#It all started with a packet of beans...

[syncopatedid]

節分/Setsubun (Bean-Throwing Festival) Celebrations 

Bonus: Selfie with the family:

[levil0vesyou]

THEY TRANSFERRED MY UNEMPLOYMENT PAYMENT EARLY!!!

[eupheme]

— from eden

old man logan x mutant!f!reader

rated e - 5k

tags: Logan timeline, sorta divergent/fix-it fic, angst, hurt/comfort, everyone is going through it, wound tending, dark thoughts/references to violence/death (aligning with themes in the movie), neurodegenerative disorders (Charles), multiple pov, established relationship, shower sex, oral sex, PiV, feelings

a/n: still on my druid!mutant kick - reader absorbs the sun via photosynthesis and can transfer that energy to grow plants. no features described but small details & a codename are noted in reference to her mutation.

Every day you wish you could do more. More for Charles. More for him. But the harsh sun eats away at you. You weren’t built for this heat.

You were meant for gardens. For Eden.

But you think… as your fingers trail through the earth, your life force flowing down into the greenery below - if something can grow here, in the desert - then maybe, so can hope.

Logan finds you in the garden.

It's generous to call it that. Carved out with old bits of metal, used like a spade. Scraping through dirt, packed and hard from the burning sun. Dust swirling around you - catching under your nails that are as tough as bark.

The only bit of green for a couple miles, at least. Incongruous to the climate - all you can see is desert around you.

It's only you that keeps it alive.

Your hands pass over each stalk and stem. The low thrum that used to come so easily, siphoning your life force to the roots below, comes slowly now.

Used to be able to make things bloom, just by feeling.

A garden had sprouted your first night together. Blooming lush - vines twining around the bookshelves. Wildflowers in your hair. Moss spreading out across the wooden floor, out and into the mansion.

Everyone had known you were in love.

It feels so long ago now. Another lifetime.

Now you can only tend them. You’re at your strongest in the rain, but it’s day twenty-three of sunny, blue skies. No more than a wisp of a cloud on the horizon.

It leaves you wilting. A half-broken lawn chair, dragged to face the packed-dirt road. Watching for him, as your face tips up to the sky. A slowly-recharging battery, one that hasn't been full in years.

But the sun is unforgiving. The tips of your fingers and toes darken - it's too much.

And not enough.

An eye cracks open, with the slam of a car door. There's a limp to his gait - a hand braced against the limo. Something you notice immediately. The way it takes him longer than usual to reach you.

That severe frown softening at the edges, but still holding a weight he's carried for years. A brown bag held out silently, the top crumpled from his fist.

Your fingers brush his, and you know he can see the burn. The mark between his eyebrows deepens.

"Don't push too hard, blossom," Logan rasps, "'Bout time to go in."

It makes your jaw grit, as you bristle.

You want to protest. Ask him "well, what in the hell do you think you're doing/?" He's the last person that should be lecturing you, as he shifts - a crimson glint of red near his collar.

But you don't. He doesn't mean it that way.

It comes out wrong, you've learned that by now. Misplaced anger - seeping into your roots like poison. Loving him so fiercely that it aches, to see him this way.

The Logan you knew and loved changed that day at the mansion.

"I will." You tamp the feelings down, burying them with the rest, "Let me get these started, and I'll be in."

He lingers, for a long moment.

You rip the seed packets open, scattering them across the earth you've prepared. Essentials, fit to feed Charles.

Carrots, beans, tomatoes, onions. Kale and fresh berries.

A packet of wildflowers.

There's a lump, lodged in your throat. You look over your shoulder, just as he disappears inside.

An inhaled breath, as you begin.

He knows you hate it, all the dust. The heat.

Knows you stay, for him.

Logan always was your sun.

"He's bleedin' again." It's muttered out, in greeting.

Caliban's eyes flick towards the back door, "Don't know if I've got enough peroxide to get it out."

Your smile is weary, "We'll figure it out. Always do."

A fine pair the two of you make. Only the mornings and evenings spent together, in your slow rotation of work-Charles-eat-sleep, and always just out of sync.

He tends to the smelting plant. An attempt at keeping things in place, keeping things running. Something simmering on the makeshift stove, as you empty your apron into the sink.

Outside is your domain - days spent with wind-whipped skin. The desert heat surrounding you.

"Could use some potatoes," Caliban offers, without thinking.

Peeling back the husk and silk on an ear of corn, fished out. Peering down at the kernels beneath - still hesitating, even though it's clean.

Your arms cross over your chest, head tilting, "Well, you're welcome to ask him."

It all comes out hushed, even though you know Logan is out with Charles. He gives shoots a reproachful look your way - he's already taken an earful. Doesn't need another from you.

He's been with you both for a year now. A second set of hands, as the seizures worses. You hadn’t wanted to admit you needed help - but Logan had saw right through you.

Charles’s space feels like a tomb.

Each minute you spend in that dome makes you crave another five outside. Too much for you to handle alone - something that still eats away at you.

Never felt like you were doing enough.

Carried the others with you, as he did. The shame of feeling like you should've done more. That you should have been there with them.

Buried beneath the rose bush that bloomed, when you had first told Logan you loved him.

You had thought that he had been. Had spent two years adrift, so certain he had been lost. That adamantium had not been enough to suppress the force of the seizures - that it ripped through the metal and took him from you.

It's why you cling now. Worried. Seeing how each day changes him, like it does you.

It's why you grow the vegetables for them. Even then, it's not enough. The suppressants they released still worked its way into the water and soil. You'd already ingested enough food to have it affect you.

Used to eat for fun, for pleasure. Haven't had a bite in two years now. Haven't needed to, haven't wanted to. Looking to the sun instead, even if it burns.

Now, you're just maintaining. Trying not to worsen, trying your best to keep them afloat, even if it costs you.

"Sorry." You mutter.

Easing into the routine of ladling out bowls. Chunks of half-stale bread, from the last time he baked. Hadn't harvested as much wheat this season as you would have liked. Pests chewing up a portion before you noticed.

The drought makes you hazy. Running on fumes for a while now. Same as all the rest.

Two bowls set on a plastic tray. A glass of tepid water in a chipped mason jar tucked in the crook of your arm. Fingers swirling in the liquid to cool them, before you're tilting it back - taking a swallow. Just managing to ease your parched throat.

"How is he?" You ask.

Caliban's eyes are slow to meet yours. He looks at you like he knows something you don't. Few secrets between you, except ones like these that he keeps deep. It always sends a twist in your belly.

Curling vines, weaving between your ribs.

"Logan or Charles, dearest?"

"Both." You sigh, "Either."

“Logan is… well. You saw him.” Caliban mutters. His nose twitches. A breath - as if he means to say something.

He falls silent instead, pivoting, “And Charles still thinks he's in Macbeth."

It makes your heart lurch, how so kind and sound a mind had changed. Not his fault and it only makes you love him more, after everything.

“Been asking about someone named Erik lately, too.”

You and Logan had agreed. It was better that Charles didn’t know, if he didn’t have to. That the two of you would bear it - shielding him like he had shielded so many for years.

But it never made the memories any easier.

His head inclines towards the trays, "You want me to take those out?"

Caliban knows you hate it.

You know the sun is still setting, sitting golden on the horizon.

A shake of your head, as the tray tucks under your arm.

���Thanks, Cal. I've got it."

The music comes first - 60s-era jazz, floating through the opened door. Voices come after, as you step into the shadows.

“-sorrow words, the grief that does not speak," Charles's reciting pitches louder, as his chair wheels in front of you, "Knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break-”

Logan stalks after, reaching for the controls.

"Enough."

"Thrice the brinded cat-"

The tray clatters on the top of an old desk. You step in front of them, arms spread wide, "Charles."

The chair halts, going still.

Something scrapes at your brain, when his hazy eyes meet yours. Fingers sifting through files. A dealer skillful hands, l shuffling through cards - snapping them back into place.

Plucking old memories from you like weeds. Dragging them to the surface, long buried.

He doesn’t mean to.

Doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Your breath coming in a ragged gasp, eyes meeting Logan's. He doesn't need Charles powers to know what you're thinking.

Afraid that he'll see. What he’ll remember.

"Come on." Logan is hoisting him out of his chair. A grunt as he struggles, near dead-weight in his arms, “Enough poking around.”

Depositing Charles in his hospital bed, the last golden rays of sun streaking across the worn blankets. Logan just starts to move away, when a hand fists in his dark tie, dragging him close.

"You're not listening to me. No one listens to me." The words almost seem lucid, with how sharp his eyes suddenly shine, "Liberty, Logan. They're waiting for you. Eden-“

"No one is waiting for me." It's barked out.

Uneasy, tipping towards harsh.

Logan's patience has always ran thinner than a knife’s blade. It's love that keeps him here, you know that as well as you know your own name.

You have to step between them to break the connection. Hand wrapping around Charles' wrists - soothing, easing them down into his lap - as Logan fishes a bottle out of his pocket.

Slipping a needle into his arm. It's fluid, how you move together. Easier to help him together, then when you're alone.

It soothes the seizures. Thoughts slipping between his fingers, as he settles. The anger with it, as you bring dinner over to them. Your hand extended to take the pills that Logan shakes from a bottle.

"Take these, Professor." You coax, handing over a stained mug from the attached tray.

The chalky pills disappear, with the tilt of his head and a swallow of weak tea. Only then does it feel like you breathe. Letting your fingers drift across the makeshift herb garden he has sitting on the desk, something you tend together.

Eyes closing, as you concentrate. Pink petals blooming, plucked from the stem, and placed in Charles' open palm.

Logan's gaze a heavy weight - too tired from the day - you could already hear it in his voice. In the slow shift of his weight, as he eats.

"Only one?" The wizened fingers close like a cage around the flower, "You’ll have to work harder, Crescere."

The name is one that you haven't heard in years. It ricochets through you like a bullet, threatening to rip you open. You must show it in your face - a hand reaches to smooth down your back.

It soothes you, until an edge creeps into Charles's voice.

"If you cannot do more, how will you ever survive without soil?"

Logan goes stiff at the words. Breaking contact as if he'd been burned. A rough tilt of his head, as he pushes himself up.

“I’ll be inside.” It’s gritted out, through clenched teeth.

Leaving you alone, perched on the edge of Charles’s bed.

His mood already shifting, as it often did. The anger and confusion flaring. Melding with the medication that slows his tongue, dulls his thoughts.

“Crescere,” His eyes fix on you, while you watch the door creak shut. The moonlight has just started to stream in now, and it's just dark enough to imagine a breeze, “Have I told you about Eden?”

You tuck him in. The worn quilt tugged up high against his chest. A fingers smooth down to wrap in his - his hands frail with age, but his grip is still strong.

Tears prick your eyes, but you smile - your hand gently squeezing.

“Tell me again.”

His fingers fumble with the buttons. The black tie tugged loose, hanging against his chest. A hiss of breath, as sore shoulders roll. The dress shirt caught against his bicep, the sleeves still pushed up around his elbows.

There’s a hand against his shoulder. Your fingers slipping beneath the fabric, easing it down his arms.

“You gonna stop running from me?”

It’s soft, in the room that you share. A far cry from the mansion - all cozy, stained wood. Home.

Here, it’s sheet metal. Car batteries running a broken coffee maker, blankets stained with sweat. An industrial fan, slowly spinning where it’s mounted into the wall.

Wasn’t trying to run.

Just couldn’t shoulder your hurt, knowing he caused it himself. Knows that the heat eats away at you. Has watched how you struggle, though you hide it so well.

And the open seas - the sun and the salt water - would it be enough? Could you ever be happy, away in a place like that?

You’ve told him all you need is him. But pretty thing like you should be somewhere else.

Somewhere safe.

Knew he was too old for you, even back at the mansion - and that was when his hair was just starting to grey at the temples.

Now, he wishes he could convince you to go. Even if he couldn’t live without you.

But he knows your answer. That set of your jaw. Rooting you in place, unmoving.

It flickers in you here, as your arms wrap around him. Nose buried against the nape of his neck, as he exhales a breath that he’s held all day.

His muscles going lax as he leans into your embrace - letting you move him. Touch gentle as you guide him towards the bathroom. Fitting between spread thighs as he leans against the cracked counter, your fingers tracing the red-stained rips on the white tank beneath.

A cloth, wrapped tightly around his fist.

“Running to you,” Logan husks, “Just lost my way.”

You soften before his eyes.

Unwinding the wrappings to check the wound across his palm. Your lips pressed against scar tissue. Moving to backs of his knuckles, between the angry red slits.

Something in his chest lurches. Calming the beast, as his palm cups your cheek. Letting you lead him into the old ceramic tub, even though the space was narrow.

Lets you strip him down, knowing your eyes flicker over each scar. Looking for ones you missed, though you know them all.

Already knows what you’re going to say, when your gaze catches on the still-healing wound - a bullet beneath his collarbone. In his chest, through his bicep.

“Can’t keep taking hits, baby.” You fingers trace just shy of the wounds. Blood flaking, where he hadn’t washed well enough - two days spent in a shitty motel, each one thinking of you.

Need to shield yourself. Pick your battles.

He’s heard it all before.

Tried to earlier - wanted to gut the Alkali-Transigen fucker who had climbed into his limo. He is trying, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

All he got was a business card burning a hole in his pocket. A lie of omission like a lead weight in his belly.

Another tucked against his chest - the bullet nestled in the pocket of his shirt. Resting against his heart while he drives. Hidden, when he returns home.

