRib sandwiches.

“One of the most significant changes for all businesses since the financial crisis is consumers are more demanding and expect to know more about you,” Mr Easterbrook says. “They are more questioning of all authority . . . you are no longer in control of your message.”

Bernstein’s Ms Senatore says it is “hard to argue that they haven’t improved the perception among at least some customers”.

“Two years ago the question was whether [Mr Easterbrook] could bring what he did in the UK to the US, because it was such a bigger market,” she says. “It turned out that he could.”

Squeeze on chains: Casual dining vulnerable to Americans’ frugality

Ten years after the global financial crisis, America’s lopsided recovery can be seen in restaurants across the country. Unemployment has reached historic lows and wages are slowly rising, but consumers are still cautious with their money. The compound annual growth rate for the US restaurant industry was 6.4 per cent from 1970 to 2007, but that rate has slowed to about 4.3 per cent a year since the crisis.

As the gap has widened between income groups, middle-of-the-pack restaurant chains such as Chili’s and Applebee’s are now struggling. With higher price points and largely outdated menus, analysts say these “casual dining” restaurants, where a customer can buy dinner at the mall for about $15, are more likely to have been the losers of the rise of Chipotle rather than McDonald’s.

Meanwhile, “the price part of value remains the greater part of the overall restaurant selection decision, particularly with lower income consumers”, says Bill Fahy of Moody’s.

This has supported fast-food sales, which have been resilient even as a cut-throat battle has broken out in the $800bn US restaurant industry. Executives say there are simply too many restaurants, and a lot of them are mediocre. There are now more than 600,000 places to eat and drink in the US, which has grown at nearly double the rate of the population, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics.

One of the biggest offenders in overbuilding has been the shiny new trend “fast casual”, as more and more companies have tried to replicate Chipotle’s success.

However, it seems supply has outpaced demand, with the number of fast casual restaurants growing by 9 per cent last year, while sales in the segment slipped two per cent.

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