#Medium Blue Wash

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Melissa Mesh Corset Top ($24.99) & Lily High Rise Cargo Jeans in Medium Blue Wash ($39.99) from Fashion Nova

[aria0fgold]

Got so distracted playing minecraft that it's once again, 4 am. The seed of the world I got is so baffling to me, like it's the first time I've seen a seed with so many structures nearby and it's all cuz I put "GIVEMEAGOODSEEDBITCH" (was there a YOU there I forgor) in the seed input.

[eridan-ampora]

seriously considering 1 of those color depositing conditioners

[adoringgreys]

Melbourne Contemporary Laundry Room

[idolish7-cards]

Midcentury Family Room - Family Room

[newstarsongs]

lot of the dndads fandom has a srs issue with racism/colorism/white washing, but because the fandom is majority white no one actually wants to talk about it (cough and when i tried bringing it up a buncha white ppl got on my asshole)

the amount of black and brown ppl in this fandom is so incredibly small its kinda insane!

fan art of lark and sparrow (and even normal) as pale blue eyed blonde children is absolutely insane to me, the amount of ppl who draw brown skin as various shades of gray. hell after s3 was released for a week i already saw white washed francis art

i understand podcasts are a visual medium and you can take creative liberties, but please realize the amount of bipoc ppl in this fanbase is so small and seeing the representation we get just get flushed down the toilet in favor of pale skin and blonde hair is truly frustrating

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed. 

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn��t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils. 

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble. 

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way– 

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess. 

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!” 

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start. 

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry. 

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina. 

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses. 

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning. 

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion. 

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement. 

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college. 

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales. 

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–” 

Four. There were four of them. Four mates. 

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far. 

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.” 

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado. 

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other. 

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness. 

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?” 

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.” 

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before. 

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey. 

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?” 

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect. 

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off. 

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view. 

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock. 

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale… 

You are safe. You are safe. You are– 

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks. 

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?” 

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing. 

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.” 

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip. 

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he? 

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown. 

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” 

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you? 

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble. 

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff. 

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth. 

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear. 

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios. 

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates. 

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving. 

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.” 

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view. 

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again. 

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car. 

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[beansprean]

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One day in January I thought, "wouldn't it be hilarious if there was an episode where the camera crew changes places with a crew filming a documentary on werewolves in california. and everyone is playing a werewolf counterpart version of their character?" And it all devolved from there. Ty to @vampireshmampire and @memosminifridge for riffing with me and coming up with hilarious ideas <3

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Title card, close up on a full moon glowing blue, surrounded by swirls of fog and bands of purple, blue, and green light. Overlaid is tht title "What We Do Under The Moon" in the What We Do In The Shadows font, letters dark blue with a brighter blue to purple gradient at the bottom, backlit in white.

2. Wide shot of the werewolf character played by Kayvan Novak doing a talking head. He is wearing medium wash jeans, a grey tee shirt over a millennial pink vest, a small gold medallion around his neck with a matching crescent moon earring, and has his long wavy hair half up in a messy bun. He is sitting on a light cream L-shaped couch adjacent to a glass patio door letting in the sunlight and below a wall hanging that says 'live, laugh, lick'. The lower third identifies him as "Navid - beta werewolf". Navid leans back casually against the cushions and props one elbow up on the back of the couch, leaning his head into that hand, and says, "If I am to establish myself as the Alpha of the pack over Lionel and Niki, I must find a mate. Someone strong, powerful, and...nearby. In the same house even, if possible." As he speaks, he glances meaningfully to his left, where the character played by Harvey Guillen is standing behind the couch, his back to Navid as he fusses with a vacuum. He is wearing square retro glasses, airpods in both ears, brown chinos, and a short sleeved green button up unbuttoned to the sternum with a dog silhouette pattern and sleeves rolled up his biceps. His beard is well-kept stubble and hair is buzzed short on the sides, curls pushed to the side in artful disarray and sun-bleached a lighter brown.

3a. Close up on Harvey's character as he walks down the hall away from Navid's talking head. In the background, Navid whips around to lean over the back of the couch with an expectant grin, howling, "Gerardo!! Eavesdropping again? Do you have anything to add to this topic?" Gerardo barely pays him mind, tossing his reply over his shoulder: "No, sir. Seems like a werewolf-only interview. I'm going to go vacuum the alpha den, they've been shedding." 3b. Waist-up of Gerardo standing with his arms crossed, doing a talking head. The lower third reads "Gerardo Cordero de Luna, werewolf familiar (familiar is crossed out) apprentice." Gerardo says haughtily, "I am not a familiar! Only witches and vampires pull that nonsense. I'm an apprentice, and I'm part of the pack." 3c. Repeat. Offscreen, one of the crew asks, "And what does a werewolf apprentice do?" Gerardo goes a bit red, embarrassed, and glares off to the side, hesitating to answer.

The following are all cropped close ups on a mottled orange and yellow background from a colored doodle dump. 4. Waist up of Gerardo and Navid as Navid begs, hands laced together, "Gerardo, won't you let me bite you?" Gerardo avoids his gaze with a nervous grin, flapping his hand dismissively, and replies, "Ehh...not yet! There's still plenty for me to learn about being a werewolf! I've only been apprenticed what, 3 years?" "Almost 15!" Navid shoots back.