It’s insurance - but it would still crush you to find it.

“I’ll ease up when you do.” He counters, though his voice softens, “Pushing too hard, sweetheart. We could stand to eat less, if you need a break.”

You sigh, as you lean into him. Face muffled against his chest, and he only just catches the words.

“When I used to imagine playing house with you,” You breathe, “I always thought it would be a little different.”

It makes his heart jolt.

Something tearing inside him, as his mouth presses against yours. A hand searching to turn the handle - the water stale. A weak spray that only reaches room temperature.

But it’s enough.

You wash the red from him. Swirling down the drain as you coat the washcloth with a sliver of soap. Careful in your movements, as your hair dampens.

As his hands catch at your hips, looking for an anchor.

A little huff when you fingers twirl - when he has to let go, to turn around. Soaping up his back, fingers raking through his hair.

The stress of the day sluices from him. Melts away as your lips press against his back, trailing across his shoulders. Nails tracing against his abdomen, as he leans into your touch.

It’s always been softer than he deserved.

And when your hand drifts lower, swirling soap against the dark trail of hair that leads down, he guides your hand the rest of the way.

A throb, at the soft inhale of your breath. Fingers that close around him, coaxing him to full hardness. His own scrape against the tile, as he props himself up.

Eyes half-lidded, as you nuzzle against his scars. Fist working him from root to tip - he can’t resist bucking into your touch.

His own hand wandering. Hesitant.

Afraid he won’t find you the same.

Reaching behind him, feeling the stretch of healing muscle and sinew as he cups the curve of your ass. A held breath loosened, when he hears the needy sound you make, when his fingers slip to trace between.

Teasing, drifting down to where you’re slick. Honeyed.

Always for him. Only for him.

His eyes fully shut now, as his fingers work inside you. Feeling the clench, the way your hand stutters.

Your breathing turning harsh, panting. His name whined out as your hand dips to cup him - the pressure coiling low in his belly. Hips nudging against his as he pets at your clit, smearing your skin with your need.

Turning, when he isn’t able to take it any longer. Always would be strong enough to do this - to hitch your thigh around his hip.

Lifting you enough to rub his flushed cock against your folds. Your nails biting red marks into his shoulders as he lines himself up-

The water cuts off.

The evenings rations depleted.

Your laugh is more of a whine than anything, but it’s still a sound he treasures.

His own lips curving, and it feels like the first time in days.

The words rasps out, coated with need.

“Let me take you to bed, honey.”

His skin is still damp when he lays you down.

Nestling you against the pillows - ignoring your soft protests of needing to take care of him, as he seeks out the honey between your thigh. Hands tracing up your leg, calf to knee. Up against smooth skin, until he can hitch one over his shoulder.

Letting him bury himself deeper. Tonguing at your clit. Down to dip inside you, a rough groan against your skin as his hips rut into the mattress.

He had you close already. You always unfurled for him, and that hadn’t lessened with his age. Automatic, in the way his fingers fit inside you, finding the spot that has your back arching as you cry out.

Stroking against it again and again, a groan caught in his throat as your fingers twist into his hair and tug.

Logan’s name a soft cry as he tastes you sweeten against his tongue. The tight pulse around his fingers, echoing where his lips shift to suck against your clit.

It’s only when you reach for his wrist does he stop, content to spent the night right here if you’d let him - make up for the time spent away.

Only then does he relent. His arm stretching out behind the pillows as he finally lays back, the tug of a smile as he watches you.

There’s a sweetness about you - all limp-limbed as your thigh lifts across his waist. Straddling him, as you lean - tugging supplies out of the end table.

Squirming, as his head lifts - unable to help mouthing at your breasts. A heady throb down low when he can feel your heart kick up a notch.

Always doing things out of order.

Each shift of your hips rubs your pussy against his cock. Slick and wet and warm, and he catches the curve of your lips.

The slow rhythm, as you pack padding against his wounds. Affixing tape to his skin, a kiss placed against one - as if it would help them heal faster.

His look heated, and he knows you feel it too. The hitch of your hips. The pressure when you grind down - your eyes blown dark when you look at him from beneath your lashes.

He can give you what you need.

A grunt, as a hand grasps at your hips. The loose supplies slipping from his abdomen, as he coaxes you into your knees.

His other hand wrapping around the base of his cock, tilting his hard length up to rest against your belly.

“Need you.” It’s gritted out.

On another day he might have swallowed it down. Let you come to him.

But right now, he can’t take any more teasing, wrapped in your soft touch. He’s already resisting the urge to drive into you, as you angle him against your opening.

The slightest pressure, as you start to give around him - opening up. And when you finally sink down flush against him, he forgets himself.

It’s now and it’s six years ago - all those evenings spent, entwined.

Fitting together, watching the way your brow still pinches as your body makes room to take him - the stretch as your hands curl into fists against his chest.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” It slips from him, when your hips fully meet his.

It only makes you squeeze more tightly around him, his breath caught in a low rumble in his chest.

Your own admission, as you dip down to kiss him, “Missed you more.”

Finding himself transfixed, in spite of the weariness. The ache in his bones that are now a part of him are forgotten in the way you watch him.

Eyes half-lidded, as you find your balance. Starting a slow grind of your hips, a look thrown his way when you feel his muscles string tight beneath you.

The lightest pressure of your palms against his chest, careful of his wounds.

“Want to make you feel good.” It’s a command, tinged with permission. It’s woven with love, and the thought of taking matters into his own hands ebbs.

“Always do, sweetheart,” Logan husks, “Every fucking time.”

Letting himself settle back against the mattress. Losing himself in the tight grip of your pussy. Your soft curves, as his hands wander.

Squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, urging you to ride him harder. Slipping up to tease at your tits, an upward flex of his hips when you cry out his name.

You once told him that you wanted him the first moment you met him. Now, he wishes he had met you sooner.

A year. A day. Even a minute.

The thought pulses in his chest, in time with his heart. Fingers skating over skin as you ride him. A flash of white when he thumbs against your clit, giving you something to grind against.

You’re molten around him. Soft and sweet and it’s all he can do to match the way you bounce on his cock. Feet planting against the bed to help can meet you, urging himself just that little bit deeper.

Melting just a little bit further, when you can’t help but lean down - needing his mouth against yours.

Flattening yourself against his chest, as your rhythm goes needy. Sloppy grinds instead of the sharp slap, taking him deep and keeping him there.

His thumb swirls, and your ragged moan breaks the kiss. Head dipping as you lean back - hips chasing your pleasure, rocking into his familiar touch.

Can smell how much you need it. How you drip around his cock, the coarse hairs matted with your desire.

Teeth clenching, and it only makes him fuck to harder into you, to loosen your tongue.

“Logan, fuck-” It’s whimpered, in that pretty tone that he loves, “Think I’m gonna come-”

The leash he grasps onto slipping between his fingers. A low heat in his belly burning brighter, a pressure ticking down with each slap of his hips.

“Know you’re close. Let go, baby. So fucking good for me-”

Something rasped out, as you flutter around his cock. Taking him deep, spearing him into your belly.

“Fuck, I can feel you coming on my cock.” It comes out ragged, his breath catching, “Gonna make me come, too-”

Your gaze is dark. Hands pressing harder against his chest as you find yourself again, riding him harder. Panting through it, as it tips towards too much - your orgasm still burning brightly.

He's surrounded by you, and he only wants more. Fingers pinching into your hips, driving himself into you.

“Wanna make you come,” You breathe, “Want to feel you tomorrow-”

It’s enough that he forgets himself. A hands tight against your hip, a sharp tug that pulls you flush. The other curls around the back of your neck as he flips you beneath him.

Your gasping laugh pairs with his snarl. An arm hooking under your knee - pushing, opening you up as he holds you in place.

Watching how your eyes glaze. Following the tug of your fingers, bringing his mouth down to yours. Your pulse thundering beneath his thumb, as his tongue licks into your mouth.

He tastes like you, as his eyes slip shut. You linger on his lips, smeared across his beard. A ragged moan as your hips lift to meet the sharp smack-smack-smack of his hips, and then his vision is going hazy.

Your name snarled out, twining with soft sentiments. Hilting himself just as the pressure reaches its peak, his cock throbbing as he spills with a growl inside you.

The tension easing with each flex of his hips, fucking himself empty into your warmth. Into your embrace, your arms wrapping around and keeping him close. The scruff of his beard scrapes your cheek, but you only hitch a thigh around his hips - nudging him deeper.

Logan would stay here forever, buried in you, if he could. It slips from him, then - rasped low into your ear.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He should tell you more often. Would tell you every day, if not for the guilt that twists in his guts each time you say it back.

But tonight, he can only lean into it. The soft whisper, as your lips drag against his cheek. You say it just like you used to. It still comes just as easily.

“I love you too, Logan.”

And when his breathing settles and his eyes open - his chest catches.

You're adorned with your devotion - hair dotted with alyssum. Forget-me-nots and primrose dappled across your shoulders, yarrow and heather blooming around your curves.

Had learned the names of them, long ago. They come back, as his fingers trace over each bloom.

You’re beautiful.

But you always have been.

Prettiest goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

He bites harder, when he’s wounded.

No more than a cornered animal. But the anger - it takes a hold on him. Leaving him to soften, when there’s a hand he knows.

Making words slip from him that he’d tuck inside, on a different day.

“I do it for you, blossom.” It comes out quiet, in the darkened room, “You know that right?”

You shift against his shoulder. Head cradled against his chest, ear pressed to his heart.

“We do it for Charles,” You breathe, half-asleep. Fingers splaying across his sternum, tracing against the dark whorls of hair.

His own brush over petals. Used to help pluck them from you, after stolen moments during missions. Would love the way your face screwed up - a soft veil of embarrassment washing over you. His own lips pulled in a smug smile, as he had tucked one behind you ear.

Logan huffs, the sound low. Almost a laugh.

“I keep going for you.”

His heart would keep beating for a long time, but he thinks it would stop if yours did.

You press yourself tighter against him. It’s mumbled against his skin, “Keep going for you, too.”

There’s salt against his skin, tears you can’t afford to shed. Silent, as the stars creep higher in the sky above you.

Should be out driving, right now. Can’t bring himself to leave.

So he holds you, until your breathing slows. Until the tension eases once again, sleep taking you.

You never were afraid of him. Only for him.

Never hesitated to crawl into bed beside him, even with his nightmares. Can still remember your insisting.

Clip the stem of the flower, and the bloom will fade. Skewer it though, and it will grow around it - oozing golden ichor until it heals.

It's supposed to be a comfort.

But Logan doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s afraid that he plucked you from the earth, long ago.

You just haven’t realized it yet.

Logan finds you in the garden.

Charles is out with you today. Tucked beneath the afternoon shadows of the smelting plant. He would laugh - does laugh - at your excuse of a garden. It pales in comparison to the mansion. The old ivy that crawled up the walls, across the sprawling grounds.

You laugh with him, because - what else is there to be done?

The sound dies, as the limo comes back early. A hand shades your eyes, as he steps out.

Still weary, though not as much as yesterday. Worry set in the lines around his eyes the grit of his jaw.

The reason revealed, when he steps to the side. A girl, stumbling out of the back seat of the limo.

Her eyes are feral, and there’s something so familiar about her that it steals your breath.

“Crescere.” Charles breathes - more lucid than you’ve seen him in days, “That is Laura. She’s the mutant I told you about. The one we have to help get to Eden.”

And for a moment, he’s the Charles he was a decade ago. The one you would have followed to the end.

Something blooms in your chest, at the sight of the girl.

The mutant, when there hasn’t been a new one in so long. A tight knot unfurling inside you, and it feels like a new beginning.

It feels like hope.

and then they all left to find Eden together and nothing bad ever happened again! 😌💖 I'm heading back to Trouble Will Find Me and Come On And Show Me after this, just was struck with this idea and wanted to explore it! thanks so much for reading!!

[isak-dot-gov]

Empty promises

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Word count: 1764

My masterlist :)

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Reader’s POV:

“Paige what are you actually trying to say right now?” I asked in shock and slight annoyance.

“I just think we should be taking time apart, is all.” she sighs before continuing, “The season’s about to start up and the team really needs me, you know that. I can't afford to have any distractions.”

I feel my eyes sting as she continues to talk. Paige and I have been having this conversation for hours now, talking in circles and never getting to a solid resolve. Something in me was telling me there was much more to this than her current focus on her basketball career, her body language gave it away so easily, it always did. With Paige always being willing to drop any and everything for her basketball career, I had a feeling a day like this would come. I just thought it would've happened a lot later than now.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to drop me like the last five months meant nothing?” I asked, evidently getting frustrated with her inability to directly tell me what she needed.

She avoided my gaze as she said, “I’m not dropping you. I promise I'm not. We just need to take a break so I can focus on basketball. We can still be friends and stuff.”

Still be friends? Seriously? She and I start taking each other more seriously for five months and she decides on a random Tuesday that “we can still be friends and stuff”? She has to be joking. I feel my blood boil at this. She doesn’t get the right to use me like that then make me go back to being her friend “friend”.

“Paige I’m going to be quite frank with you. Your promises mean absolutely nothing to me right now. You’ve promised me multiple times that whatever this was, meant something to you. You’ve promised me you would tell the rest of your team about us so we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. You’ve promised me so much and what you’ve just said diminishes all of that,” I take a deep breath as I scratch at the skin on my thumbs, “I’m so tired of this, P. You say so much, yet everything you say has no substance. You’re right though. You should focus on your basketball and I deserve much more than what you're willing to offer me right now.”

