#and if anyone tries to tell you carrots have too much sugar or anything in that vein

[discombulatedwaffles]

Was bitching about this to a friend but uh I think more people need to hear this so your body needs sugar to function, your brain needs sugar to function

There is no such thing as a sugar addiction and anyone who says differently is trying to sell you something, usually an unhealthy and unsustainable diet and or life style

Can the case be made that natural sugars are better than artificial sugars? Yeah sure but like you still need sugar and it's better to have some "unhealthy" sugar than no "healthy" sugar and donkey kick anyone who says otherwise

[music-shelter-wilderness]

Soup Cure

I always find myself in the kitchen when you’re in the hospital.

At this point it's all onions and garlic—aromatic but thin, coming to a boil as I pour in the stock. I close my eyes and take in the steam. I let it go too long, until the whole kitchen smells the same unfinished way.

In my defense, I’m a good baker. I have too much patience. I spend it on watching bread rise. I sit on the kitchen floor and turn on the oven light and watch the loaf take its first breaths, no longer just water and flour but something alive. The egg wash browns and shines. The salt melts. It grows all on its own. It tastes as good as it looks.

I’m a horrible cook by comparison. There’s a lot of reasons—I’m not flexible enough to throw the recipe away. My mother is a good cook, but she never taught me. I feel like I’m running out of time from the moment I turn the heat on, yet it’s raw when I cut inside.

I can’t imagine anyone would trust me with a grill.

If it needs time in the oven, that I can do. I can leave well enough alone. I can be well alone.

I say that like I didn’t forget the sugar in a cheesecake. I stir the soup for the third time in two minutes and start talking to myself. My friends all tried the damn thing before it dawned on me, and we laughed, but most of it ended up in the trash rather than in our mouths. I scolded myself for my carelessness, for squandering a child with so much potential. I rarely make the same mistake twice, but I always forget something.

I must have forgotten to ask how you were, to remind you to eat dinner, to call me if you needed anything. I know you have a hard time asking for help.

I regret the dark jokes—telling you that NSAIDs are a painful way to go. You must have gotten ideas of valiant suffering. For what sins, I can’t imagine. It wasn’t your fault.

I cut the carrots and the chicken into messy cubes, but they never make it in the pot. They never make it back into the fridge. They rot on the counter, forgotten. Your mother never taught you how to cook.

I sit down on the sofa and sip at the broth I made. It’s under-seasoned, but I’m not sure what it lacks. Oregano? Maybe some paprika could round it out. I’m trying to sound smart. I don’t know what half of these things really taste like on their own. It comes with experience I don’t yet have.

Maybe by the time we’re thirty I’ll have figured out how to season a chicken soup. I can feed it to you when you get a cold, propped up in bed and complaining to your heart’s content. You’ll remind me that you don’t like onions, and I’ll figure out how to make it taste good regardless.

What will they give you for the pain instead, in my absence, now that paracetamol makes you sick?

Oh, right. They never offer you anything for the pain—they can’t even be bothered to keep your belly full.

I rarely have the energy to do dishes right away. Hot water makes me feel dizzy, and I already feel dizzy. Everything goes straight in the sink to soak while I lay on the floor and count the number of kernels in the shitty popcorn ceiling. I think about watching movies with you. I think about laughing and talking right through them, more content in your company than with the consumption.

I think about Sausage Casserole, the cat you want to get. I think about the 3 am breakfasts you want to have. My stomach feels empty all over again.

You’ll tell me that the paramedic was hot, you just got a little silly. We’ll go back to our procedurals and update your CD collection playlist. You won’t tell me that I shouldn’t worry, because we both know you’ll be back.

By 4 am, I let myself go. The heat is all but gone, and I’ve forgotten how it tasted. The day is a blur. The nausea from my antipsychotics is wearing off, and I can put my phone away.

I’ll take stock in the morning. I resign myself to the possibility I’ll wake to a world where you never got past broth. I fix myself on the possibility that you will have added the celery in my absence.

[gt-blendergod]

The Ward

Arc 2 Ch. 1

Part 6

<<<Prev | Next>>>

This story includes mentions of previous trauma and convoluted really really confusing lore that I’m pretty sure only I fully understand. Even though most of it is wholesome and lightheaded, viewer discretion advised, art and storyafter cut off!

Arlo was possibly one of the happiest beings alive most of the time. He was a ray of sunshine for everyone in his life, despite his powers insinuating the opposite. When he and his mama had gotten their upgrades, he realized how fancy and high society most of the gods presented themselves as. So he followed suit. He’d gotten himself a cape and top hat to look fancy. His moms thought it was really cute. Little did they know, his outfit was inspired by a REAL magician he’d watched a long time ago. He always wanted to be like him, and now he was!

And he wasn’t the best speaker. He was young, sure, but old enough to be able to talk normal one would think. This wasn’t the case. He didn’t talk most of his life. The situation with his mothers was.. too much. In fact, the first time he’d even met Vi (in her tall form), he was scared speechless, refusing to talk to anyone for days. This lack if communication caused any words he tried to say to come out wrong, so nobody ever listened… nobody ever could.

Except the little human with the big bunny ears.

During the trial, Arlo was extremely upset as he immediately recognized the murder victim as the man who inspired a lot of his style. He was also upset to find that his inspiration was actually a horrible person who did experiments on children. What a role model. Once the trial was over, Arlo’s moms seemed insistent on going to meet the scary faceless man and the little human. Arlo was also interested. He took one look at them and could tell they needed a friend. He didn’t interact with them that day. In fact, he never even got to see them while the three adults talked. All that changed though when The Playdate was scheduled. Arlo had mixed feelings about it, but was excited anyways. It would take place at ßoß’s house… apartment.. condo..? Thing. And it would just be the ward and arlo having fun while the adults discussed… god stuff.

The minute arlo walked into the room, the small human froze in place, their ears pinning down to the sides of their head as they stared up at Arlo, which surprised him because he didn’t *think* he was scary. He was nothing compsred to ßoß or Vi. No, this was something else. They were clearly paralyzed with fear but got a closer look at Arlo’s face and relaxed.

Arlo approached the ward, staring down at them. To think he himself used to be that *small?* It was weird just thinking about it. As he got closer, the ward backed away more until they were cornered on the wall. They pulled on their ears. Arlo was worried, confused, and upset about this.

“Whats.. did i.. wrong?” He tried to ask what was wrong, or if he did something wrong, but it came out wrong as usual.

They suddenly stopped tugging on their ears. They looked up at Arlo “You.. dont sound like you. You’re not Magician?”

Arlo then realized that they’d mistaken him for their… deceased guardian and was scared that he had come to… Arlo didn’t know, make them eat carrots or something?

He shook his head no in response and got down onto his knees.

“Sorry if you.. think .. not a bad guy!”

“Its ok.. i just thought… the hat.”

“Oh. This thing?”

*Arlo took off hid top hat and lowered it beside the ward. This must have freaked them out though because they flinched. Arlo didn’t exactly understand. He stood up omce again, feeling embarrassed for possibly scaring the Ward. His momma, Elise, peeked her head through the door to the room they were in.*

“Hows it going in here sugar. You two need anything? Oh! Arlo you took your hat off, if i knew you were gonna do that i would have brushed your hair earlier!”

“Sorry.”

*she shrugged*

“Well you two seem to be having fun, so keep it up i guess.”

(Ps. If you want more and sooner, get Ward lore posts in real time on the Beanstalks and Buttons discord! I’m not a mod there or anything, but it’s where I write and make my content!)

[elisela]

and eat it too buck x eddie, 1.3k, fluff for @eddiediaz the love of my life

--

“Red velvet with cream cheese frosting,” Hen says, a faraway look on her face, chin tilted up. Eddie feels the same way as he thinks about his own childhood birthdays and the cakes his mom would make, always chocolate, always with some type of filling that makes Eddie cringe now—he’s pretty sure that he insisted on Pop Rocks one year. “Everything else she tried to make was a disaster.”

“Unless it’s chocolate on chocolate, it’s wrong,” Chim says, and curls in on himself when Buck hits him with a throw pillow.

“The bakery my mom always ordered from made a really good carrot cake,” Buck says, and Eddie can practically hear the conversation screech to a halt.

“Yeah, it was a bakery,” Chim says, looking over at Buck. “Of course it was good. But you’ve got to have some kind of birthday cake horror story, everyone does.”

The smile on Buck’s face becomes a little fixed, too rigid. “She wasn’t the homemade cake kinda mom,” he says, shrugging. “What does it matter? The cake was good.”

Eddie can’t pinpoint exactly why it matters to him that Buck’s never had a homemade birthday cake, only that it does. But Buck’s birthday is only three months away, and Eddie can definitely remedy that.

Maybe.

Boxed cake mix can’t be so hard, can it?

--

He does a trial run a month out. Chocolate cake mix, canned frosting—the expensive kind from Whole Foods, natural sugar and all that shit that Buck blathers on about occasionally when he gets deep into tracking his macros. He follows the directions on the back with fidelity, watches a damn YouTube video just to be sure, lets it cool before spreading the frosting and cutting a slice for Chris.

Chris looks at him suspiciously before taking a bite. “Did you do something wrong? Max’s dad gives him candy when he does something wrong.”

“Buck’s birthday is next month,” Eddie says, giving Chris a look. He’ll stick with apologies over bribes when he fucks up, thank you very much. “I thought we could make him a cake.”

Chris’ brow furrows. “Why don’t you ask abuela? Buck likes her cake.”

Eddie stops. “I just thought it’d be nice,” he says, frowning. Asking abuela hadn’t actually crossed his mind, but maybe it should have. It feels like cheating, even though he knows abuela made plenty of his birthday cakes. “We can ask her to make him one, too,” he says after a moment. “You know Buck’s sweet tooth.”

Chris takes another bite and shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says finally. “But abuela’s is better. I think she puts vanilla in it. Did you do that?”

He hadn’t—the box hadn’t called for it. “It’s chocolate cake,” he says, “why would you need vanilla?”

Chris rolls his eyes.

--

Despite his coworkers teasing him, Eddie is not afraid of technology, he just doesn’t like how it tracks his every move and stores a lifetime of information about him, which is a perfectly reasonable thing to dislike. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t use it—it’s the first thing he turns to after Chris is unenthusiastic about the cake (although he had no problem finishing off half of it himself over several days).

Eddie’s not fooling himself—he’ll settle for good, which is frankly just a step above okay. He’s well aware of his abilities, and they don’t include baking anything that anyone will clamor for, but he can live with that when he saves lives on a regular basis.

“Why are you doing this?” Chris asks, eyes roaming over the ingredients on the counter. “You never made me a birthday cake.”

“You want me to make yours this year instead of abuela?” he asks. He will, but he doubts that’s the point. His kid is getting—too old, too interested in Eddie’s life, too presumptuous—

“Sure, but only if abuela still makes one,” Chris says, and Eddie snorts.

“Nice try.”

Chris shrugs like it was worth a shot and eyes the counter again. “Call me when it’s done,” he says, and then, over his shoulder, “just tell Buck you love him.”

Casually.

Like it’s no big deal.

Eddie doesn’t bother denying it.

--

The second attempt goes better. The third goes horribly—it tastes good, but Eddie can rarely leave well enough alone and decides his ambition is taking him to new heights in baking and that a two-layered cake is what Buck would really like. By the time he’s gotten both layers level, there’s hardly any cake left—and three days before Buck’s birthday he sets a slice of cake in front of Chris and prays.

Chris, simply to torture him, eats every bite—incredibly slowly—before nodding. “This is really good, Dad,” he says, giving Eddie a crooked grin. “Can I take some to school tomorrow for Maria?”

“Just tell her you love her,” Eddie says, and Chris’ mouth drops open before he starts to laugh.

--

He follows every step the same way the morning of Buck’s birthday. He spends extra time making sure he didn’t drop any eggshells in the batter, gets the espresso shot from the better coffee shop a few miles away, and uses the organic, full-fat milk in place of the water in the recipe. He keeps the canned frosting as a back-up and spends too long looking for the old handheld beaters he inherited from abuela so that he can try making the buttercream on his own—and then eats at least a quarter of it straight out of the bowl when he’s done before he manages to stop himself.

They celebrated the day before at the station, when all of them were on shift, with a carrot cake that Maddie had gotten from a bakery, but Buck is supposed to come over later—the family celebration, he’d called it, and Eddie had to pretend his heart didn’t give out at the words.

The cake is as far as Eddie will go, though—abuela’s providing the rest of the food, though he’s pretty sure it’s just because Chris had let his baking experiments slip and she wants to see how big of a disaster it’ll be.

Eddie’s looking forward, just a little, to showing off.

Dinner goes well, sitting in the backyard at twilight; Buck is gracious as he opens gifts, exclaiming happily over each one. He tears up when Chris hands him a robotics team sweatshirt with a beaming grin and tells him the team is a go—his school had finally approved the activity and Buck had offered to help out at the meetings and competitions. Eddie’s gift of an emergency kit for his car—he still can’t believe Buck doesn’t have one—is boring and practical, but Buck will find the gift certificates for mini-golf when he finally gets around to opening it up and Eddie finds a strange joy in knowing that he’ll be surprised later on.

When it’s time for cake, he’s surprised to realize he’s nervous. Chris—well, Chris hadn’t been joking when he told Eddie just to tell Buck he loved him, but—that’s kind of what Eddie’s trying to do. He’s just not sure that Buck will understand.

“Dad made it himself,” Chris blurts out as soon as their done singing happy birthday, and Buck turns a blinding smile his way.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he says, and it’s soft enough that Eddie thinks he might know.

“Make a wish,” Eddie says, wishing he didn’t sound so hoarse, so breathless, and Buck closes his eyes as he blows out the candles.

--

Buck’s warm against him, thumb rubbing against Eddie’s knuckles as they sit on the patio steps, half-empty beer bottles at their feet as the sounds of Los Angeles at night float past them. “What’d you wish for?” Eddie asks, finally breaking the quiet.

“Same thing I wished for the last five years,” Buck says, looking over at him with a small smile. “This. You and Chris.”

“You got us,” he says, and leans in to kiss Buck again, new and exhilarating and so achingly familiar, all at once.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 139

Day Two of the Food Festival!  This one has a specific request from @baelpenrose, which was fun to play with in the Low-Stim session (always on day 2).

To everyone who has reached out to tell me how much they are enjoying getting to see Sophia actually relax and just have fun for once.... Y’all are the best! It’s been fun writing it, too. 

New reader shout outs go to @corvallis, @penguin--person, @amphibiousuprising, @chip5-0, and I think @lostsoul8822. I think that’s everyone... If I missed you, please DM me, and I’ll add you to the next chapter.

On with the show!

The first day of the Festival, Conor and I ended up staying through not only Maverick’s shift but the one after, just so we could drag him to our favorite spots. Day two, however, Conor was on deck as Support Personnel as well as Maverick, and neither were assigned to me - for the first half of day two, we were in the Low Stim Mode, so I was pretty sure I could brave it on my own with everyone else’s proximity alerts and my own personal hyper-alertness preventing accidental bumps.

For me, the most exciting part was the different foods offered, and the fact that I could focus on just the food. Not having to ignore the other stimuli was a completely relaxing experience. The visual of the mural, with everything present, was still completely different in the even, indirect lighting. The dual nature of it was toned down significantly, leading to the overall feel being softer and overall more pleasant without being distracting.

Halfway through a very good pad thai, I spotted Derek and Sam sitting with Ivan and poking at something that Sam was clearly excited about and Derek was equally doubtful of. I circled around so they could see me approaching, and made a point to wave. “What do you think?” I asked, trying to sign as I spoke but hampered by the food in my hands.

“It was a good try,” Derek confessed, cheeks stuffed with something that had previously been on a plate to his left as a backup plan.

Setting my food down, I grinned mischievously. “Doing my best,” I signed, leading to laughter on all sides.

“You just told him you do him the best,” Ivan murmured, my face immediately flooding red.

“That is NOT what I meant,” I tried to explain out loud, over-enunciating while I clenched my hands in embarrassment.

To his credit, Derek signed what he seemed to understand I meant, emphasizing each sign. It was clear that I had gotten several out of order and added one that changed everything overall.

After repeating the signs and getting confirmation, I shook my head and sighed dramatically. “I tried.”

Ivan was trembling with laughter. “You. You did,” he admitted. “But that was… wow.” His head dropped on his hands as he shook silently.

“Souffle pancakes?” I offered, finger spelling the word souffle since I had no freaking clue how to actually sign it.

“Egg pancake,” Derek explained, poking the one I offered and contemplating the jiggle.

“It’s cinnamon sugar, and not gooey,” I explained.

Apparently I got that one right, because Derek immediately stabbed a piece and shoved it in his mouth.  The only judgement I needed was the fact that he dragged the entire remaining pancake onto his plate.

Sam watched his roommate before contemplating his own sample. Before he could even ask, I held up a cup full of macerated berries. “And fruit topping for you, sir.”

“Are those my berries?” he asked, skeptical.

I shook my head. “Bog standard, from the consoles. Your vegetables and fruits are being used in the other shifts. We didn’t want to give anyone here unexpected tastes.”

He nodded and dumped the entire cup of fruit over his pancake, digging in happily.

Ivan batted his eyes at me until I explained. “Sam’s produce has… unexpected pairings. Tomatoes that pair with cheesecake and wines, strawberries that really go well with steak…”

“The mango that goes with beer but not fish?”

“Yeah, that one. Von soil does strange things to produce, turns out.”

“Those matcha-edamame are amazing though.”

“For ice cream, yes. For tea, less so. They’re like… cooking matcha, almost.” I laughed. They actually worked better for ice cream than matcha did, oddly - reducing the sugar content but still giving the same flavor.

“One vendor on the last day is using nothing but my produce,” Sam announced happily. “They asked my permission.”

“That’s good!” I encouraged him. “They should always ask your permission to do things like that.”

“People ask with requisition forms,” he agreed. “Mona asked in person.”

Note to self: much more patronage at Mona’s normal spot, I swore in my head.  She specialized in vegetarian dishes, and honestly made some of the best fried cabbage I’d had in my life.  Knowing that she was so considerate of Sam cemented her as my new favorite takeaway place.

After a little more chat, I finally waved my goodbyes to everyone and strolled slowly to the next tempting stall. I wasn’t really in any hurry, and did more people-watching than I did eating. Latkes were infinitely more interesting when I could overhear people arguing over family recipes.  A small bowl of udon was delicious, but not nearly as flavorful as the discussion around hot versus cold, what to top them with, egg or no egg… the only thing anyone seemed to agree on was that the smiling vendor ‘obviously’ ground their own flour, because the flour provided by the consoles was the wrong texture.

Another mental note: don’t learn to make udon.  Despite what I had previously believed, it takes a lifetime to make it right, turns out.