5a. Knees up of Navid and Natasia Demetriou's werewolf character, Niki. She is wearing dark red gradient high waisted leggings, a dark red low cut bralette with crossed straps in front, a fluffy cropped brown fur coat, a gold medallion matching Navid's, and multiple golden piercings in her ears with two large oval discs dangling from the lobes. Her lipstick and square cut nails are dark red, and her long hair is permed in tight fluffy curls half up in twin buns. Navid grabs his left wrist with his right hand and thrusts it at Niki's face with an anxious expression, asking, "I smell like I love him, right??" Niki curls her lip and cringes away from him, hands up to swat his arm away as she spits back, "Ugh, yes!! You stink up the whole house with your pining! There's no way he can't smell it." 5b. Knees up of Gerardo sitting on a light cream couch, reading from a book titled "Care for the Lonely Werewolf" help up in his right hand. Navid is laying across the couch, sans vest and hair loose, with his head resting on Gerardo's left thigh. His right hand is trapped beneath him, fingers hooked at the back of Gerardo's knee, and his left rests on top beneath his cheek. Gerardo's left hand his idly petting his hair. Navid stares intently into the middle distance, thinking, 'Perhaps I should be less aloof with him...'

6a. Bust of Gerardo, who is holding up an iPad in his left hand with a drawing stylus poised in his right. Navid, large and hairy in werewolf form but still sporting his dangly earring and little hair bun, is hugging him from behind, clawed hands on his shoulders and wet nose nuzzling into the side of his face. Navid's eyes are closed and his mouth is hanging open, tongue lolling out happily. Gerardo looks up at him with a fond, if confused, smile. 6b. Knees up of Navid raising a triumphant fist with a grin and confidently declaring, "He is playing hard to get, but he underestimates how hard I am to get rid of!"

7a. Waist up of Matt Berry's werewolf character, Lionel, who looks much the same but is casual in a light cream linen shirt unbuttoned well below his sternum tucked into matching linen pants, his only accessory the gold medallion matching the others'. He is standing in front of a countertop hosting a box of Thin Mints and cringes away with a drawn-out whine as Gerardo pops into frame to spray him with water, scolding, "No, bad Lionel!" 7b. Waist up of Mark Proksch's character, who appears to just be Colin Robinson dressed like Indiana Jones, as he walks into frame with a rolling suitcase. He smiles and waves, shouting, "Howdy, guys!!" Lionel stands in the background, hands on hips with an easy smile, and says. "Oh, look, it's our landlord Arthur Simon Santiago who lives such an interesting life in New York City and uses this condo as a vacation home!"

8. Group shot, knees up, of Lionel, Niki, Gerardo, and Navid smiling for the camera. Lionel has one hand on his hip and the other around his wife's waist, leaning into her. Niki has one arm thrown around Lionel's shoulders, flashing a peace sign, and the other held up behind Navid's head to give him bunny ears. Gerardo is standing slightly in front of her, one hand clutching a pamphlet for Tisch School of the Arts and looking a bit uncomfortable as if he had been dragged into the photo last minute. Still, he offers the camera a hesitant smile and allows his left arm to be crushed to Navid's chest as the werewolf pulls him close with an arm around his shoulders. Navid leans his entire body into Gerardo with a huge grin, flashing a peace sign with his free hand.

9. Uncropped version of the entire doodle dump, repeating images 4 through 8. /end ID

[somber-cryptid]

Kim Rok Soo learning to cook at a really young age.

Like. Five or six. When there was nothing ready to eat in his uncle's cabinets that he could find. The milk had gone bad, and the only other thing in the fridge was an egg or two.

His uncle hadn't been back for two days, and he preferred it that way. He could wash his own clothes in the sink and hang them to dry by the window. Get up for school by himself, dress himself, and walk to school by himself. The only issue was food.

He got food at school for free. That was the best food in Kim Rok Soo's opinion. Food he did not have to risk asking his uncle for. His teachers even praised him for eating all of his side dishes when his classmates were picky about theirs. Being picky was something that you needed money for.

Kim Rok Soo didn't have any money. If he did, then his uncle probably took it with him. When he was older, he'd get a bunch of money and share it with everyone but his uncle. That would be a while, though, and he was hungry now.

Yesterday, he'd eaten the last slice of bread in the entire apartment (he'd checked everywhere, even his uncle's room.) It'd been moldy, but as his uncle often said, 'beggars can't be choosers.' Kim Rok Soo now missed the bread he'd had to pick little blue spots off of. He should've eaten the spots, too. Maybe then he wouldn't be as hungry as he was right now.

Now he stood in front of the fridge (careful not to open it, his uncle got mad if kim rok soo ran up the electricity bill) thinking hard about the egg sitting inside of it. What if his uncle got home and wanted the egg? Then what? Get hit a lot just because Kim Rok Soo couldn't wait until the next day? It wasn't even the weekend yet.

Kim Rok Soo still ended up opening the fridge and holding the egg in his hand. He could crack it open over a cup and slurp it down. Kim Rok Soo didn't want to take such a risk for something he couldn't even chew though.

So he decided to cook it. He'd seen it in books, television, and even in person when his uncle was still nice to him. If he could do the rest by himself, he could do this by himself, too.

Kim Rok Soo gathered his supplies (a stool to stand on, a pan, and his uncle's egg) and stood in front of the stove. Remembering what cooking an egg looked like, he cracked his egg on the counter and emptied the inside onto the pan. A few eggshells fell in, but Kim Rok Soo just picked them out like he did the blue spots in the bread.