I got up from the purple bean bag in the corner of her room, my view level elevating from her bed she sat on. At this she finally gained the courage to look at me, panic being the main emotion on her face. It was obvious that my words affected her, and for once in the past five months, I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. She deserved to hear that, in the same way I deserved to say it.

“I’m heading out, hope you get whatever you tried to achieve with all of this. Stay safe, Paige.”

I walk away before she gets the chance to respond, feeling too angry at such an abrupt ending to look back at her.

—------------------------

Paige’s POV:

“I’m not gonna lie, you fucked up big time, P,” KK said while eating a packet of trüfrü as soon as I finished speaking. This earned her a smack over the head from Nika as the rest of the team processed what I’ve just told them. The last two months had been insane to say the least. With starting off the season, playing back to back games and having early morning practices almost every day the one person I wanted to be around was Y/N. I couldn’t believe I messed up with her that much. That day and everything she said to me still runs through my mind.

“You’ve promised me multiple times that whatever this was, meant something to you. You’ve promised me you would tell the rest of your team about us so we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. You’ve promised me so much and what you’ve just said diminishes all of that… You say so much, yet everything you say has no substance. You’re right though. You should focus on your basketball and I deserve much more than what you're willing to offer me right now.”

She was right, she always was. It sucks that it took me so long to see it. After I realised just how much I missed her and how unfair I’ve been, I decided to start trying to make it right, I just didn’t know how. So I decided to start with the obvious, telling the team about her. I called them all to my room and immediately started telling them about the past seven months.

“Fuck, I know, KK. I just really wish I could fix this,” I say and rub my hand against my temple as a lame attempt at alleviating the stress in my mind. 

Azzi looked at me compassionately and said, “I think you should talk to her. I know it seems really bad right now, but that closure would be healthy for both of you.”

Aubrey nodded and added, “She’s right, P. Let’s be honest, you’ve been a complete wreck on the court for a while now. Talking to her might fix that.”

The rest of the court chimed in with ideas for ways for me to fix what I’ve caused. Finally, after many questionable ideas, Inȇs spoke up, “I think you should just show up to her house and say you’re sorry then tell her how you’re willing to change. There’s nothing you can really do other than that, Paige. Everything you’re telling us about what she said shows that. She needs your honesty, not huge signs of love.”

The rest of the team looked at her slightly shocked as she continued laying on the couch and finishing an assignment as if she had not just schooled us intellectually. With a new found sense of comfort from her words, I stood upright from the kitchen counter I was leaning on and went to grab my keys. As I unlocked the door I said, “You’re right, Neshy. Thanks guys.”

“Girl boo, are you insane. It’s almost 12AM,” KK said. I ignored her as I continued out of the shared dorm and made my way to my car.

—-----------

Reader’s POV:

A loud knock could be heard from my apartment door as I sat on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through my phone. It was late—much later than I usually had visitors. My heart skipped a beat as I wondered who could be at my door at this hour.

Reluctantly, I got up and made my way to the door, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling in my chest. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and after the exhausting day I’d had, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for surprises.

As I opened the door, I was met with the sight of Paige standing there, looking slightly disheveled and anxious. Her hair was a mess, like she’d been running her hands through it repeatedly, and her eyes were filled with a mixture of desperation and regret.

“Paige?” I said, my voice tinged with surprise and a bit of annoyance. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

She looked down at her feet for a moment, seemingly gathering her thoughts, before finally meeting my gaze. “I know it’s late, and I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I needed to see you. I needed to apologise.”

I crossed my arms, unsure of where this was going but not ready to let my guard down just yet. “You’ve already said what you needed to say, Paige. I’m not sure what else there is to talk about.”

She took a deep breath, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I messed up, Y/N. I know I hurt you, and I’ve been kicking myself every day since you walked out that door. You were right—I made promises I didn’t keep, and I took you for granted. I let basketball become more important than us, and that was a mistake.”

Her voice cracked slightly as she continued, “But I miss you. God, I miss you so much, and I’ve realised that nothing—no game, no career—matters if I don’t have you in my life. I told the team about us. I wanted you to know that I’m serious this time. I want to make things right.”

I felt a lump form in my throat as I listened to her. Part of me wanted to believe her, to take her in my arms and tell her everything would be okay. But the hurt she’d caused was still fresh, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to let her back in so easily.

“Paige, I…” I started, struggling to find the right words. “I appreciate you coming here and saying all this, but I don’t know if things can just go back to the way they were. You really hurt me, and I need time to figure out if I can trust you again.”

She nodded, her expression full of understanding and regret. “I get that, and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just needed you to know that I’m sorry and that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. If that means giving you space, I’ll do it. If it means proving myself to you every day, I’ll do that too.”

I looked at her, searching her eyes for any hint of insincerity, but all I saw was raw honesty. It was clear that she meant every word she said, and as much as I wanted to stay mad at her, a part of me couldn’t help but soften.

“Okay,” I finally said, my voice softer now. “I need time, Paige. But I won’t close the door on us just yet.”

A small, relieved smile crossed her face as she nodded. “Thank you. I’ll give you all the time you need.”

We stood there for a moment, the tension between us slowly easing, replaced by a tentative hope. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, but it was a start.

“Goodnight, Paige,” I said, taking a step back into my apartment.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” she replied, her voice filled with gratitude.

As I closed the door, I leaned against it, letting out a deep breath. Things were still uncertain, but for the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other.

..............................................

Isak speaks: I'm on a fucking roll today guys :]. I'm also considering writting for KK and Inȇs becuase they are highly underated on tumblr tbh

[anipgarden]

Adding To or Starting a Garden

AKA, the beginning of the Plants-Related section of this series.

This is my third post in a series I’ll be making on how to increase biodiversity on a budget! I’m not an expert--just an enthusiast--but I hope something you find here helps! 

Got an area of lawn you’d like to convert to a wildlife haven? An area you can stick some hanging baskets in? Want to know how your garden of tomatoes and zucchinis is already putting in a lot of work? This is the section for you!

It would be dumb of me to not acknowledge that the act of gardening can come with a lot of costs. Buying seeds, buying plants, buying soil, raised bed materials, mulch, etc. … it can all get a bit daunting, let’s be honest! But there’s quite a few ways to get seeds and plants for free or extremely cheap, which I’ll be addressing in this section! The next section will be all about addressing the other Costs in gardening and how to mitigate or eliminate them entirely.

Also, do keep in mind; there’s no need to try and convert a whole area from lawn to garden or unused to garden at once. In fact, it could actually be extremely beneficial to do it a little at a time--maybe four or five square feet to start out.

Front Lawn (or Managing Principles)

If you live in a place where you’re required to have a grass turf lawn (HOA’s come to mind…), try replacing it with native grasses instead! You could even possibly use a low-growing ground cover plant like clover to a similar effect! Reseeding/replacing an entire lawn can be a big upfront cost, but even just letting the lawn be a little messy and tall helps. If the lawn gets patchy, leave the bare spots for a little while and something different will likely pop up! Pioneer species will fill the gaps and provide benefits to other plants around them, support animals, and more! If you want to take the guesswork out of it, you could always research what the pioneer species are in your area and plant the ones you like most. 

Obtaining Seeds for Cheap or Free

The cheapest way to start a garden is by far via seeds. However, seeds can be a bit complicated to grow, and some sources make them… way overpriced. Fortunately there are ways to get seeds for little to no cost! 

Some places sell seeds for as low as a dollar, 50 cents, or 25 cents! The packets may not have a lot of seeds, but it’s definitely a good start for a low budget! I’ve personally bought cheap seed packets at Walmart--the Ferry-Morse and Burpee brands are not what we’re looking for here. Typically the cheaper ones I’ve found are American Seed (which is owned by Green Garden Products, which also owns Ferry-Morse, Livingston Seed, McKenzie Seed, and Seeds of Change. Do with that information what you will), but they’re rarely stocked near the Ferry-Morse ones in the Formal Gardening Section. I’ve most often found them on end caps near the gardening section, so you may have to weave through a few aisles to find them, but once you do there’s an array of flower and vegetable seeds to select from! Alternatively, I’ve found seeds at Dollar Tree sold 2 or 4 for a dollar in Spring as part of their seasonal product; however, when they’re out of stock, they’re typically out of stock for the year. Try to check them out early in the year!

Otherwise, other seed companies like Urban Farmer or Botanical Interests will often have semi-frequent sales in spring and fall, when people are stocking up on seeds--joining their email lists can help you be the first to know when a good sale is going on!

Some foods from grocery stores will provide seeds that you can use in the garden as well. I’ve had the most luck with store-bought bagged beans, peppers, and tomatoes. Some people have had luck with watermelons, apples, citrus, squash, and more. Do keep in mind that you likely won’t get the same variety of fruit/vegetable as the one you bought--the resulting plant may look different and taste different.

Give it a shot! Pick some beans you like--if they don't grow well, at least you can eat the rest!

If you live in the US, food-producing live plants, bare roots, and seeds can often be purchased with SNAP benefits. But what does growing fruits, veggies, and herbs have to do with boosting biodiversity? While food crops aren’t typically native, they still provide valuable shelter for native insects. Some plants even have intricate relationships with native fauna--like the squash bee, a solitary bee which exclusively pollinates cucurbits like pumpkins, squash, and zucchini. And we get to benefit more directly as well! If you’re planting a diverse range of foods in your garden (as opposed to the swaths of single-plant farms that typically produce what’s sent to grocery stores), you’re supporting high levels of biodiversity by providing a variety of plants for creatures to live and hunt around.

Most of the time, when we think of boosting biodiversity with a garden, we think of a colorful flower garden teeming with pollinator species. However, if we’re striving to use native species, it can be a bit difficult to find some species in stores. I can say from experience that trying to find any wildflower seeds other than butterfly weed, purple coneflowers, and black-eyed-susans is… challenging, if you limit yourself to stores like Walmart, Home Depot, and Lowe’s. You might occasionally get lucky with an ACE Hardware or a local nursery, but even then sometimes it can be hard to track down who in your area is selling what--let alone if you live in an area where no one really is selling native plants or their seeds. Not to mention, even once you find a local or online store selling the seeds you want, they can sometimes cost a pretty penny. So what do you do?

If you have the option to, consider gathering native seeds yourself! Get good at identifying the native flora and fauna--or at least, a few target plants and their lookalikes--and get ready to go! Learn where they tend to grow, when they’ll be seeding, etc. Try to identify the plant before it goes to seed (for most plants, it's easiest to identify when flowering), then check back regularly to gather seeds. Typically, if I want to learn how to collect seed from a specific plant, I just search it on Google or YouTube--oftentimes, I'm lead to the GrowItBuildIt Youtube page, so it may be a helpful resource for you as well! Of course, make sure to leave plenty of seed behind so the wild population can repopulate, and seed can feed other creatures in the area. A good rule of thumb is to take no more than 1/3rd of what's available.

Buying seed in bulk is an option if you can afford the upfront cost. Try teaming up with a few friends to buy some bulk seeds and split them amongst yourselves--you’ll get tons of seed! Prairie Moon is a popular site that'll sell seeds by the pound if you can afford the price--though they're in the US, and I believe they focus on Midwest and East Coast natives.

If you want to cheat the system, don’t buy bulk sunflower seeds--buy bags of sunflower seeds being sold as birdseed. They’re typically all black oil sunflower seeds, but they’ll sprout, and they’re fairly cheap for the amount you get!

However, beware generic wildflower seed mixes! Many brands like to sell wildflower seed mixes in big box stores like Home Depot, Target, or even Dollar Tree, but they’ll often include flowers that aren’t native or possibly even invasive in your region! Before you make any purchases, double check to make sure the contained seeds won’t do more harm than good! A quality source of native seeds will provide English and Latin names for all seeds included, and will be native to the region or at least non-invasive. 

See this? I don't trust this.

There’s a good handful of programs online that’ll send you free seeds if you’re planning to start a native habitat project! Poke around online and see what you can find; you might get lucky! The best time to start looking for these is fall and winter, I find--by early spring, many of them are either done or beginning to wind down... though some also start up in spring. Ultimately--just check regularly! You never know what you can find!

Other Ways to Get Plants

Don’t want to start from seed? That’s fair! You can try cuttings! Just be sure not to take too much of the plant while you do so. Make sure you’ve gotten a few leaf nodes on your cutting, and cut any flowers you may have gotten. Make sure to leave some blooms and foliage on the original plant for the creatures in the current habitat--you don’t want to destroy one habitat to make another in your garden. There’s tons of methods of rooting cuttings, many of which have different efficacy rates for different plants, but that’s a topic for another post.

If you find seedlings growing in a place where they won’t be able to sustain themselves long-term, or are in danger of being destroyed, consider relocating them! You may be able to gently dig up and transplant the seedling to your garden. Don’t do this if they’re in a place where they can easily survive--ideally, you’ll be taking plants from sidewalk cracks, heavily maintained public gardens, roadsides, etc. Do be careful while doing this--ensure your safety first!  

You’re totally allowed to join gardening communities like clubs, facebook groups, and more before you’ve even put a trowel to the dirt. These are great places to learn information and advice! Many gardeners are more than happy to help out a new gardener, and will eagerly provide seeds, cuttings, or even baby plants! Talk to some people about your gardening journey and what you’re hoping to do, and you just might find some kindred spirits--or at least get more people interested in the topic! 