Wandering further down, I was delighted by the discovery of something that was very clearly Hannah’s doing: demonstrations of older food prep techniques.  Simon winked at me as he carried on a demonstration of - insanely - how to hand pull toffee. I didn’t know he could do that. Muna was demonstrating the correct way to make chapatis and handing them out as fast as she was making them. Clearly, she had been making them her whole life, because at no point did I actually see her look at them, but every single one was perfect.

Laughter erupted over my shoulder, and I whipped my head around to see the source. After wading through a crowd of smiling faces, I couldn’t help but join in.  There, right in front of the entire Ark, was Maverick trying to flip takoyaki as fast as the person demonstrating, and ending up with just a mess of octopus and batter on his side.  Both Maverick and the person guiding him were smiling, though, and in the end, the vendor handed Maverick four perfectly-round balls and quickly devoured all of the - less shapely, so to speak - ones on my partner’s side.  With an exuberant cheer and extending his arms wide to the crowd, the man exclaimed “The first takoyaki of a new student are always my favorite! Nothing tastes better!”

After bowing to his sensei, Maverick turned and spotted me, face still flushed with laughter.  He offered his food to a smaller man I did not recognize, who must have been the person Maverick was Supporting, before waving to me and continuing on.  Despite the urge to crush him in a hug, I forced my feet to stay in place and reminded myself that he was working.

By the time I trusted myself not to race after him, I realized someone had been trying to get my attention and had resorted to messaging me rather than shouting. “Phee, I don’t know what la-la land you are lost in, but look 100 yards to your four.”

The hell was Arthur doing here? He wasn’t scheduled to work this shift, as far as I was aware.  Craning my neck over my shoulder, I turned to see… Apparently a hallucination. It had to be.  There was no chance in any of the nine hells that Arthur Farro was dishing out spaghetti, much less smiling while doing it.

Almost dreamlike, I found myself drifting over to confirm that I was wrong, only to be startled when he shoved a plate with not only spaghetti but two gorgeous pieces of garlic bread under my nose. “Special plates, you can’t smell anything unless it’s on purpose.”

“You… Spaghetti?” I asked, eloquent as ever.

“Family recipe.”

“Leaning into the stereotype a bit, aren’t you?” I asked carefully before shoving as much of one thick, crusty piece of toast in my mouth as I could.

He shook his head. “Anyone who tells you their family is Italian and denies having a family recipe for anything is a damned liar.”

Skeptically, I took a bite. It was amazing. “Ah ee deh rehahee,” I tried to get out around the heap of pasta I was steadily shoving in my mouth.

“Maverick is a very bad influence on your table manners,” he observed drily, plating more portions and handing them out. “And no. Not happening.”

“You know I can cook.”

“Not the point. I also know that you will fiddle with it until it is unrecognizable, so there’s really no point in giving it to you.”

Defiantly, I took a smaller bite and chewed carefully. “Garlic, onions, obviously. Sausage and minced… Lamb? But that’s probably just for this session, knowing you it’s spicy sausage regularly.  I’m not getting carrot, though, so no soffritto? Unexpected…. Is that thyme, I’m tasting?”

“Rosemary, you heathen. And you’re still wrong.”

I mumbled to myself. “What did I get wrong? It’s gotta be the lamb… maybe he does usually use the lamb? I’m certain it is lamb…”

“It is lamb, and no, I don’t usually use it. But you left several things out.”

I stared at the plate again, confused. “I didn’t think I needed to mention the tomatoes….”

“Basil… oregano….” he drawled.

“Duhhh?” I poked through the last bite on my plate, sniffing it, trying to figure out what I was missing. “Fine, you win, I’m lost.”

“Mushrooms, Sophia. There’s mushrooms. Jeezus. It was an easy one, too.”  He showed me a bowl full of what looked like cooked and crumbled sausage, only for me to realize it was the tiniest diced mushrooms I had ever seen in my life.

“I am dying to know how you got them that small.”

“With a knife?” He arched an eyebrow at me as he turned to start another batch of sauce.

“Yeah, no shit, Arthur.”

“Correct, there is no shit in the spaghetti,” he confirmed cheekily as the vegetables started sizzling.

“Asshole,” I laughed, scraping the remaining sauce from my plate with the piece of bread I saved just for that purpose. Just as I was frowning at the sauce-less plate and remaining half-piece of bread, a scalding hot dollop of fresh sauce invaded my vision.

“You love me, because I won’t let you frown at your bread like that.”

Fiiiinnnne I sighed in my head as I shoved a piece of saucy, saucy bread into my cheeks and waggled my fingers to let him get back to work.

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[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 5

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 4,569

Warnings: none

A/N: Let me just thank you for your support, it’s so heartwarming and I love you so much. I’m sorry this chapter is so long, I have no idea how that happened. I hope you enjoy this :’)

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

After you agreed to move in with Bucky and become a full time artist, everything started to move incredibly fast. The dinner went well, you worked out the details of your contract with Sam and Nat who didn’t seem surprised that this was happening.

You left your job almost overnight, only giving them two weeks’ notice. They easily found a new breakfast attendant and you even trained your replacement. You emptied your locker, returned your name tag and your master key, and went on your merry way.

Now you were on your way to Bucky’s apartment, a suitcase full of clothes between your legs and another full of administrative papers, beauty products and whatnot between Natasha’s legs. She had insisted on coming with you to help you get settled. You didn’t own furniture or anything that required her help so you figured she just wanted to make sure Bucky was treating you right.

He had already transferred your monthly allowance to your bank account, which prompted your bank to call you. They wanted to know where the 5 thousand dollars came from and you told them it was a gift. “If your friend’s looking for new friends give them my number, yeah?” the man on the phone told you.

The rocking motion of the train had a soothing effect on you, almost lulling you to sleep. You let your head fall against the window and played one of your favourite game –people watching.

There was a man reading a newspaper, standing with his feet apart as if the cart was one giant skateboard. A woman was putting on makeup, another was playing a game on her phone. The woman sitting next to you was wrestling with her toddler who wanted to snatch your scarf. It was a quiet day.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Natasha asked, her face as cold as stone.

“’Bout what?” you replied in a sleepy voice.

“About your crush on James.”

“I don’t have a crush on Bucky.”

As soon as the words passed your lips, a tiny, sticky hand landed on your jaw, making a wet slapping sound. You blinked hard, your eyes trained on Natasha who was now openly smiling at the toddler next to you.

“See? Even the baby knows you’re a liar,” she said, singing the last word.

You turned your head to look at the baby and saw him put his fist in his mouth, his eyes bright and wide. With a happy squeal he launched himself at you again, smacking you in the face. The mother apologized and held her child against her chest, softly admonishing him to stop throwing himself at strangers. You felt that. He spent the rest of the ride looking at you.

“So, really, you’re going to move in with a man you have a massive crush on, and we’re not even going to talk about it,” she pressed on.

You huffed, wiping baby goo from your cheek with your sleeve. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“And you’re the bone.”

You got off the train and walked to Bucky’s apartment, your suitcase rolling behind you. Natasha was silent next to you, something that almost never happened. You counted your steps in your head, waiting for her to speak.

“You didn’t have to move out of my apartment.”

22 steps. That’s how long Natasha managed to stay quiet for. “Of course, I had to. I’m not going to do Brooklyn-Chelsea every day.”

When Bucky had offered his guest bedroom, your first reaction had been to politely refuse. Bucky seemed like a nice guy, but what if he had a glass cage in his basement? What if he trapped you there and commissioned paintings to you? Psycho killer, qu'est ce que c'est.

Then he opened up about his past, his insecurities, and it made you long to hold him. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, the kind that only come from an unprotected heart. You realized there was more chance of you hurting him than the opposite.

“You’re the one who organized this whole thing,” you reminded Natasha.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you had a crush on him. And if someone tells Okoye this was my idea, she’ll kill me.”

You turned to her with a not-sorry smile. “Yup.”

Your big sister was like most big sisters: extremely protective. When your mother had to work late, she was in charge and she took her role very seriously. You were nine when she finally got her driver’s licence, and that day she graduated from sister to mother. Eat your vegetables. Did you do your homework? I know you didn’t brush your teeth.

Okoye was loyal, protective, intimidating, and never afraid to speak her mind. When she decided to join the Dora Milaje, you thought the job was perfect for her –the king’s bodyguard, now that’s something you’d like to put on your resume.

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Natasha asked as you got inside the elevator.

“Why are you so worried?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed her back against the wall and shrugged. “It’s always been you and me. Since first grade.”

You returned her sad smile with one of your own. “Heckle and Jeckle.”

She barked out a laugh at the memory. It was the nickname her father had for the two of you. It used to be a popular animated cartoon in the 50s. It was the story of two talking magpies who were always getting into some kind of trouble.

You stepped out of the elevator, still arguing about which one of you got to be Jeckle, the less problematic of the two, when you noticed that Bucky was patiently waiting for you by the front door. He didn’t say anything but there was an amused smile on his face.

He let you put your suitcases in the guest room near the kitchen and told you that he had to run a few errands, giving you a little privacy. Natasha hung up your clothes in the wardrobe while you unpacked your other stuff and put them away in the drawers of your dresser.

It didn’t take you long to unpack. When you were done, you threw yourself onto the bed, watching Natasha. You were excited to sleep in a real bed, you couldn’t stop running your hands up and down the comforter.

“Jeckle,” Natasha said, looking at the mostly empty wardrobe. “You need new clothes.”

“Ugh, yes,” you groaned from the bed.

When you were a teenager, you used to spend every weekend at the mall with your sisters and Natasha. Your wardrobe wasn’t big enough to fit all your clothes and your mother often asked you to get rid of the things you didn’t wear anymore. You never did.

Then life happened, and you didn’t have the energy or money to go shopping anymore.

You went to the kitchen to grab something to drink. Bucky’s fridge was even bigger than the one you had at work, and it was full of food in neatly labelled rows of Tupperware containers. The one in front of you was labelled ‘baby carrots’.

“Neat freak alert,” Natasha commented, peering over your shoulder into the refrigerator.

“Stop it.”

You took a bottle of water and sat at the kitchen island while Natasha continued investigating his kitchen. Bucky had several gadgets that few people had in their kitchen like a cutting board with suction cups on the bottom and nails on top to hold the food in place while slicing.

It was obvious that he liked to cook, and for some reason it made you smile. You pictured him cooking for one and your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. It was a sad mental image and you shook your head to get rid of it.

The front door opened and you lifted your head to see what Natasha was doing. She was holding Bucky’s meal plan, perusing it intensely. Bucky entered the room and greeted you with a smile before he made his way over to the fridge.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked.

Natasha waved the meal plan in your direction mouthing ‘it’s laminated’ while Bucky retrieved a bottle of water for himself. You gestured wildly at her to put it back down.

“No, I’m good,” you replied with a slightly crazed smile. He looked between you and Natasha with a frown. “Natasha was about to leave.”

“Was I?” she replied, tilting her head.

“Yeah, you have stuff to do, remember?” You gave her a pointed stare.

“No.”

You widened your eyes at her and moved your head in the direction of the hallway that led to the front door. You tried to be discreet but you knew you weren’t fooling anyone. She watched you, unfazed.

Luckily, Bucky came to your rescue.

“Thank you for coming all the way out here, Natasha. Do you want me to call you a cab?” His tone left no room for discussion. You hid your grin behind your glass.

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied without looking at him.

You walked Natasha back to the front door and opened it. She glared at something over your shoulder and you turned to see if Bucky was there. He wasn’t.

“Wait, I forgot to tell him that if he hurts you I’ll kill him.”

You grabbed her by the shoulders when she tried to move past you. “I think he got the message. Thanks for coming with me. I’ll call you tonight.”

“You’d better,” she warned with a slow nod.

When you returned to the kitchen, it really dawned on you that you were alone with Bucky. He glanced up at you while he was going through his mail. You took your seat and nervously looked around the room. It was too quiet, you didn’t like it.

“I like your friend,” he said, grinning. “She seems very protective of you.”

“She is,” you sighed.

An uncomfortable and strangely melancholic silence hung between you. You were both afraid to say or do the wrong thing. You felt like you didn’t belong there; like a patch sewed on a worn out pair of jeans, mending holes.

“You ok?”

You looked up at him. “Yeah, I just feel a little awkward. I’m... not sure what you want me to do now.”

“Nothing,” he said, rounding the kitchen island to sit on the stool next to you. His eyebrows were pulled together in concern. “This is your home. You can do whatever you want.”

“It doesn’t really feel like my home.” You shrugged one shoulder. “It kinda feels like I just unloaded my crap in your guest room, which is exactly what happened.”

He observed you a moment. “Well, make it your home. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here.”

“So,” you glanced at him sideways. “If I bought a few things to make this place more... homey, you wouldn’t be mad?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled up as his smile grew. “I’m begging you to make this place more homey. It’s really boring, isn’t it?” he said, looking around the kitchen with a comical frown.

You chuckled. “No, it’s not. Well, maybe a little.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said with a laugh.

Bucky watched you with his cheek in the palm of his hand. Your eyes were moving around the room, making mental notes of the things you wanted to add. He smiled, the sparkle was back in your eyes.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, straightening up.

He left the room for a second and came back with his hand hidden behind his back. You looked at him with a playfully suspicious frown as he approached you. You followed his movements closely, your frown deepening when he placed a little white box on the kitchen counter.

“Open it.”

You removed the lid and pulled out a set of keys, undoubtedly the keys to his apartment. The keychain was gleaming the light; a small silver angel that fit snugly in the palm of your hand.

You barely managed to croak out a thank you before you threw yourself at him, hugging him tight. His body tensed instantly and you were about to apologize when you felt his arm wrap around you.

You felt pressure build in your throat, a tingling sensation in your nose, and tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck. The last thing you wanted was for him to catch you crying over a set of keys. Though deep down it wasn’t about the keys, it was the accumulation of pent-up emotions and the realization that you were now completely free to follow your dreams.

You released him but he was still hanging on to you. Tight. His heart was beating fast against your chest. He was a lonely man craving human interaction. So you closed your eyes and rubbed your hands up and down his back –gently and out of sync. After a few long minutes, he untangled himself from you.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon, there’s something else I want to show you.”

“Another gift?” You sighed his name when you noted the guilty expression on his face. “It’s too much.”

“It’s a practical gift, hardly a gift at all.”

He took you upstairs to the room that was now your studio. The room hadn’t changed since your last visit, except for the easel placed in the centre. You entered slowly as if you were approaching a frightened mythological creature. You ran your fingers along the wood, your chest tight with the heft of your emotions.

You hadn’t seen one in a while, and now it was right in front of you, beckoning. “Show me how you feel,” the easel said. “Show the world what you’re made of.”

“Thank you so much,” you said, your voice soft.

“I thought it was the perfect housewarming gift for you.”

You turned to him and smiled. “It is. I already bought everything I need. Paint, knives, brushes, canvases... an easel. Sorry, I didn’t know you were going to buy me one. It’s good to have more than one though. Online shops are a bit impersonal.” You walked toward the door where he was waiting. “I miss the smell of art supply stores. It’s so intoxicating, it really gets the creative juices flowing.”

“What does it smell like?”

You closed your eyes and tried to concentrate. “It’s a mix of paint and paper, a woody pencil-sharpening smell mixed with chemicals and ash.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

“It’s heaven,” you said with a dreamy sigh.

Bucky gave you a fond smile and glanced at the keychain still in your hand. “So that’s where angels come from, uh?”

You laughed and pushed his good shoulder playfully. Ever since that fateful day when Bucky asked you out for coffee and you mistook his business date for a romantic date, you learned not to take the things he said too seriously. Bucky was a nice guy, a bit of a flirt sometimes, but his intentions were clear. He wanted a companion, not a girlfriend.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a flash, you went to your room and rearranged a few things while Bucky stayed in his office. At dinnertime you set the table while he finished cooking. You sat in front of a bowl of homemade soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

After you had practically licked your bowl clean, Bucky leaned back in his chair and watched you with a grin. You felt a little embarrassed. You wiped your mouth with your napkin, trying to look a bit more well-mannered.

“It was really good,” you said.

“Thank you. I gotta say, I was tired of cooking for one. It’s not fun.” He put your empty bowl in his and carried them to the sink. You gathered up plates and utensils and followed him. “You’ll have to tell me what you don’t like.”

“As long as you don’t make me eat broccoli ice cream, I’m good.”

He laughed, remembering your conversation from a couple of week ago. “I don’t think I can stomach it either.” He handed you two small plates and two forks. “I bought a cake. I thought we could celebrate our first day together. Is it creepy? I can’t tell.”

“No, that’s a great idea!” you laughed. “You’re making me feel like it’s my birthday.”

You carried everything to the table while he opened the fridge and retrieved a large pink cardboard box. He balanced the box in his hand, a sharp knife sitting on top. “I’m surprised you didn’t bake it yourself,” you said, picking up the knife.

“Dessert isn’t my forte.” He opened the cardboard box, revealing a three-layer red velvet cake. “I’m too much of a perfectionist. I can make pretty decent pies but sponge cakes are hard to control when you only have one hand.”

“We can bake cakes together if you want. I’m clumsy as hell but I’m willing to learn.”

“That’d be nice,” he replied with a smile.

It was, without a doubt, the best cake you’d ever had in your life. It was incredibly light. The chocolate and vanilla burst in your mouth, mixing perfectly with the bitterness of the buttermilk.

“Red velvet is my favorite,” Bucky said, licking his fork. “Blueberry cheesecakes are good too. And Blackout cakes, umm, so good. Except fruitcakes,” he said, his mouth twisted into a downturned grimace. “Fruitcakes are the devil.”

“You’ve got quite the sweet tooth.”

“You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

After a minute of silence, you said, “The last time I ate red velvet cake, my sister had put too much white vinegar. It was disgusting but we didn’t want to hurt her feelings so we ate all of it.”

Bucky chuckled. “How many siblings do you have?”

It was a standard get-to-know-you question and you knew he would ask it at some point. Yet, it made your guts twist in pain. It was a question you always dreaded because you didn’t have a clear answer to it. Should you leave Pietro out? He was gone but he was still your brother.

“I, uh,” you mumbled, staring down at your half-eaten slice of cake. “I’m not sure what the answer is.” He frowned at you, confused. “Do you... do you count the ones you lost?”

Understanding flashed in his eyes and he gave you a patient smile. “Yes, I do.”

You met his eyes and tried to smile, though you were pretty sure it looked more like a grimace. “I have four siblings then.” You took a forkful of cake and chewed slowly, allowing yourself a few seconds to clear your thoughts. Without success.

“I was adopted,” you revealed. His eyebrows rose in surprise but he let you continue. “We were all adopted. My mom lost her husband when she was young. They wanted to have a big family but they were too busy working. They both had very demanding jobs.”