He knew which knob to use to turn the stove on, but he didn't know how much. So he decided to turn it halfway and left it on medium.

Kim Rok Soo stood there for what he felt was an eternity just watching his uncle's egg. Then the edges started to turn white, and he felt a little thrill. His stomach grumbled in anticipation. The pan kept getting hotter, and eventually, Kim Rok Soo couldn't see the pan through the egg anymore. As far as Kim Rok Soo knew, the egg was done.

A very smart child, Kim Rok Soo made sure to turn off the stove. His uncle had left it on before and blamed him for it, so Kim Rok Soo couldn't forget how important it was.

He put his plate on the table and then tried to flip the pan over so the egg would come out. The yolk hit the side of his plate, but the rest of his egg didn't budge. Kim Rok Soo frowned.

What the hell? It never ended up that way for anybody else. He'd just have to ask the auntie downstairs about it. She'd taught him how to fold his shirts too.

In the end, Kim Rok Soo found a spoon and scraped the rest of the egg into his plate.

It was pretty good, or at least Kim Rok Soo thought so. He was still hungry afterwards, but not as hungry. The entire process left him feeling satisfied. Another thing he could do on his own. Soon enough, he'd be able to live on his own and never see his uncle again.

Thinking about it, he'd have to get a job too, wouldn't he? You had to earn your meals after all.

[clairewritesjjkxreader]

Sukuna’s Wife and Yuuji’s Onee-chan (Sukuna x Reincarnated!Y/N) scenario

Request/Inquiry from @aikothingdream:

“It would be funny to see Yuuji also not like his teacher hitting on Onee-chan”

Life as a cursed spirit’s “bride” was hilariously boring. 

Gojo described your cursed energy as below average, you had zero martial arts training or talent, and Sukuna threatened Gojo and Yuuji not to put you in danger. 

Yuuji was often busy training, studying, or hanging out with his new classmates. You were happy that he had people to look after him in your place, but without a job or a class to attend, you were a parasite.

To alleviate your guilt, you did everyone’s laundry (minus their unmentionables, even Yuuji's, who furiously insisted he was old enough to wash his own underwear–kids, they grow up so fast *sigh*), mopped the hallways, wiped the windows, and other chores. 

You just finished rearranging the clothes in your cabinet for the second time today. 

You sprawled yourself on the floor like a starfish. 

Free food, no rent. Everything was paid for here. This should’ve been the ideal life, but you were so booooored.

Spurned by the desire to fill the void, you went to the kitchen. No one was around. Of course. 

You searched the cupboard, but only found a half-eaten package of cookies. The fridge had a can of whipped cream on the verge of emptiness and some strawberries.. 

Shutting the fridge close with your hip, you chomped on a cookie and a medium-sized strawberry then sprayed a swirl of cream in your mouth.

“Guess who’s back with treats! I–ah.” Gojo Satoru stopped at the kitchen doorway, a plastic bag full of sweets hanging from his hand. 

A silence fell over as you saw each other. 

He stood there, quietly as you stared, frozen with a mouth stuffed with sugar. 

You: (⊙ｏ⊙)

Gojo: ( ._. )

Gojo: …

Gojo: …pft.

You: …!

You forced yourself to chew faster, but expectedly, the thing that was supposed to be in charge of you and your brother burst into maniacal laughter.

“PWAHAHAHAHA!” 

“Mm…mf!” 

“Oh, man. I gotta take a picture.” He pulled out his phone. 

You wanted to say something, but there was too much stuff in your mouth! 

Gojo continued laughing between clicks and flashes until you started choking like a pelican who swallowed too big a fish. 

In an instant, he was behind you, arms wound tightly around your abdomen. “Please don’t die. It would be too pathetic!”

“Aurgh..!!!??” Translation: You think I wanna go like this, you a&%****!?

With one, strong squeeze, Gojo forced the food out of you. 

“That was close! Good thing I was here or who knows what would’ve happened.”

“...”

“Hm?”

“...”

“Not going to say anything? What’s wrong, nee-san?”

Feeling a vein near popping, you coughed out, “I believe I asked you not to call me that.”

“You’re so cold. Megumi and Kugisaki call you that. Even the second years!”

You had a couple of things to say, but considering that he technically saved your life, you opted to keep them to yourself. “Thank you for the help, now please let go. I’m going to clean this up.”

But as you said this, your knees buckled and his arms shifted to stop you from falling.

“Aw, don’t be like that.”

Whoosh

A giant knife flew towards Gojo, stopped only by his infinity. 

You both turned to find Yuuji standing by the door, panic and shock on his face as he gripped hard on his right arm responsible for throwing the blade. 

“I-I didn’t know how that happened, I swear!”

Sukuna spoke from his cheek. “You damn blue-eyed bastard. How dare you touch my wife so shamelessly?”

“Excuse me?! I just saved her from cho–” 

“Yuuji!” Embarrassed, you pushed yourself out of Gojo’s embrace and walked towards your brother. “Welcome home. Do you have any requests for dinner?”

“I’ve been craving curry rice since this morning.”

“I think we just ran out. I’llgocheckthestorageroom!” Flustered, you rushed out of the kitchen, forgetting your own mess. 

Yuuji quietly went to mop the food you choked out.

Gojo sighed. “Yuuji, what should I do, I don’t think your sister likes me.”

“Gojo-sensei.”

When Gojo met his student’s gaze, it held a surprising sharpness. “???”