Seed and plant giveaways and trades happen all the time in gardening clubs, as well as online! Just poke around and see what you can find! Some are explicitly trades, meaning you’re expected to send something in return, but once you get your feet on the ground with some plant knowledge you’ll be stellar! You may be able to explain you’re just starting out, and someone may send you seeds without expecting a trade, but I’d suggest trying giveaways first. 

Poke around online and see if there’s a local chapter of your state’s native plant society. From there, you’ll likely be able to find a calendar of events--many of them will host plant sales in the spring, with a bunch of native plant seedlings ripe for the pickings if you can make it out and have some money to spare! Fair warning, though, you’ll want to get there early if you can. If they say they’re starting at 10, try to get there by 9:45. Year after year, there’s always record turnout, and they sell out of plants faster than ever. Just trust me on this. I’ve been let down; hopefully you won’t have to be.

Some libraries are beginning to host seed libraries! Check around and see if your library has one! Ideally, the system works best if you also have seeds to contribute in return, but if you’re just starting out I’m sure they won’t mind you taking some seeds! Just consider saving some seeds to contribute in the future and pay it forward. If your library doesn’t have a seed library? Consider asking if they’d be willing to start one! Community interest is a great way to get the ball rolling on projects like these, but they’ll only know the community is interested if the community tells them they’re interested!

Volunteer to Garden for/with Someone Else

Maybe someone in your area wants to garden, but is struggling to find the time/energy. Many elderly people who used to garden simply can’t anymore but still would like a garden. Other people may love to have a helping hand in their garden. You might even find a few people in your area interested in renting and sharing a community garden plot with others, so they don't have to handle it all on their own! They may be interested in increasing biodiversity right now, or may be willing to if it’s brought up to them. You might be just the kind of person someone needs! Since it won't be your garden, you’ll likely need a bit of permission and collaboration to get anything in particular going, but it’s worth a shot and a way to maybe even make friends! 

Again, your mileage may vary with some of these. You may not know where there's a bunch of wildflowers growing in your area, or maybe your local library doesn't have a free seed library. That's okay! Do what you're able to, find what you can find, get what you can get! And there's never any shame with starting small--in fact, starting small can make the project easier to manage and expand when you're able!

That's the end of this post! My next post is gonna be about ways to start growing plants cheaply--low cost seed starting set ups, essentially. There's a lot of good options, many of which I've used myself even! Until then, I hope this advice is helpful! Feel free to reply with any questions, success stories, or anything you think I may have forgotten to add in!

[valwrote]

stressed!alhaitham who is in a stinky mood ever since nahida gave him the job of acting grand sage. ft. fem!reader aka the bootiful bean reading this.

mentions of alhaitham's granny (rip)

I chose my next victim of choice to be alhaitham regarding my impulsive ideas since I can't write a full blow fic rn. I hope there are still people who like this guy.

right??

"Uh oh, it is going to rain." one of the vendors muttered.

"Certaintly is. We better pack up. What idiot would want to stay in the cold rain?" Another muttered as everyone started to hurry and pack up.

Soon the pitter patter drowned out the rest of the noises.

The sky was cloudy with a hue of blueish gray bringing a solemn atmosphere with it. The gloomyness engulfed the city of Sumeru. Alhaitham sat alone on a bench, hunched up. Guess he was the idiot to sit in the rain.

He could hear people whispering, muttering to themselves at the sight of him as they walked by, holding their umbrellas. Some running towards shelter. Alhaitham paid no mind to them, he was busy with his problems.

He never imagined that he would go from having a simple job of the Scribe of the Akademiya who could relax and reject applications left and right to becoming the Acting Grand Sage.

On paper the title does seem like an important position but nobody told the reality of the job and the tsunami of paperwork that came with it. Being hunched up in an office chair and burying your face in a mountain of petty queries and complaints was enough to drive a person crazy.

"Acting Grand Sage...what a joke." He bitterly chuckled as the rain dampened his clothes more and more. All he wanted was to save his 9 to 5 job and the people of his country. He didn't expect to be appointed as the administrator of an entire nation.

He recalled Nahida trying to persuade him into agreeing to the post.

"No pressure or anything!" Nahida told the taller male. "I don't wish to force you. I just thought that you are so smart, capable and reliab-"

"Okay."

"Huh?" Nahida stared at him blankly. She thought that it would take a lot more buttering to get Alhaitham to agree. She didn't think it would be this easy.

"If it is what the Archon wants, I'll do it." He bowed out of respect. Nahida marveled at his gesture before smiling.

"Thank you."

Yet this job made him almost, almost, pity Azar.

Well in the heat of the moment, he said yes. Alhaitham was a rational thinker, yet this was probably the one rational decision he was regretting at the moment, amidst the cold rain. Some trivial matter always came breaking down his door.

Should he just run away? No, he couldn't bear to run away from his home. Perhaps a vacation? No, nobody was competent in his eyes to take his place. Moreover if he leaves, who will collect Kaveh's due rent? Even worse if Kaveh burns down his house in his absence! Maybe a change of pace would be nice. A small window of escape from his life of humbug.

Such worries clouded his thoughts which he snapped out of after someone touched his shoulder. "I am sorry, I don't mean to pry but are you okay? Why are you sitting in this rain?" You asked him.

"No reason." He replied curtly.

"Oh okay." You didn't feel like pushing him forward to tell you more. Most people ignored him and walked past him but for some reason you chose to stay, much to his dismay. You stood their for a brief minute before turning around to walk away only to get cut off by a sound.

Grumble

That caught your attention as you turned around to see Alhaitham averted his gaze with the tips of his ears turning red from embarrassment. He wasn't a man with much words but his stomach certainly didn't stay quiet.

"Are you hungry?" "...yes."

Alhaitham wasn't the one to play pretend. He simply succumbed to his hunger. You walked back towards him and take a seat beside him. He didn't seem to object your actions and stared at you as your fingers unwrapped a packet containing pita pockets.

"Let's share! Nothing better than some pipin' hot food to lighten one's mood!" You smiled and offered him some. He could feel the warm gush of air from the steaming food hitting him the face.

They smelled nice. How long has it been since he sat down and ate a hot meal? When was the last time he cooked for himself. As a child, his grandma would always take care of him, listen to his problems and make sure he would eat his fill. His grandma's cooking was a distant memory for him. He couldn't help but feel a bit grateful.

Yet he still managed to burn his tongue. "Slow down! You don't want to singe your tongue now, do you?" You warned him as he hissed at the burning sensation. However that didn't stop him from continuing to eat. He was hungry, alright.

You both silently sat under the comfort of one umbrella. "So, bad day?" You started. "Yes." "Hm, everyone has one of those. It is okay."

He remained quiet, while chewing. He didn't talk much for someone who was a linguistic scholar. How ironical. For Alhaitham, this food tasted warm, it tasted like home. It was made with love, care and time, unlike those stale delicacies you get around cafeterias.

"Thank you. That was- nice." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"He really devoured 3/4th of it." You gaped at the box. "Have you not eaten at all?" You raised the question.

"Well, I see no reason to not share with you just a little bit..." he murmured to himself.

"No, with the amount of work- I haven't been focusing much on food." Alhaitham settled on that answer. Neither giving too much away nor upsetting the stranger infront of him.

"Well then how about I cook for you? I work at the Pushpa Cafe. You can drop by anytime for a meal." You suggested as he raised his brows.

"And make my wallet empty in less than a week? I'll pass." He sarcastically remarked. Definitely a tough nut to crack.

"No! I don't care about money. I care about feeding people. What makes a chef is passion to cook and serve others, not a capitalist mindset." You huffed in annoyance. He seemed skeptical at your statement earning a sigh from you.

"Taking help isn't bad. You gotta lean onto people sometimes! It's completely okay and normal, y'know?" You continued, trying to get him to believe you and how you were being genuine.

That sent him into deep thought. After a few minutes he spoke up, "very well. I'll take up your offer. Better than eating my roommates "food" which might poison me." He concluded as you chuckled at how nonchalant he was.

"Alright! I'll see you later or whenever you choose to drop by!" You chime and hand him the rest of the pita pockets. "Eat well. Oh! And have this" you held out the umbrella for him to take.

"But what about you?" He asked with slight worry.

"Oh my house is just down the road, if I run fast enough, I'll be fine!" You reassured him and ran away, covering yourself with your arms.

He watched you run away, the warmth of the pita pocket on his palms. Who knew a stranger with an umbrella could make the remaining part of his day just a bit better? Alhaitham couldn't help but smile a little.

People enter someone's life for one reason or the other. Alhaitham wanted to run away. No, he just wanted a vacation. Perhaps he just needed a change of pace.

This was his change of pace.

a/n : oh my god- this is probably worse than the first draft I wrote because I accidentally deleted it- ughh. But it is okay 😤

alhaitham just needs a break lmao

©definitelysel

[icarryitin]

Episode 2: Psychopomp

spencer reid/gn!reader

besides having a crippling pepsi max addiction and being insufferable on this website my main hobby is Hozier Fan so pls enjoy some trauma bonding

series masterlist

word count: 1.6k // warnings: like two swears, canon level blood and injury, victim death, new colleague awkwardness

summary - You could have saved her, you’re sure of it. If you’d been quick enough. Instead, you’re just the grim reaper.

Stakeouts are not fun by anyone’s standard. Less fun when you’ve only known the person in the passenger seat for nine days - to make things even worse, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t like you.

Okay, that might be a bit presumptuous.

And maybe you’ve been awkward too, just a smidge. You’re trying so desperately to be cool about it, because he’s the cute guy at your new job and you don’t want to be that person. You’ve worked your ass off far too hard to get where you are, to even have a shot at the prestigious unit, to ruin it with a silly little crush on a coworker. Even if the glasses are absolutely doing it for you.

The woods are quiet through the windscreen, treeline barely visible past the raindrops falling heavier and heavier with every passing minute.

“Anything?”

The walkie talkie on the dashboard flickers to life to pierce the quiet. Reid’s eyes are still on the trees, so you lean over the steering wheel to pull it towards you.

“Nothing yet,” You press the talk button, “Any signs of life on your side?”

“None, cabin’s quiet.”

Morgan and Hotch are settled further up the track, carefully watching the suspected Unsub’s cabin. Your car is tucked off of the track entrance, in case the guy tries to make a break for it. It’s something out of a horror movie - creepy guy, cabin in the woods, the dark, the rain. You’re half expecting a werewolf to lumber out of the low hanging branches, dripping with blood and howling. But none such creature appears. Instead, it’s just quiet. Painfully so. You find yourself consciously keeping your breaths shallow and silent, you don’t want to disturb Reid any more than you’re sure you already are. Except, as you lean forward to slide the walkie talkie back onto the dashboard, your body betrays you.

The rumbling starts low, and for a second you’re hopeful that he won’t hear it at all. And then your stomach growls something awful.

You press your lips together and let your eyes close for a moment, let the embarrassment wash over you, before you open your mouth to apologise. He beats you to it.

“Yeah, me too.” There’s a sly little smile on his face, though he’s not looking at you. His gaze is still firmly stuck on the trees ahead. Still, it’s nice to know he’s not judging you. So you feel a little less self conscious about turning in your seat, about the eyes that follow when you lean through the gap to reach the backseat to unzip your bag.

It’s lunchbox time.

You’re not avoiding Reid’s eye per se, as you settle back into your seat with the plastic box on your knees, but you’re not exactly making any effort to meet it. He’s peering over at it - the sun bleached red box with a patchy kids show logo on the front, so scratched up that you can’t tell what it used to be anymore. But it holds more stakeout snacks than it feasibly should be able to, and that makes it perfect. You pull out a snack sized packet of jelly beans before turning it to face your teammate.

“You brought snacks?” He sounds surprised, but there’s no judgement in his tone, so that’s something. A tiny step forward.

“Always,” You glance up from the selection to look at him, “You don’t?”

Of course he doesn’t. He’s a professional. He’s old hat at all this, you’re the one fresh out of Academy packaging. Still, he leans over the centre console and snags a bag of dried fruit snacks for himself, pinched between two long fingers - he’s still got his arm stretched out halfway when the thud sounds against the hood of your car. The vibration of it reverberates through your seat, your gaze snaps up to spot two bloodied hands where they’ve slammed against the metal.

You know this woman. You know this woman because her face is in the file in your bag, her missing persons poster is front and centre on the board back at the local precinct. Time freezes when her eyes lock onto yours through the rain streaming down the windscreen, wild. And then she’s gone, tripping over rocks and twigs and her own feet, into the undergrowth. It doesn’t matter at this stage whether or not it’s a trap by the Unsub. Right now, Sheila Jenkins is running around in the dark and the cold and the rain. Terrified, injured, miles from home. You have no choice but to follow her into the darkness of the trees, you have to try. You’re out of the car and into the downpour before you can really think about it.

Reid’s voice carries your name through the trees after you, but it’s lost amongst the thunder in the clouds above.

She’s not far in front of you, injuries and rough terrain slowing her - but she makes up for it with sheer desperation. Fight or flight, and this woman can fly. Vaguely, there’s another set of footsteps somewhere behind you. Loud and uncoordinated, shoes wholly inappropriate for a trek through the woods, you know it’s Reid without looking back. Sheila is your sole focus, a frantic dark blob and shock of blonde hair just ahead through the trees. Her sole focus is getting the fuck out of the woods.