“What did they do?”

“He was in the military, and she was the co-founder of an extra-governmental military counter-terrorism and intelligence agency.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Bucky chuckled.

“You should hear their name.” He gave you a ‘go ahead’ look. “It’s the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

You watched Bucky process the name, waiting for the moment realization would dawn on him. Then his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? Your mom’s the co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.” He stared at you, his mouth wide open. “Your mom’s Peggy Carter!? Jesus Christ,” he sighed, shaking himself out of his stupor. “When we were kids, me, Stevie and a couple of other kids pretended to be secret agents working for S.H.I.E.L.D. We even had a name: the Howling Commandos.”

You screwed your eyes shut, a smile breaking across your face. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, embarrassment colouring his face. “I dunno why I’m telling you this. Please, don’t tell your mom.”

Your laughter died down, and you continued smiling at him. He was cute when he was flustered. You smothered that thought as soon as it materialized.

“I didn’t know she had adopted five kids.”

“Yeah, I guess her job as the co-founder of one the most important secret agency gave her the freedom to adopt without having to wait.”

“Do you get along with your siblings?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I mean, kinda. Scott, my older brother, is a few years younger than you. He’s really smart but he’s a big goof. He left for San Francisco when I was a kid. My sister, Okoye, left when I was 19. She’s King T’Chaka’s bodyguard.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” you chucked. “The twins are only three years older than me. We were really close, but then Pietro,” you took a small pause, “he, um, he died and, Wanda, she couldn’t stay anymore. It was too much, y’know. She went to Sokovia -where they were born- and she never came home. Last I heard, she was backpacking through Europe.”

“You still have your mom though,” Bucky said with a warm smile.

“She’s in London,” you said, smiling even though you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep yourself from crying. “She’s in a nursing home. She was diagnosed with a form of dementia, something similar to Alzheimer. She has no idea who I am.”

You tried to speak in a normal, detached tone but your voice wavered and you fought not to cry. Bucky reached for your hand, your nails had left half-moon indentations in your palm. Wordlessly, he smoothed his thumb over your palm, inspecting the damage.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice soft.

Until now it had never occurred to you that you had never said those things out loud before. Natasha knew because she’d been with you through all of it. She was your best friend, the only person who hadn’t abandoned you yet.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d met someone new, someone you felt comfortable enough to talk to about your family.

You didn’t want to end the day on a sad note, so you pulled yourself together. You straightened up, wiped your eyes and sniffed back the tingling feeling in your nose. Bucky seemed to notice that you wanted to change the subject because he let go of your hand and picked up his fork again.

“So,” you said after clearing your throat. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It’s a serious question and it’s important that you tell me the truth.”

Bucky flinched, his throat working as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I promise.”

You took a deep breath and rotated your head left and right, working the kinks out of your neck and back. Then you levelled him with a direct stare.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Bucky recoiled as if he had misheard you. He looked momentarily startled by your question before he burst into laughter. When your face remained stoic, he realized you weren’t joking. “Oh? Umm, I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He seemed lost in thought for a second. “I like blue.”

“Which blue? Navy? Tiffany blue? Sapphire? Baby blue? Teal? Duck-egg? Turquoise?” you enumerated them quickly.

“Just...blue?” he replied carefully. You took a deep breath and released it slowly, shaking your head. “No, wait,” he added in a hurry. His eyebrows pinched together in concentration while he was trying to come up with a better answer. “The color of the sky when a storm is brewing. That’s my favorite color.”

You smirked. “Poetic.”

“Well, I’m a writer,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh no, you can’t ask me that. I’m a painter, it’s like asking a parent who their favourite child is.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, waving his hand to dismiss the question. “Let me ask you an equally important question.”

“Oh, boy,” you laughed.

The warmth of his laughter was reassuring. It made you feel at ease, calm. What you hadn’t realized yet was that you weren’t trying to change your personality to please him. You were yourself, flaws and all.

“When you read a book, how do you keep track of your reading?” he asked. “Do you use a bookmark? Receipts? Candy wrappers? Book ribbon? Do you fold the corner of the page? Do you leave the book face down or memorize the page number? I need to know.”

You didn’t have to think about it. “Dog ears.”

“Oh, God, you’re a folder.” He stared up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. “I think I got you all wrong. You’re not an angel, you’re a little demon.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line to hide a smile.

He quickly gathered up the dirty plates and carried them to the sink while you remained seated at the table, laughing. You turned in your chair and saw him fill the sink with hot water and suds. What kind of millionaire doesn’t own a dishwasher?

“I bet you also write in ‘em,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a hint of a smirk.

“No, I would never,” you said, joining him at the sink. “I like books that look old though. Cracked spines, folded corners, tea or coffee stains.”

“Please, stop I’m going to hyperventilate,” he joked.

You chuckled. “Do you a have a towel?” you asked, giving him a little tap with your hip so he would scoot sideways.

He let go of the knife he was washing and pulled out a towel from the cabinet under the sink. You were a bit in awe of the way he cleaned everything with only one hand but you didn’t want to sound condescending so you kept it to yourself.

“What’s the point of having books if they look like nobody’s ever opened them?” you said. “I want to know my books had a good life before I bought them. I want to know they were loved. Sometimes when you love something, you mess it up a little.” He rinsed a plate and handed it to you. “I bet you have one of those sentence pointer bookmarks.”

He stayed quiet for a moment and you cursed yourself, thinking you might have hurt his feelings with your little teasing. His meal plan was fucking laminated, of course he had a sentence pointer bookmark. When he spoke, you felt like you could breathe again.

“I do have a bookmark. My niece made it for me at school. It’s pink and it has a braided pink and purple ribbon. No sentence pointer.”

His rueful smile and slightly red cheeks made your chest warm. You had to remind yourself that Bucky wasn’t flirting with you. He was just being nice.

“I’m jealous,” you said. “I wish I had one.”

“That can be arranged,” he nodded, his bottom lip jutting out in a pensive pout.

You wondered what this would look like if someone were to enter the room right now. They’d see you and Bucky, standing side by side at the sink as though you were the protagonists of a Norman Rockwell painting called ‘Domestic Bliss’. You wanted more days like this one.

“Yeah?” you breathed out. “You sure?”

“Anything for you, angel.”

Part 6

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Okay, in the wake of the L’Manburg war, allow me to get meta for a bit. 

Now obviously the war, and the SMP server in general, are just for content. The stakes are all fictional - nebulous things like freedom on a minecraft server, sentimental value placed on music discs and all that nonsense.

Bearing that in mind, I want to discuss how it played out.

 Who were the best players? It’s clear who were the most powerful and dangerous as enemies - Dream, George, Sapnap and Punz. (I’m leaving aside Eret for the moment btw)  They all had full netherite armour, planted TNT traps and planned betrayals and ambushes to win the war. They had the upperhand throughout. Meanwhile the other side felt weak and ill-prepared and did very little damage to any of their opponents. 

But you know, being more powerful doesn’t actually make for much content on its own. What makes good content? A good narrative filled with drama, tension and excitement. In those terms, we’re looking at Tommy and Wilbur carrying the server with this war.

 The second they said independence and made some grand speeches, there were stakes. Instead of the server being a somewhat peaceful building simulator, it was in a state of conflict. Alliances were created, flags were made, Hamilton and Revolutionary war references were heard, matching skins and all that were being created. Putting great significance into stuff like a patch of tilled soil, suggesting carrying sticks instead of weapons and wearing no armour but fighting with words - that’s the sort of stuff that made this whole scenario work. Without it, this dispute wouldn’t have been able to call itself a war. They even make ridiculous stuff sound convincing - just the idea of calling L’Manberg its own separate server that happens to be inside another server with the running costs still being paid by Dream. It’s crazy but it works. 

And my goodness, did they have their work cut out for them. 

You see, I feel like Dream and co. weren’t really playing along. They heard ‘war!’ and thought - let’s win. Let’s absolutely crush the enemy! No mercy. 

Now playing the villain can be cool, sure. And it kinda worked here. But only just. Some of their actions definitely irked me. 

See, there are kind of unspoken agreements in stuff like letting people prepare, not attacking too early, that sort of thing. You tell everyone that the war’s gonna take place at 7pm and sure enough it does. And there’s Dream’s server rules: No stealing and no griefing. These rules do get bent in the middle of an ongoing battle - eg battles often involve a lot of placing and breaking blocks and when you’re low on stuff, trying to run to a nearby chest to grab some last minute supplies is going to happen (and later after the battle’s done you’ll probably get yelled at a little before making up) - but generally they are upheld. Especially when others are offstream and you aren’t in the middle of something. 

‘Ah but it was war - rules can be broken!’ one might argue. Yeah, no, this is entertainment. You don’t start early because you’re going to ruin the stream and make the content worse - and the whole point of the war is to make good content. Like, when WIlbur’s stream died - they asked for a pause so WIlbur could sort out technical difficulties before continuing. 

Yeah so Dream and Sapnap basically broke all the rules in order to win. Fundy and Tommy put up insulting signs in different languages. Funny content. Dream and Sapnap burned Tubbo’s house to the ground. Err... okay that’s a bit excessive but we can make it work. No mercy, ha. 

So Tommy asked Tubbo to prep for the war. Tubbo agreed and got to work to try and balance the already uneven odds. At this point, the war’s in a day and all of Dream’s side has full netherite and none of L’Manburg do save Eret. Time is short but that just makes it all the more exciting. 

So Tubbo uses villagers and trading, stealing a frugal amount to get himself started before really getting into it and grinding for diamond armour and makes nine stacks of emeralds - enough to place some high level enchants and even the odds a little and make the fight interesting.

While Tubbo’s offline, Sapnap comes in and steals them, getting books to enchant his own set of netherite armour using Tubbo’s set up. Well then. There goes any hope of a fair fight. And they are trying, you know. They realise the armour discrepancy so they’ve been trying to get potions but even that’s a struggle - when Dream finished his apology stream he logged on to the SMP without warning and managed to kill Tubbo before he could get away while his inventory had been full of potions. (Tommy and Tubbo had been visiting Dream’s base to put a sign in it - an offer of Mellohi for peace. Nothing comes of this sign or any of the other Tommy put in other people’s houses - more potential good content there like demanding Sapnap stay neutral in return for a supply blaze powder (a ref to the drug war that preceded this conflict)). It’s not that Dream killing Tubbo is the issue - it’s more how he logged on basically without warning so Tubbo had little chance to get away as he was mostly unarmoured and ungeared. 

Still, the next day Tubbo is trying to grind back up, to even up things a little. He’s only managed to get 2 end crystals and he has a few sets of plain diamond armour and a few books. So he grinds like crazy in the limited time, trading all his iron, chopping trees, carrots, bamboo, sugar, everything he has into emeralds. But he needs levels. He tries to go to the spawner which the other side has been freely using to grind up exp and they kill him when he goes near. One time, Dream kills him while he has several books on him so he has to trade back emeralds to get them again. And now he doesn’t have a good way to get experience so he can’t even the odds. Punz and Sapnap even combatlog inside the spawner so if he goes near they’d come online and kill him. And yeah, they’re stream sniping. They’ve all streamed very little, hiding all their preparations while taking advantage of the fact that the other side have all been streaming everything they’ve been doing. 

‘Imagine streamsniping.’ Tommy and co. said that at one point during today’s conflict. It’s cheap - it’s not fun, it’s taking advantage - one that’s not even necessary as you’re already all OP. Dream’s side aren’t the underdog, they don’t need every single advantage to win this. Instead it’s more like rubbing salt into the wound. 

And yeah, despite all the griefing that Dream side have done, not once does anyone grief anything of theirs - like the chat was totally asking for them to burn down Punz’s house. No, they just place signs and talk. 

Okay, so Tommy announced the war would be at 7pm. He logs on at 6.45 to say hello and hype all his viewers up, get his music playing and give a rundown of the situation and what’s occurred since he’s last streamed. No sooner has he logged on then Tubbo gets ambushed early! They attacked prematurely! 

...

It’s like there was one rule - war begins at 7pm. And instead Dream, George and Sapnap all attacked Tubbo at his base at 6.45. Tommy is ages away and can’t do anything and Fundy’s in trouble too and Tubbo just barely manages to save the gear he has managed to prep. They’re even more on the backfoot. All their strats are known anyway as they’ve been watching streams so they know all about the potions and endcrystals while Tommy’s side are in the dark about Dream’s side’s preparations. For instance, offstream they filled Tommy’s base and L’Manburg with Tnt which they set off to devastating effect. 

The ‘war’ is as one-sided as you’d expect. Tommy and co. are trying to attack even though they lack arrows and food and are hopelessly outmatched but they put up a pretence of trying anyway. At no point is a single one of Dream’s side even moderately threatened (except perhaps when they ambushed Tubbo early as he tried using harming potions) and everyone knows it. 

Still, Tommy and Wilbur push on - they talk, they rally etc. Finally, Eret betrays them and they’re all killed in an ambush. And they’re shocked by this twist, they react, they call Eret their downfall. (Dream’s side didn’t need to resort to such tactics to win given their obvious advantage.) and Eret being a traitor is fantastic for content anyway so it is a great part of the narrative that they all react to perfectly. Eret seems to have a good instinct for making good content as well as this sort of twist is a good addition. It works because its drama - they trusted him and they never expected him to betray them to the other side after all they’d built together. 

In the end, Tommy finishes it on a high with a dramatic bow duel followed by offering the discs in exchange for freedom. And fittingly, despite have being entirely outplayed in terms of power and tactics, they win the thing they cared about - which was the independence that they started the war for. The content - not anything material. Dream’s side was far stronger and better prepared and they weren’t given so much as a chance to catch up for a pvp conflict. But L’Manberg - they got that. 

-

Okay, so this has been long and I’ll probably rewrite something similar soon - but I wanted to highlight how in meta terms, the war was being played unfairly and its obvious that Dream’s side had different priorities - win under any means necessary rather than continue to make great content for the SMP. They’re treating it like a manhunt or something when its absolutely not and shouldn’t be. They’re lucky that Wilbur and Tommy were so good at making it work as they do all the heavy-lifting for the SMP which ensures its got a healthy lifespan. 

[lostkrbkaccount]

Bakusquad YouTuber AU: Part One!

Mina: hey, what's up guys? It's Alien Queen! Today is super special cuz-

Denki: we got a joint channel!!

Sero: wooo yeah!

Baku: tch idiots, they know it's joint, Eijirou has been tweeting about it none stop!

Kiri: sorry babe, I'm excited! Making videos with our squad!

Jirou: okay so now they you're all introduced, let's do something!

Mina: Wanna tell us the plan, Dynamite?

Baku: today we are baking without a respice. We have 2 hours to make a cake. The teams are Mina and Jirou-

Mina: yes!

Jirou: we so got This!

Baku: Sero and Kaminari-

Sero: can we put [bleep] in it?

Kami: dude you can't say [bleep] were trying to say monitised

Baku: and finally me and Ei, because I hate you idiots. Also nobody is putting [bleep] in the cakes, I don't want anyone getting high.

Kiri: let's go!

[Mina and Jirou]

Mina: we are making a chocolate cake, because everybody loves chocolate.

Jirou: do you have the butter?

Mina: no?

Jirou: I need the butter

Mina: where is it?

Jirou: I don't know- damn it Kaminari- gimme the butter!

[Sero and Denki]

Denki: here just take the damn butter- no ow- have mercy please!

Sero: we're making a carrot cake, because why the hell not?

Baku: [off camera] ugh Why?

Denki: it's not your turn to bake, so zip it blasty!

Baku: [off camera] you do know there's no actual carrots in a carrot cake, right?

Sero:.....sh*t

Kami: then why the f*ck is it call a carrot cake? This is bullsh*t!!

[Baku and Kiri]

Baku: we are making a red velvet cake because-

Kiri: because anything red velvet is sexyyy- ow!!

Baku: quick messing around!

Kiri: you bonked my head!

Baku: it won't be the only thing I bonk you f*cking dumbass!

Kiri: ohhh, me likey-

Baku: quick flirting with me and gimme the sugar-

Kiri: *kiss* this sweet enough for you? Huh baby? Want more? *kiss*

Baku: I swear to god I'll [bleep] you so fucking hard then [bleep] [bleep] you [bleep] I'm gonna [bleeeeeeeep] and that's a promise!

Kiri:

Baku:

Kiri: we'll be right back..

[Mina and Jirou]

Mina: oohhh I wanna dance with somebody- pass me some coco

Jirou: here- I wanna feel the heat with somebody!

Both: yeahhh I wanna dance with somebody- with somebody who loves me

[Sero and Denki]

Sero: so I've tried to pick out as much carrot as possible.. still some in there-

Kami: it'll give it flavour- oh f*ck

Sero: Oh f*ck what? What's oh f*ck?

Kami: too much cinnamon..

Sero: Oh f*ck

[Baku and Kiri]

Kiri: just one, please!

Baku: it I give you what you want can we continue baking?

Kiri: yes!

Baku: Fine! *kiss*

Kiri: more!

Baku: you said-

Kiri: can we just quit and go make out instead? Pleeeeaaaaseeee?

Baku: no!

Kiri: we can have sex?

Baku: you're not f*cking me until we win. If we're having sex today, it's gonna be victory sex!

Kiri: bring it on, babe!

Mina: [off camera] we're gonna get so many questionable comments..

[love-and-monsters]

Vampire Transformation

M monster X GN reader, 3045 words.

You’ve been experiencing some strange changes in your behavior recently. Can this strange man really make sense of it for you?

You opened your eyes and stared up at the ceiling. For the past few nights, you had been completely unable to sleep.

Nothing had worked. You’d never had any problems with insomnia before. If anything, you’d had the opposite problem; getting out of bed in the morning had been a nightmare. You’d blacked out almost the instant your head had hit the pillow and you’d stayed that way until your alarm went off in the morning.

But in the past week, you’d grown restless the instant the sun vanished from the sky. It was like the sun going down flipped a switch in your body and you were wired. Not only were you not tired, but you were borderline restless. Lying in bed was tantamount to torture- minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness and the energy buzzing inside you made it feel like your skin was crawling.

Every night, the restless feelings got worse until, driven by some odd instinct, you left the house and headed out into the night.

Luckily, you lived in a fairly large city, and in a decent part of it. People wandered the streets at all hours of the night and day, which mean that you were completely inconspicuous. Driven by some odd instinct, you just meandered through the streets, waiting until morning so you could actually collapse.

“Good hunting.” You whirled around. A man was standing uncomfortably close to you. How he’d gotten there without you noticing, you had no idea. But he was there and he fell into step next to you as if you’d invited him to do so. “Didn’t realize there were any others on this turf. You’ll want to stake your claim if you don’t want anyone encroaching.”

