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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

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Those Who Live by the Sword.

Yan Claude von Riegan x F Reader. Commissioned piece.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships and imbalanced power dynamics. Word count: 3k.

There comes a time in everyone’s life when they must test the boundaries of what they can and cannot get away with.

This has been your personal creed as of late. Though you now fight under the Leicester Alliance’s banner, the lack of a shared history with your fellow alma mater is tangible. It isn’t intentional on behalf of your comrades-in-arms, not that you can tell, but an inadvertent consequence of joining the ranks when you did.

The time in between battles and skirmishes stretches on seemingly forever. You adhere to a mundane routine: training, ensuring the integrity of your equipment, and wandering aimlessly like some specter in the night. No one troubles you and you trouble no one. You may share the same ambition, meager war rations, and thin tents that can barely keep the night’s chill at bay, yet your common ground ends there.

You thought this would be enough. Perhaps it will be, if you keep trying, so that’s what you’ve resolved yourself to do.

Sparks fly off the whetstone as you manipulate a chipped blade against it. You repeat the motion without reprieve, your muscles crying out their protests and your body heavier than the rock this stone was chiseled from. Raising the sword by the hilt, you inspect the fruits of your labor, then frown. A weapon incapable of striking down the enemy is as useless as it is potentially deadly for the wielder. And so you carry on your thankless task, seeing to the repair once more.

There’s a change in the breeze. A slight course correction that some may chalk up to nature’s design; inconsequential, unworthy of granting a second thought.

The hairs stand on the back of your neck. Firmly, you anchor yourself to the foreign soil, finding that it swallows your boot’s heels rather than spitting it back out. This wouldn’t be an ideal landscape to fight on. That’s why Claude chose to establish camp with this mire acting as a perimeter, deterring potential ambushes and conflicts without a drop of blood being spilled. It’s also why you ventured off here beneath the moon’s looming presence, not wanting to wake your fellow soldiers who often must go days without rest. If there’s anyone who deserves uninterrupted sleep, it’s them, and you eventually, when your goal has been achieved.

Unblinkingly, you study the thickets where you sense a presence to be staring back.

You hold your breath and consider your options. Vantage points, escape paths, where the terrain may prove a boon or a bane—

“Nothing dampens your senses, hm?” A feminine voice that rings familiar asks. From the verdure emerges a lone figure, whose once sky-colored hair is now a frosty mint. Your posture relaxes.

“Not if I want to live, no.”

She advances forward. Her eyes go from you to the whetstone, indiscernible in their intent.

“While being proactive is admirable, it isn’t a good idea to go off by yourself in hostile territory.”

Byleth no longer officially holds the title of professor, though she still acts the part. It’s never felt unwelcome, this inclination of hers to guide those under her command, but you’re no longer a child worrying over her next grade. You’re a cog in the machine of war. Those who steer said machine needn’t worry themselves with the specifics, so long as you can keep playing your part.

Yet for some reason, Byleth has often sought you out when you’re certain there are other, more pressing matters to attend to.

She jerks her head in the direction of the camp. “Let’s head back.”

You wipe the sweat accumulating on your brow.

“I’ll be right behind you. This shouldn’t take much longer.”

Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t appear convinced.

“... You’re upset,” she reasons. The two words come out slow, cautious. Not caring for the pitying gaze that’s being directed toward you, you return to your previous task. “I get why. Still, Claude never issues orders without reason, you know that. He sees what we don’t even know to look for.”

Byleth has undergone a metamorphosis since she first walked the cobblestone avenues of the monastery, distant from everyone and everything. Her perception extends far past the battlefield. In many ways, Claude served as a sharpening stone for her, allowing qualities that had rusted over to shine through.

“I know.”

“Do you?” She challenges. Her voice slices clean through the air, though it’s not without tenderness. “Lately, you’ve been looking to prove yourself, right? It isn’t worth overexerting yourself.”

You gulp down the rest of what’s in your waterskin. “I’m not ‘overexerting myself’, I’m just trying to do my part.”

You glance down at the offending sword that dragged you into this conversation. The condition has greatly improved since when you started. It’s your hope that the owner will live longer thanks to your handiwork. The thought makes your mouth go dry, as if you hadn’t just been chugging water.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?” You murmur. In the distance, an owl warbles its song. “We need every fighting body we can get, we’re even outsourcing to mercenaries. What reason does he have for taking me off the battlefield ‘indefinitely’?”

Byleth places her hand on your shoulder. It weighs on you heavily. “There’s no one who knows how to use what’s at their disposal better than Claude. You’ve placed your trust in him before, don’t take it back now.”

“I’m not,” you respond, a hint too fast, like you were retracting your hand after almost being burnt. “I trust him, really, I do, but— I don’t know. First, it was removing me from the vanguard, then putting me in the safest part of the formation, and now this? I’ve become just another mouth to feed. A burden.”

Whether you intended to say this much, you don’t know, but it all comes tumbling out regardless. The fatigue, stress, and confusion have been building and building to a boiling point. It was only a matter of time before you’d get scalded.

Dead silence occupies the air, thick and potent. Neither wind nor animal stirs. You have company, and still, you’ve never felt more alone.

Eventually, Byleth gives your shoulders a squeeze. You think she intends to reassure you. “There is a reason. It’s an important one, too.”

“And what would that be?”

Momentarily, the composed countenance Byleth usually maintains cracks, showing an emotion you can’t quite identify.

In the blink of an eye, it’s gone.

“I think we both know that isn’t a question for me.”

As per Byleth’s request, you’ve allowed Claude to be the sole holder of your trust.

She didn’t need to convince you with lofty words and promises. The respect she’s accumulated from you sufficed. You convinced yourself that even if you felt like a deadweight, so long as the golden banner advanced, you’d swallow down your pride and accept Claude’s decision.