So she doesn’t see the break in the trees. She doesn’t see brush turn to tarmac, doesn’t feel it under her feet. She doesn’t see the approaching headlights at all.

You do, you see everything.

Reid’s hand shoots out to catch the back of your vest, rocks at your feet skitter out onto the road as he stops you in your tracks. And it all plays out, right in front of you, like a sick movie.

Even over the rain, over the thunder, over the rumble of the engine and the squealing of the brakes - the crunch of Sheila’s body against the hood of the car is loud. It echoes, reverberating as her body bounces off of it and lands ten feet further down the road. The driver is already out of their car, screaming, but it’s all background noise. You leave them to Reid, who’s already radioing for an ambulance. Because she’s not dead just yet, she’s a fighter. Her mother told you that only this morning.

Her breath is shallow, quick, and you already know that any help will come too late. The last human touch she knows shouldn’t be a violent one, it can’t be. Your feet are already carrying you to the crumpled heap of her in the road. The ground is cold when you hit it, rain soaking through your jeans. But it doesn’t matter.

“It’s okay,” You’re mumbling as you pull Sheila’s torso into your lap, her head resting in the crook of your elbow, “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She shakes in your arms, blood stains the sleeve of your shirt where she grips it with broken fingers. Green eyes wide, bloodshot, terrified. You can only hold her closer. Shushing her, rocking her like a child. Her mouth opens and she croaks, you think she’s trying to say something to you - but she chokes on blood before she can get a word out, bubbling up and leaking from the corners of her lips. It spatters onto your vest, your face. It doesn’t matter.

“Mom.”

It’s the only sound Sheila can muster, garbled by the blood in her throat. God, she must be in so much pain.

“I’ll tell her.”

There’s a flicker in the green of her eyes, somewhere under the agony, you think she might be grateful. And then she’s done. Another twitch, another gasping breath against your vest. Sheila Jenkins dies in your arms. In a storm, on a backroad in rural Oregon, after escaping a serial killer. You’re blinded by the emergency lights that round the corner ahead of you, refracted in the rain, too fucking late.

A shadow falls across your face, illuminated from behind by red and blue light. Reid.

His hands are careful, almost nervous, as they hover over your shoulders before finally settling themselves solidly on the straps of your vest. He says nothing, only watches you for a moment. Watches you finally let a tear fall. Watches it mix with the rain on your cheek. He’s even more careful still when the paramedics approach, hands sliding down your arms to pry your grip from Sheila’s body to let them take her. It’s only now you can look him in the eye. His are sad, but steady.

“They’re not all like this.” Reid says quietly. He pulls a clean tissue out of his pocket, the rain soaking it almost instantly, but he dabs at the blood on your face with it.

“Sometimes we win.” He presses on when you say nothing, shifting slightly to allow you to see the rest of the team arriving on scene. The Unsub is in the backseat of Hotch and Morgan’s SUV, cuffed and on his way to justice. But your eyes slide back to the ambulance, to Sheila Jenkins getting zipped into a body bag.

“We do?” You know you look pathetic. Soaked to the bone in the middle of the road, covered in blood, looking at him like he’s the oracle. You can barely see for the rain in your eyes anyway, best not to know how pitifully he’s watching you.

Spencer doesn’t answer, but there’s such a certainty in his face that you’re inclined to believe him. Something tells you it won’t be the last time you treat this man’s word as gospel.

lou finish a wip on time and don’t make it sad challenge: impossible edition🫡

[sibylsleaves]

wip wednesday

tagged by @exhuastedpigeon.

hello friends i am here to bring you good tidings of....roommates fic!! Since the fic has big Summer Vibes I decided I wanted to go ahead and start posting it this summer! The first 3 chapters are already complete and I'm hoping the first two will go up in the next week or so. So here's a little from chapter 1:

“Is that Maddie?” Eddie calls, poking his head into the kitchen. “Hi, Eddie,” Maddie says warmly. “Don’t mind me,” Eddie replies. “I’m actually just on my way out to run some errands before I have to get Chris from school.” “Uh, you’re not picking Chris up today, Eddie,” Buck says. “He’s got Raya’s birthday party, remember? Aiden’s mom is getting them both and taking him.” Eddie smacks a hand to the side of his head. “Oh, duh. Completely forgot. You good to swing by and pick him up later, then?” “Of course,” Buck answers, mixing the salad. “We can grab dinner on the way home. Chinese?” “Somehow I doubt Chris is going to eat dinner after all that pizza and cake.” “He will if there are dumplings,” Buck assures him. “And I’ll make sure to get the green beans he likes.” To Maddie, he says, “They’re basically the only vegetable he’ll eat without three rounds of negotiation.” “Probably helps that they’re smothered in soy sauce and MSG,” Eddie says. “Hey, do you know where I put the—” “Check for the registration renewal for the truck?” Buck guesses. “Already in the mail.” Eddie squeezes his shoulder lightly in thanks. “Speaking of, the new school sent over an orientation packet,” Buck says. Chris starts sixth grade in the fall, which means he’s starting at a brand new school. “I thought we could look over it tonight?” “Sounds good,” Eddie says, and then flits out the door again, calling, “Good seeing you, Maddie!” over his shoulder. A moment later, the front door opens and then shuts again. “Okay,” Maddie says after a pause. “So you’re really settling in, then.”

tags

@devirnis @messyhairdiaz @tenisperfection @doeeyeseddie @iinryer

@thatbuddie @littlespoonevan @burnthatbridge @glorious-spoon @clusterbuck

@iinryer @gayeddieagenda @transboybuckley @homerforsure @spaceprincessem

@fiona-fififi @eddiebabygirldiaz @djdangerlove @smallandalmosthonest @tidesreach

[btsbabe7]

Coffee Beans (love you a latte)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: After a sudden breakup, you find yourself reuniting with your estranged best friend over lattes in a small coffee shop.

Sebastian sits next to you in the corner of a tiny coffee shop in London, his lanky frame barely filling out the spine of the chair. His fingertips tap against the burning porcelain cup nestled between his palms, the steam curling from the top of the cup in a ghastly swirl. He stares down at it in a sleepy daze, perplexed about why he’s here after you’d successful banished him for six months for the sake of your Gryffindor boyfriend, Garreth Weasley.

The silver-charmed bell nailed to the worn door of the tucked away coffee shop had ding-donged upon your arrival, coming to a halt seconds after the warmth of late Spring rolled in with you. Sebastian hadn’t as much as uttered a hello when you’d greeted him at the edge of the sticky counter upon your arrival in your own tone of weariness. He had barely glanced at you to take in your new shoulder length curls and freshly cut bangs, nor the healing of the scar left behind on the right side of your neck after your battle with Ranrok. The battle had been a year ago. The hair cut, only a couple days old. Surely he’d noticed your fading scar in the passings in the corridors or when he’d catch Garreth consoling you after a long day during dinner in the Great Hall. But he hated it, you know he hates it all.

“Seb—“ you whisper, starting slow, softly.

“Does he know you’re here?” He interrupts, eyes low and focused on the frothy milk overlaying his coffee.

You sputter softly, attempting to swallow a scoff, but knowing the question is valid. You’re the one that stopped hanging out with Sebastian. It felt appropriate once you realized Garreth’s request wasn’t entirely unreasonable.

The smell of freshly poured coffee beans and the humming of the expresso machine pulls your attention for a moment. The distant clinking of a spoon hitting the wall of a porcelain cup, the tear of a sugar packet or two, the frothing sound of whipped cream topping a to-go order, a soft piano melody flowing throughout the space. You think of Garreth alone in his dorm right now, using the quiet to think up whatever scenarios that ransack his brain whenever you two part.

“He doesn’t.”

A smug smirk appears on the corner of his lips, then falls back into a pensive pout. He shuffles in his seat, slowly opening up to you, chest coming into view first. His eyes roam over the empty tables beyond you, then you as if they’ve waited years to do so, and your shoulders shrink in relief.

Gazing back at him, you can’t believe you’d actually gone a full minute without engaging with your best friend. You must’ve been cursed to have gone a full six months with no contact, aside from passings in the hallway and the Great Hall. In the realization of it all, you’re thankful he hasn’t changed, not one bit, and you’re eager to pick up where you’d left off. At least in this moment, you believe you are.

“What’s my mortal enemy up to this time, if not courting you over breakfast? You two snog so much over morning pumpkin juice that the thought alone makes me want to hurl.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the thought of Sebastian seeing you kiss Garreth—watching, so much that it bothers him, haunts his thoughts and makes him sick to his stomach when he’s not even around.

“Garreth’s Garreth… You know, concocting strange inventions and attempting to find subjects to test them on. But that’s not why you agreed to come, not to speak about him...”

“I still don’t understand it all,” he starts. “He knows I’ve been in your life long before you saved that damned school. We were the best of friends, closer than Ominis and I. That was a threat to him and he deliberately complained that I was trying to steal you from him. Why?”

You avoid his eyes, once again knowing he’s right. Yet, Sebastian always manages to dismiss the events leading up to the main issue.

“Seb—“

He takes a long sip of his latte and readjusts, leaning back against the spine of the rattan chair before meeting your eyes again.

“Sebastian, he saw you kiss me…”

His cheeks turn as red as the cherry tomatoes in his uncle’s garden back in Feldcroft. As the realization settles in, there’s a long silence between the two of you. Had Sebastian not kissed you knowing you were still dating Garreth at the time, you wouldn’t have had to wedge so much distance. His excuse of drinking too much Butterbeer wasn’t a good enough explanation and Garreth had given you the ultimatum. You’d never seen him so upset. And as much as you wanted to defend Sebastian, your best friend, he was being reckless, jealous and territorial over something that didn’t belong to him. Even you couldn’t hide from that truth.

“I don’t regret it,” he says curtly, words cutting through your thoughts like a freshly sharpened dagger. “I would’ve kissed you a hundred times more had you not carved me out. Garreth doesn’t know you. He wasn’t there. He was working on dumb potions and those damned trick jellybeans while you and I were out there in the real world. Fighting goblins, trying to find a cure for Anne, piecing together Isidora’s triptych... We were risking our lives while he dallied around playing games. He’s never put his life on the line for you, Y/n.”

You scoff loudly, cheeks burning as hot as the untouched cup in front of you. You hate that he’s right every single time, but that means nothing right now. You liked Garreth. You loved his immaturity, his view of seeing some things in life differently. He showed you that everything didn’t always need to be taken seriously and Sebastian didn’t respect it.

“After Ranrok, Garreth was there.”

“Damn right he was,” Sebastian curses. “He was there like the rest, groveling at your feet after you’d saved the entire school. Everyone showered you in false love and compliments. I’ve loved you from the start.”

Your heart wrenches.

Not once has Sebastian admitted to loving you, ever. There were hints, signs. He was around so much that he’d practically become your shadow. He’s become more familiar than the lines on your palms or the spells you’d practiced endlessly into perfection. Your partnership in Crossed Wands and helping him find a cure for his sister had turned into a quickly blossoming friendship. You’d even found yourself thinking of him late at night when you should’ve been focused on planning for the doom that crawled closer— Rookwood, Ranrok, untamable ancient magic, the list could go on and on, but all you could think about was Sebastian Sallow.

A part of you was relieved when he’d asked you to dance at Natty’s party; you needed a moment away from Garreth, a moment to breathe. Though, you never expected Sebastian to take your breath away. You still remember the heavy smell of spiked Butterbeer on his lips, the sweet, thick taste of butterscotch and the scent of burnt timber lingering between you two. He’d been practicing Confringo again in the Undercroft beforehand. And the kiss felt like a dream, pulling everything you’d ever felt about him into a neat package with a shiny green bow. You just hadn’t expected Garreth to see it. And when he did, he knew Sebastian had to go, even if it killed you.

“We broke up,” you finally find the courage to speak.

That’s the reason you’d sent your white-feathered owl, Nora, to Sebastian two nights ago. Two days more without him felt like an eternity and you weren’t sure he’d show after all this time. You’d only hoped.

“I’m not surprised. You wouldn’t be here had it not happened, you’re too loyal. Maybe my tiny presence in your life of seeing you in passings has become too unbearable. He’d have me exiled if it were up to him.”

“I mean… I broke up with him. Six months was too long, Sebastian, and you didn’t even try to weasel your way back in. You just—you just let me go. You made it look so easy.”

“Easy!? Have I not suffered enough? Put myself on the line for you so many times? And need I remind you, you chose Weasley over me? That was your doing, Y/n,” he rants. “Looks can be deceiving, but I knew you’d come back. That’s what happens to the things we lose that are meant to be. And in those six months, I suffered, endlessly. Ominis could hardly stand my sulking much more before Nora showed with your letter. To think, all the times he told me I should admit how I felt, even during those six months, I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to ruin your perfect relationship with Garreth, or rather, I couldn’t. You would’ve hated me. I’m stubborn like you’ve said before, but I know, truly, that I’ve loved you and I still do now. No dumbwitted Gryffindor can change that.”

You can’t take it anymore, the racing of your heart, the heaviness of abandoning him. You couldn’t be with Garreth when your heart and soul craved Sebastian. You broke Garreth’s heart to be here, but that was something you could live with. Abandoning Sebastian wasn’t. It pulled and tugged at you in the worst and best of times. It haunted you when you were alone, when you were kissing Garreth, when he’d stay the night to cuddle in your dorm. Your mind had always gone back to the reckless, brown eyed, freckle faced Slytherin right in front of you.