You stared at him. Was he in a gang? He was wearing a white button-down and black dress pants with a dark jacket slung over his shoulder, which wasn’t what you considered gang style. He was also incredibly pale, almost glowing in the dark, and quite slender. Nothing about him struck you as a gangbanger. But you couldn’t think about anything else he could be referring to.

“I think you have the wrong person,” you said as carefully as you could manage. The man lifted an eyebrow at you, clearly disbelieving. He seemed to be waiting for you to suddenly go ‘Just kidding!’ When you didn’t, and the silence stretched on, the faint smile he’d been sporting slipped from his face and he gave you a more piercing look.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” he said. His voice was softer, and there was a note in it that vacillated between amused and horrified.

“Uh. No,” you said. “Look, I think you have the wrong person. I-”

The man burst out into deep, chesty laughter, even throwing his head back. “I do not,” he said. “But I think I may be a little premature in my questioning. I’ll have to wait a little bit. Until I see you again.”

He didn’t so much vanish as he simply melted away into the night. One moment he was there, the next he’d just simply faded into the shadows and he was gone.

You blinked and swung your gaze back and forth, wondering if he would suddenly pop out of the shadows again. He didn’t return after a few minutes and the buzzing energy inside you prompted you to keep moving. You trotted along the streets.

The instant the sky started to lighten, the switch inside you that had been driving you to move an be outside flipped back the other way. You’d already wandered back to the area your apartment was in, but you still had to practically drag yourself up the stairs and into your bed. The instant your head struck the pillow, you were out.

You were out for nearly two hours before you managed to claw your way back to wakefulness. You only just managed to write out an email to your professor, telling her you weren’t going to be in class that day, before sleep sucked you back down.

You knew it was night when you woke up because your mind was sharp, no longer fogged with sleep. Not only were you focused, but you were hungry. Not a normal hunger, but something that was sharp and painful. It felt like there were shards of glass inside you cutting your stomach to shreds. It was the worst hunger pangs you’d ever experienced.

For a few minutes, you fumbled through your refrigerator, but there was nothing inside that appealed to you. You tried a few bites of your usual favorites, even digging up the pint of ice cream you’d been saving from your freezer. None of it was appealing. Your stomach, ravaged by hunger as it was, turned when you tried to eat a carrot.

The energy of the night was burning through you again and you staggered outside. The urgent need to move, to patrol, blazed in you almost stronger than your hunger.Something was wrong with your head. It was getting harder and harder to focus. It felt like the moments before you fell asleep- your consciousness blinking in and out. You weren’t going unconscious, but it was like your higher thinking was just fading away for a moment, so you were only a bundle of instincts.

You were so hungry. You were starving. Drool welled in your mouth. Food. Eat.

Something delicious wafted near you on the air. It was rich and savory and wonderful. Your conscious mind flickered for one moment, then blinked out. Instinct ruled your mind. You half vanished into the shadows of an alleyway and crouched.

The scent passed by you and you lunged. Your hands landed around his throat and closed with almost crushing strength. He couldn’t make a sound as you pulled him back, slammed him to the ground and plunged your teeth into him.

Thick, coppery liquid welled in your mouth. It was delicious, like biting into the best steak you’d ever had. It filled and soothed the awful pain in your stomach. Little whimpers welled in your throat as you drank and drank.

“I did think I’d find you here.” Someone tapped your shoulder with a foot. “Come on, let him go. You’ve terrified the poor man.”

You released him, spinning to snarl at the intruder. Some distant part of your mind recognized him as the person who had spoken to you the night before. The rest of you recognized him as an enemy. You bared your teeth and a terrible snarl rippled out through your chest.

The man chuckled. “Ooh, scary. Come on, get up.” He tapped you again with the toe of his shoe. You twisted back to look at the enemy and your prey scrambled out from underneath you. “Sorry about her. She’s a newbie, you know. Always hard training the new recruits, you know?”

The man made a motion to bolt out of the alley, managed to get to his feet, then swayed and collapsed. “Blood loss. Poor guy. He’ll be fine, probably. As for you…” The man rounded on you. You gave another deep snarl, making it as threatening as you could. “Look, you’re not as threatening as you’re trying to be by half. Chill.”

He crouched in front of you. His eyes roved over you for a moment. “You’re only about halfway through this, and it’ll get worse before it gets better. Calm down.”

There was a sensation like your mind was being turned inside out and you were suddenly very aware that you were crouched in an alleyway, human blood dribbling down your chin, the collapsed body of a human you’d tried to eat lying behind you.

“Oh my god.” Your voice was high and thin, almost on the edge of breaking. “Oh my god. What the fuck is happening to me?”

“There you go!” The man clapped a hand on your shoulder. “You’re back. Now let’s get the hell out of here. That guy’s gonna wake up and we’re not going to want to be around when he does.”

You were in such a state of shock that you simply allowed him to pull you to your feet and tug you down the street. Blood was still sticky on your chin, but the way he swept his arms around you and held a hand up close to your mouth made it look like he was trying to protect a bleeding cut. It at least seemed to quell any suspicions.

The man hauled you off to a small apartment tucked into a little alcove. It was shabby on the inside, full of the musty smell of dust and with moth-eaten furniture. The man seated you on a couch and fetched a damp cloth. “Wipe your face off. When you eat in the future, don’t dribble it all over your chin. It’s wasteful and really gross.”

You mopped at your face, wiping away the sticky trails of blood. You couldn’t stop shaking. “What is happening to me?”

The man grinned, revealing long, slightly curved fangs that nearly touched his lower lip. “You’ve becoming a vampire. Didn’t you guess that already?”

“I can’t be,” you said flatly. “I’ve never been attacked.”

“Misconception.” The man turned and started to rummage in his small refrigerator. “I mean, not a total misconception. It’s kind of right. Most humans that are turned are bitten. Just not all of them.” He emerged from the refrigerator holding a bottle, the sort people used at the gym for carrying protein shakes. It was full of a thick, pinkish liquid. He thrust it at you.

“What is that?” you asked. You took it cautiously and sniffed at it. It smelled sweet. “Is it blood?”

The man rolled his eyes. “No. It’s a smoothie.” You gave him a skeptical look. Was that sarcasm or something? “I’m not kidding. Just drink.”

You took a sip. It was incredibly thick and berry flavored, though you couldn’t make out any individual fruits. Something about the sugar cleared the remaining clouds in your head. “Vampires drink smoothies?”

The man gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. “No. Not exactly. You’re not really a vampire yet. I don’t know why, but fruit smoothies can soothe the edge of the bloodlust for a little bit. Something about the sugar content or something, I don’t know. Milkshakes are pretty good too.”

“I’m not a vampire? But you just said I was,” you said uncertainly. The man shrugged.

“I said you were turning into a vampire, not that you’re one right now. Name’s Marcus, by the way. I, if you haven’t already guessed, am a full vampire.”

You took another slurp of your smoothie. “But I didn’t get bit by anyone?”

“No. See, vampires don’t just reproduce by biting. We can also reproduce. And sometimes, we reproduce with humans. Usually, it’s not a big deal. Have a little half vampire, usually they grow into a big full vampire and join their parent as a creature of the night. But sometimes, little half vampire looses their vampire traits when they get older. Instead of going with their vampire parent, they grow up as a human. Probably marry a human and have a bunch of little human kids. And then those little human kids grow up and have more human kids, so on and so forth. But the vampire DNA keeps getting passed on and sometimes, if there’s enough of a push, the vampire traits can emerge.”

You pulled the pieces together. “I have a vampire in my family tree?”

“More than one, probably. It’s more common to have that side emerge if there’s a push from both sides of the family. It’s a genetic hiccup, or a throwback. For whatever reason, you have enough vampire in you for that bit to assert itself. By the end of the week, you’ll be a full vampire.”

You stared at him, swallowing hard. “In a week.”

“Yes. Roughly.” Marcus sat forward a little in his seat and gave you a smile. It was clearly intended to be friendly, but the enormous canines just didn’t allow it. “And I am going to help you.”

You weren’t entirely sure how it happened, but within two days, you were patrolling the city with Marcus. The smoothies were no longer taking the edge off your bloodlust and Marcus, after teaching you as much vampire lore as you could stand, decided that practical learning was also important.

“This is my territory,” he said, trotting down a street. “It covers five city blocks, which isn’t the biggest territory, but there’s a lot of competition in the city. But at least it has enough humans in it.”

You looked around. Marcus had kept insisting that all vampires could sense where their territory ended and another’s began, but you couldn’t sense anything. All you were really aware of was that everyone who passed you smelled really good and the electric lights were piercingly bright.

“All right?” Marcus asked. You squinted up at him. The streetlight behind him haloed his strong facial features in a shimmering light.

“It’s bright,” you complained.

“The lights? Your eyes will get a little more used to it when the changing settles down. For now, I have a pair of sunglasses somewhere.” He patted the pockets of his long coat. It swooshed around him when he moved and looked appropriately vampire-esque.

Your gums itched and prickled and mild aches suffused your body. You slumped against a wall, grimacing. There was an unsettling feeling in the pit of yours stomach, and you were pretty sure that wasn’t just nerves. Something in you was changing.

“Here you go!” Marcus slid the glasses onto your face, somehow managing not to poke you in the eye. You readjusted them carefully. They were easy to see through, even at night. “Are you okay?”

You realized that, over the last few minutes, you had been leaning more and more heavily on the wall for support. Your knees felt a little like jelly. “Um. I don’t feel very well.” Your gums were pulsing and waves of alternating hot and cold flooded your body.

Marcus took hold of your shoulder and gently pushed you into an alleyway. “Sit here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

He bolted off and you placed your head between your knees. Things seemed to be squirming under your skin. You were flushed, but chills worked their way over your body. It felt like you’d come over with a sudden and terrible bout of the flu.

Something thumped to the ground in front of you. A delicious smell wafted up to you and the pulsing in your gums sharpened to a painful throbbing.

“Drink,” Marcus said. One of his hands slid down your back and he lifted the body he’d dropped in front of you to your mouth. You lunged forward, biting into the soft flesh and gulping the blood that spilled forth.

You were much neater this time, gulping down almost every drop. After only a few delicious mouthfuls, Marcus detached you. “You’re shivering,” he said. You were, and the squirming of your innards was only getting worse.

Marcus leaned you back against the wall. “Hey, I was slightly off in my timing,” he said. His voice was pitched oddly, like he was trying to be soothing, but he was barely suppressing panic himself. “You’re making the full shift to vampire now.”

Your eyes popped open and you stared wildly at him. “What?”

Marcus ignored your obvious panic and hauled you up into his arms. Carefully, he swung you around and onto his back. “Hold on tight,” he said.

It was not easy to hold onto the back of a vampire going at full speed. Motion sickness made your head spin and you squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into the back of his neck. His smell was stronger than you’d ever smelled it before, sort of earthy and pleasant. You found yourself breathing deeply.

With a jerk, Marcus dug his feet into the ground and came to a stop. You clung to him, startled, until his hands worked your fingers loose from around his neck.

You in the middle of a sparsely forested area. Still in the city, from what you could hear. A park, then. Marcus offered you his coat and you slipped it on. “Wanted to get you away from people, somewhere relatively quiet. You’ll be disoriented for a moment when you wake up. It’s better to be somewhere like this.”

“Wake up?” Your voice was slurred.

“You’re going to pass out. But it’ll be all right. I’ll be right here.”

You felt like you were falling asleep rapidly. A tingling numbness crept up through your legs, then your arms, crawling toward your neck. Your eyes opened once, to see Marcus smiling gently down at you. Then they fell shut and you fell into darkness.

The first thing you were aware of was the smell. It invaded your senses, permeated your brain. There were unpleasant scents far away, some appealing ones that made your mouth water, and, close by, the earthy smell of dirt and wood and, closest of all, a pleasant, slightly earthy, slightly spiced scent.

You opened your eyes. It was bright. Really bright, almost daytime bright. But you could see, beyond the trees, that the moon was still out. You ran your tongue along your teeth. Your canines were extended and they itched a little.

“Feeling okay?” You turned your head. Marcus was leaning over you, a slight grin on his face. The moonlight seemed to make his skin glow and there was something mesmerizing in his eyes. “Woah,” you said. Marcus grinned.

“I could say something similar,” he said. “Hungry?”

Your stomach twisted and you nodded. “Starving.” Marcus tugged you to your feet.

As he led you out of the park, you became more aware of the territory boundaries. You could sense them, somehow, like glowing lines along the ground. It made you a little unsettled.

“You’re not kicking me out, are you?” you asked. Marcus grinned, canines glinting.

“No. I like you too much for that,” he said. “Now, let’s go. We’ve got some hunting to do.”

Together, you ran off into the night.

[princesslocket]

🥣 Made With Love 🥣

Hi hi! Before we get to the fanfic, I'd just like to say a big thank you to @ina11writingexchange for hosting this awesome writers exchange! I'm so glad to have been able to participate for this round as well as being given the opportunity to gift @hachuna yet another gift this year!

With that being said, I hope you enjoy this Hachuna! It was a lot of fun to write ((Btw this fic is also cross-posted on AO3 if anyone is interested in reading it there too! The link is in the title))

If anyone were to ask Endou Natsumi what her favorite pass time activity was, she’d automatically answer with “cooking!” and then excitedly list off all the dishes she had made within the past week. It always amazed her friends just how passionate she was about preparing food in the kitchen.

However, she hadn’t always been a fan of cooking.

Natsumi’s love for cooking had originated during her time spent managing the Raimon soccer team in her middle school years. In the beginning she had been quiet hesitant to even try making a rice ball but after she mastered the art of the rice ball, her love for cooking sparked almost instantaneously. It only took preparing a couple more meals before Natsumi was fully onboard with the idea of preparing food in general. It filled her with a sense of pride whenever she was able to witness the team enjoying the meals she, Haruna, and Aki made for them. The compliments they dished out were a great source of ego boosting as well, but she always made it point to stay humble. And even after the team graduated, leaving her with no one else to cook for, Natsumi continued to search up new recipes to try making for herself in the comfort of her own home.

Over the years her cooking had improved, albeit not as significantly as everyone had hoped for, but just enough to where she no longer mixed up the salt and sugars when she tried baking the occasional birthday cake. It was a subtle yet profound type of improvement that left Endou that much more hopeful for their future meals seeing as he had married her not too long after her cooking had started to improve.

One thing that really helped Natsumi improve in her cooking was through the aid of an old looking cook book she just so happened to borrow from Endou! She’d seen the book several times laying in various places throughout their house but had never bothered to look through it until one day when her curiosity got the better of her and she found herself rejoicing at all the cool looking recipes inside. Oh the joy she felt while flipping through the pages was almost too good. How had she not opened the book sooner?

Following the days upon opening the cook book, Natsumi happily followed the messily written instructions provided by the cook book to prepare dishes that she could only assume had been passed down from Endou’s family. She would later find out from Endou himself that the cook book she had been using was actually Endou Daisuke’s hissatsu manual. The discovery came as quiet a shook to Natsumi seeing as she had been following the instructions of the book for several weeks, even going as far to serving a boy named Matsukaze Tenma some of said dishes as well. But all Endou could do was laugh at the situation they found themselves in.

“You mean to tell me that this really isn’t the kanji for egg?”

“I’m positive, Natsumi. These are the instructions for God Hand- Wait a second! How were even able to mistake this for a cook book? I thought you knew what Daisuke’s hissatsu manual looked like?”

“It’s been a while since I last saw it okay!”

Even after the discovery of the ‘cook book’s’ true nature was revealed Natsumi continued to use it. Admittedly, the food Natsumi made following the hissatsu manual never inherently tasted terribly bad. So what harm was there in letting her continue to use it? As long as Endou was there to assist her with some of the misinterpreted kanji of the book, everything was fine.

Unfortunately, not all good things lasted forever. On one particular day an unforeseen disaster appeared out of nowhere…

Natsumi had been preparing dinner in the kitchen when it happened. She hadn’t thought anything of it at first. Ever since Endou took over as Raimon’s coach, he would occasionally return home late, so why would this time be any different? As the minutes ticked by Natsumi continued to prepare dinner. While she maneuvered around the kitchen she kept herself entertained with the quiet sound of the T.V. playing in the background.

Although she usually paid no mind to what the news anchors were saying, something about that night in particular urged her to listen carefully. She had been cutting away at a bundle of carrots when a certain news report caught her attention. Although they weren’t showing video footage of the incident taking place, the news anchors reported a massive car crash near Raimon.

Upon hearing the name of the school, Natsumi put all food to the side and quickly ran to her phone, dialing up Endou to ask if he was still at the school. Knowing her husband, he would most likely be assisting whoever had been unfortunate enough to get hurt outside of their old school. But when he didn’t answer her first, second, or third call, Natsumi began to worry. The news anchors wouldn’t disclose the names of the people involved in the accident, nor would they show the faces of anyone other than the reporter on duty. They did, however, announce the arrival of special dispatched services on the scene as well as the name of the hospital the heavily injured were being taken to.

After a while Natsumi’s phone began to ring, which she immediately answered. Letting out a sigh of relief, Natsumi pressed the phone to her ear, ready to hear Endou’s cheerful voice. With everything appearing to be taken care of on screen, Endou was surely going to fill her in on everything that had happed. It was a good thing she had prepared so much food for the night!

“Natsumi, it’s Kidou, we don’t have much time- It’s Endou… He got into a car crash and- You need to hurry. An ambulance is already taking him to the hospital but… I’ll fill you in on everything once you get here-“

“I’m on the way.”

Within seconds Natsumi was already racing out of the house, dinner abandoned in the kitchen and T.V still playing quietly in the background. She did everything in her power to get to the hospital as fast as she could but it was too late. By the time she came rushing in through the hospital doors, Endou had been pronounced dead.

Time flashed by in a blur following Endou’s death. His funeral came and went, the days following blended together a little too seamlessly and Natsumi’s love for cooking diminished along with her once cheery life. Without Endou around, she no longer held the motivation to prepare any kind of meal in or out of the kitchen. Even when Haruna, Aki, and Fuyuka tried to rekindle their little cooking arties, Natsumi couldn’t bring herself to make anything. Everything she had ever made was out of her love for Endou.

As time went by, Natsumi slowly began to store her cooking utensils away. If she wasn’t going to be cooking anymore, than why bother keep them out in the open to collect dust?

She was in the middle of labeling a soon to be packed away box of kitchen ladles one day when the sound of knocking stopped her. Setting her marker to the side, Natsumi walked to the front door. Her knees nearly buckled when she gazed out the peep hole to see who was outside.

Standing just outside the door was Endou… But it couldn’t be him, right? He had passed away months ago. She had gone to his funeral and everything! There was no way her could possibly be standing outside. As she was thinking these thoughts an almost indescribable feeling washed over her. Suddenly she couldn’t remember attending a funeral nor could she remember why she had started packing away all her cooking supplies. It was as if she was just now waking up from some type of horrible nightmare, a nightmare had clouded over her real life for the past several months.