“Thank you for taking care of us,” Yuuji’s normally cheery tone was flat as he spoke, “but please don’t bother my sister too much.” 

“???????”

Later that evening, in Fushiguro’s room…

Gojo: Megumi, why is everybody so mean to me?

Gojo: (˃̣̣̥ᴖ˂̣̣̥)

Megumi: Please leave. 

A/N: I tried to have more fun with this one so I was more liberal with my style. Anyway, I got a few more requests, the products are coming soon!

@shadowywizardarcade @hannya-exists @nineooooo @lilachaeyo @pumpkindudeishere @jessbeinme15 @fluffy-koalala @cringeycookies @frogzxch @isimpfordanielpark @marvelsgirl4ever @sanzusmom @sheccidoscar @marvelsgirl4ever @alastorhazbin @satosuguswife @lumaniii @leahlovesreading @blackstaw @nineooooo @boba--12

Other snippets of this au are found here.

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

NXT 12/12/23

Cora wore the Biker Baddie Zip Front Bodysuit (sold out) and Get Real Faux Leather Denim High Rise Straight Leg Jeans in Medium Blue Wash (on sale $27.99) from Fashion Nova. Along with the Vienna - Black Chelsea Boot from Azalea Wang

[clanborn]

Origins of the Bay Clans: Stone and the Lynx (Part 2)

The tracks led inland, further than the cats of Stone’s little clan had yet dared to travel. She followed the river upstream, skirting the thrashing current as it threw itself against the banks. The forest grew denser, the hemlocks thicker, the sharp peaks of the mountains taller, casting the valley in deep shadow. All was silent but the river, and the sound of strange, buzzing bird calls that rang eerily through the trees. Though her heart trembled, Stone trekked on, her pawsteps guided by purpose and the tracks that still sat unmistakable in the mud.

Stone had never followed a river to its origin, had never even thought of it as a possibility. Water–rivers, oceans, rains–lived outside the boundaries of a lifespan, within birth and death. Rivers weren’t something that just began, or ended, they simply cycled–at least, that’s what she had believed. 

After hours spent unceasingly hiking through the valley, Stone emerged from the edge of the treeline. The pebbled ground spread flat in front of her, before abruptly spiking upward to form the range of mountains. Two peaks pierced the sky, and nestled between them was a landform unlike anything Stone had ever seen. The river rushed forward from the base of a giant white slope, a crystalline mass carved deep with blue crevices. 

The wall shone like a piece of the moon itself, bleeding into the valley, its essence spilling into the forest before winding its way to the Bay. As Stone drew closer, she realized with a shock that the structure was made of ice, frozen solid despite the warmth of late spring.

She halted at the river’s edge, looking upon the structure in wonder. Was the moon made of ice? Had a shard of it fallen from the heavens upon the mountains? What else could create a fortress so massive, so imposing yet nurturing, whose icy waters fed the land and the bay?

These questions swam through her mind, but she tossed them to the side with a flick of her ears. For now, the answers were unknowable, and she must remain focused on her task.

She shook out her pelt and continued her path: the ground now had turned to gravel, and she tracked by scent instead of footprints. The slope turned steep, then rocky, a gray mountain face broken only by patches of unmelted snow and determined shrubs. Below her, the mass of ice gleamed, stretching out beyond the peaks like a blinding white sea. 

As she continued along the mountainside, she noticed an opening in the cliff face, a dark entrance where the ice field met the mountain. She quickened her pace until she reached the cave entrance, standing on the barrier of darkness. Here, the scent she was tracking hung in the air, strong as ever, leading her into the blackness. She slipped into the cave without a second thought

Inside was a large cave, and she quickly crossed the open stretch of ground to the back, where a darker shadow lay. A tunnel.

Curiosity drove her forward, driving away any fear she might have felt. Down into the tunnel she tread, deeper and deeper into the veins of the mountain. For ages she was guided by scent alone, and the narrow tunnel walls pressing on all sides. An eternity of darkness. 

Finally, Stone saw light, a blue glow that softly spilled into the end of the tunnel. Her footsteps quickened, and the cat entered into a cavern. Her breath hitched as she stepped into the light, awed by the sight before her. A medium sized cave rose around her, walls of smooth, layered stone arcing above her. The stone was washed with blue, for one wall was made not of rock, but entirely of ice. It was a deep, rich blue, as sunlight filtered down into the fragment of icy moon.

Within the ice wall’s bubbles and cracks hung an even stranger sight. A giant skeleton, ancient and fragmented, was trapped frozen in the ice, the remains of a creature Stone had never seen before. Though it’s thick bones and long, curved fangs were utterly unfamiliar, something in Stone knew it had once called itself catkin. A forgotten ancestor.

In front of the ice, sitting still and gray as the rocks around it, was a towering feline silhouette, its tufted ears outlined by the cold light. Stone’s fellow, wild catkin cousin. The Lynx.

The Lynx turned its gaze towards her slowly, expectantly, like it had known about her presence even before she did. Stone approached it, wary. 

“I admire your tenacity, cat” Its voice was a gravelly purr. “I thought you’d stop at the treeline.”

Stone skirted the wall carefully, keeping several pawsteps of distance between her and the creature. “Why did you assume that?”

The Lynx wrinkled its nose in a wry smirk. “Well, look at you. You’re an imitation of a cat. This wilderness is unfit for your kind.”

Stone flattened her ears, attempting to keep her voice level. “What exactly do you mean?”