“I love you too, you know?” You mutter nonchalantly, hoping the words don’t go straight to his skull. “I think it was destined to happen, the day we met… when we dueled in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

He smiles charmingly, attempting to hold back a smirk and a teasing laugh at the distant memory. Because why wouldn’t you have fallen for him? His sarcasm, charms, and good looks were always there.

“I really knew when you opened up to me about your sister,” you continue. “When you realized you could do the important things without me, yet you still wanted me there. Even when it went against your best friend or your better judgment. You allowed me to see you, all of you. All the good and bad, Sebastian, and I love every single part of you.”

Sebastian’s eyes meet yours again, heavy, tired, and holding back tears. He’s missed you more than you’ll ever know, probably more than you missed him since you had Garreth to fill the void. Your voice, he missed the most. Your laughter, your deadpan humor and crappy puns. He missed the way you smelled, some muggle perfume you’d spritz yourself with in the mornings that made you smell of fresh flowers, a charm followed that you’d found in a book to make it last all day. He missed the way your skin and hair glistened in the moonlight when you’d both sneak out to fly broomsticks to Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer or two while the others slept. He missed practicing in the Undercroft with you, and Ominis lecturing him on the way back to the dorms about how he could feel the love in the air. He missed the warmth of you lying your head in his lap to vent to him under the old beech tree near Black Lake. He’d fallen in love with the sight of golden speckles reflecting in your irises when the branches began to sway just right with the breeze, exposing your features to the sun’s rays. He missed your smile, your lips, the way you’d tie your robe at your waist instead of wearing it. He missed and loved all of you. And he can’t fight the urge anymore. The heaviness of his own heart won’t let him, not with you this close, and not knowing that you’re no longer accounted for.

“We should get out of here, others might report back that you’ve gotten over your heartbreak rather quickly. Wouldn’t want that getting back to that poor Gryffindor of yours.”

“He’s not mine anymore,” you grumble and pinch Sebastian’s arm with a giggle. “But you’re right, we should go.”

“You still have that Room of Requirement? I think a single bed will suffice.”

You roll your eyes, holding back a giggle at his obviousness.

“We’ll go to my dorm first,” you reply before pecking a quick kiss on the corner of his lips that leaves his cheeks blushing. “Then, we’ll see if we truly require the room.”

He takes your hand in his right and leads you out of the tiny coffee shop. The silver bell ding dongs against the door once more, ushering you both into the warmth of spring. And with a smile on his face, he’s ready to apparate anywhere in the world, as long as you promise to remain by his side.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

[mouwrites]

Hi hi! Congrats on the 300 followers!! Uhm for the event can I request Miles Morales (E-1610) with the prompt 10 ("Can I just keep you?") with them just cuddling and all fluff and cute and wholesome? Okay ty

Thank you!! And here you go, some winter fluff for chilly times!!

Word count: 1.1k

ASTV - 10. "Can I just keep you?" (Miles) (300 follower event)

You were rubbing your hands together to warm them when the door opened. The second you saw Miles, you practically barged in, desperate to escape the cold. It was fortunate that you were close; otherwise he might’ve taken this as impoliteness. Instead he just laughed, closing the door behind you. “Come in, I guess.”

When he saw you breathing hot air on your fingers, he glanced out the window at the snow. “Pretty cold out there, huh?”

You nodded wordlessly, choosing not to waste your precious breath on speaking. Miles smiled fondly at you, shrugging off his jacket and putting it around your shoulders. You gripped the fabric tightly, bringing it around yourself snugly. It was quite warm; warm enough to chase away the lingering cold in a matter of seconds. “Thanks,” you said, grinning. “Now let’s get going on that homework.”

Miles’ eyes narrowed, but he gave a slow nod. Honestly, you weren’t much more enthusiastic, but one of you had to be responsible here. So you plopped your bag down on a chair at the table and pulled out your folder, gearing up to work together.

“My room has a heated fan,” Miles tempted, pointing a thumb in the direction of his room. “We should study in there.”

You had no objections to this; so, you found yourself seated on the floor, using your binder as a lap-desk while the heated fan huffed warm air at you, then Miles, then you, turning back and forth.

Miles was a smart kid, but a horrible study partner. He had no motivation to stay on topic, but when he did manage to focus for more than two seconds, he proved to be proficient in whatever he was doing. So, you really had two tasks: one, get your homework done, and two, get Miles to actually do some work.

The first would’ve been easier if Miles weren’t so determined to do literally anything else. You’d barely opened the homework packet when he started pointing out his new action figure.

“Miles,” you reprimanded, “focus.”

He blinked at you. “Sorry.”

You got a good thirty minutes in (which might’ve been a new record when it came to working with Miles) before your phones both blared at the same time.

“Amber alert?” Miles wondered aloud, reaching for his phone.

“Sounds like it,” you agreed, dismissively pressing the silent button on your own phone before stowing it away again.

Miles’ brows furrowed as he read the alert. “Nope. Severe weather warning.”

You both looked out the window at the same time. Sure enough, a blizzard thicker than the kind you could get at Dairy Queen was blustering outside, a maelstrom of huge white flakes shooting in every direction.

You shared a look. “I should call home.”

Miles nodded, dialing up his own parents while you stepped out to make your call.

When you returned, Miles was nowhere in sight. And he wasn’t the only thing that had disappeared—your homework was gone, too.

You put a hand on your hip. “Miles,” you called out, annoyance dripping from your tone.

You stepped further inside, intending to search the room for your work. As soon as you passed the threshold, the door slammed shut and Miles came launching out from behind the door to tackle you.

You let out a yelp as he dragged you down onto the bean bag in the corner. You landed on your back with Miles’ arms around your waist, his chin digging into your stomach.

“Oof,” you grunted, winded. “Miles!”

“No more homework,” Miles announced. “Weather’s too bad.”

You hummed, looking out the window. “Well, at this rate, I guess we might expect a snow day tomorrow.”

“Yep. No doubt.”

You both watched the storm for a while, listening to the soft whir of the heated fan. The warmth was starting to get to you; drowsiness slowly enveloped your body, then your brain. Your eyes didn’t seem to want to stay open anymore, and you could see that Miles had already lost a similar battle. He dozed on your stomach, looking so peaceful that you had to follow suit.

You weren’t sure how long you were out, but when you opened your eyes the window was black as pitch. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you shook Miles awake. He didn’t open his eyes, but you knew he was conscious when he gave an inquisitive hum.

“Miles, it’s late. I need to go home.”

“But the storm,” he slurred, bringing his arms tighter around you.

“I have my coat. And yours.”

“Don’t go,” he whined. “Can’t I just keep you?”

You sighed, fiddling with a lock of his hair. Looking out the window again, the cold seemed to teleport onto your skin. You shuddered, suddenly not too motivated to brave the outside world. “Maybe just a little longer.”

“Yaay,” Miles muttered, already drifting back off to sleep. 

You chuckled, shaking him again. “No more napping, though. I don’t want to lose track of time.”

Miles’ lower lip stuck out in a pout, but his eyes opened at last. “Fine,” he assented. “But I’m not moving.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

You knew silence would put you both right back to sleep, so you reached for your phone. “Let’s watch something.”

Miles nodded, flipping so that his back was against your stomach and your legs were on either side of his torso. You held your phone so that it rested on his chest where you could both see it, and began browsing for something to watch.

“Can we watch Robocop?”

“I was going to put on Cat in the Hat.”

“That movie is unhinged,” you couldn’t see his face, but you knew Miles was smiling as he said it.

“Exactly.”

You said that once the movie was over, you were going home. Miles complained, but you knew that he understood that you couldn’t stay forever. So he just held one of your hands tightly, savoring your last moments together as if they were the last you’d ever have.

Roughly one hour and twenty-two minutes later, you turned off your phone as the movie’s credits began to roll. Miles leaned back, putting more of his weight on you in a clever scheme to trap you. 

“Miles, you’re crushing me,” you grunted.

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

Before you could retaliate, your phone turned on again. It was a text from home, telling you that you should just stay at the Morales residence instead of trekking through the perilous storm, so long as it was okay with Mr. and Mrs. Morales.

Having read the text, too, Miles flipped around again so that he could look at you. He had a smug grin on his face, one that you couldn’t be entirely angry at.

“Looks like I can keep you.”

You just scoffed, pretending there wasn’t a huge smile on your face as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend, letting him do the same as you basked blissfully in each other’s warmth for the rest of the night.

Thank you so much for participating in this event!! And thank you for reading, take care duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @orchidscript @heartstringsduet @ironheartwriter

@strandnreyes @paperstorm @whatsintheboxmh @emsprovisions @safeaswrites

🧡🧡🧡🧡

Due to TK's 30th birthday being a Current Theme, I'm going for a Work is Published Wednesday and sharing some Where All This Love Comes From, in which TK's birthdays (30th and otherwise!) are an important feature.

(Some context: Gwyn dislikes black leather couches)

"Colombian beans," Carlos says, removing a packet from a cupboard and a cafetiere alongside it, roiling internally when he realizes he doesn’t know if Owen prefers French press over moka pot. He’s seen him with a moka pot before(!). But he unclips the little wooden peg he uses to secure the packet, and passes the beans to Owen to smell.

"Real coffee," Owen says as he closes his eyes and breathes in. "Nothing like it."

He hands the packet back and watches Carlos meticulously tip beans into the grinder. They make a satisfying tapping noise as they drop out, and Carlos smiles at Owen.

"I don't think TK's enjoyed a birthday this much since he turned ten," Owen says quietly, leaning against the worktop. He gazes at their translucent, yellowish reflections in the darkness of the window that faces the invisible yard.

"I guess birthdays lose their shine as we grow up," Carlos offers, starting to feel hot and itchy in the green sweater he spent an hour choosing for the occasion.

"Four years ago, on his birthday. Exactly four years ago..." Owen shakes his head. "TK’s addiction was..."

Carlos secures the lid onto the grinder but does not press down.

"Heroin," Carlos whispers. Owen nods. "He's told me some of what happened."

"I know he did. And I appreciate it wouldn’t have been easy for you to hear. Honestly. If I sat and wrote down everything that went on, it would be like an encyclopedia. It's taken his mother and me a long time to deal with–" Owen stops, points to his temple and circles a finger "–These things can stay with you a while. The things Gwyn and I have seen. The people he was around. What I'm saying is – I'm happy he met you, Carlos."

Carlos bites his lip and looks away, feels himself going shy. The wall he put up, so flimsy. "That means so much to me, Captain Strand. I'm happy you brought him here."

Owen looks over at Gwyn and TK chatting on the couch. They look back at him and smile shyly, as if they sensed being watched.

"What's taking y'all so long?" TK teases.

"Y'all!" Owen tuts, returning his attention to Carlos. "Okay. Let's see this grinder in action. I want to know how it compares to mine."

Carlos nods seriously, the terrifying challenge accepted. He presses the beans into a beautifully soft powder under his future father-in-law's watchful eye.

An hour later, he and TK are on the doorstep, shaking Owen's hand and hugging Gwyn goodbye, thanking them for coming – TK thanks them as if he lives here with Carlos, instead of with them. He's sending his divorced parents off to their own home as if they're still a married couple, just like he always wanted.

As soon as Carlos shuts the door, TK knocks him into the frame with a powerful hug from behind.

"They love you!" TK pecks kisses over Carlos’ ear, getting him to squirm.

"That went well," Carlos agrees, his voice lilted with laugher at the tickle of TK’s kisses. "Not that I have anything to compare it to."

"Well, believe me, I do!" TK hugs him tight, smushing his face into the back of his shoulder. "Dinner with them and you today. Clubbing tomorrow. Best birthday ever."

Carlos turns around in TK's arms, kisses him slowly on the lips. "Want to cash in on that birthday backrub?"

"Want to screw my brains out?"

"Let's go!" Carlos yells happily, taking TK's hand and dragging him to the stairs.

Read on Ao3

Tags below!

@thisbuildinghasfeelings @bonheur-cafe @reyesstrand

@goodways @lightningboltreader @welcometololaland

@lemonlyman-dotcom @ladytessa74 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@rmd-writes @alrightbuckaroo @tellmegoodbye

@liminalmemories21 @pimento-playing-hopscotch

@never-blooms @sanjuwrites @chicgeekgirl89

@theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @honeybee-taskforce

@sugdenlovesdingle @herefortarlos @three-drink-amy

@carlos-tk @eclectic-sassycoweyes @literateowl

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @kiwichaeng

@nancys-braids @sapphic--kiwi @anactualcaseofthetruth -

If you want to share/ haven't already. No pressure ever!

❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[ravencincaide]

Coffee

Summary: You had two pregnancy cravings, neither of which were all that good for you, your weight or the baby. Chuuya was all about giving you whatever you wanted- while Dazai tried to be more rational. Key word- tried. OR you’d get whatever you wanted out of Dazai and Chuuya- you just needed to work a little for it. 

Pairing Preg! Fem reader x Dazai x Chuuya

Requested by Anon –> Dazai and Chuuya during readers' pregnancy. 

Warnings: Hint at intimacy and inappropriate behavior including sensual licking of fingers.  Cursing, Pregnancy cravings, fluff 

This-is-almost-too-sweet-for-me-but-hey-lets-hope-it-fulfills-the-request

Enjoy ~

______________________________________________________________

You swore Chuuya was psychic. 