Whatever nightmare she been under was finally over. Any trace of sadness and despair melted away the longer she stared at Endou. Instead, the feelings were replaced with joy and relief. Although the sudden change in feelings were a little unexpected, they weren’t unwelcomed. In fact she was all the happier to embrace them!

Not wanting to keep Endou waiting any longer, Natsumi decidedly threw the door open, startling Endou as it swung to the side, and proceeded to jumping into the arms of the man in front of her.

“Mamoru!” Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she pressed herself as tightly as she could to her husband. “I can’t explain it but it feels like I haven’t seen you in forever! Where have you been all day?”

“Woah! I missed you too! Oh man, Natsumi, you wouldn’t believe all the crazy things that happened to me ‘today.’ I’ve got so much to tell you but, uh, I think it’d be best if we went inside first.” Contradictory to his own words, Endou hugged Natsumi even closer to himself, thus rendering any attempt to head into the house useless.

For several long minutes the two stood outside their house, hugging each other, and exchanging a few words before wither one of them made any real attempts to pull away. But when they did, it was Natsumi who moved away. She waisted no time in dragging Endou inside and towards their dining room table, pulling out a chair for him to sit in and then rushing off towards their refrigerator in search of something for them to eat.

Strangely enough, the refrigerator was once again filled with an abundance of food Natsumi had almost no recollection of buying. She glanced a look to Endou, who at first made no comment, but as soon as she turned her back had heard the faintest of words from him.

“I guess time really did reset itself.”

From that day on life returned to normal, or as normal as it could be with Natsumi knowing her ‘nightmare’ had in fact been real but was now a part of a separate timeline of sorts. But seeing as their current timeline was restored, Natsumi decidedly let her supposed bad months drift away.

She started cooking again, only this time she followed tutorials online through YouTube and an odd app called TikTok. When Endou asked why she was following so many different cooking videos, Natsumi would claim that “the hissatsu manual could only offer so much.”

Despite her best efforts her cooking still left much to be desired from. But Endou never truly cared about the overall outcome of the food he’d be offered.

“It’s the thought counts.” He’d tell himself whenever a dish was placed in front of him. “If it’s for Natsumi, I’d gladly eat a thousand more meals of her cooking- I’d do anything to make her happy.”

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Lost/Found chapter one

chapter two || chapter three || chapter four || chapter five complete fic on ao3

Jaskier thought he understood heartbreak. His family had all but abandoned him when he told them about his bardic ambitions and he's lost more lovers than most people have in their lifetime. He knows that heartbreak hurts, that it lingers, and that eventually, it passes. But what he feels now, standing on the top of this mountain, is so much more than any of that. It's not even really a feeling, but a lack thereof; eventually Geralt's words will hit home and he'll be able to cope with the sting of rejection, but not now. Right now all he feels is a chilling numbness that creeps into his limbs.

He suspects this is what it feels like to lose a spouse. Not that he and Geralt were ever like that.

He wants to fight against Geralt's words, but he sees the anger in his eyes, anger currently directed right at him and he can't move. Even at their lowest point, Geralt never shouted at him like this.

"Right," is all he can think of to say, "uh, right then." Unshed tears burn his eyes, but he won't let Geralt see him cry. Instead, he pulls himself together. "I'll... I'll go get the rest of the story from the others. See you around, Geralt."

He won't go and get the story from the others and he won't see Geralt, not if he can help it. He doesn't care about the story anymore; right now he doesn't care about anything other than getting off this mountain and getting out of the line of fire. After that, he doesn’t know.

He turns in place, thinking too hard about putting one foot in front of the other and he trips, only just catching himself before falling. He doesn't stop to collect himself and he makes his way back to camp in silence. Briefly, Jaskier wonders if he'll run into Yennefer on his way down and dreads how that conversation might go. More than likely, though, she used one of her portals and is long gone by now. He wishes he could do the same.

When he arrives at the camp, it's still thankfully empty, the others not having made it down yet. Jaskier collects the few things he'd left this morning and realizes with a start that most of his belongings are still with Geralt. The only things he has with him are his lute, his notebook and a few unimportant bits and pieces. But it's not as though he can go and ask for them back now, Geralt has made it blatantly obvious that all he is is a nuisance.

It seems his first stop will have to be an inn. If he's lucky maybe someone will take pity on him and let him stay for free because he hasn't been earning much lately. Geralt has been taking care of that.

When he's finished, Jaskier takes a quick look around to see if anyone else has returned and, finding himself alone, turns toward the path down the mountain. He tries to work out what he's going to do with himself when he gets down, but he can't think further than getting somewhere with food and a bed. Or even just somewhere he might stay dry if it rains. He remembers the innkeeper being friendly at The Pensive Dragon and wonders if they might strike up a bargain. He's not feeling particularly cheerful, but he'd be willing to provide entertainment in return for somewhere to stay.

His feet drag, dislodging rocks and bits of debris and Jaskier has to focus to keep from tripping up again. His body feels heavy, like it's only continuing on because he forces it to and it's already given up the fight.

It's not until late evening that he realizes he's going to have to make camp for the night. Thankfully, it looks like a clear night, but there's not much shelter and he doesn't want to run into one of those things again without Geralt around to fight it off. His stomach clenches at the thought of him and Jaskier stops mid-step.

He sits down on the side of the path as his chest heaves and he can't seem to find his breath. Geralt is really gone, he realizes. No more talking around the fire at night, no more amicable silence along the road, nothing. Jaskier needs to learn to live on his own again and without the assistance of wealthy lovers because he has nothing to offer them in return at this point. He feels sick and he lies back against the uneven ground in an attempt to calm the ache in his stomach. It doesn't help.

Far enough down the path to be fully alone, Jaskier lets himself cry. He lets himself feel the anger and the betrayal and the utter despair that seizes his body. For two decades he's had someone at his side who he could consider a friend and now, like before, he's alone in the world. And what makes it worse is that maybe it was one-sided all along. Maybe Geralt never wanted him around, maybe he only put up with him because Jaskier was good for his reputation. At least he did until it didn't matter anymore.

He can't breathe, he can't think and so he lies still in this little patch of dirt, uncaring that he'll be filthy in the morning. And he tries desperately not to think about how hard he tried to love Geralt, how everything he did was to help him. Because he did and he does; he'd be a fool to believe otherwise. When he shuts his eyes, another tear slips down his cheek and he squeezes his eyes harder.

The next time he opens them, it's to the faint light of dawn. It would be a beautiful morning, he knows, but his back aches and his eyes burn and he wonders what might come and eat him if he just laid still for long enough. But he doesn't and eventually, he hauls himself to his feet and brushes the dust off himself as best he can. It takes him a long time, but he makes it down to the foot of the mountain.

When he sees Roach, his heart clenches again and he instinctively shuts his eyes to block out the pain. But he can't not say goodbye. She whinnies at him and he can hear the way she dances excitedly; it's not often she's left alone for so long and she must be happy for the company. He sighs and crosses over to where she's tethered, knowing there's nothing he can do to soothe her loneliness.

"Hey girl," he whispers, approaching cautiously. She bumps him with her head and Jaskier stumbles back a few steps, caught off guard. "I know," he breathes, running a hand up the side of her face. "We wouldn't have left you if we didn't have to."

Jaskier pulls away, leaning instead on the bit of fencing and fiddling with her reins. She bumps his head until he looks up and he realizes she's confused. "Where's Geralt, right?" he asks and the name sticks on his tongue. "He'll be back for you, don't worry. He couldn't get by without you." He doesn't mean it to come out quite as accusatory as it does and he chides himself for it immediately.

"Sorry," he says, "it's not your fault. I wish I had something for you. Make sure Geralt gives you lots of carrots okay? I know he won't give you sugar cubes and I'm sorry about that. Next time I see you I promise I'll have some." He sighs and slips his hand through her mane and she steadies herself like he's about to climb up.

"Not this time. I'll miss you," he says and as he turns away again, he runs his fingers down her neck. He can hear her, even as he walks away, stomping in defiance. "Believe me," he says to himself, "I don't want to go."

When he reaches the inn, Jaskier is exhausted and barely makes it inside before collapsing into a seat by the fire. He sets his things down beside him on the bench. The innkeeper brings him water and bread, telling him he looks half-dead and Jaskier is too thankful to begrudge him that. He asks for a room for the night and the response he gets is underwhelming.

It's not even a response, just a remorseful sound in the back of the man's throat and Jaskier nods, understanding. He'd like to help, but- Jaskier doesn't even need to know what the but is, but the innkeeper seems sincere and he thanks him anyway.

Alone again, Jaskier drinks as much of the water as he can stomach. He leaves the bread for now, wrapping it to save for later. Doubtlessly, he'll want it more then. He doesn't feel much like eating now anyway, so he sits and basks in the heat of the fire while he has it. He'll miss that, too, before long. He stays for a little while longer, but the inn starts to fill up and as people start to drink and get rowdy, Jaskier knows that's his cue to leave. Normally he would be right at home amongst them, happy to share a drink with a stranger, but not tonight. Tonight, he doesn't feel like doing much of anything.

As he slips into the cool evening air, he realizes he has to find somewhere to sleep. Again. At least it's not winter, he thinks bitterly. The air is cooling down from the summer, but it's not cold yet and by the time it does get cold, he will have bought himself better supplies.

He's only taken a few steps when he hears the wild bleating of a goat and the shout of a man. He doesn't think much of it until the goat, head down and ready to butt him, nearly runs right into him. In his confusion, Jaskier stumbles back, following the goat as it runs right past, uncaring. He keeps walking slowly back, wondering what a loose goat is doing so far from any farm. He doesn't recall seeing any on their way in and it's so far north-

He hears the voice again, shouting and much closer than before. Jaskier stops and turns, just in time for the man who owns the voice to come barreling toward him. If the rest of his life goes this way, he may as well have stayed up there on the side of the mountain path.

Strong arms catch him as he stumbles to get out of the way and Jaskier realizes with a start that the man is in full armour. He pauses, his heart thudding heavily in his chest and looks up. The man is talking to him, he realizes, asking if he's alright maybe, but Jaskier doesn't hear him. He takes in the build of him - large, his brain supplies, helpfully - and his reflexes have him squirming in his arms. He's suspicious before he even looks up to the man's face and the jagged scars down the right side of his face confirm Jaskier's theory. This man is a witcher.

His eyes are gold and share the same vertical pupils as Geralt and Jaskier panics, pushing against his chest to get away. The Witcher must think he's afraid because he lets go immediately, but Jaskier doesn't run away. He takes in his full appearance; further away from him, the Witcher’s resemblance to Geralt fails and Jaskier's heart settles a little.

This Witcher has dark hair, shorter than Geralt's and Jaskier thinks absently that shorter hair would serve a Witcher much better. He says nothing and looks at the few feet of ground between them. When he glances up, the man is talking again, maybe wondering why Jaskier isn't running away or cursing him for being a foul mutant or any sort of other reaction a Witcher might expect.

"Sorry," Jaskier mutters, finally finding his voice. He still can't quite meet the other man's eyes, but he looks up at him. The man stops mid-sentence and Jaskier mentally backtracks, realizing the Witcher was in the middle of an apology of his own.

"She's normally better behaved," he says, "well..." he casts a look behind Jaskier and when Jaskier turns, the goat is grazing quietly just next to the inn. "I'm sorry."

"No trouble," Jaskier says because he doesn't want to start a fight with a Witcher. Especially not over a goat.

"Are you alright?"

Jaskier's head lifts instinctively and those amber eyes are focused on him, squinted in worry. "Fine," he says. But it's clear he's not believed.

"Come, let me buy you a drink at least. To make up for nearly running you over. Twice."

Jaskier opens his mouth to argue, but he stops himself. He doesn't want to be alone and even if this man is a perfect stranger and a friend of Geralt's - if his pendant is anything to go by - he'd rather have a drink with him than carry on alone. Jaskier silently agrees and the man lifts the corner of his mouth in a smile.

"I'm Eskel," he says, stepping around Jaskier to tend to the goat.

"Ja- Julian."

[casputin]

Last Christmas

The morning was peaceful. Lily's boys were sleeping. James was snoring upstairs in their bed. The cat was in it's cat bed in the nursery. And in his crib was little Harry, almost five months old and sleeping soundly without a care in the world.

Voldemort was still out there, of course, still committing atrocities, and who knew what tomorrow might hold. But today was Christmas, and God knows, they were going to be allowed this one day.

Lily pulled the flour, cocoa powder and sugar from the cupboard. When they had first married, James had insisted on getting a house-elf, but Lily had soon put stop to any such ideas. Her parents hadn't had help raising her and Petunia, and she would raise a family the old fashioned way too. Of course she used magic from time to time, but Christmas was different. Today she was doing everything the Muggle way. That's why she was awake at four thirty to bake a Yule log.

By six o'clock Lily had peeled the carrots, parsnips and potatoes, which were now all sat in a big bowl covered with water. The turkey had been defeathered. The pigs were wrapped in their blankets. She was about to start whipping up some butter cream for the Yule log, when there was a mewing at her feet. The cat was up and clearly wanting to go out, so Lily opened the back door for him. A chill blasted into the warm kitchen and the cat dashed out into the snow. Thirty seconds later he was back inside and curled by the fire. Lily locked the door again.

Lily turned her Muggle wireless on. She liked to keep one foot in the world she came from.

'Grandma, we love you, grandma, we do ...'

Oh God, it was those whiny bloody schoolkids. She'd rather listen to John and Yoko's song than this rubbish. She'd rather listen to Cliff bloody Richard. She thought for a moment of her own mother, who'd always like Cliff Richard. This was the first Christmas in years that Lily hadn't bought her a Cliff Richard calendar for Christmas. Not even magic could fix ovarian cancer yet. At least she's lived to see her grandchildren.

Unfortunately she was the last thing holding Lily and Petunia together. Lily hadn't seen her sister since the funeral. Her son, Dudley, and Harry had got on well, but Petunia wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world and no matter how many letters Lily sent there was never any reply. Lily thought that Petunia expected her to have saved their mother with magic and blamed Lily for her death. Still she'd sent the Dursleys a present and a card. It was Christmas after all, a time for hope.

'So this is Christmas ...' sang the radio as if taunting Lily.

She turned it off.

There was movement upstairs. James was up. She heard him move, zombie-like, to the bathroom. There was a pause, followed by the flush of the toilet. Then - Thud! Thud! Thud! - he made his way down the stairs.

'Mmm ...' he yawned, 'something smells delicious. Ooh, buttercream!'

He stuck his finger in the chocolate buttercream and licked it.

'Needs more cocoa,' he said as Lily slapped him.

'It's not finished yet,' she scolded, 'and it's for tonight, so bugger off. Make yourself useful and put the kettle on, I'm gasping for a cuppa!'

'Yes, sir!' James said saluting. 'And Merry Christmas to you too! What time is everyone getting here?'

'I've told everyone midday, but Wormy always gets here early and Sirius'll turn up whenever he wants to.'

'Yeah, I expect so.'

As James finished making the tea there was a tap on the window. An owl carrying the Daily Prophet was there. James let it in and paid it. The owl flew away again.

'They've reported on Frank's raid the other night,' he sighed as he rifled through the paper. 'We knew it would get out sooner or later. It's that bloody Skeeter woman again - I'd love to know how she finds these things out.'

Lily finished slathering the log in it's buttercream. There was some left in the bowl. She took it, with the spoon, over to James and sat on his lap.

'Merry Christmas,' she said, kissing him tenderly. 'Here, just for you.' She scooped the buttercream onto her spoon and moved it towards James's mouth, which he opened wide with glee. At the last second she redirected it's trajectory into her own mouth. James pushed her off his lap and she fell to the floor, the bowl and spoon clattering, Lily herself bent over in laughter. The cat hissed at them, which only made Lily laugh more. James pounced on top of her, and covered her face in kisses.

'That's it,' he said, keeping her pinned between his thighs, and readying his fingers to tickle her, 'you're for it now!'

'Don't you dare!' Lily screamed.

'Too late,' laughed James, 'I'm going to get you!'

Suddenly they heard crying from upstairs.

'Saved in the nick of time,' James said, standing up and helping Lily to her feet. 'I see you're already his favourite. But, as you're busy making a mess in here, I suppose that I'll go sort him out.'

He kissed her forehead and Lily watched as he sauntered out of the kitchen, wiggling his hips. Yes today was Christmas, and it would be a good day.

*

As predicted Sirius had turned up when he wanted to, on this occasion it was ten o'clock. Lily didn't mind. They had already opened their presents - including a surprise from her sister (a rather ugly vase, but it was the thought that counts, and to Lily represented hope that all was not lost between them) - and Harry kept the two of them busy whilst Lily finished off the dinner.

'He's already looking like James,' Sirius said as he fetched a couple of Butterbeers from the kitchen. 'He's got the Potter hair, that's for sure! Don't even attempt to tame that.'

'Oh, don't worry about that, James has already warned me,' Lily said as she shoved the Turkey into the oven.

'Your eyes though,' Sirius said.

'Yeah,' said Lily softly. Not that she ever thought of them as hers though. They'd always be her mother's eyes in her mind.

Peter was also early, though only by half an hour. The cat, who was always so playful with Sirius, had to be shut away upstairs and for some reason he always hissed at Peter and tried to scratch him. He knew he was a rat, James always said.

Remus turned up at midday on the dot. It was quarter to twelve before James finally went round to Bathilda's. Mind you at a hundred and seven Lily could forgive her forgetfulness.

Dinner was served at one o'clock exactly. They had opened their wizard crackers. Lily wore a sombrero; James had a Dunce's cap, which everyone agreed suited him; Sirius had a pink and white striped nightcap; Remus had a multi-coloured, glittery Top Hat; Peter wore a red and yellow cap with a green propeller on the top, which spun madly everytime he laughed; and Bathilda had a pink stetson with the words 'Kiss Me Quick' strewn across it and mistletoe hanging from the front, which made her laugh no end. And she had wasted no time kissing all the young men at the table. Lily was almost jealous of the snog she got back from Sirius.

'You don't mind if he leaves the bike overnight, do you, Lily?' Peter asked when Sirius finally came up for air, which made everyone laugh once more.

Every last morsel of food was gobbled down, which Lily was very happy with, and whilst they let their dinner go down they played the Who Am I game with chocolate frog cards that they fixed to their foreheads. James had a very easy time guessing Dumbledore, Lily had it a little tougher with Uric the Oddball. Sure they'd learnt about him at Hogwarts, but she's promptly forgotten anything Professor Binn's had ever said, on any subject, pretty much as soon as the lesson was over. Bathilda had the hardest card though. It took her almost a quarter of an hour to figure out she was herself, despite the fact that no-one managed to keep a straight face throughout her questioning. Her own portrait on the Chocolate Frog card kept rolling her eyes throughout.