“You call yourselves ‘cats’, yet your kind feeds by human hands. You have grown small and thin-furred, distant from your nobler origins. You can only survive in little packs, reliant on the work of others, unable to face nature with your own merit—A true ‘cat’ walks in solitude, you know nothing of the sort.”

Stone looked beyond the Lynx to the ice wall behind it, where the massive bones of their great ancestor lay suspended in time. “You say my kind has fallen, but have yours not? Have you not also grown smaller than this god, your fangs short, your bones thin? It too lived in solitude, yet here it lies, dead, its life unremembered by its catkin. You mock my community, but we have lived this long despite this lands’ harshness, and will continue to do so.”

The Lynx’s smug expression faded, and its gaze grew intense as it stared at Stone. “Even gods die, housecat. The only thing life guarantees is an ending.” It curled its lip. “Your ‘community’ is not exempt from this.”

Stone met its eyes, unwavering. “If we are catkin, what bars me from the same powers you possess? Surely I can learn to survive by your means, surely I can find access to your blessings.”

The Lynx almost laughed, but the scoff caught in its throat. It narrowed its eyes, suddenly thoughtful, the smirk creeping back up its muzzle.

“Maybe I can offer you a taste of godhood, little cat. The lives of my predecessors run through me, from the tip of my tail through all ten of my claws.” The deity sat back on its haunches and held up its massive paws in demonstration. For a brief moment, its claws twinkled with a faint light, like stars plucked straight from the sky.

“One of these is mine, of course. But I have nine to spare.” It tilted its head down at her, its fangs gleaming in the blue cavern light. “Provided I deem you worthy of them.”

Stone raised her head in challenge. “What would make me worthy?”

The Lynx paused to consider, eyeing her up and down. 

“To you alone I will grant these lives, thus you alone must face me.” The lynx narrowed its eyes. “Prove to me your will and strength, and defeat me in battle. If I submit, I grant you these lives, and the chance to explore this bay with greater distance between death and yourself.”

“Your loss, of course, will cost you your life.” It dipped its head towards her. “Is it a deal?”

Stone paused, hesitant, her heart fluttering in her chest. How could she face this creature in her state, small in stature, weary from her climb, completely alone? Despite her apprehension, her curiosity was stronger. There was only one chance for an opportunity like this, and even if she declined, what would stop the Lynx from killing her anyway?.

She nodded once. “I accept your terms.”

The lynx nodded back. Its fangs flashed. It stretched its claws. 

They leapt into battle.

Stone was swift, but the Lynx was strong and skilled. It battered her with massive paws, slamming her into the cold rocky floor. Stone dodged and weaved through its attacks, but the cavern was small, and every leap Stone made seemed to send her into another faceful of claws.

Her opponent threw a powerful swipe, tossing her against the ice wall with a thud. Back against the blue glow, Stone crouched low, struggling to catch her breath. Her strength was waning, and Stone knew with every moment her chances of victory grew slimmer. Her paws shook slightly. The Lynx had noticed her waver, and began to pad towards with calm, sure steps. It smiled–it was eager to finish her off. How could she win this?

She thought of the cats–the clan–she had left behind, who likely waited anxiously for their wayward leader’s return. Would they falter without her guidance? Would the glimmer of hope she had lit in their hearts snuff out with fear? If only she could lead them to the majestic moon glacier, show them the ethereal ancient glow of the blue cave, renew their spirits with wonder at the wilderness they were trapped in. Stone suddenly stiffened, steeling herself as she lifted her gaze back toward her foe. Though she fought alone in the cavern, her mind conjured the presence of her clan behind her. She would not die here. She would die among the cats she had befriended, who had banded together in their time of need. The cats she needed, who needed her to return alive.

With a burst of vigor, Stone launched herself toward the lynx’s head, her weight and confidence catching it off guard. She clung to its face, slashing its ears, her momentum sending it crashing hard into the floor. It flailed its huge paws, but Stone stood steadfast upon its chest, pressing her own paws down forcefully against its throat. Her claws dug in, blood welled up around her toes. The lynx grew more panicked, struggling wildly, its breath stuttering in strangled gasps. Stone pressed harder.

“St–Sto-”

Stone leaned close into its face. “Do you yield?”

The Lynx thrashed its head, attempting to nod frantically. “Yg-Yes!”

Stone slowly lifted her paws, releasing pressure off the creature’s throat. It gasped for air, then shoved her off its chest, throwing her to the floor. She scrambled to her paws, watching the Lynx heave. After it had caught its breath, the Lynx pressed its paw deep into the stone floor. It did so with strange power, impressing into the rock like it was mud, leaving the crisp outline of its giant pawprint. It beckoned her over. Its breath was hoarse. “Come.”

Stone approached the Lynx. She eyed it warily, nervous that it would decide to ignore the deal and kill her anyway. But it didn’t move as she stood above it, her paws settling on the edge of its pawprint, which seemed to sparkle slightly in the dim, cold light. 

The Lynx glared up at her, its cool demeanor vanished, its eyes blazing with controlled fury. “Touch your nose to the floor,” it growled. “You will receive your reward.”

Carefully, Stone dipped her head down, until her nose brushed against the floor’s icy chill. For a brief moment, all was still.