This personal covenant found itself tested within a few weeks.

The tides of war are a finicky thing. Momentum can be with your cause, almost to the point you’re convinced some divine power is on your side, then it all comes to a screeching halt. One stalemate and one loss — that will be what a historian one day will write in this bloody chapter of Fódlan’s history.

The groans of the wounded and silence left in the place of those who perished form a haunting symphony.

You find yourself in the tent Claude occupies. Understandably, he’s been busy as of late, unable to hold an audience with you. Bypassing common courtesy felt like the only way to get through to him, even if this is a breach of privacy. Any other ruler could have you sentenced for life if you tried pulling this stunt, but sticking to strict tradition has never been Claude’s philosophy. You’re confident the scaffold doesn’t await.

While awaiting his return, your eyes take to wandering. To the left stands a cot, a bow, and various quivers beside it in case of a surprise attack. In the middle is a crudely outfitted table, a map of Fódlan the centerpiece, scribbled with notes that are updated every time a scout comes back. His personal belongings are few and far between.

There is a single thing that catches your attention. A leaf that doesn’t match the flora of this area — one species found in Garreg Mach Monastery and nowhere else. You know this item well, for you’re the one who gave it to him, five years prior. On the eve of the White Heron Cup, you’d pressed leaves and gave them to your fellow students, regardless of class affiliation. You wanted to ‘preserve your bonds’, or whatever the naive dream was.

Considering the current state of the country, it’d seem your wishes fell on deaf ears.

He kept something silly like this for so long…?

“Are you here to assassinate me, by any chance?”

You almost jump out of your skin at the abrupt appearance of Claude. The man you’ve been seeking out all this time certainly knows how to make an entrance. The world itself takes a secondary role when he enters, fading away into an unidentifiable blur. His presence commands attention without him doing anything. There’s this magnetic aura surrounding Claude, a quiet brilliance, dazzling as a crystal.

“Of course not,” you reply. It’s terribly tempting to fall into a trap of lighthearted banter when he’s around, so you must remain vigilant. “I was only hoping to take a few minutes of your time.”

He frowns and visibly deflates. “There isn’t any requirement saying you have to speak so formally with me. You didn’t used to.”

“Wouldn’t you say that times have changed?”

“Times have changed, yes,” Claude relents. The twinkle in his eye tells you he’s far from finished. “That doesn’t mean you have to. I’ve always appreciated your candid nature, it’s refreshing. Even more so when you enter the convoluted world of politics like I have.”

“I think breaking into your tent is rather candid.”

“That it is. So,” he pulls out a rickety chair and sits, his posture open. “Let me guess. You’re here to challenge my order for you to remain off the frontlines?”

It’s always amazed you how he goes from beating around the bush to addressing a point directly. In every discussion, whether it be subtly or overtly, he finds a way to take the reins. His boldness temporarily takes you aback. You prepared an opening statement that’d help ease into your dissent, but that slips your mind like sand through your fingers.

“I don’t want to question your judgment. It’s just… I think I’d be better utilized out on the field. I came here to help, to fight.”

“For me, correct?”

You pause, gauging if he’s joking or not. It’s difficult to tell.

“I suppose that’s a way of putting it?”

Claude leans back in his chair and folds his legs. “You did your fair share of snooping around on me back then and even now. That assassin jibe really was a potential theory of mine at one point. I wasn’t sure what to make of you. Coming from me, that’s quite the compliment.”

He steeples his fingers.

“The solution was so simple that I hadn’t considered it. Maybe you weren’t aware of it yourself, maybe you were. You found me intriguing, to the point you’d be willing to leave your country of birth behind. This level of dedication, when we’d hardly exchanged words back in our academy days… let’s just say it endeared you to me.”

Heat rises to your cheeks.

“You shouldn’t joke around about stuff like that.”

“I’m not joking,” he flashes a handsome smile. “Knowing how tenacious you are, I thought it’d be best to give proper context to my decision. I don’t want you in harm’s way. This is what I get for trying to delay this conversation until after the war. A tent is the furthest thing from a romantic backdrop, but… beggars can’t be choosers, hm?”

Endeared you to me. Don’t want you in harm’s way. Romantic backdrop.

Your legs almost go out beneath you. “W-Wait, this isn’t— it can’t be— a confession?”

He puts his hands up as if in surrender. “Ah, you caught me. Is it all starting to make sense now?”

You scrutinize him without trying to hide it in the least. He might be using the casual language that’s typical of him, but his physiognomy is serious. His lips ease into a closed-mouth smile, his eyes contain a certain gentleness, and the tone of his voice is unlike any you’ve heard him use before. A tempest of thoughts and emotions encircles you. It’s stupefying, this situation you’ve stumbled into, almost dreamlike. While you aren’t certain if you reciprocate in full, his charm is undeniable.

You’re about to explain as much to him when a realization hits.

So much emphasis has been put on this revelation that the true reason for your meeting here was almost covered, sitting elsewhere and collecting dust.

The traps he sets are tempting indeed.

“So that’s the reason,” you say, almost breathless, “I can’t just sit back and watch everyone else put their lives on the line, knowing I’m not doing the same, because of favoritism.”

Claude sighs. The oil lamp sitting atop the wooden table flickers, casting shadows over his face. Green eyes take in your discontent through thick eyelashes. The undulating shadows become one with the bags forming beneath his eyes, a testimony to the relentless pursuit of his dream. The sheer exhaustion staring back at you pokes and prods at your heart. You don’t want to add to his stress, you want to help, but this isn’t something you can concede on.

“It’s only going to get more dangerous as we advance on the capital.”