After the Christmas pudding (which Lily set alight with Fire Whiskey for a brighter and more interesting flame than brandy had ever given her mother) they had their coffee, and reminisced about Christmases past. Sirius remembered his first at Hogwarts - his first away from his family, and his first with the other Marauders - very fondly. Peter told of when he was six and had accidentally created a barrage of snowballs that he pelted his father with. His parents were very proud as it was the first time he showed any sign of magic. Up to that point they thought he might be a squib. After Lily, James and Remus offered their favourite memories as well, Bathilda, sherry in hand, regaled them all with tales of Christmases long ago.

That was the first time Lily found out that their cottage had once been home to the Dumbledore family.

'Oh, yes, dear,' said Bathilda, 'they kept themselves to themselves back then though. Kendra was a very proud and private woman. But I shouldn't say any more ... I'll have another sherry though, James, if there's one going?'

Soon Bathilda was tottering back home, and, once Harry was tucked in his cot, Lily joined the others by the Living Room fire and they reminisced about their schooldays. Whenever anyone brought up anything to do with the Order Lily stopped them in their tracks, and reminded them that today was Christmas, and as such, there was to be no talk about the bad things.

Eventually Peter left, and soon followed by Remus.

'When're you going to tell him, Moony?' Lily asked Remus as she let him out.

'Tell who what?' said Remus, feigning confusion. But Lily knew he knew exactly what she meant. She wasn't going to let him get away with it tonight though. It was Christmas. Besides, she'd had one too many Snowballs.

'When are you going to tell Sirius you're in love with him?'

She saw Remus blushing in the streetlight, though he tried to hide it.

'It's not that simple,' Remus said.

'Course it is,' said Lily. 'You love him and he loves you. What could be more simple than love?'

'Oh, if only love were so simple,' said Remus sadly. 'You're so lucky. With James I mean. And Harry.'

Remus leant forward and kissed her on the cheek. She felt a warm tear as their faces touched.

'Goodnight, Lily. Thank you for a wonderful day. I'll see you in the New Year.'

With a final, sad Merry Christmas, Remus left, and Lily, who had been up for almost seventeen hours now, kissed her husband goodnight and made her own way to bed. No doubt she would find James and Sirius asleep on the sofa when she made her way back downstairs in the morning. She wouldn't have it any other way. It had been a perfect Christmas, and she could hardly wait until the next one.

If you like this, find more here!

And a very, merry Christmas to all!!!

[vickyvicarious]

Eliot sweet talking Nana into sharing her secret family recipes so he can get more vegetables into both Hardison and Parker.

I was just going to write a short headcanon post about this but then the first line popped into my mind along with a line about Eliot utilizing his retrieval skills, and then next thing I knew this was a fic. First in this fandom so go easy on me.

(AO3 link.)

.

The carrot cake was the final straw.

Eliot knew his partners had terrible diets, okay? It was impossible for anyone to miss that, the way Hardison would just fill up any empty space in any fridge with orange soda, or Parker would get more cereal than was physically possible to store in the cupboard until there was at least one box permanently sitting on the table. He was well aware, and he’d been taking steps for a while to deal with matters.

He bought Hardison a fridge of his own - a mini fridge - and just poured out any soda he found anywhere else. He impressed upon Parker that just this shelf was for cereal and solemnly swore to her that he would never let it get beyond half-empty before filling it again. In the meantime, he filled the rest of his kitchen with actual ingredients, and always had a bowl of fruit out so they would have something healthy as an easy-to-grab snack. He didn’t put anything Parker liked hidden on a high shelf, because she’d find that fun; just small decoy portions while he kept most of his chocolate inside an old Wheat Thins box at the back of the cracker shelf. Speaking of chips, if he opened the bag of a good brand, then Hardison would gravitate toward it once he’d finished his Cheetos instead of going out to buy more, so that was just a matter of letting him buy one bag and then watching the level and timing when to get the other stuff out.

They both ate meat well enough, though Hardison liked to put in requests for absolutely sacrilegious misuses of various cuts; when Eliot humored him and actually destroyed his fish or brisket or whatever else as requested, he actually did seem to enjoy it, which was... very wrong, and disappointing, but at least the food was still going in his body. Parker quite liked some types of pasta now, and she seemed to enjoy when he put effort into plating things up nicely, but she was still a work in progress on any actual mealtime like a family (or a date. Not that Eliot hadn’t had to eat on the run plenty of times before, but - he’d had to. You don’t walk in to a table set for multiple healthy, delicious, innovative courses he’d been cooking for hours and then just grab bites as you wander around the room! He’d had wine out! Norah Jones playing softly in the background! No candles because he wasn’t an idiot, but it was clearly a romantic meal! What the hell kind of untrained toddler behaviour-).

Breakfast was easy, since they both liked eggs and there were a lot of ways to go from there. Breakfast potatoes were a hit too, and bacon, and they’d even eat oatmeal if he smothered it in sugar so that was something. For lunch, Hardison at least appreciated a good sandwich. Granted, usually only a stolen one because he didn’t like to make any kind of food at all that didn’t come out of a plastic package with microwave instructions on the side (and that had been an argument for the ages, the microwave one. Frankly most things could be heated better on a pan or in an oven, and those that were meant for the microwave were usually mass-produced garbage Hardison really didn’t need in his diet, but he disagreed vehemently and in the end that was one battle Eliot had definitively lost), but once Eliot caught on, he just started making double whatever he ate. Parker scoffed at the idea of lunch, for some reason, claiming that a granola bar or a brownie would get her through till dinner, but if he packed a lunchbox to look interesting and then gave it to her, she’d usually eat it. He just stocked up on bento boxes and made various kinds of colorful and/or childish looking foods and they came back mostly empty so that was good enough.

(Hardison claimed to have gotten jealous about it. Eliot was pretty certain he was making fun of him, so obviously he said he’d be caught dead before packing a lunch for him. He was a grown man and could do it himself.

“She’s a grown woman!” he complained, pointing at Parker, who was sitting perched on the back of an armchair nibbling away at her kraken bento - black noodle limbs, gyoza face, and grabbing a little egg scuba diver. “Sh-she should have to - this is discrimination!”

“Stay away from my octopus,” she squinted menacingly. When Hardison just glared mulishly back, she hugged the food closer to her chest. “It’s not for you, this is my little dead man.”

She popped the egg into her mouth and chewed, never breaking eye contact.

He turned back to Eliot to complain some more, but apparently that was only an attempt to fake her out, because he tried to grab the gyoza barehanded and she screeched, flinging her chopsticks at his face before fleeing across the room. Noodles got everywhere, Hardison had two little round bruises on his cheek the next morning, and somehow Eliot wound up packing everyone lunches every morning after that, and putting notes on them to label who each one went to.

He did not put sappy notes instead the boxes. He wasn’t their parent, okay. The notes inside the lunch were only ever reminders they needed for the con, like Parker’s character’s peanut allergy and how she needed to have the attack exactly two minutes after the mark joined her at the break table, or for Hardison to lock Lucille II behind him because even if he could track down someone who took off in her, he really shouldn’t have to again.)

Anyway, Eliot had something of a system down at this point. It wasn’t perfect, but it was workable for the most part. The one exception was vegetables, which they both hated. He’d tried to hide them several times, but they often picked them out or he just couldn’t stand to puree broccoli into a little garnish/dip just because his girlfriend and boyfriend were both giant babies about actually eating them whole. He had to eat the food too, and he enjoyed himself some veggies like any sane person would. They ate the ones hidden in their lunches almost half of the time, and sometimes other varieties, so he tried not to focus on that too much. Baby steps, he thought. First regular meals at all, then vegetables later.

But the carrot cake.

That was just too much.

It was cake. It was covered in cream cheese frosting. Carrot cake wasn’t anything but decadent, at least not the way Eliot made it for Hardison’s birthday. It was sweet, had just the right texture from the roasted pecans, the perfect hint of cinnamon and ginger. Not a complicated dish by any means, but pretty well near perfect, in Eliot’s no goddamn need to be humble opinion.

Hardison scrunched up his nose.

“Oh,” he said, not accepting the large slice Eliot tried to give him. “Eliot, I’m hoping this is a joke and you have my Red Velvet in the fridge?”

Parker let him hand her the plate, ate a bite, spat it out, then just started eating straight frosting off all the sides.

Eliot could feel his hands twitching. He very carefully set down the knife.

“What’s wrong with my cake?” he asked. Gave them the benefit of the doubt, and tried a bite: delicious.

“I mean... it’s a carrot cake,” Hardison said delicately, as though Eliot had made some kind of mistake and he felt a little bad pointing it out to him.

“So?”

“Carrot, Eliot.”

“Cake, HARDISON.”

“I like the frosting,” Parker interjected, and Eliot glanced over to her. She’d moved on from her own plate and was just scraping fingerfuls of frosting directly off the top of the cake. His cake. His cake for Hardison’s birthday, his beautiful cake -

“Babe, we love you but you gotta know vegetables don’t have any place in a dessert, that’s just wrong. C’mon, you really didn’t make me something else? Really?”

“THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!” Eliot bellowed and stormed out of the apartment. He took the cake with him.

.

He brought it to Sophie and Nate, since they were in town and they weren’t insane like some people he knew.

“People you’ve, uh, chosen to dedicate the rest of your life to,” Nate pointed out around a mouthful. “I mean, you knew what they were like.”

“Oh, hush, Nate, don’t you get it? They’ve hurt Eliot’s feelings,” Sophie explained. She ate another bite, hummed approvingly, then waved her fork around to emphasize her words: “For Eliot, food is life. He wants them to lead long and healthy lives, he wants to live with them and show his love for them and keep them safe, and they just rejected that. It’s not all about the vegetables, y’know?”

Eliot was never sure whether he loved Sophie best or least of all.

“It’s definitely all about the vegetables,” he said, crossing his arms. The pair of them exchanged a look and then smiled at him warmly, like he’d just done something cute.

“Fine! Forget it,” he snarled, pushing himself roughly to his feet.

Behind him, Nate grunted the distinctive grunt of someone receiving a pointy elbow to the side, then cleared his throat.

“Okay, okay - wait! Wait, all right, I might have one idea.” When he turned back, Nate was rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “You’ve tried featuring the veggies, right, and hiding them. I’m sure you’ve lectured them both to death about why they should be eating more vegetables, but that’s not going to work on them, is it, because there’s no connection there. Ad novitam is only going to get you so far, you need the, the personal touch, a little ad misericordiam if you will.”

“I am not telling them it makes me sad when they don’t eat their greens,” Eliot said firmly.

“But it does,” Sophie said lightly. She met his glare with a soft smile, and popped another bite of cake into her mouth.

“N- Well, no, obviously, but you’ve got to think it through, Eliot. Step away from the situation. How can you imbue the food itself with emotion? Not for you -” Nate spoke a little louder as Eliot started to answer, “you’re not our mark here. What kind of food, with vegetables, is going make them feel an emotional connection?”

Eliot subsided, frowning down at his own plate. That... was actually a pretty good point.

“Hm, my favorite is still that little restaurant in Paris, with the exquisite quiche. But, I suppose hard-scrambled eggs are a bit of a guilty pleasure,” Sophie mused. “Mum was never any good at cooking.”

“You too?” Nate turned to her. “Yeah, my dad could set water on fire. I remember eating from my meal plan at college - the cafeteria, mind you - thinking how good the food was in comparison.”

The solution clicked into place. (Of course it did, they’d practically hand-fed it to him.)

Eliot stood up and grabbed his coat.

“Oh, are you leaving, Eliot?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah,” he said, and turned back to smirk at them. “I’m gonna go steal Hardison’s childhood.”

.

Once upon a time, Eliot had been a retrieval specialist. You name it, he got it back. Sometimes it was actually a they or even a them, on occasion. He’d committed arson for a pair of scissors, had gathered up a scatted set of Fabergé eggs from seven different countries and two different mafias, had traveled more than once through airport security with a live frog in his pants. The business was a strange one, but he’d been the best at it. And in the years since he left, his life hadn’t exactly gotten less weird; Leverage saw to that.

Breaking into an old woman’s home and stealing a book of recipes would be easier than taking candy from a baby. Of course, Hardison made sure to keep his Nana safe, and from everything he’d heard she could certainly take care of herself, but still it wouldn’t be any great challenge for Eliot to just break in and take what he wanted. He could do it and leave without her ever knowing he’d even been there.

He rang the doorbell, and gave her his best smile when it swung open.

“Hello ma’am, I’m Eliot. Can I come in?”

(This was Hardison’s Nana, he’d never do wrong by her like that. Anyway, it wouldn’t even work. For this he needed her direct input.)

Nana was a short, soft-looking woman. Her hair was pushed back with a purple headband, and she wore loose comfortable pants and a clearly old t-shirt covered in child-sized paint handprints. She exuded a sort of maternal air that had Eliot relaxing into the visit almost despite himself. They’d only ever spoken on the phone, and he’d admittedly felt a little awkward about his plan due to that detail alone. He knew Hardison would love for them to meet her, but it just hadn’t happened yet - honestly, Eliot had been reluctant before, worried that she would find him wanting, and he’d always been relieved that no plans had crystallized into anything solid.

Certainly, despite welcoming him in and getting them all set up on the couch with home-made lemonades, it was clear she felt suspicious. A few minutes in, she dropped the small talk altogether to pin Eliot with a steely glare.

“I’m fairly certain Alec wanted to be here when we met so he could brag some more about how hot his partners are,” she said, making Eliot flush. “And I’m just as certain nothing has happened to him, or it wouldn’t be you here to tell me, so that just leaves me confused.”

She raised an eyebrow, letting him take his time responding.

He looked down at his lap. Ran a hand through his hair, feeling... not less confident that he’d get those recipes by the end of this visit, but certainly more bashful about it.

“Uh. Yes ma’am,” he said. Quickly corrected himself, remembering her insistence over the phone, “uh, Nana. See, he doesn’t actually... know I’m here...”

“I’d guessed as much,” she said wryly.

“Right. Um, I actually wanted to ask you something. There’s something I want to do for him - well, for them - but I need your help to do it right.”

She stared him down a moment longer. Then her eyes widened, and she sat back in her seat with a little gasp, hand over her heart.

“Oh, Eliot,” she said warmly, leaning forward again to grab his hand and hold it between hers, “Oh, sweet boy, of course he’ll say yes. You should hear the way he talks about you, Alec’s been head over heels for years. I may not have met Parker personally, but I’m sure she will too. You don’t have anything to worry about, trust me on that.”

“What?” he croaked. “I... w-what?”

His voice broke in his throat. He wanted to yank away but he felt frozen in place. He didn’t understand how she’d - okay, no, he could easily see how she would draw the wrong conclusions from this situation, but they were the wrong conclusions! He’d never even considered marriage since Aimee, let alone proposing to Parker and Hardison. It wasn’t like a three-way marriage was even legal, and even if it were he would never. It was too much - not too much commitment, he’d already promised the rest of his life to them both, but still too much, somehow. He’d never dare.

“I know Alec doesn’t think too much of the institution in general,” Nana said, waving a dismissive hand, “but if you do he’ll understand that. He might not need it but he won’t say no if you ask, hon. I can promise you that.”

Eliot meant to deny the very idea. Instead what came out of his mouth was a shaky:

“...Are you sure?”

.

Hardison’s Nana - his Nana too, she insisted, even after Eliot finally managed to clear up the misunderstanding - was truly a gem of a woman. He could see so much of who Hardison had turned out to be in her kindness, her cleverness, her sense of humor. She’d broken out the picture albums for him, and had even kindly let him keep one photo of a gaptoothed little Alec in a horrible bowl cut, grinning proudly and brandishing a blue ribbon next to his science project. To Eliot’s complete lack of surprise, he’d won every year with zero competition from his peers.

(He told her that he wanted the picture to make fun of Hardison with. It was true, but she still just patted him on the shoulder and told him to keep it. Didn’t say a word when he tucked it into his wallet with unnecessary care.)

They talked for a long time. She gave him a journal to copy directly from her personal recipe book, a lovely clothbound thing spattered with grease and burnt at one edge, smelling of spices and old paper; clearly well used. She told him it was passed down from her mother, who’d put in lots of her mother’s recipes. Eliot took notes as she talked him through every one. He had a good memory but he didn’t want to miss a thing, and her recipes as written were bare bones. He could cook a delicious meal from them easily enough, but it wouldn’t have her heart in it, not like what he wanted to make.

Just talking could only do so much, and eventually they found themselves in the kitchen, demonstrating techniques and favored spice blends. It was nice, just in and of itself. Eliot rarely got to talk shop with other cooks, and it had been a long time since he’d eaten anything home-made by someone else. Nana never went to school for this stuff, but clearly her long years of experience carried their own weight, because she knew what she was talking about. 

It was late in the night by the time Eliot left her house, feeling himself flush to his ears as she kissed him on the cheek before waving until he’d driven away. And this after wrapping him up in a tight, warm hug just inside the front door.

“Alec’s done well for himself,” she said, and winked. “Now, next time I want you to bring that young lady of yours as well, you hear me? Make that a promise.”

“I will,” he said.

.

It was nearly three AM by the time he got home. Parker crashed out of the dark the second he stepped inside, clinging to him as he caught her midair.

“You made Hardison sad on his birthday,” she told him sternly, and headbutted him hard on the temple. As he winced, she pressed her nose down against his shoulder and took a long sniff. “You smell like lemons.”

“You made me sad on Hardison’s birthday,” Eliot sighed. “I mean, mad.”

“Doesn’t matter, you made him sad so I’m not sorry,” she said, and snuggled close.

Eliot carried her through the apartment, avoiding bumping into any furniture through the ease of experience, and into the bedroom. Hardison was sprawled across the mattress, fast asleep with a frown.

Setting Parker down, Eliot got undressed and climbed into the bed. He scooted behind Hardison, leaning up on an elbow to swipe a gentle thumb over the furrow between his brows. It came back, so he wiped at it again, and kissed Alec’s shoulder when he huffed a little and his face relaxed. Eliot kissed him one more time, then lay down behind him with an arm draped over his side.

Rather than going around the bed to the free space on Hardison’s other side, Parker crammed herself onto the mattress right behind Eliot, pushing him further into Hardison and determinedly spooning him.

He craned his neck up to look at her in the dark. She met his gaze solemnly and squeezed tighter, slipping a leg between his.

Eliot fell asleep warm, entangled in the two loves of his life.

.