Suddenly, she was blinded by overwhelming light. The force of the glare threw her head back, and her vision was assaulted by an oppressive blur of color and noise. Images flashed in her mind, landscapes, memories, creatures she has never seen before. Each streaked by, too fast for her to fully process the scenes. Waves of emotion crashed in her, sending her reeling, thrown into a raging sea of grief and joy and fear and wonder. She felt all of time as it had crept by, millions of years of the past and future stretched out infinitely, lived all at once in a single instant. She felt everything. She felt nothing. It was the most agonizing pain she had ever experienced, swept in a flood of sheer euphoria. She knew places and beasts and times she had no name for, all lived through and known by the catkin before her. It was the longest moment of her life, but as she crouched, trembling, blinking her eyes back to the sight of the blue cavern, she realized only seconds had passed.

The Lynx had stood, and had begun moving toward the cave’s exit. It turned to look down at her, and Stone returned its gaze, panting heavily, her fur on end and buzzing with strange energy.

It was silent for a moment. “You now have eight more lives to live along with your own. More than any little cat has had before. Your blessing and your curse.” It lulled thoughtfully, its expression had settled back into its neutral stare. 

Its voice was cold, though laced with an undertone of contempt–and perhaps, Stone thought, respect. “Do not treat this victory lightly, Stone. Every day you live here will be another test, another gamble with your life. Living here is a game with no winners, and you and your fellows can only stall the march of nature for so long.” 

The lynx turned, padding toward the exit. “The gods here will meddle where they like, and though you have bested me, I can not guarantee my kin will be deterred from entertaining themselves with playthings like you.”

The god stopped in the entrance, then glanced back toward her, its face in shadow.

“Good luck, Stone. You will need it.”

It disappeared.

For a moment, Stone stood alone in the blue cavern.

She was not Stone anymore. Something had changed within her, the Lynx’s stars sat heavy in her chest, glittered on her whiskers. Just as an icy piece of the moon had fallen to the earth and become one with it, fragments of the stars had melded with her being. She was Stonestar, and her pelt glowed with the new (old?) lives that settled under her fur. 

And she was alive. More than she had ever been before. 

And it was time to return to her clan.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A thick white stew topped with a symmetrical pattern of fried garlic, minced parsley, and 'meat' chunks in a bright blue bowl. End ID]

كرناسة / Karnasa (Palestinian yoghurt and rice stew)

Karnāsa, or لَبَنِيَّة ("labaniyya") is a Palestinian dish of short-grain rice cooked in لبن ("laban") and topped with a tadka of fried garlic. "لبن" in Palestine refers to لبن زبادي ("laban zabādi,") or thickened sour milk (aka yoghurt). Laban is used to make a variety of sauces that are served with meat dishes, stewed vegetables, and maḥshis (stuffed dishes); it may also be strained and preserved as labna. Past batches of laban are traditionally used as a starter to ferment new batches from fresh milk.

Karnasa may be made plain, or with fried cauliflower or green beans; the latter variation, called لبنية الفول ("labaniyya al-fūl," labaniyya with beans) is often eaten during the winter.

It is an older custom to prepare karnasa in the morning, then serve it with meat as a lunch forعِيد اَلْأَضْحَى (Eid al-Adha), the Festival of the Sacrifice. Eid al-Adha celebrates the willingness of إبراهيم (Ibrahim) to sacrifice his son at God's command: the أضحية ("uḍḥiyah"), or sacrifice of livestock, occurs accordingly on the first day of the three-day festivities. Families may purchase livestock—often goats or sheep—and share the meat with neighbours, friends, and extended family.

Karnasa is sometimes served alongside khubbiz tabūn, a fermented flatbread, which is torn and dipped into the stew. In this recipe, the robust sourness of the flatbread melds with the tangy, creamy yoghurt and tender, savory seitan to produce a satisfying meal that's delicious hot or cold.

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Ingredients:

Serves 4.

For the dish:

1kg (4 cups) vegan yoghurt (لبن زبادي)

1 Tbsp cornstarch

190g (1 cup) Egyptian rice, or other short-grained rice

225g (8oz) meat substitute such as seitan chunks; or cauliflower

1 Tbsp kosher salt, or to taste

1 cup vegetable stock, or 'meat' stock from cube or concentrate

1 Tbsp olive oil, for frying

Parsley or dried mint (optional)

For the tempering (ṭsha / طشة):

1/2 head garlic, chopped

3 Tbsp olive oil

For best results, use a thick yoghurt such as soy or coconut, rather than a thinner one such as almond.

To make your own cultured cashew laban, follow my cultured vegan labna recipe, but double the amount of water and skip the pressing in cheesecloth step.

Instructions

1. Rinse your rice once by placing it in a sieve, putting the sieve in a closely fitting bowl, then filling the bowl with water; rub the rice between your fingers to wash, and remove the sieve from the bowl to strain. Fill the bowl with fresh water and submerge the rice to allow to soak for 30 minutes to an hour.

2. Whisk laban and starch together and heat in a thick-bottomed pot on low until simmering, about 10 minutes.

3. Add rice and stock and mix. Cook, stirring often, until the rice is fully cooked and the texture of the stew is a little thinner than what you want (it will thicken as it cools).

4. Meanwhile, heat 1 Tbsp oil in a skillet on medium. Fry meat substitute, stirring occasionally, until browned. Set aside.

5. Make the tsha: In the same skillet, heat another 3 Tbsp olive oil on low. Add garlic and fry, stirring often, until a shade lighter than desired. Remove from heat.

6. Stir in salt and tsha. Ladle into individual serving bowls and top with meat; or, cut meat into small pieces, add into the pot, and simmer another minute or two before serving.