In fact you were ready to stop calling him ‘the most fearsome mafia executive and gravity manipulator’ and start calling him’ the most fearsome mafia executive, gravity manipulator and future predictor Chuuya’. 

He was that good, and it annoyed you.

When he and Dazai found out you were pregnant, he had modified the affectionate term of endearment from ‘Sweetheart’ into ‘Sweets’. At the time, you thought he was being cute and loving towards you- exciting at the prospect of becoming a father. Now you were certain he was giving you a heads-up about what was to come. And you swore neither your figure, nor your teeth appreciated it.  Unlike all the other normal women with just weird pregnancy cravings and combinations that seemed odd at best, you craved only two things in excessive amounts. Sweets- which you normally didn’t enjoy and coffee. Sweet and bitter. Just like the combination of Dazai, Chuuya and You. 

At times inherently sweet, other times obsessively bitter. 

“ Okay we have sugar, water, ice cream, half a bar of chocolate. So slug we need glutinous rice flour, red bean paste, green tea powder” Dazai called into the speaker phone as he continued to search through the kitchen cabinets in a half- desperate attempt to satisfy your current cravings. “ Strawberries and some more chocolate… and then a packet of condoms and a–”  

“ Oj you horny dog that wasn't on the ingredient list” Chuuya’s voice growled over the speakerphone from the store half way across Yokohama. The only place in this god forsaken city that was not only opened, but was large enough to sell everything needed to make mochi. 

Stupid tourists and goddamned golden week. 

You moved over from sitting by the counter and walked over to stand next to Dazai. Placing a hand on his shoulder you stole a kiss before you helped him hold up the broken-to-be-fixed cupboard door while he searched for the pan to make said homemade mochi in. “ And don’t forget the coffee for us, love” you called over the phone. 

You could practically hear the irritation in Chuuya’s voice do a 180 and turn into a smile the moment your voice echoed over the speaker. No doubt he had that love-struck adoring look on his face again, the one he now got whenever you or the unborn child wanted anything. He was ready to buy the world for you, or carve it up with the use of his entire mafia faction. Whichever got it to you quicker “ Whatever you and the baby want” 

“ Heey Belladonna you know it’s not good for you and especially not for the baby” Dazai stated finding the pan and then snatching the phone back and holding it far away from you. He danced away towards the other side of the kitchen, taking out a batch of brownies that had been put in the fridge to coo, ready to be topped with the glossy chocolatey smooth layer. If you were really good, he might even add a little coffee into the mix to satisfy your addiction. 

“ I’m allowed one cup a day” You argued back, arms crossed over your chest “ And we’re almost out.” 

Dazai chuckled a little before pointing towards the half empty jar of coffee standing innocently on the counter. With the limit of one cup a day that would be plenty to last you a month. Rather than continue provoking you however, he cut a small piece of brownie before holding it up to you- a feeble attempt to pacify you. You managed to resist the craving all of two seconds before you flickered your eyes back to the sweet treat. Rather than take it with your hands like he intended for you to, you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the sweet treat- and his fingers. 

You watched him swallow as you used your tongue to roll the still slightly warm brownie bit over his two fingers before taking it in your mouth.

You watched the hunger in his eyes grow as you swallowed the brownie before taking more of his fingers into your mouth. You flickered your tongue over the digits, a naughty reminder of the things you could do with your tongue. Then you pulled back as if nothing happened, his now clean fingers popping out of your mouth with a quiet ‘pop’. 

“ it’s good, could use some coffee though” You flashed him a flirty smile. 

Dazai stared at you for a moment seemingly in a daze before he turned away from you, his hands moving in double speed as he whipped up the chocolate frosting to cover the brownie in. While the mixer was running, you watched with careful eyes as he brewed a cup of weak coffee. 

The smell of roasting beans tempting you even more. And they made you feel alive all the same- like an addict about to get their fix.

 Your attention was hundred percent on him; like a hawk you watched as he added a tiny amount of coffee into the batter. Then he dipped his finger into the frosting and brought it to your lips. This time you didn’t wrap your lips around his fingers, rather you stuck your tongue out and licked the sweetness of his fingers. 

This earned you a groan “ You sweet sadist, my Belladonna” he muttered, eyes half lid. It was as if you were literally living up that nickname. Belladonna. A sweet, torturous poison. 

The moment his fingers were clean you pulled back and carefully wiped your mouth as if you hadn’t just licked at them like a dog seconds earlier “ Could use a touch more coffee” 

The process repeated itself until the entire cup that Dazai had brewed was in the frosting. 

By then your cravings were less desperate. You would still not say no to coffee but you didn’t think you’d go insane without it. Dazai on the other hand looked a bit worse for wear, his back was against the kitchen counter, and one bandaged hand was on his face while the other hand, which you had been licking and kissing for god-knows how long was gripping the counter. He was desperately trying to keep in control. 

Suddenly you heard the roar of a motorcycle approaching. Then moments later, you both looked over as the door opened, a slightly disheveled Chuuya entering the apartment with a ridiculous amount of bags. He set them on the counter before reaching up to put the escaped hair back into its ponytail. 

“ Yaay Chuuya you’re back” You skipped away from Dazai, quick to give your returned lover a peck on the lips. He smiled into the kiss, as if the affection gave him newfound energy, ready to unpack the excessive shopping. It made you grin as you wrapped your arms around his waist, watching with eager eyes as he pulled out dozens of coffee and coffee based treats out of the bags. 

It was like Christmas, birthday and new year all in one!

“ Oj why haven’t you prepared anything for making mochi you slacking mackerel?” Chuuya glared at Dazai over your shoulder, as he began to produce other, more practical things from the remainder of the bags.  

“ oh it’s Chuuya” Dazai’s voice dripped with annoyance and perhaps a bit of sexual frustration as well “ If you weren’t such an idiot you’d know I need the rice flour to start making mochi, idiot” 

“ Oj who are you calling an idiot- you idiot ?” 

You ignored their bickering as something in one of the yet-to-be-unpacked bags caught your attention.Reaching forward you grabbed the small black box with golden letters which read ‘Kamasutra 12 packet of coffee flavored condoms’  You brought the box to your lips, showing off only a glimpse of the seductive smile as you turned to the bickering pair. 

“ hmm I wonder if they actually taste like coffee” You winked before moving to head up the stairs towards the bedroom. You barely held back your laughter as you saw the bickering stop and then the two turned to each other, shaking a look. They turned back to you processing what you said before they scrambled to follow you, practically tripping over their own feet. 

Mochi could wait- after all you might have found a safe way to satisfy your coffee cravings. And that was much more important than any sweets in the world..

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt XVII good omens explained but im in tears at 3:30 am and on sleep meds

Oh it's been a while since we did one of these innit what was the last tine? Jan? Well the Mascot is back with a part XVII because this fandom valentine's day posts wrecked me emotionally and i took the usual sleep meds (we all know how that goes) so I'm here to make bad decisions y;all. Ignore all types or mistakes im not responsible for anything eber it's all the metatron's fault.

there are two entities crowley and aziraphela and they love each othner so much it h8urts ow

heaven has embraced minimalist interior decor and minimalist empathy it was a 2 for 1 offer at bunnings (australian maggots you proud good)

hell has embraced cluttercore with regards to interior decor and projected trauma bunnings was real generous

crowley was once an angel but the angel we knew it not him and that hurts but moving on is must because otherwise disrespect but she made stars and it was pretty just like her

im so tired. aziraphale is still an angel he';s very good at forgiveness whoch is nice but sometimes people dont want to be forgiuven they want to be dead isntead

that was not the setence i intended to write but it's accurate after the final fifteen ahahahahahhahahahahahaha do ihave trauma yes i went to bunnings because i liked hell's projections

the antichrist is very cute and he's good at the law of strraction he tells satan you fuck right off satan you're nOT MY REAL DAD which is so cool you go adam you GO and so then his read dad becomes his read dad there may have ben necromancy involved

anathema and newt are existing and she hit crow,yes bentley but that's fine because it burned to the ground anyway you know whatsw not fine crowley kneeling on the aslphalet and me that's what

nina and maggie veyr cute not yet but eventually because yes fuck lindey linday forgeot her nmae

aziraphale is very cute trauma bitchy bean

crowley is very kind trauma irritation disaster

eyes shutting it's all good but madam tracy has a BED AHAHAH you know what you do on bed it's SEXY THINGS hehhee like like stuff toys

so basically hemon hell are both like crowley azi you fools and then theyre like AAAAAAAAH GABRIEL but it's fine and the second coming is happening but azi is like nina maggie love so muriel is sent down

amd then crowley ad azi are like POOF FALL IN LOVE but nina is like HOHO WHAT THE FUCK nad the demons go WHEEEE and then crowley goes to heaven and then aziraphale goes to heabem and it's a;;; sad

gabriel is naked anc he was nasty first then felll in love with beelzebun then went naked and then back in love so now theyre both in alpha centaryie

that's a triple star system btw alpha a b and proxuma centauri which is the cloest star to earth aside from obviopuw crowley doesnt want to leav e earth far behind mkigkrkgw

boom azi gone all croiing im listening to dont bother from the sounstrack on loop since i started writing this

metatron oat milk evil azi scared crowley mr darcy we're crying yeah

yay all done now asleep jno bepop ya yes blruryry my meds packet looks lime a furry opposoum

anyway

so fucking tired i cannot see what im typing

@howmanyholesinswisscheese help

posting without rsding it through awahoooooooooooooooo

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Heyyy hope you are doing well!! Can i request a Leo Valdez x reader where reader is a child of hypnos plss :))

Oreos and Olaf---Leo V x Child of Hypnos reader

You turn the fairy lights on and pull the blanket to the side as the kettle starts to whistle from the little bench in the corner of the cabin. Once the water bottle [it had care bears on it] was filled and hidden in the pile of blankets you’d made, you had to wait.

»»————-　★　————-««

The fort was small and a bit squishy inside, but that made it all the more cozy, really. Not that the rest of cabin 15 wasn’t cozy, the beds were more like bean bags than bunk beds,  couches, annotated books, pot plants, and nintendo switches covered every possible surface that wasn’t already filled with small flickering candles. 

There were a few spare beds in the corner, with silk sheets and empty of the teddies, for demigods that were not born of dreams and nightmares that were still plagued by flashbacks in their sleep. The beds were usually full, especially during the summer months, when more demigods at Camp Half-Blood meant more monsters, which only stirred memories that had previously been hidden. 

“Did you take the last of the oreos?” Quill asked, peering into the pantry, which was full of biscuits and tea bags. Quill was your sister, her name was short for Tranquility, but it was a mouthful to pronounce, and they liked guardians of the galaxy. 

You glance to where the packet of cookies and cream flavored biscuits were nestled between the zebra squishmellow and the portable DVD player. “Maybe…”

“Really?” She complained, her shark slippers squeaking on the light brown floorboards as she trudged over to Clovis’s bed. Then they pulled the mattress up and grabbed the packet of fantails Clovis had hidden away. 

“...They’re Leo’s favorite.”

Quill tossed a fantail over to you and stuck their hand in the bag again, fishing out more of the lollies. “Simp.”

You stuck your tongue out at them, screwing up your nose and turning the heater off. Snuggling in a fort of pillows wasn’t fun if you were hot, being cold was the best way to get comfy. Quill slipped their shoes on, leaving the sharks by the door as she opened the door. A gust of wind and snowflakes blew into the doorway, leaving a pile of soft fluffy whiteness inside. 

Winter was awful, for the campers who had things to do outside. For you and your siblings, on the other hand, it was great. Hot showers wouldn’t overheat you instantly, tea and hot chocolate were just better to drink in general, and the nights were longer. The only downside was the flu that would submerge camp in tissues and snot.

“Why are you going out?”

“I don’t wanna listen to you two making out for the rest of the night,” Quill teased, shrugging on their baseball jacket and sending you a peace sign. “I’mma go chill with Austin.” 

“Be back by curfew!”

There was muttering outside, a loud barky laugh [definitely Quill], and then the door swung back open, and Jake Mason stuck his head through with a grin. “Hiya!”

“Jake, you look- oh.”

He shuffled through, a cast on his right arm and a crutch in the other to help with the moon boot on his foot. Of course, why had you expected any differently? He put on a fake deep voice. “We have the package, I repeat, we have the package.”

“Why are you so dramatic?” Nyssa huffed, and came in, leaving muddy snow footprints through the cabin as she held Leo over her shoulders like she was a firefighter. “Where do you want him?”

You blinked a few times. To be fair Leo was pretty light, but holy Hades, Nyssa must be buff underneath her hoodie. Then you folded back the part of the blanket acting as a door, for her to drop the squirming boy in. “He’s resisting?”

“I have stuff to do! The prototype isn’t finished and-”

“What did you expect,” Nyssa grumbled, and dumped him on the pile of pillows, smoothing down her jagged brown mullet and stepping back. 

Leo took a moment to right himself, fluffy hair askew and a vague look on his face. He scrunched his nose and then turned away quickly and sneezed. A burst of flames shot from his face and he fell back with a sniffle, wiping his nose. “I’m not sick!” 

“Bro, you just sneezed flames, take a night off.” Jake chuckled, and Nyssa helped him adjust his crutch. The pair left with a wave and a promise to handcuff Leo down if he tried to climb through the window back to Bunker 9. 