“Which is why I—”

“I won’t allow it, simple as that,” Claude cuts you off. There’s a dangerous edge to his voice he rarely ever uses with others. He wants this conversation over with, that much is evident. “Why do you think I kept that gift from you, hm? It always appealed to me, that optimism of yours, so willing to overlook what everyone else in this land and the ones beyond it fixates on. I’d look at it and remember I wasn’t the only one who aimed for something better.”

You know the expression that etches itself onto his face. That’s the look of a man willing to do anything, give everything, to obtain what he wants.

“So. You can huff, glare at me, do anything you please really, but I won’t be changing my mind. Not on this. I’d prefer not to gamble more than I care to lose, for once.”

It’s as if a spirit possesses you. Your legs stride toward him, magma flowing hot through your veins, searing you from the inside out. He remains unwavering upon your approach, silently testing to see what it is you may do next. You grasp at his collar with hands that are calloused from a lifetime of training. Your height overtakes his while he remains sitting, and yet, you feel he’s the one looking down on you from an unreachable podium.

“And what about what I want?”

“You should want to live.”

“I want to fight.”

“There are more ways to help than shedding blood.”

“Are we at a point where that’s true?”

“We will be,” Claude places the palm of his hand over your clenched fist. “Is it so bad that I want to keep you safe?”

The expression you regard him with speaks louder than words.

“Alright, alright, I expected as much. You aren’t one to be convinced by words alone, which is truly a shame, because talking is my whole thing… that leaves taking action then. Are you going to let this play out without raising a fuss, or am I going to have to get creative here?”

This enigmatic phrasing does not sit well with you. He could already foresee that you weren’t planning on hanging back now that you know the true reason for his command, further narrowing your options of retaliation. It isn’t like he’d be in a position to do anything if you were out on the field, his attention would be forced elsewhere.

Claude’s serious about this. He’d truly have you twiddling your thumbs and wallowing in idleness while you watch faces leave that you might never see again.

You try retracting your hand. He doesn’t let you.

“What exactly does ‘get creative’ mean?”

“Well, since you asked,” he closes his eyes and hums, as if in deep thought, “Posting guards to keep an eye on you, physically restricting your movements, or even sending you back to the monastery with an escort. There are plenty of options, really.”

Eyes narrowing, you dare to call his bluff. “You can’t spare the manpower it’d take to escort me back.”

“Ah, I think you’re mixing the phrases ‘can’t’ and ‘would prefer not to’. Trust me — I’d love to keep you close to keep a better eye on you — but we can’t always get what we want. If I think you’re preparing to pull a stunt that’d put your life in danger, I’ll act accordingly. That’s a promise.”

It isn’t often you’re faced with such an immovable force. His relaxed posture belies his serious intent, the discordance is further unsettling you.

Then you’re struck with an epiphany.

“If you won’t listen to me, you’ll listen to the Professor, right?” If there’s a hint of haughtiness to your tone, no one can blame you. “There’s no way she won’t think you’re overstepping your boundaries by acting like this.”

Your threat doesn’t phase him in the least. If anything, there’s a hint of amusement on his visage, as if you told him a joke in good fun. He has the decency not to laugh, but from the crinkling of the skin beneath his eyes, he might as well be.

“You’re more than welcome to try. I should warn you, though…”

Hues of piercing green bore through you.

“Half of this was her idea.”

#claude x reader #claude von reigan x reader #yandere claude x reader #fire emblem x reader #yandere fire emblem x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #commissions #my stuff

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jinkieswouldyoulookatthis · 4 months

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Growing

Just a little piece of gen domestichesters fluff about Sam taking up gardening and Dean adopting another dog. Set in season 15 during that unknown period of time between episodes 19 & 20, or maybe it's canon divergent and episode 20 never happened (whichever makes you happiest).

No pairing, no ship, just fluff.

Words: 2746

Read it on AO3

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“So I was looking into the history of the power plant.”

“Of course you were.” Dean deadpanned.

“And, turns out that it was never actually abandoned like we’d thought because it was never actually in use as a real power plant. As far as I can tell, it was built to cover up the mechanical equipment that runs the bunker and isn’t even hooked into the local grid.”

“Fascinating.” Dean said, with sarcasm so dry Sam completely missed it.

“That’s what I thought. So I came up to check it out, you know, see how the systems were set up, just in case something ever goes wrong… again. But what I found was,” Sam opened the double doors that creaked loudly in the cavernous space that they step into.

It was like a cathedral, vast and empty with a vaulted ceiling thirty feet high. It was saved from being gloomy, all that grey stone and dark ironwork rafters, by two of the walls which were striped with four sets of floor to ceiling windows and there were large skylights above. Most surprising to Dean was the fact that they were all, miraculously, unbroken. The rest of the space was mostly empty, with just a few bulky pieces of equipment that looked like they were part of the bunker’s various mechanical systems. That looked like all that had been there, at least that was all before Sam had gotten to the space. Now, there were two rows of what looked to Dean like black, plastic bathtubs standing near the south side of the room. And there were long fluorescent tube light fixtures suspended above them.

“That doesn’t look like mechanical equipment.”

Sam laughed. “It’s not. But the space was completely empty when I found it. But it had electricity and a sprinkler system and I think it’s actually heated. Or, at least, there’s ductwork that seems to come up from below.”

They had been wandering closer to the tubs as Sam talked. As they got up to them, Dean could see that they were each filled with rich, dark soil. There was also a network of PVC pipes that ran along over the top of the tubs, with red, shut off valves and nozzles every so often.

Dean sneezed. It had come up so suddenly he hadn’t even had time to cover his mouth, just turned to the side. The noise echoing back to him from every corner.

“I’ve swept up, but it’s still pretty dusty, I guess.”