7. Top with parsley or dried mint. Serve hot or cold, with flatbread.

[kamii-2]

hi would u do a azzi smut fic where shes recieving? ❤️

hi anon, yes i will !!

warning(s): cussing, smut

genre: smut

pairing(s): azzi fudd x reader

==================================

“azzi.” you called out from the living room, she was in the kitchen. “yea?” she asked, “can i top tonight? i feel like i don’t please you enough.” you told her and you walked into the kitchen, “why not.” she smirked.

-

“fuck!” azzi moaned out as you thrusted your fingers in her at an ungodly pace. your mouth was all over her body. you were sucking deep purple hickies all over her neck and chest, some were in between her thighs. “keep going y/n, please don’t stop.” she breathily moaned, you went faster, which didnt even seem possible to you or azzi but it apparently was. just as she was about to cum you pulled your fingers out, she whined in desperation, this is the second time you’ve done this. “y/n please just let me cum, i can’t take it anymore.” she said in a whiny voice.

you smiled and got in your knees on front of her, dipping your tongue in her hole which elicits a loud moan. you continued to swirl your tongue inside of her and your nose was hitting her clit over and over again. the build up of her orgasm was starting to grow but you had a feeling that she was gonna do more than just cum on your face.

she was so close to cumming when for the third time you pulled away. she was super sexually frustrated and ready to just fuck herself. “y/n i swear if you don’t stop im doing it myself.” she threatened. you sank your finger in her and immediately started to go fast, adding your mouth and sucking her clit as well. her climax kept building and once she was about to cum she felt you trying to pull out she grabbed your hand and pushed your face deeper into herself. “n- oh God, no you’re not pulling away again.” she demanded, finally cumming all over you. her moans were loud snd long.

as you got off of your knees and sat next to her she was catching her breath. “can i use the strap on you?” you questioned. she thought about it for a second before replying with “i mean why not, you’re already topping.” you shot up and went to the closet to get the baby blue strap. while you were putting it on azzi admired your body, squeezing her legs together while looking at your shirtless torso and bare legs, thinking about all of the things she wanted to do to you.

you lined up with her, “ready?” you asked. she nodded and opening up her legs some more, you grabbed her waist and pushed in, her area was more sensitive now that she’s been edged and came, so when you pushed in she moaned out, loudly. “holy shit!” she moaned out at you went at a medium pace. you can tell you’re not going fast enough so you speed it up and go faster, now she’s moaning even louder than she ever has.

her legs started to shake as she was getting closer and closer to releasing all over the fake dick. “please don’t stop y/n, i-i need you so bad.” she cried out. you decided to stop teasing her and actually letting the poor woman cum. as her orgasm washed over you helped her ride it out. you pulled out, took the strap off and say back down next to her, “you okay?” you asked her with a hand on her thigh. she nodded her head then sat up next to you, “your turn.”

==================================

so sorry this took a while to get out and that it’s kind of short but i hope you enjoyed and i hope you have a good day/night, love you 💋💋

[mokokone]

A/n: I initially wrote this because I'm excited for the Mononoke movie (2024), and seeing that there aren't many Medicine Seller x Reader fanfics out there, I decided to contribute and dedicate my Tumblr to the case. I'm a big fan of this series, and Kusuriuri deserves more love, so enjoy!♡

His Wife! [The Medicine Seller x Fem!Reader]

It was the middle of the day with the weather being surprisingly bliss, despite the downpour a few nights before.

The smell of the wildflowers and forest in the air combined with the warmth of the sun's rays was enough to make the Medicine Seller considered laying down for a quick doze in the soft grass.

However, he had to continue on and get the nearest village before sundown.

The wooden clogs of his geta sauntered along the dirt path. Thankfully, the path leading towards the village was nothing but a leisurely stroll, which he wanted to take the time to enjoy before reaching his destination.

No need to rush. It seems like a good time as any to squeeze in a leisurely walk.

The thicket of bamboo on either side of the path made for some good shade, while still maintaining a warm brightness that he wanted so bad to bask in.

How peaceful, the Medicine Seller thought to himself whilst enjoying the gentle chirping of birds in the branches above, singing about and communicating with others of their kin.

It would sure be nice to live out in the countryside and be able to enjoy peaceful evenings like this, without the loud hustle and bustle that large and over populated areas would bring.

Briefly, it led his mind to the love-inducing assumption that he might consider living in the country if he ever decided to move there with his w─

"Otto, please wait for me!”

The female voice shook the aforementioned man out of his daydream as Kusuriuri halted in his steps.

Was he even walking fast?

A mix of jasmine, lemon, and tea leaves quickly enveloped his senses, and a telltale feeling of warmth spread throughout his body—which had his heart drumming within his ribcage.

Slowly, blue eyes glanced back just as a young maiden with (s/c) colored skin hastened after him. She had (short/medium/long) (h/c) hair and beautiful (e/c) eyes. She wore a (f/c) yukata designed with floral patterns and she appeared to be the same age as Kayo-chan.

Kusuriuri watched as a look of delight washed over her upon seeing that he did stop and wait for her and a flustered smile crossed her lips as she picked up the pace to get to him.

Normally, he would've ignore her and kept on walking—only with the intent to tease her, which he knew would irritated her to no end.

A sly smile grazed his painted lips as the young woman finally caught up to him. Kusuriuri hadn't even noticed the extra prep in his step and had forgotten he didn't have the weight on his back from carrying his kusuri-bako (medicine box), since a certain someone wanted to carry it for him.