“This is betrayal, amor dormido, and I will never forgive you,” Leo sniffed haughtily, untying the laces on his boots. You pulled off his snow covered army jacket, the nuts and bolts in the pockets clinking as you discarded it. 

“I have oreos, and the 10 Things I Hate About You DVD,” you prompt, pulling the makeshift curtain down as he wiggled into the blanket and pillow fort. 

He visibly brightened, even though his eyes were lidded and red. Leo wiped his face with the sleeves of his hoodie and moved closer, snuggling into the mound of pillows and Squismellows. He peeked up, “maybe a few kisses and I'll forgive you?” 

You smooth his messy hair back off his forehead and press your lips to it. His scarred skin was colder than normal, like a fever in reverse. He grumbled, tucking his legs over yours and sinking further down. You cupped his jaw and gave him a kiss on the cheek, reaching over him and pulling the hot water bottle over to his lap, which he hugged immediately, a loopy grin on his wilting face. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You kiss him once more, on the nose this time, and start the little DVD player, the intro playing out as Leo curled into you, head tucked into the crook of your neck. 

                                          »»————-　★　————-««

As you twisted oreos open and ate the cream inside, then the dark biscuits around them, Leo snored softly. There was a montage of a very obviously lesbian underground club on screen, as Patrick wandered around. 

You finish the cookie, pulling the blanket further up over the two of you and snuggling down, Leo’s curly hair tickling your chin. He moved a little, sneezing in his sleep, and then blinked up at you with hazy brown eyes. “Mornin’.”

You didn’t bother to correct him, that he’d actually only been dozing for an hour, and instead you kissed his nose again. He smiled, hiding in the pillows. 

“You’re a dork,” you mutter, and turn back to the screen running, your fingertips up and down his back, your fingers tracing the strap of his binder. 

He nodded happily, and blinked at the movie, his blank stare turning to a small frown. You didn’t notice until he was glaring at the footy team running back and forth on the grass. “Does it bother you?”

“Hm?”

Leo shifted, drawing his arms back into himself a little. “Does it bother you that I’m not, you know, like them…”

“Sweaty, loud, and probably a dickhead?”

He smiled but it was strained. Maybe the cold was muddling his brain, but usually he wasn’t worried about this sort of stuff, you’d reassured him so many times that he wasn’t perfect, but that was okay, it really was. Still, this happened, he’d get too lost in his thoughts and end up breaking. 

“I love you Leo, even if you aren’t super strong. You have an incredible mind and you like the orange and yellow starbursts, so I get all the good ones, and, and you aren’t scared to tell me things like this. And I love that you don’t have a deep voice and I'd love you if you did. And I love you even if you admit that you accidentally burnt all of the camomile tea bags. I love you.”

“I didn’t burn the tea bags,” he grumbled with a smile, pressing himself closer to you in all the ways he could. 

“Sure you didn’t.”

“It was… It was Clovis, I saw him.”

“Clovis isn’t allowed matches anymore.”

“Fuck.”

                                      »»————-　★　————-««

“Amor dormido?” 

You let out a violent groan and roll over, blankets swaddling you and making the cocoon of wool and cotton even tighter. It was comfy and warm and perfect, the smell of vanilla candles, oreos, and sawdust. 

A squishmellow, probably the purple axolotl, became your pillow as your own was yanked from beneath you with a, “love, you’re gonna have to get up, come on.”

You had two options at this point, stay in bed for another five dragged out minutes of groaning and moaning, or sit up and hiss like a Fury or a Drakon at your boyfriend until he left you alone to trudge around and make a hot chocolate. You smirked into your bundle of blankets for a moment. 

“Nyssa is gonna kill me if I don’t show up to the workshop, but I want a goodbye kiss.” Leo mumbled, shaking your shoulder a little less gently this time, but still with soft and calloused hands. 

You gave him a moment of false safety, and then leapt up with a screech, hands clawed, “you adorable piece of fucking shit I’ll slit your pretty throat-”

“Oh no,” Leo giggled, falling back onto the empty Oreo packet with a grin on his face. You were between his legs with a glare, arms around his middle and head on his shoulder as you tickled him with sharp fingers. “You’re killing me!”

He sighed, and you felt arms around you tightly. Then he rolled with a villainous cackle, out onto the floorboards, your fort falling to pieces once a blanket was pulled out from underneath. Teddies fell in every direction while Leo let out a high pitched squeal, like he wasn’t the cause of the chaos. 

“You’re evil!”

“But I have a pretty throat, don’t I?” Leo smirked, and then his face dropped when there was a thud on the other side of the cabin. 

Quill stood by the kettle in her shark slippers, a cup of tea in their hand and a glare on their face. You felt a giggle creep up as your cheeks turned hot, but you hid it. The pair of you were already in an awkward enough position, you laying across a red Leo who was scared for his life. 

“Out.”

»»————-　★　————-««

You pull your ugg boots on and hide the palms of your hands in your green fingerless gloves, then shoving them in your trench coat pockets to protect yourself from the cold outside. After finishing your hot chocolate [which had rainbow sprinkles on the top], you were finally ready for battle.

‘Battle,’ meaning going outside, of course. 

The door creaked, and a fresh pile of white snow spilled onto the welcome mat. You yawned, and stepped out into fresh hell. 

“Gods, why does Chiron put us through this?” You mutter to yourself, and plod along outside, snowflakes crunching underfoot, and when you look behind you, there are little dips that were your footprints, already filling back up with snow. 

Once you pass the Iris cabin your destination was in sight, and then, of course, everything had to go wrong. Hermes, of course, the root of everyone's problems, was the cause. You had been absentmindedly plotting the death of Quill [How dare she kick Leo out?] when a snowball hit you fair and square in the back of your head. 

“You little pieces of- oh wow.”

Instead of Cecil’s wicked smile and an armful of ready made weapons, you were met with a eight foot tall yeti like snowman.

“Fuck,” you groan, and watch Connor come sprinting across the frosty grass, yelling orders at his younger siblings.                                          ��     Cecil came out of his cabin, a sword in hand and a frustrated expression. You watch the crowd yelling as they’re pelted with increasingly sharp and dangerous stalagmites of frozen sludge. 

The yeti turned in a circle, blasting teenagers with its frozen breath, and landing another snowball on your knee, this time. Connor called something to an approaching pair of Hermes kids, who had a net in their hands. They threw it over the monster [who probably came from more of Lou Ellen's experiments, if you were being honest]. 

“Booya! Take that Frosty!”

You weren’t sure why they thought it would work, because their cheering was quickly extinguished when the pile of grass and dirt covered snow the yeti had just become, tumbled over itself repeatedly and appeared behind Cecil. 

“Ah, fucknuggets!” Cecil screeched, and swung his sword, which chopped the ice yeti straight in half, like a knife through butter. “Haha, yes!”

It only reappeared, and by that point you had your head in your hands. It seemed someone else in the crowd had the same thought. “No wonder you guys aren’t in the Athena cabin, you never learn!”

Then you realized that it was your someone, and grinned. 

“Let the super sized mcshizzle take care of Olaf,” Leo smirked, licking his lips and then cracking his knuckles, which quickly turned as red and fiery as coals themselves. He was wearing his toolbelt and a hoodie you quickly recognised as your own. 

Biting your lip, you turned to the snow themed yeti monster and snapped your fingers. It stared at you for a moment, then its stoney eyes slid off its face and landed with small thuds on the ground. It let out a low groan, and then slowly sunk into a puddle, as if Apollo himself was standing there. 

“Night night,” you mutter to the last remaining solid matter of the monster, and kick it. Then you trudged through the corpse over to your boyfriend, and rested your head on the top of his, closing your eyes. 

He was so warm, and his arms were already around your waist as you started to doze, eyelids heavy, and somehow you were warm in the frost air. 

“Woah.”

“You couldn’t have done that a minute ago, when I still had my dignity?” Cecil grumbled.  

[kickthecan-revolution]

A long time ago when Trump was first in office, I had a sustained two week anxiety attack, convinced we were going to experience a significant war and I had to be prepared. I’d just gotten a big bonus and I spent a ton of it on survivor gear - all of those buckets of rice, beans, dehydrated food, camping gear, solar lights - so much more. I made go bags for work, my car and home. The primary one was stolen when I first moved in here via a break in where thieves stole a lot of stuff people were storing in the garage. The backpack was in my parking spot - poof, gone.

I lugged so much of it here - over the years I’ve slowly simplified it but I’ve been a little afraid to let all of it go. it started this habit of buying extras - why not buy three Justin’s boxes of peanut butter packets even though I only need one? Why not have five ketchups so I never run out?

When R was here organizing, I *saw* it - all of the canned food that had expired, all of the stuff I was keeping in the pantry that I didn’t use because I didn’t even know I had it. She gently said “if you feel like you want to bake cookies, you can just zip over to the store and buy flour.” Part of it was never having enough food when we were little - we could afford it, my mom just never bought enough for us. It’s why I’d drive around on Christmas looking for snack food before all the kids came over. Granted, that could be my food insecurity speaking and my filter was grounded from that, it’s a very likely possibility.

Anyway. R is coming back for my last infusion bringing her BFF A who is an organizer and a professional chef. She’s going to organize so much of my stuff but the deal is, I only have what I really want to keep, consider getting rid of the extras of things I don’t need (including three spatulas, etc) and focusing on keeping what I love and use for myself every week instead of all of the imaginary dinner parties I throw in my head. So that’s what I’ve done today, after…11 hours of sleep? I’ve been slowly whittling it all down and it feels so great. I’m 90% done. It’s not as much as I thought but it’s just so good to let it go.

My surgery is tentatively scheduled for October 01, pending what happens with this biopsy on Friday. That feels lightning fast. My last chemo infusion is next Wednesday - I’m not going to lie, I’m afraid of it based on this last one, I was so debilitated by the fatigue, I had more hair shedding than usual, no appetite and the peripheral neuropathy was hard so I’m going to try to freeze my hands and feet during the infusion to prevent it. It has definitely lessened, thank God but it’s not gone away entirely. It can take a long time.

I cry so frequently these days, even writing that it’s the last one. I’ve held it all together for five months, and I can feel the emotional and mental reserves I’ve leaned on to that beginning to crumble. That’s probably good. Things are starting to get……thin when I’m sleeping. My dreams are wild and I heard repeated knocking three times last night. My cats were on high alert. I pit myself in a golden bubble and reminded myself that I live in a building where people could be knocking at other doors, not likely at 3am but it helped. I stayed up until 4:30am watching The Office and then slept hard until 9am.

I’m numb when I think of the MRI biopsy on Friday, two of my worst things happening at the same time is like a cruel joke (biopsies aren’t painful but just traumatic waiting for the results). I’m strong - I can and will do this. And then chemo, and then the surgery which completely freaks me out - I have a massive fear of “going under” - and then I’ll know what happens after those biopsies come back.

In talking about work, my oncologist recommend that I extend my leave of absence to at least March of next year. The neuropathy is concerning her as are my cognitive tests, and I think for a living. She reminded me how they have taken my body to the point of decline where the basics work but there’s a lot of damage. And the mental damage of all of the biopsies on top of that, she thinks I need time. I agree with her. So I’m going to pursue that, it means I live on a lot less and I don’t think I am guaranteed a job when I go back but I’m not worried about that.

[dearunreliablenarrator]

Order In! a WIP Wednesday Questionnaire!

as food is a big theme in my works, i'd like to have my first tag game revolve around that topic...so here are my questions for your OCs and here are how my characters lives revolve around food. Dislikes, favorites and everything in between!

the host seats these customers first! @the-golden-comet, @rumeysawrites, @lady-grace-pens, @sableglass,

@daily-haley, @dyrewrites, @sliceoflifeshepard, @seastarblue , @theverumproject,

@saturnine-saturneight, @helpmeimblorboing, @leave-a-message19, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @kaeru483, and we always take walk ins!

what is one comfort meal that'll change your whole mood for the day?

If cream of wheat has a million followers, I'm one of them. If cream of wheat has one follower, it's me. and god forbid cream of wheat has zero...zilch...nada followers, then i'm dead. I formally request that you bury me with several packets, milk, sugar and those tiny cups of sweet cream creamer before you lower me six feet under. -Grace, CUTS

what is an experience (good or bad) that has turned you off or on to a food completely?

Fuck shrimp, I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I've had them come to me one to many time with the poop sack still inside. And it probably doesn't help that I went to town on a handful before i freaked out realized the mistake, at least I got a voucher for a free trip to Vegas. And what about the sister's babies, who's gonna look after them if fishermen keep catching them; the uncle already has to work a second shift to put food on the table? Elaine -WTRB

if you could eliminate one piece of produce, meat, dairy or sweets off the earth what would it be?

Avocados...that is all. -Clive, CUTS

and dessert is normally saved for last, but if you could what would you order for your entree at a restaurant?

Ooh, a mixed berry dump cake will always be on my order ticket. I mean how can you not enjoy the sweet jammy fruits buried under a fluffy crumble of shortbread like biscuit dough. Ugh, and then its smothered in a sweet sweet and tangy lemon icing, and maybe a little side of vanilla bean ice cream. If the lord permits, I'd have it for every meal. And no one, I mean no one compares to the one my mama makes! -Amara, EE

and if you'd like a refill on your drinks or a to go box, here are some extras...

-what are some food fusions that should never be mixed? -what food spot are you gatekeeping and why? -cooking is a life skill, why haven't you started learning yet!? -is there a smell that reminds you of something you never want to remember?