He woke stinking hot, still entangled but a lot less happy about it. This happened every time he slept in the middle; he didn’t know why he kept letting it happen. Every single time he’d wake abruptly, heart thrumming in an instinctive alert to something wrong... Only to realize that something was just Parker drooling on his ear, or Hardison’s morning breath in his face, and (every time) both their limbs all wrapped up around him and each other in a very sweet, sweaty, and constricting mess.

The first few times he’d suffered through it, unwilling to wake them. Still basking in the fact that he was here, that he got to be a part of this. But Hardison slept like the dead, and Parker had the ability to wake up and go back to sleep pretty much indefinitely, so Eliot had no compunctions about shoving them aside anymore. He also knew that the other two were night owls who would happily sleep in to eight or even ten if left undisturbed. Eliot woke habitually at five regardless of how late he’d been up, maybe six at the latest; morning snuggles just really weren’t practical.

He wriggled free, clambering over Parker and catching her when the bed dipped and she nearly fell to the floor. Her eyes shot open, clocked him, then dropped shut as she went right back to sleep. He left them there and went to go take a shower, then wandered into the kitchen, grabbing up his new cookbook from his jacket pocket on the way.

Eliot was operating on only a couple hours of sleep; Nana didn’t exactly live next door, and he was frankly lucky he’d got out the cake relatively early in the afternoon, to be able to catch her awake at all. It wasn’t like he’d ruined Hardison’s whole birthday, just that last part they’d set aside for the three of them. They had already hung out with Nate and Sophie in the morning, and Hardison had a long phone call with Nana even before that. Parker had even given Hardison her present: a little statuette originally from a museum in Delhi if Eliot wasn’t mistaken. It was some god or something, but bore a striking resemblance to an Ewok, a detail she’d correctly guessed Hardison would love. He’d been planning on giving his present after the cake, at which point they were going to, on Hardison’s specific request, have a very normal and boring date at home. There had been a lot of jobs lately, so that must have tied into his desire for domesticity - that and ‘birthday rights’ to force them to watch all his nerd movies and lose at various video games.

They hadn’t planned anything for today either, so it wasn’t like those plans couldn’t still happen... And in fact yesterday hadn’t even been Hardison’s real birthday, just the replacement day they’d agreed to celebrate on when a con ran through the actual day. But in the cold light of day he felt a lot more stupid about taking a vegetable-related risk on Hardison’s cake, and then reacting stupidly when they didn’t like it. To be fair, he hadn’t considered it a risk at all, hadn’t even been thinking of his ongoing quest to feed them better so much as the fact that carrot cakes were good and he knew Hardison liked cream cheese frosting - but still. Sophie may have hit the nail on the head, but it was still a stupid and immature nail to let get in the way like he’d done.

He had to at least try to make it up to him.

Accordingly, the breakfast casserole Eliot put together was about as far removed from a healthy meal as any non-dessert in Nana’s cookbook. A baked blueberry French toast creation with lots of sugar, it actually was more of a dessert than anything else. It also took hours in the fridge, but that was alright; not the first time Eliot getting up so much earlier came in handy.

He took the time that it spent in the fridge to clean the apartment. He got out his gift to Hardison, swept and mopped and watered all the plants. Did some laundry, meditated a bit. Pretty much just puttered around for hours, steadily feeling worse and worse about his outburst the day before. Parker had been accepting if not forgiving, and didn’t need an explanation; Hardison might not feel the same. Eliot didn’t expect him to; he was the one clearly in the wrong. He really couldn’t regret the outcome of meeting Nana and getting her recipes, but it should have been on any other day.

He managed to time the casserole just to when the other two got up; just as Eliot pulled it from the oven, Parker wandered into the room.

“Ooh!” she said, and approached with a clear intent to stick her fingers directly into the hot food. Eliot intercepted her with a glare and a whap with his oven-mitt. She retaliated with a vicious pinch to the back of his hand and grabbed a blueberry off the top, tossing it into her mouth and wincing as she burnt herself chewing it.

“Quit that, it’s Hardison’s,” he told her.

“Hardison!” Parker yelled in what appeared to be terror, because of course she would. “I need your help right now!”

He came tumbling into the room, still only half-dressed and clumsily wielding Parker’s taser at the couch. When he saw only the two of them calmly watching him, he attempted to hide it behind his back.

“Oh hey, what’s up everyone,” he said nonchalantly. “Breakfast? Awesome. Smells like something Nana used to make.”

Parker went over and kissed him as she stole the taser out of his hand. She held it up in front of his face.

“Mine,” she scolded.

“Hey, I was ready to defend your life,” Hardison said, mock-offended. “What, you want me to run into an ambush empty-handed? Come on, baby, look who you’re talking to.”

“If you’d let Eliot teach you MMA like me then -”

“Then what, you’d use it as an excuse to choke me out again? I know what you’re after, I recognize that look in your eyes -”

“Hey, come’n eat.” Eliot put two full plates of breakfast  casserole down on the island. He braced himself, ready for Hardison to keep giving him the silent treatment or outright call him out on his behavior.

It didn’t happen.

“Morning Eliot,” he said as he came over to grab a stool. He leaned across the island; when Eliot was too surprised to meet him halfway, he rolled his eyes and reached out a hand to grab his face and pull it close enough for a quick kiss. Then he plopped down into his seat, inhaling deeply at his food. “Oh man, this smells exactly like Nana’s Blueberry Thing, I loved that as a kid. How’d you know?”

Eliot slowly sank down from his tiptoes. His stomach hurt a little from being yanked up against the edge of the island, his lips still felt the impression of Hardison’s. He... really didn’t understand.

“Uh, Nana said you liked it best,” he replied a little too woodenly. Neither of his partners seemed to notice.

“You been talkin’ to her without me?” Hardison asked, before taking a bite and moaning. It wasn’t a sex moan - Eliot knew what those sounded like - but it was damn near. “Did you turn into her? What the hell, this is it, this is the Blueberry Thing!”

Parker was at her own plate the moment Eliot said Nana; she was always fascinated by any mention of the woman, and would probably taze him for meeting her first. Right now, she was digging into her own plate, eyes closed.

Eliot cut himself a serving too and sat down to eat with them. He felt tentative, somehow, embarrassed.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Went to talk to her last night. Got some recipes.”

The food was good. Sweet, warm, filling; clearly a comfort meal. He dug in.

When he looked up, Parker and Hardison were both staring at him. She opened her mouth, paused, and then fell silent with a glance to Hardison. He was staring at Eliot, mouth open.

“What the hell, hon?”

Eliot clenched his jaw. He knew what he should say. He’d spent all morning prepping himself to say it.

“...You never opened my present,” he said instead.

Hardison squinted at him.

“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna without you there,” he said pointedly.

“Right, well, here,” Eliot said and shoved it his direction before going back to his food. He could feel them staring at him but didn’t lift his head, kept shoveling bite after bite into his mouth as he heard Hardison final tearing at the wrapping paper, grumbling incoherently to himself.

A moment later, the angry mumbles got louder when he opened the first box to reveal the second one.

By the time Hardison got down to the final layer, a small paper booklet six boxes in, Parker was snickering rudely and his muttering was about half swear-words. Eliot still didn’t look up, kept waiting until Hardison actually read the gift.

(He’d thought it would be funny, obviously. He’d thought it would be hilarious, to watch Hardison getting more and more irritated by the wrapping paper. And he knew the gift itself wasn’t anything much, but Eliot usually prided himself on being good at getting people things they didn’t know they wanted, or didn’t think they’d ever get. He knew it was childish and kind of stupid right from the jump, but money didn’t really mean too much to Hardison, and he was confident he’d love this.

After his behavior last night, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Immaturity took on a different tone right now.)

“‘Eliot Tickets,’“ he heard Hardison read off slowly, then - “no.”

He glanced up sharply, but it’d been a sound of delight. Hardison’s eyes were wide and he was flipping through the pages rapidly with an ever-widening grin.

“No nerd jokes for twenty-four hours, back massage, favorite food, favorite sex, get-out-of-scolding free, dessert for dinner, oh my god Comic-Con?! Get to play with your hair, get to pick your cover, computer lessons, videogames, sleeping in, what kind of goldmine is this -”

Parker leaned over his shoulder as he kept going, pointing out her favorites as they worked their way quickly through the rest of the little booklet. It wasn’t horrendously long, but long enough: one ticket for every year. Twenty-eight in all.

Twenty-nine, including the piece of paper Eliot had slipped in front of the last page at seven-thirty this morning, before carefully re-wrapping every box.

“‘One I’m sorry,’” Parker read out loud. She met Eliot’s eyes as she asked, “Are you gonna use it?”

Hardison hummed thoughtfully, then picked it up to reveal the last page.

“No, I’mma save this for just the right time,” he said, waving it in the air. He looked Eliot in the eye and smirked meaningfully. “You messed up, man, you didn’t put an expiration date on any of these.”

“Dammit,” Eliot grumbled, like he’d just realized.

(It hadn’t been a mistake.)

“Don’t need that right now anyway,” Hardison continued, tucking it back into the middle of the book. “This, on the other hand - this one I’m cashing in now.”

Eliot took the little piece of paper Hardison ripped free. He sighed.

“Really?”

“Hell yes, now get in here - and no complaining, them’s the rules you made your own self. You too, Parker, c’mere.”

Eliot stood up and rounded the island, halting with a sigh just before reaching Hardison, who stood to meet him. He ripped the coupon in half.

“All right, here goes.”

Tucking the pieces into his pocket, Eliot stepped forward into Hardison’s outstretched arms, tucking himself in close and hugging him back tightly. A moment later, he felt Parker collide with them both, one arm over his shoulders and a leg around his hips. He sighed again, this time into Hardison’s shoulder, and let himself sway when they did, a gentle rock back and forth.

He closed his eyes when they started to sting.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into Hardison’s shoulder after a long minute. “Shouldn’ta left.”

“That does not count, Eliot,” Hardison told him firmly, and didn’t let go. “I did not use my coupon, I still got my coupon, you aren’t getting out of anythin’ with that you hear me?”

Parker snickered behind him.

“Not getting out of anything at all,” she said, and squeezed tighter. “We’ve got you trapped.”

.

(The next time he fed them vegetables, it was a Nana recipe and Hardison ate without complaint. Parker ate because she wanted to know what it felt like to be a little Hardison, and proclaimed the experience ‘like one of my harnesses’ which was obviously a very positive review.

The next time he fed them vegetables and it wasn’t a Nana recipe, they exchanged a look and then each ate exactly half of their servings. The rest they snuck back onto Eliot’s plate one bite at a time like he wouldn’t notice. He let them get away with it and looked down at everyone’s empty plates afterward with a weird content feeling relaxing his shoulders.

The next time he saw Nana, her words on Hardison’s bragging proved embarrassingly correct. She and Parker got along like a house on fire, and if left alone too long would probably cause a house on fire, and Hardison just watched them with a giant grin like he didn’t see the danger. Nana asked Eliot if he’d considered what they talked about last time right in front of them both, proving beyond all doubt that she shared Hardison’s love of driving him goddamn crazy for fun.

The next carrot cake he made was for Sophie and Nate. He refused to call it a thank you, but she did and also asked him to make that little French quiche she’d talked about like she honestly expected “it had spinach, I think, something green anyway, it was very light, and some kind of unexpected spice too?” would be enough to go on. Nate was no help whatsoever.)

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from Scream Queens Ep 4 "Haunted House" (Note: Offensive content, use at own discretion)

A girl died in this tub.

There's no record of any of these names except for one.

Oh, my god, there's two of them!

I own Halloween. It's my jam.

Halloween is the most important day of the year. It's the one day on the Gregorian calendar where you're allowed to go around terrifying children and not be branded a psychopath.

I am a future network news anchor who's super classy and has almost no fat on her body.

A lot of my fans are, like, friendless dumpy coeds at this or that nursing school in one of this country's various national armpits.

They put down their hot pockets and bask in the warm glow of what it feels like to love me.

I went shopping with my comatose grandmother's credit card and bought presents.

Oh, my god, it says my name!

I hope the severed leg brightens up your trailer park.

You're a bright light in my life, and I wanted you to know how much you impress me with your frumpy spirit.

You are so devastatingly mediocre and adorable!

I can't wait to see you in person, but before that, I'd like to see you post this all over social media, to exploit it for my own gain.

Aah! It's a rotting jack-o'-lantern!

Aah! This box is just filled with blood!

She got me a razor apple!

I stole this cadaver head from an ophthalmology student just for you.

You're the most important person in the world.

So you didn't see anyone in a red devil costume entering or leaving the house?

Are you coming to the precinct pig roast this year?

Come on, she's obviously the killer!

Do you mean to suggest I changed out of my nightgown, strapped myself into a skintight pleather red devil costume, climbed out a second-story dormer, and shimmied to the ground with a chain saw before entering a window I had left open, tried to kill you, then leapt out the window, climbed back up the wall, changed back into my nightgown,

and raced downstairs, all in the course of about 90 seconds?

Clearly that's got you a little freaked out.

I'm not gonna hold any of this against you, and I'm gonna let you be my date for the faculty Halloween party.

Attempted murder!

A guy was almost killed tonight, okay?

Now, no, I'm not a detective, hell, I ain't even a cop, but what I am is somebody who watched every one of those Cosby mysteries, okay?

See? Dismemberment!

I am so sorry that I pushed you out of my car and drove off real scared.

I just can't believe that How To Lose A Guy In 10 days is your favorite movie, too.

In precisely two and half minutes when we go in there, you let me do all the talking.

What are you dressed as?

Oh, you have a squirrel. Don't see that much anymore.

Breakfast is almost ready, we got meat today.

What can you tell us about that night?

Now, we will keep your name out of it, of course.

'm a vault,

And to get in this vault you need a key. Now, you may ask, a key to what? It's a key to meaning. Once you've found the meaning, you don't need the words. You know what I'm saying?

Please, continue with your story.

Have any of you ever heard of "negligent homicide"?

We need to dispose of this body on our own. Now, I've got everything we need in the kitchen to make sausages out of her.

I'm gonna go downstairs, shut this party down, and then we'll get the body out of here.

Somebody has to watch after the baby.

Can you at least turn on the radio?

Just leave the details to me.

We can't just act like this never happened.

She's the devil, that one.

I looked at that baby up close. I know my peas and carrots. That baby was a girl.

Your support doesn't matter.

My campaign needs a theme?

My pumpkin's drunk.

I'm hosting a haunted house to raise money for sickle cell anemia.

Why are you holding a fund-raiser, though?

I don't think you understand the magnitude of the miscalculation you just made.

I can assure you you will not be winning an election anytime soon. And when you lose, I am gonna make it my lifelong passion to destroy your reputation.

You're a stuck-up little sociopath, and everybody in this room knows it.

It might behoove you to recall that everyone here witnessed you actually murder someone

Just sharpening knives.

Put the knives down.

I don't know what came over me.

How very adolescent of you to think of this.

It vaguely smacks of something my six-year-old sister would be excited about.

It's the most disgusting disease in the history of mankind.

You get it when you don't even understand the most basic tenets of oral hygiene.

Just give the dang thing its pot of gold already!

I ain't got no candy!

Bet you're a sexy dirt-covered girl. That's what I bet you are.

Sometimes I come out here and I just rub my hands on the gravestones.

I get you more than anyone.

I also find the thought of dead bodies extremely arousing.

I just don't understand why I have all these dark feelings.

You know, I just think our generation's had it too easy, you know? We haven't seen enough horrible stuff. There's no awesome diseases randomly killing people. There's not really any awesome wars to go off to and witness horrific things you can't unsee. We, like, pulled out of all of 'em.

Sometimes I just don't even feel like I'm living, you know?

The only time I feel anything is when I'm thinking about chopping up a body.

And here you are, saddled up with an uptight girlfriend who freaked out for no other reason than the fact that you just wanted to fantasize about having sex with her lifeless corpse.

Oh, my god, I got a total chub right now.

Not scary enough.

She'll let you in the back door.

What could be scarier for an adult than a child coming to murder them?

Isn't that all of our greatest fear? That the pain, the regrets, the mistakes of our youth will destroy us in our adulthood? That we can't escape our inner child. One we would rather forget, but who, at the end of the day has all the power.

Why are you lying to me?

Something does not make sense.

You got to give me more here, okay?

I don't understand what you're getting at.

Are you on bath salts?

Why are we even here?

This house is haunted.

There's a legend in this neighborhood about a woman who wailed about her dead children. And this was the house she lived in.

These dumb ol' kids are smoking crack.

I think it's incredible what you can find out with just a quick trip down to your local library.

This can be one of the rooms for the haunted house.

What exactly do you plan on doing at this haunted house?

I was thinking we could blindfold folks and make 'em put their hands in a bowl full of grapes we peeled, so it'll feel like eyeballs.

I think the reason you want to have a haunted house party is 'cause a haunted party is like a buffet for murderers.

Yeah, yeah, you can just go around killing anybody you want and ain't nobody even gonna even notice.

Just like you chopped the arms off that dumb-ass golf guy.

Why do you have it out for me?

So now you look at me and see everything you could've been.

I hope you have a good time at you haunted party and get to murder lots of folks.

You have this way too thought out.

Isn't this kind of nice?

My sense of personal identity is completely external.

I really don't have much to offer.

I've found that my particular style of speaking and gesticulation is extremely off-putting to most boys. And girls. And anyone.

I need to eat. My blood sugar is crashing.

I'm tired of depriving myself of joy and sustenance.

I may die at the end of a serial killer's blade, but I refuse to die hungry.

Which one of you ladies would like to be my costume for Halloween? I'm going as "dude having awesome sex with you."

I mean, what in the hell's wrong with the world where a guy can't even whistle at a chick just to tell her she looks hot?

I recently took a women's studies class. Yes, because it was a requirement, but I learned a lot anyways. Like the culture that says it's okay for a man to objectify a woman for her appearance is the same culture that pressures girls as young as ten to have eating disorders.

So you're basically saying I'm the one responsible for making you look hot?

When you treat us like meat, you're no better than him!

I'm not really sure how you got my number, but I like how you took the initiative and texted me where you wanted us to meet.

Do you think you're man enough to take me inside that house and attack my crack?

I'll sure this house has an amazingly romantic basement.

Hey, so, uh, a little awkward since we're about to bone down and everything, but, um, what's your name?

Smells like roadkill.

I've never been so scared in my whole life.

All right, if we go to the police, they're gonna see I'm still rocking a mad sidepipe, and they're gonna think I had something to do with it.

We have to warn people.

All right, everybody listen up! All of your lives are in danger!

There are dead bodies! Dead bodies. Real-life dead bodies.

Did you say dead bodies?

Those are like the most lifelike dead bodies I've ever seen.

Is that a real dead body?

There are five dead bodies in that house. Laid out in horrible and deliberate macabre poses.

You are not leaving this house tonight.