Hmm, perhaps he was walking fast?

"Do you want me to carry it?" He asks, gesturing towards the large wooden box on her back, which contained his wares.

"No, I'm good. Thank you, Otto," she beams him a loving smile.

Ah yes, Otto, meaning "husband" is what she likes to calls him─since he's just a humble medicine peddler and had no specific name, which is why he goes by Kusuriuri. 

Normally, he would've chided her about the honorific, but it has become a constant reminder that he's indeed her husband.

Regardless, he would occasionally call her Okusan (wife), a clear sign of his public affection, whereas she would call him "goshujin-sama" during their most private and intimate moments.

Her name's (Y/n), and she is his wife. Kusuriuri found himself in a situation where he had no one to blame but himself for this illicit arrangement through en-musubi, which means "binding of fates". It was all due to the omamori he had gifted her, a small token that unknowingly sealed their destinies together.

For the young woman, she understood. Had known from the start when she'd first laid eyes on the Medicine Seller, that she was going to be part of his life. Despite the dangers of traveling with him to rid the world of deadly and troublesome Mononoke, she was still willing. She felt a connection with him that transcended words, a bond that made her feel like she belonged by his side, no matter what challenges they may face together.

And besides, traveling alone and fighting evil mononoke alone must get very tiresome.

“My love, if you're tired, then perhaps we should stop and rest?"

It's such a lovely day out, so why not enjoy it.

The sun is shining brightly in the clear blue sky, casting a warm glow over everything it touches. The gentle breeze rustles through the leaves, creating a soothing melody that seems to lull one into a state of peaceful relaxation

However, despite the temptation to take a load off, (Y/n) persists.

"It's okay, don't worry. Besides we're almost to the village." She says.

Always the one to carry on, I see? Kusuriuri muses, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Very well," he nods. "Let us carry on," He says and continued on the path to the village, this time keeping a steady pace so his wife could walk beside him.

Momentarily, the feeling of walking beside her husband wasn’t enough for (Y/n) as she hesitantly glanced down at his free hand that wasn't tucked inside his kimono. It was mere inches apart from her own and the desire to hold it was overwhelming.

“Do you wish to hold my hand?”

(Y/n) almost felt her heart leap when she looked up and saw Kusuriuri's intense stare pinned her.

Silly wife had been caught by her eponymous husband.

Kusuriuri watched in adoration as a cute blush colored her cheeks as she shyly averted her gaze at the dusty trail. A swarm of butterflies immediately assaulted the young woman's stomach at that.

They had done things much more lewd things other than holding hands, but for some reason, the mere question served to fluster the (h/c) haired girl.

The first time she felt flustered was when he had agreed to be her husband, but to have the simplest and most innocent of questions be the catalyst to making her heart pound was silly.

Slowly, (Y/n) reached out and slid her hand into her lover's palm. His hand felt rough in hers, no doubt from always mixing herbs to make incense, wielding his Tama sword, and casting tailsman. Despite the slight feel of his long, painted nails, she couldn’t deny the fact that it made her feel safe.

Kusuriuri may have come off as erratic and weird, but his touch was warm and comforting—like a warm fire during a bone-chilling winter's day.

And so, their walk was spent in relative silence, the only interruption being the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze and the crunch of gravel beneath their feet.

As they crested the final hill, their destination came into view. Their hands remained intertwined, (Y/n) finding comfort in the warmth of her lover's touch, while he gently squeezed her hand in reassurance.

She found herself unconsciously leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, being ever-grateful for moments like this when they could simply enjoy each other's company in peaceful companionship.

So in love she is. To be next to her husband.

Her beloved Medicine Seller.

Her truth!

The silence between them was thick, but not awkward. It was relaxing, like a small solace in the chaotic world that they lived in.

Kusuriuri shamelessly ogled his young wife. His eyes ran over her distinctly delicate features: the slight upward tilt of her eyes, the high arches of her cheek bones, her cute nose, and those kissable-soft lips of hers.

"Okusan?"

"Yes Otto?"

"Do you still find me interesting?" He asked her.

"Of course I do. You'll always be interesting and I'll never grow bored of you."

Her answer and loving smile was enough to knock the wind out of him. It was so radiant in itself that he felt himself returning her expression with a milder one of his own.

And it was at that moment that he realized just how much he actually enjoys her.

His lovely wife.

[lovrrboys]

need to be with a queer cowboy. a man that uses his hands, just a blue collar boy overall. he has the rough appearance of a hardass hick, boots and medium-washed jeans, maybe has the slutty little mustache and stubble combo, cropped modern mullet if you're super lucky. he might come off as a right viewed man, but he's actually super respectful, and extremely gay.

his hands are calloused, dry, obviously rough from using them at work. maybe you meet at a bar, watching him from afar, hesitant to approach. sure, it was a gay bar, but straight men showed up unwelcomed. he'd notice you from the corner of his eye, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. after battling each other from feet away, he'd come over to you, lazily standing with one hand in his pocket and the other wrapped around his beer.

and fuck, he's even more attractive up close. your friends at the table look at you knowingly and watch you try to mantain a solid composure.

he offers to buy you a drink and eventually encourages you to come sit with him at the bar. a few minutes turn into an hour, then two. your friends remind you that they're leaving soon and he raises an eyebrow at that.

"i can take you home, if you'd be comfortable with it," he muses, his voice edged of confident and nervous almost.

yeah more to go on about here but i'll end there for now lmk if you rly want more