Dean sniffled and asked, “Did you do all this?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working on it for the last couple months. The tubs are 150 gallon stock tanks that I got from the Tractor Supply over in Smith Center. But I scrounged most of the rest of the supplies. I set up the lights because, even with all the windows, I just don’t know if the plants will get enough sunlight. And I flushed the irrigation system throughly and tested it for lead, since, you know the building was built back in the 30’s. But everything is clear and yeah.” Sam looked at Dean. “What do you think?”

“You gonna be growing pot in here or something?”

Sam laughed again and shook his head. “I was thinking more, vegetables and herbs.”

“Oh.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“Well, I’m not going to lie, I’d be more excited about pot. But this is impressive, Sammy.” “You think?”

“Yeah. You put a lot of work into this. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I just started working on it and then it was just… something to do. Plus I didn’t want you trying to claim it and fill it up with cars or something.”

Dean looked into the tubs. “You plant anything yet?”

“No, I actually need to go pick up the plants and thought you might want to ride over with me? We can get lunch at Pete’s and then swing by the nursery?”

“Yeah, okay. Barbecue sounds great.”

They were almost out the door when Dean sneezed again. “Damn. I think you need to sweep again.”

Down in the garage, they both got into the Impala, doors squeaking and banging shut in unison. Dean had the key in the ignition and was just about to start her up when he stopped and looked at Sam.

“How many plants are you planning on getting?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, Dean could practically see him going through his mental list. They both turned and looked in the backseat at the same time.

“Uh…” Sam started.

“Why don’t we take the truck instead?”

“Yeah, probably a good idea.”

So they took the old pick-up truck. It was a 1946 Chevrolet 3100 in Morat Green. Sam thought the name sounded made up, but he knew better than to argue about classic vehicles with his brother.

It was an easy fifteen minute drive from Lebanon to Smith Center. By the time they got to Pete’s and parked, Sam had not only run through his list of plants he wanted to get, but had gone on a bit too long (in Dean’s opinion) about the merits of various varieties of tomato and lettuce. He’d also mentioned several herbs that Dean was about ninety percent certain weren’t used for cooking.

“Some of them are medicinal but the other have more…” Sam lowered his voice as the stepped into the restaurant, “esoteric uses.”

Dean gave him a look.

“We’ve depleted most of our supply of components. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there aren’t many suppliers of those things that are still willing to sell to us. So it would be a lot easier if I could just grow what we needed.”

“Okay, settle down. This is your project, you can get whatever plants you want.”

They changed the topic of conversation as they sat down, deciding without needing to discuss it, that they’d rather debate who would win in a fight between themselves and various comic book superheroes and villains. The lapsed mostly into silence when their food arrived, with only the occasional obscene groan from Dean around a mouthful of double bacon cheeseburger.

“Dude.”

“What? It’s good.” Dean asked still chewing.

“So is my salad, but you don’t hear me moaning like Meg Ryan.” “Yeah, ‘cause no one gets orgasmic over a salad, Sam.”

“Just, try not to get the cops called on us. And don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Fine, Mom.”

Shaking his head, Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite stop the corners of his mouth from pulling up into a smile as they finished off their lunch.

It was a short drive across town to the greenhouse. To be fair, everything in Smith Center was a short drive, it wasn’t a big town. When they pulled into the parking lot there was a banner string up on one side of the entrance to the greenhouse. Several families with kids were gathered by it.

“Adopt-a-Pet?”

“Go, check it out, play with some puppies or something. I’ll just be a few minutes anyway.” Sam said as he wandered inside.

Dean made his way over and was having just as much fun watching the kids coo and squeal and beg their parents for a puppy or a kitten as he was looking at the baby animals.

There were older animals too, a bunch of cats and a few dogs. One of the dogs was laying down in its crate, and while its ears perked up at every loud sound, it wasn’t watching the chaos around it as much as the other dogs. Dean crouched down and peered at it through the bars of the crate. It was black and white with longish fur.

“Interested in adopting a pet?” a woman asked him when she was done handing a clipboard of paperwork to one of the families.

“I’ve already got a dog. I just thought I look while my brother’s getting stuff for his garden.”

“Well, each animal has a tag on their crate with information like breed, sex, age, and if they’re good with kids or other animals.”

Dean looked and saw the tag on the crate in front of him. “Otis, huh?”

The dog’s head perked up immediately.

“Guess that’s you.” Dean said. He read the tag and looked at the dog and then read the tag again.

It had taken Sam a lot longer than he’d anticipated in the greenhouse because they didn’t have a couple of the varieties that he’d really wanted, so he had to decide on what to get instead. But once he checked out, he had several packets of seeds tucked into his pocket and two long flats of young plants, and was feeling pretty good about his choices. Dean was nowhere to be seen when he carried the first group of plants out and slid them into the back of the truck, but when he came out with the rest of them, he could see Dean’s head through the back window of the truck. Plants safely stowed, he closed the tailgate and walked around to the passenger door.

A loud bark when he opened the door made him jump. Sitting on the bench seat next to his brother was a border collie.

“Dean?”

“Sam.”

“There’s a dog in the truck.”

“You always were observant.”

“Dean, why is there a dog in the truck?”

“His name is Otis. Otis, say hello to Sam.”

Otis chuffed.

“Okay.” Sam looked at the dog and then at his brother. “Did, did you adopt a dog?”

Dean just smiled at him and ruffled the fur on Otis’ head as he started the truck up. “Yes I did. Come on, let’s get him home and introduce him to Miracle.”

There was much barking and vigorous wagging of tails and lots of butt sniffing. After a few minutes, Dean declared the introduction a success and went to help Sam carry the plants up to the power plant.

“I can’t believe you got another dog.”

“Sam, he’s blind and had been at the shelter for over a year. I couldn’t leave him there. Plus, look how happy Miracle is. Now he won’t be completely alone when we have to go out. He’s got a buddy.”

“Yeah, no, I get that, I–I do. But, I just… I just think this is the sort of thing that we should have talked about first.”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you asking me about turn the upstairs into a conservatory, but I’m okay with it. I think it’s great that you’ve got a new hobby.” He sat the flat of seedlings down next to the planters and sneezed. “Shit. Man, are there cats up here or something?”

Sam looked around and shrugged.

Dean sneezed again.

“There is definitely something up here that’s not agreeing with you. Go on downstairs, I’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” Dean sniffled. “I’m gonna go take the dogs for a walk before dinner. Don’t stay up here too late, There’s still, like, half a lasagna in the fridge and I think there’s even some salad left over from last night.”

He sneezed again before he got to the door.

Sam pulled the seed packets out of his pocket and flipped through them. There was yarrow, angelica, burdock, belladonna, chamomile, and catnip. He looked back at the door before glancing over to where there was a large cardboard box tucked between two pieces of equipment that Sam was about 80% certain were part of the air handling system. After a moment he started spreading the plants and seed packets around in the various tubs of dirt, plotting out what to grow where.

The next few weeks passed quickly. Miracle adopted Otis faster than Dean had, and it was rare to ever see one without the other. Sam took them out running in the mornings and Dean took them for rides into town or out to some field or another where they went on long meandering walks in the afternoons while Sam tended to his growing garden. He took careful notes and photos, and adjusted the timing of the lights and the sprinkler system. Dean, who still sneezed at least once every time he went up there, kept his visits short and mostly left Sam to his gardening. Meal times were when he was most likely to come up, looking to make sure that his brother was eating.

“Hey, Sammy. Lunchtime, come and get it! Wow! It’s looking lush up here. Got anything edible yet?”

“Uh yeah, there’s some lettuce over there but I just want to get this set… Shit!” He swore as the sprayer nozzle he’s been adjusting snapped off in his hand. Water started to gush out of the pipe even as he clamped his hands down tight over the opening. “Ah! Get the, uh, the thing... turn it off!”

Dean rushed over and followed Sam’s gaze to a red shut off valve a little ways down the line. “Yep! Hang on. Got it.” He cranked the valve down tight and the water pressure died.

Sam shook his hands, flinging drops of water into the planter. “Thanks.”

A tiny, high pitched, squeaky sort of noise came from between the tub where Sam was working and the one behind it.

“What…” Dean began as he leaned over to look between the tubs.

“Well, no point in trying to fix this on an empty stomach. Let’s go eat!” Sam said loudly as he wiped his hands on his jeans and then all but herded Dean towards the door.

“Wait, what was that?”

“It was just the pipes, you know how pipes are. What’s for lunch?”

“Stop pushing me!”

Sam stopped but stayed between Dean and his garden. There was another squeak.

“Sam?” Dean said, glaring at his brother. Before either of them could say anything else Dean’s attention was drawn to a tiny little ball of grey and black striped fluff that toddled out from around the tub that Sam had been working on.

“I knew it.”

Another tiny mewl came from the other end of the garden and Sam’s eyes went wide.

“Dude, how many kittens are in here?”

Sam deflated with a sigh, “Five.”

“Five?!”

“And the mom cat.”

“Were you seriously just going to keep pretending like you didn’t know what was making me sneeze?”

“No! No. I was just waiting until the kittens were old enough to find them homes.”

“But why not just tell me?”

“I didn’t want it to be a big deal, I figured you’re not up here much anyway and it’s a quiet, safe place for them and, well, they’re cute.”

“But I still don’t get why you were lying to me.”

“I didn’t really lie… yeah, okay, I lied. I’m sorry. I guess I was afraid that you’d want them gone.”

Dean looked offended. “I’m not a monster, Sam.”

“I know! But I also know how much you hate cats, so…”

“I don’t hate cats.”

“Yes, you do. You say it all the time.”

“I don’t actually mean it.”

Sam just looked at him, exasperated and at a loss. A squeaky mewl, louder and more demanding than before, sounded from their feet. The first kitten had reached Sam’s foot and was starting to climb up his pants leg.

Dean leaned down and carefully unhooked it’s claws from Sam’s jeans before standing up, holding it gently in his hands.

He looked at it.

It looked at him.

It cried loudly.

“Have you named them?”

“Pfft, no.”

“Cool, so I can name them.”

Sam sighed and looked closer at the kitten. “That one’s Doc.”

Dean scrunched up his nose and looked at him. “Like the dwarf?”

“No. It’s short for Burdock. It’s a plant.” He looked over to where the other kitten was sitting, still next to the tubs. “That one is Cam, short for Chamomile. And the others are Yarrow, Catnip or Nip, and Belladonna, like the plant, not the pornstar.” He added quickly at the hopeful arching of Dean’s eyebrow. “The mom is Angelica.”

“Uh huh. You big softy.” Dean smiled at him.

“Shut up.”

Dean chuckled as he handed the kitten, who had started to squirm, over to Sam. “They can stay, just, uh, up here, okay? Now, I’m going to go wash my hands and eat. Come on.”

Sam placed a quick kiss on Doc’s head before setting him gently down on the ground and following after his brother.

#dean winchester #sam winchester #spn fanfic #spn fan fiction #fluff

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usafphantom2 · 4 months

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The Netherlands authorizes Ukraine to use donated F-16 fighters to attack targets in Russia

Dutch politicians follow the same decision made by Denmark on the use of the F-16 for attacks within Russian territory.

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 06/04/2024 - 08:00 in Military, War Zones

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The Netherlands announced that it will allow the Ukrainian Air Force to use the 24 F-16 fighters it will receive by donation to be used in attacks against targets within Russian territory.

The Dutch Minister of Defense, Kajsa Ollongren, confirmed that the Netherlands will not impose limitations on the use of F-16 jets. This decision marks a divergence from Belgium's policy, which limits the use of its donated F-16s.

In an interview with the newspaper Politico at the Shangri-La Dialogue in Singapore, Ollongren said: "There is no [a restriction to the Belgian style]. We are putting into practice the same principle that we apply to all other supplies of capacity, that is, once it is delivered to Ukraine, it is theirs to use." She added that the Netherlands only asks Ukraine to comply with international law and the right to self-defense, as established in the United Nations Charter, ensuring that the jets are used to achieve Ukraine's military objectives in self-defense.

Ollongren and U.S. Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin were among the senior officials who met with the President of Ukraine, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, at the Singapore conference. Denmark also approved Ukraine's use of F-16s provided by Denmark against military targets on Russian soil. Germany has also indicated that Ukraine can use weapons provided by the West for its defense.

Recently, the U.S. authorized Ukraine to attack Russian territory near Kharkiv using U.S.-suplied weapons, confirmed by President Zelensky's spokesman, Serhii Nykyforov, on May 31. However, Washington continues to restrict the use of long-range weapons for deeper attacks within Russia. President Zelensky has expressed interest in using long-range weapons, such as British-made Storm Shadow missiles, but the United Kingdom has not yet fully authorized their use, possibly awaiting a clear position from the White House. The issue has been discussed twice with UK authorities, but remains dependent on a broader international consensus, particularly the US position.

Tags: Military AviationF-16 Fighting FalconUkraine Air ForceRNLAF - Royal Netherlands Air Force / Royal Dutch Air ForceWar Zones - Russia/Ukraine

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Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. He uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.

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manwrre · 1 year

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head canon is neurodivergent steve kinda being a jack of all trades when it comes to anything remotely physical or like hands on (cmon, we’ve seen him twirl the bat). like, he’s got a lot of little niche interests and hobbies or skills because he gets bored a lot and goes through these little phases of hyperfixation when it comes to this stuff.

like, he’s got a green thumb??? his nonna (because head canon steve is a sweet little italian boy, sue me) always told him that fresher herbs were better for cooking and obviously, he cooks his own meals. so he makes the decision to start a kitchen garden and bro is a NATURAL. i’m talking rosemary, oregano, parsley, thyme, basil and freaking tomatoes for the heck of it.

or like, he once watched a segment on ‘the perfect conditions for growing strawberries’ and he couldn’t get it out of his head. he was up for the challenge?? visited the library and got a million books, bought the soil and equipment and kept them warm in the winter like they were his BABIES. and they were freaking delicious so obviously, he learnt how to make jam outta them.

he’s also crazy good at shit like draughts?? so he’s got a massive board and he plays against himself routinely. he plans on moving unto chess eventually but he hasn’t beat himself yet! all of his games keep coming to a draw.

he definitely knits and freaking crochets. he found a box of needles in the attic one time and some material and tried his hand at it. it took him a week or two but he knows about three different types of stitches at least!! and knitted himself some fingerless gloves last winter.

above all else though, he’s learnt how to play like two instruments—“and the triangle! she matters, she has feelings.” his parents had bought him a bunch of instruments as a kid, hoping that he’d have some inclination towards the arts so they could boast about it but he wasn’t really interested. he realized he hated the acoustic guitar so he got an electric one, which suits him sm better AND he can play the drums. but he likes to learn the hardest solos or nothing fr because he’s competitive

bonus points if steve underplays his interests when he’s dating billy because his parents can’t get him to shut up fast enough about ‘em. but the more billy comes over, the more he notices all of the little knickknacks just laying around ie. steve’s collection of mini whittled animals or his draught board laid out because he got stumped mid-game or the amps beneath his bed. and he’ll ask about them!! he’ll think it’s so freaking cool and let steve rant and babble about them for hours.

he’ll taste test all of his new recipes and learn draughts so he can kick steve’s ass and listen to new songs or instrumentals that he learns. like, there’s no way he won’t get wrapped up into his new interests with him and make it their thing.

#neurodivergent steve harrington #steve harrington #harringrove #billy hargrove #writing #head canon #soft steve harrington #boys in love #autistic steve harrington #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove blurb #steve harrington writing

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kelly-bands · 1 year

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cake day ( CHLOE KELLY × READER )

one shot!

summary: It's wednesday, cake day! But oops, who said these two know how to bake correctly?

note: okay, this fic is according to that one survey (fluffly wins) and according to that request from chloe's pov, but I'm not a fan of writing in the first person and I decided to write in the third person.

Every wednesday of every week, of every month, Chloe Kelly and Reader would bake a cake together. It had no sentimental or significant value, the two simply entered into an agreement to always bake a cake that day, following the same steps and different recipes.

The problem is that the new recipe was more of an interpretation and cognition test for the couple than something simple and practical.

Chloe cracked the eggs in the corner of the basin: one, two, three… four. In theory, everything was supposed to be working since all the ingredients are there on the counter and so is the equipment. While Kelly started the recipe, Reader took care of the whipped cream and frosting.

" Why the fuck am I seeing four gems from afar, Chloe? " Reader complained, snooping behind her girlfriend's shoulder. It was the first sentence Kelly had heard since the two entered the kitchen minutes ago. The english attacker's optical orbs turned over due to the girlfriend's soon complaint.

" Because maybe that's what's in the fucking recipe?! " The blonde argued, leaving the cake spoon on the counter and resting her hands on the front of her white apron, intending to clean her fingers dirty by the egg whites that barely dripped.

" No, of course not. The recipe says there are only three. " A questioning and at the same time confident tone reached Kelly's ears. Reader approached the woman, while supporting the bowl full of egg whites and sugar between her arm and her chest, looking at the bowl with the supposed four egg yolks. " You don't by any chance know how to read, Chloe Kelly?" She mocked the situation.

Damn, Reader could be annoying. But very irritating when she wants to be.

The english slammed her spoon down on the table, placed the digits on her face and drained them, accompanied by a snort. "Why don't you read the recipe in the book before saying that? Maybe you're blind." Her tone rose a little, threatening to complain even more.

That was why all of Kelly's friends claimed that the two deserve each other. There were no differences, both personalities and tastes (maybe a little).

Chloe Kelly is a bit of an impatient woman, Reader too.

Chloe Kelly hates complaints, and so does Reader.

And that's exactly what the two of them were doing in the kitchen. The big problem is that perhaps it would be crossing the line, but that was the most common thing for this couple.

Reader glanced at the recipe written in the book, Kelly right after it too, but mostly pointing with her index finger where it said 'eggs'.

But the number was smudged and soiled with something dodgy.

" How do you expect me to read it if you got it dirty? " Reader complained once more, but this time with a mocking tone, aware that she would be irritating the woman more and more. Thus, she blamed Chloe for the mess that who knows who had made it.

Kelly frowned. She was praying she didn't explode in front of her girlfriend, though. This was one of the strengths of the english: even though she was impatient, she did everything not to lose Reader's company, because she adored him.

" Honey, love of my life, my princess, my love. I don't know." That was the most mocking tone Chloe could manage, since at this point, even if she was the most competitive woman in the world, she had already given up. And Reader could tell by her tone becoming calmer and lower afterwards.

Reader patted Kelly on the shoulder when she noticed her sulking, signaling that the player could continue the work that was almost going downhill, but being proud of her attempt to collaborate.

Chloe continued the recipe step by step, this time paying even more attention to each letter on that paper. At the same time, Reader was preparing the icing for the cake, mixing for a long time all the necessary ingredients.

The attacker slid the cake batter into the buttered pan, ready to be placed. Her fingers were smeared with sticky dough, grains of flour all over the front of her apron, almost as if she'd been dropped in the snow.

Baking wasn't Kelly's strong point, especially when it came to not making a mess in the kitchen.

But on the other hand, the blonde had Reader by her side. Mainly to clean up all this mess that the two made.

" That's it. " Chloe finished her part by placing the cake in the oven. Slowly she went to the faucet, intending to clean the dirty digits.

" Apparently everything worked out. " Reader dictated in a hopeful tone, after what happened. Her hands were still busy mixing the frosting, but this time, mixing the various dyes in an attempt to get the color correct (not so correct.)

After drying her fingers, Kelly's first move was to approach Reader, who was at the other counter. Chloe realized that her girlfriend would be scattered, focused on the cake, so she was opportunistic, wrapping her arms around the other's chest.

The english noticed how her girlfriend's body contracted, probably due to the fright and sudden touch. A giggle came from between those short, thick lips, close to Reader's ear. The lips descended to the shoulder, depositing a peck on the exposed skin of the Reader, in which she would promptly finish mixing the cream.

Chloe Kelly loved that, loved to always complain and argue about any micro movement of her girlfriend and then hug Reader as best she could. Be it kisses, hugs, caresses or whatever, it always soothed the blonde. Almost as if Reader was her safe haven, the only place the english could rest and take her thoughts miles from earth.

The blonde continued, her nostrils resting on the crook of Reader's neck, the sweet scent of frosting and the scent of, possibly watermelon, mingled and lingered there. This was another point Kelly loved about Reader, about how her scent was so strong (mainly because it was ALWAYS on Chloe's clothes).

" Try this, I also followed the recipe in the book. " Reader's index finger stopped backwards, even though she couldn't see Chloe properly. Covered in icing, it was an invitation for the player to put her lips there, to taste the frosting.

And that's what Chloe Kelly did. Her face, previously pressed against her girlfriend's shoulder, rose enough so that her lips could reach Reader's finger. Slowly wet lips supplied cream to index finger, ending with a small fragile bite. Reader laughed, probably because of the tickle the english gave.

" It's great. Much better than those bakery ones. " Honest and proud of Reader's talent, Chloe always distributes praise for everything her girlfriend does, and this time was no different.

The english felt Reader's body move, twisting and turning between Kelly's long arms, which released as soon as she noticed a change in her girlfriend's direction. When she realized it, Reader was literally in front of Chloe, inches away from the attacker's face. Reader's fingers slowly intertwined around the player's neck, pressing her body even closer to Kelly's.

Reader's back rested against the edge of the counter, while Chloe Kelly's frontal pressed even more, intentionally. The player's hands rested on Reader's forearms, which were pendulous and resting on Chloe's shoulder .

" What did you think of this new experience of making a cake? " Reader asked.

" Awful. " Chloe replied with no regrets. " But doing it with you was a little less work. " She completed.

" Other than the fact that you probably thought about throwing the cake at me… " Reader scoffed and chuckled, referencing the player's earlier irritation.

" Of course, you blamed me for something I didn't do. " Kelly also joined in the joke, adding a tearful tone to her speech.

"Pftt. I'm sorry then." Reader rolled her eyes, slowly dropping her head into the crook of Chloe's neck.

Again, Kelly's heart warmed as fast as a fireplace.

Even though she was a pretty closed off woman when it came to touching and silly emotions like that, she loved, adored, appreciated so much. Chloe Kelly would do anything so that every day she could feel that same touch, in every way possible.

The attacker's cerulean eyes landed fixedly on Reader's face, which in seconds rose. Moments like that where she could appreciate the beautiful face of her girlfriend were incredible, moments that the only thing that could remain was the physiognomy that always, always touched the lips in any region. These moments made her fall even more in love with the person Reader was. Moments that—

Oh shit.

The cake.

Fuck, Chloe Kelly. The damn cake.

"Shit."

Chloe broke Reader's embrace as quickly as if she were running away from her, heading straight for the oven; hot as fuck. Kelly reached for the first cloth she saw, with her other hand free, grabbed the metal handle and opened the oven.

At least something about this cake worked, which was not burning.

The digits gripping the cloth held the cake pan, which was clearly almost overcooked. The english quickly but carefully placed the cake on top of the counter. Finally able to breathe, the warm cloth was thrown over her shoulder and her hands to her waist.

“Please, let's change the cake day to something easier and more practical, Y/N” Chloe complained amidst the worrisome giggles, where she rested her fingerprints on the counter.

" If you say. “ Reader returned close to the player, at the same time, analyzing the cake inside the round mold. It wasn't ugly, or even looking like something bad, it was just… something.

The couple waited for the cake to cool, dispersing amid gossip and conversations that, in their view, would be interesting ( Discussing about species of dogs is certainly an interesting subject, Chloe Kelly.) After the necessary time, the blonde tried, carefully, remove the cake from the mold.

But it was not expected.

Even though the cake pan was buttered and Reader was there to facilitate Chloe Kelly's magnificent and crazy cuts, it didn't help one bit.

“Hand me the knife, let me do it for you. “ Reader was polite this time. She held out his hand hoping his girlfriend would give up the knife.

And this time Chloe didn't argue, discuss or even complain about Reader's attitude. Even her cheeks began to burn, perhaps from the embarrassment of not being able to cut the edges of a round cake. To help her girlfriend, Kelly fetched the bowl of icing, with mixed colors.

What the fuck?

How difficult is it for both of you to get something right?

“Ahm… Y/N. “ The english called out to Reader, who would be focused on finishing cutting this shitty cake that would be causing chaos in the kitchen. The frosting colors turned out terribly, TERRIBLY UGLY.

Something like gray mixed with brown, something like a five-year-old putting all the colors on the chromatic wheel and mixing. Chloe tried in every way to keep a small smile at least fake, so as not to cause any uncomfortable or uncomfortable feelings in her girlfriend.

“ Apparently I'm not the only one who has problems with cakes. “ Kelly finally said something after seconds of silence. And it was only after this speech that Reader turned her face, at the same time that she removed the cake from the mold with her hands, she also saw the shit she had caused in the color of the icing.

"What the fuck—" Chloe just stared at the woman who would be complaining in front of her, nothing new. " How did that happen?" Reader completed her sentence, with a forlorn tone.

" Nice question. " The english quickly tried to come up with some response that wasn't totally her own girlfriend's fault.

" Right. Let's take it easy, let's not give up now. " Oh, done. Now Reader was trying to come up with some solution to all this shit. " Let's use that, and as for the cake, it's okay to be almost breaking. " No, it's not okay. A cake breaking apart is not a cake, Reader.

Chloe rubbed her right eye with her index finger, this whole situation was making her tired. She went for a spoon and spatula, already intending to cover the cake.

Kelly immediately began icing the unfortunately gray frosting, while Reader just watched, not wanting to create any more intrigue.

And apparently, that was the only thing that had worked out of the whole recipe.

Slowly the cake would be taking a beautiful shape and its color, in the end, maybe it wouldn't be so ugly after all. Maybe something rustic, maybe something fashionable among wealthy elderly people.

Chloe focused on spreading that cream on the outside of the cake without saying a word. Little by little, her fingers began to get dirty, gooey, as a result of trying to turn the cake on the turntable. But it was her way, and in the end, the important thing would be the result.

Mainly the taste.

Reader looked down at her girlfriend, working hard to finish the cake. Days like these, even if they were disastrous, were the best days for both of them. Chloe Kelly's biggest hobby ever was spending time with her family, even on the few days she was able to travel there.

However, her problem of being away from her family was solved from the moment she began to consider Reader part of his family. So Chloe always gave her maximum effort in situations like these, even if she never even did it, even if they argued, even if unforeseen things happened.

Even if everything went wrong, it would be okay, because she is doing with the best person in her own family, Reader would always be on her side.

Deep down, Chloe Kelly loved spending time with her wife; your girlfriend, your family.

" What about? Kelly murmured, finishing off one last spatula on the cake. She immediately brought her wrist to her forehead, wiping the little sweat that was almost accumulating.

Surely if Chloe Kelly and Reader were on a cake competition show, they would be the first ones eliminated.

" Enough with opinions for today. Let's eat it now. " Reader's tone only confirmed that the cake was not in the best, not even aesthetically.

"Yeah, it's better."

Chloe selected a random plate from the cupboard that she could place the cake on top of, and said she did. The english took advantage of the situation to immediately cut it in a triangular shape.

She placed the piece on an individual glass plate and handed it over, accompanied by a fork.

" Moment of truth! " Kelly started her bad imitation of drums.

Reader allowed herself a smile as she slowly popped a piece of the beautiful cake into her own mouth.

Let's face it, Reader would have made the ugliest face in the world if the cake had tasted bad.

" It's not bad, but it's not the best thing in the world either! " She stated, licking her lips while letting out the cutest laugh possible. "Try it too."

Kelly picked up another fork, eating the same piece of cake.

It was true, it wasn't a bad thing. To be honest, in their opinion, it was better than some low-income bakeries.

" Don't doubt my baking skills. " The player, inwardly, felt quite proud of being able to bake a cake without exploding the gas.

" Right! Next wednesday, roulade? " Reader questioned and presented a new recipe.

Damn? This feels like a game of levels, each time you go up, the difficulty increases even more.

" And that talk about making something easier?"

" Forget it, it's always good to challenge yourself. "

" Okay. With you, anything. " There's a first time for everything.

And Chloe Kelly always wants to have the first turn of things with her girlfriend.

#chloe kelly #chloe kelly imagine #woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #chloe kelly x reader #woso soccer #woso couples #chloe kelly enthusiast #fanfic #fic #fluff #chloe kelly fluff #woso fluffly #woso fluff #fanfic fluff

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