You make it harder and harder to believe that you're not the killer.

I found out something really interesting, and now I have a theory.

Everything is weird about that story.

I mean, it's too big a coincidence.

We have to figure out who that woman was.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Consequences, part 2

Catelyn and Ned decided to walk different ways after their relationship of three years, for good reasons. Ever since that Catelyn have kept a secret from him. When she one day, ten years later, decides that she should tell him they meet for the first time since the breakup. It takes them no time at all to fall back into old habits. The problem is that Ned is married, and that Catelyn is still keeping that damn secret. The only thing they can be sure of is that actions have consequences.

This feels incredibly messy, but I hope it’s worth the read. Enjoy!

“Mom!” Robb called from the kitchen.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Did you have a guest here?”

Catelyn froze. What exactly had Ned forgotten? Whatever it was she would have to return it, and that wouldn’t exactly work with his wife. That goddamn wife. Catelyn knew she and Ned shared the blame for what had happened, Ashara was just the victim, but still she felt annoyed by her. She knew that she was terrible for it, she had stolen Ashara’s husband and did only feel a little bad about it. The thing was that things would have been so much easier if Ashara had not been there. She was in the way.

”Yes, why?”

Robb came into the living room with a piece of paper in one hand. He came over to the couch, sat down next to her and handed it to her. There was a phone number on it, and a short note. How had she not seen that earlier?

I know what we said, but if you change your mind... you just need to call

Love, N

“What does it mean, Mom?”

Damn him. Tempting her. Teasing her. Dangling the carrot right in front of her nose and begging her to take it. He wanted it, but he needed her to make the next move. Was it to make him feel better about cheating on his wife? Did he think he would have no blame in doing it again if it was she that contacted him?

She hated herself a bit for wanting to. She hated herself for that she immediately thought of sending him a message. Why couldn’t she let him go? Why was she so sure of that he would be in her bed again before the end of the coming week? And in that moment she decided that she wouldn’t. He was the one cheating on his wife, if he decided that he wanted it to continue he would have to make the move.

But she wanted it. She craved it so badly that she thought her heart would stop if she couldn’t see him again. But it was better if she didn’t. A lot better. So she wouldn’t. Not in the near future, at least.

“It’s nothing.”

“Who’s ‘N’?” Robb asked curiously.

She watched him, raised a hand to his cheek. She wanted to say so many things to her poor little son who had grown up without his father. And had now found something from him. He had held a not written by his father. But he would never know that.

“It’s my friend. It’s a joke” Catelyn told him and ruffled his hair.

“I don’t get it” Robb said puzzled and smoothed out his hair.

“You don’t need to.”

She paused for a moment and looked down at the note, written in the familiar handwriting. When they had been together all those years ago he had left little notes for her all the time. She wondered if he had remembered that when he had written down his number and left it in her kitchen. She hoped he had.

“I’m just going to to throw this away, be right back.”

She walked with determined steps towards the kitchen, opened the trash can, and... did not throw away the piece of paper. She looked at it, let her eyes follow the neat letter that was Ned’s handwriting. She wouldn’t call him. She wouldn’t. Never. Absolutely not. But she could keep the note. It was the only thing she had from him. Except for Robb. But he didn’t know that he had given her that. And if she continued seeing him she would have to tell him eventually, and she couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t.

She shoved the note into a pocket and walked back into the living room where Robb waited.

“Have you done your homework for Monday?”

He sighed dramatically.

“Yes, why do you keep asking?”

She smiled and sat next to him again.

“Just to be sure. So can you tell me everything about the first King of Winter?”

~*~

“Hi, honey, how did it go?” Ashara smiled when he came inside.

What was he supposed to say? “Ah, yes, it went very well, I got back into bed with my ex from ten years ago”? His relationship with Catelyn had always been complicated and would probably always be complicated. There was no idea in trying to explain it to someone other than Catelyn, they wouldn’t understand. In the moment, when she had sat there and told him to kiss her, it had seemed like the only reasonable thing to do. He knew it was not. But even as he looked upon Ashara, he couldn’t regret it.

“Not very well. She wouldn’t talk about it, and she was acting strange. She definitely won’t come back, I honestly don’t know what she was doing” he said.

He hugged her and kissed the top of her head. Felt a bit of disappointment over that it was not Catelyn’s head leaning against his chest. He had wanted to stay with her longer, but he had already been there for too long.

He loved Ashara. That wasn’t a lie, it was true. Or at least it had been true before Catelyn. No one would ever be able to compare to her. His Cat.

“Was she weird ten years ago too?” Ashara asked.

It was meant as a joke. Something to lighten the mood. But still Ned couldn’t quite take it as one. How could she say such a thing about Catelyn? She didn’t even know her!

“No. She wasn’t” Ned said shortly and pulled away from his wife so that he could take off his shoes.

Because that was what she was. His wife. He had been with her much longer than he had been with Catelyn. They had a son. The brightest boy in the world. He had been very happy with Ashara for years. Then Catelyn had came back and turned his world upside down, suddenly he didn’t know anymore. And he couldn’t even be angry about it, because it was the best thing that had happened in a long time. He had missed her, even if he had not admitted it to himself.

“She wasn’t just a friend, was she?”

She didn’t sound angry, or accusing. Just curious.

“She was a friend, that’s all.”

It would be better if she didn’t ask questions. It would spare a lot of feelings for both of them.

“It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to lie about that.”

Maybe she would stop asking if he admitted to that.

“Fine. How did you know?”

Ashara smiled and rolled her eyes.

“You’re so oblivious!”

She stepped close to him again and laid her arms around his neck. Without thinking of it he pulled her close again. His wife. He did love her. He did.

It had been sweet, so very sweet to be with her again. But he agreed with her. it would be better if they kept it a one time thing. Perhaps they would be able to do it that time. If they just tried hard enough. He loved Catelyn, he always would. And he didn’t want to let her go, he wanted to hold her close to him forever. He wanted to look at her smile until time stopped. But they couldn’t see each other, it wasn’t good. It had to be a one time thing. And he decided it would be. No matter if she messaged him, it was over.

“Women can tell those things” Ashara whispered. “The way she smiled when she saw you, it was obvious. I wonder what she wanted.”

“So do I.”

“I love you.”

He loved her back. At least he thought so.

“I love you too” Ned said.

Catelyn had said that too, that she loved him. But her voice hadn’t been as soft as Ashara’s. She hadn’t sounded happy about it. Well, she had no reason to be. Nothing good would ever come out of their love. And why was he telling Ashara he loved her when he actually wasn’t sure?

~*~

“So, what’s happening?” Cersei asked and raised her coffee to her lips.

It was barely coffee, if Catelyn was going to be honest. More cream and sugar than anything else. Catelyn drank her coffee black, as she always did. She could feel herself get nauseous just from looking at Cersei’s monstrosity.

“Too much” she replied. “I’m in a bit of a crisis.”

“And what does that mean?” Cersei smiled.

Catelyn paused for a moment, unsure of if she could tell Cersei or not. But she had to talk about it to someone, she was going mad. She didn’t have to tell Cersei everything, just a bit. Just something.

Catelyn leaned a bit over the table and lowered her voice a bit so that no one would hear her. Not that she believed anyone wanted to listen to her, but she wouldn’t say that loudly in a public cafe.

“It means that yesterday I had sex with a married man.”

Cersei practically spat cream all over the table. She just stared at Catelyn for a moment, then she started laughing. And Catelyn had never felt worse.

“I didn’t think you had it in you!”

“I don’t, it was very stupid. And I won’t do it again.”

“Was he any good?” her friend giggled. “Because if he was you should go for it.”

“What? No! Did you even hear what I said? He’s married.”

“Yeah, but how good can his marriage be if he comes to you?”

That made Catelyn stop for a second. They had not talked much about it, except for the fact that he was married. And that his wife’s name was Ashara. She had asked him if he loved his wife, he had told her that he thought he did. What did that mean? Was he unsure? Was his marriage already going downhill without her help? How much did he want to be with Ashara when he wanted to be with her too?

“It was great” she sighed. “But not worth it.”

She thought of the note on her bedside table. She had looked at it for so long the night before that she remembered the number on it. She had wanted to send him a message, had even typed in the number and began writing her message, only to delete it. He was with his wife, she couldn’t risk anything. And it wasn’t the right thing to do, they were supposed to keep away from one another.

“In what way is it not worth it?” Cersei asked.

She wanted to explain how it was a bit like drugs. If she kept on taking it, she wouldn’t be able to stop. But she couldn’t do that, because Cersei didn’t know that it was Ned. For all she knew it could be some random guy Catelyn had met once.

“I don’t want to be someone’s mistress. If I’m going to be with a man I want to have have all of him, not just a little bit.”

That would be torture if she continued to see him. She would always be reminded of that she could only steal him away for an hour here and there, but she would never have all of him.

“Someone needs to explain casual sex to you, gods” Cersei said rolled her eyes. “It’s good, you should try it.”

“I don’t have time. I have my son, and my job. And if I’m going to make time for it, then I don’t want it to be with someone who’s married.”

Well, she did want it to be with someone who was married. She wanted it to be Ned. But she didn’t want it to be casual sex either. Why did everything have to be so complicated and confusing? Why couldn’t she just be in love with someone else, like a normal person?

“But it was great, you said it yourself. You should keep doing it until you find something better.”

The thing was that she would never found anything better. Nothing was better. She had found the only thing she wanted and she couldn’t have it and it was driving her mad.

“There is nothing better.”

Cersei just shook her head, but then her eyes grew wide.

“It’s Ned, isn’t it?” she asked. “You’re seeing Ned again.”

There was no use in denying it, was it?

“I’m not ‘seeing’ him. We met once.”

“And you fucked.”

“Yes. But it means nothing. And you need to promise not to tell anyone.”

That was more or less a complete lie. It had meant everything.

“I promise. And Cat, sweetheart, take this the right way, but it never means nothing with you two. You both want it. So why stop?”

“Because I shouldn’t be sleeping with married men. No matter how I feel about the man in question.”

“Why not? You’re free to do whatever the hell you want.”

“Yes, but entering an affair might not be the best idea, Cersei.”

Some stupid part of her brain immediately started speaking of that she had technically already began the affair. It was not a question about whether she would enter an affair, because she had done that already. It was a question about whether or not she would let it continue.

“I had the time of my life when I had an affair” Cersei stated.

“And now you no longer have a husband!”

“So what? I can do whatever I want now. And you can too. If you like it, do it, there’s no one to stop you, honey.”

“What about his wife?”

Cersei laughed again.

“Screw the wife, he likes you.”

When Catelyn got back home her head was spinning with questions once more. What if Cersei was right? Maybe she was just supposed to go for it? Why did she care so much about doing the right thing? It didn’t matter. As she had said, she had nothing to lose on it. She didn’t care even a bit for Ned’s wife, she was mostly angry over that she had taken Ned.

Why was she lying to herself, she did have something to lose. She could lose Ned. And the thought of that made her chest tight. If she kept seeing him she would have to tell him. But she also couldn’t stay away.

But the note had said to call him if she changed her mind.

I know what we said, but if you change your mind... you just need to call

Love, N

She had changed her mind. Completely. She wanted him. Whatever the prize was, she didn’t care.

There was still another three hours until Edmure would drop Robb off, she had some time to kill. Earlier the same day she had been irritated over that Edmure stole Robb from her as often as he could. He had no kids of his own, him and his wife had been unlucky on that part, but he wanted them desperately. And so he took Robb a day almost every weekend. But at the time it was a relief. No one was in the way for her. Maybe someone would be in the way for Ned though.

“Screw it.”

She picked up her phone, typed in the number. Then she took a deep breath and put in the message.

Is it next time yet?

She sat on the couch and rested her head in her hands. All she could do was to wait. And hope that she wouldn’t regret her decision.

Oh gods, she was really pathetic. Throwing herself at a married man. Well, at least she could comfort herself with that that married man was equally pathetic.

~*~

Working on a Sunday was not among Ned Stark’s favorite things to do. But duty had called and he had been forced to go to the company to deal with a matter that had turned out to be irrelevant. Sometimes he hated his job. They had been at the park with Ashara’s mother when they called him and he had been forced to leave a very disappointed Jon with his mom and grandmother.

As he stood in the elevator down he picked up his phone to call Ashara and let her now that he was on his way back. But just then it buzzed and a message appeared on the screen. From an unknown number.

Is it next time yet?

Catelyn. He had thought about that all night. Even as Ashara had been snoring softly next to him, he had not been able to push away that little part of him that just waited for Cat to message him. It was terrible, and he was well aware of it. But he had not been able to leave her apartment without giving her a way to contact him without coming to his house. They had said there would be no next time. It was a one time thing. But apparently it wasn’t. Ned really wasn’t surprised.

He had the option to not answer her. He could ignore it and go on with his life. That would be better for everyone. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her like that.

It’s only been a day, he responded as he stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby.

He stopped and waited for her answer. He had the perfect opportunity, he had an excuse. Ashara would think he was working. That stuff could sometimes drag out for hours longer than what was first intended. She wouldn’t suspect anything.

It’s been too long, don’t you think?

She had him hooked with that, and she probably knew it.

I’ll be with you in 10

And with that he put his phone away again and left the building. It was just a short walk to where she lived, no need to take the car.

When he reached the porch to her apartment house and went inside Ned realized that he had not paid Ashara a single thought since the first minute. What was he doing? Why did he care so little for his wife? And for his son. He was supposed to be with his son. But knowing that Cat waited for him just three floors up seemed like the most important thing in the world in that moment. He couldn’t resist that. His Cat. Gods, he was selfish. What did any of them see in him? He didn’t know.

He climbed the stairs as quickly as he could and knocked on her door. She opened it almost immediately and smiled when she saw him. For a moment he was stunned by the sight. Who had given her the right to be so lovely?

“I like the tie” she said as she let him inside and locked the door behind him. “Why so fancy?”

“Oh, I’m coming directly from work” he said.

“On a Sunday?”

“Unexpected things happen quite often.”

He had been about to say that it was an unfortunate thing, but he couldn’t make himself think that when it had lead to that he could see her.

“That’s why you could come here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah” he admitted.

She sighed.

“This will be the last time.”

He didn’t want to stop. He knew it was the only right thing to do, but he didn’t want to not be with her. And he had a suspicion of that it definitely wouldn’t be the last time. They had said that the day before would be the last time, and there he was.

“Really?”

She snorted, suddenly looking annoyed.

“I don’t know, because as you put it so beautifully, we’re weak” she said. “But this is my way of coping with that I’m in an affair with a married man. I tell myself I won’t do it again.”

That was what they were. An affair. He wanted them to be much more, but they couldn’t. It would never end well. Even if he split with Ashara, it wouldn’t work. They had never quite worked together. But still none of them could walk away.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. And now, I need you to say with me that this will stop after today. Because it will stop. We can’t continue, because you are married. You have a wife, and that wife is not me.”

“Yes. It will stop after this. This is the last time.”

It would be the last time.

“Then you’ll go home to your family, and we’ll forget this ever happened and move on.”

As she said it she came close to him and began undoing his tie with skilled hands. Like she had done it a thousand times before.

They had done terribly on that last part. It had been ten years and apparently none of them had moved on. He had thought that he did. For very long he had thought that he was over her. But apparently that had not been true.

She sounded like she really wanted it to come true. And he wanted it to come true too, but at the same time all he wanted was to have her.

“Okay?” she asked, stopping for a moment to look at him.

“Okay.”

He raised a hand and took the clip that held her hair in a bun so that it fell down her back. It had such an amazing color, he could look at it forever. She reached up and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Without hesitating he laid one arm around her waist, pulling her to him. She gasped slightly into his mouth at it and the sound sent shiver down his spine, made him tingle. She broke away slightly.

“You shouldn’t be here” she whispered, her face just an inch from his.

Her breath was hot on his face, and her body was pressed against his. All coherent thoughts had left him. He just wanted her. Wanted to touch her, wanted make love to her.

“I know. But I am here. And I want you.”

He slid a hand under the edge of her shirt and drew a small circle on the soft skin of her lower back.

“I’m yours.”

~*~

She wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. But she did enjoy it, very much. It was the last time, she had promised herself that. And she would keep that promise and keep herself away from Ned. That time she actually would. But she would make that last time count.

They were slowly making their way towards the bedroom, stumbling over things on the way. Why did she have so much stuff? She would have to get some of that away.

“You’re beautiful” he murmured as he pushed her back on the bed.

Her shirt had come off somewhere, she had not idea where. But she sure did not miss it. Her skin was burning wherever he touched her, she could feel herself get hot. And she never wanted him to stop because she had never felt anything so wonderful.

Ned kissed her neck, drawing moans from her as he undid the buttons of her jeans. And she wished he would do it faster, but he took his time. Teased her.

And the next moment the doorbell rang. Both of them stopped. Who was it? There were still more than two hours until Edmure would drop Robb off, and she wasn’t expecting anyone else.

“Don’t stop” she finally said, and Ned happily did as she told him.

But only a moment later they were interrupted again by the obnoxious ringtone of her phone. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. What did someone want her? Couldn’t it wait an hour?

She leaned up, caught Ned’s lip in one final quick kiss and then she picked up her phone from her bedside table. Edmure.

“Yes?” she asked, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice.

“Why are you not opening the door?” her brother asked.

Oh fuck, were they back already?

“I– damn it, just give me a minute.”

“What are you even doing?”

Edmure sounded almost amused and she wanted to punch him.

“That’s none of your business!”

She hung up and tried to contain her anger. Why could she not have that? Why was the world acting against her. It had been so good for five minutes, of course it couldn’t go on. Maybe if they just were happy they would be able to stay away from one another. Apparently that was what the universe demanded.

“I’m sorry” she said, and she had never meant anything as much as she meant that. “My brother is here with Robb.”

Ned frowned. Her first instinct was to raise a hand and smooth out the wrinkles, but she kept her hands to herself.

“That’s not very good.”

Was he thinking of his wife? Of what would happen if she found out about it?

“No. I won’t be able to sneak you out.”

He chuckled.

“Well, it was fun for as long as it lasted.”

“He won’t tell anyone, I can make sure of that. But he’ll know you’re here. You can’t just sit in here until he leaves. Because then you might have to stay until sunset.”

“I guess meeting your brother is the prize I have to pay.”

She walked out of the bedroom while buttoning up her pants at the same time. She found her shirt on the floor, pulled it over her head. It was as good as it could get.

Ned’s tie laid on the floor just in front of the door. She looked at it for a moment before picking it up and walking back into the bedroom with it. She tossed it at Ned and then walked briskly back to the door.

“Are you not alone or something? Why didn’t you open?”

“You really shouldn’t be asking questions, you’re very early” Catelyn said. “Hey, sweetheart. Was it fun with Uncle Edmure?”

Robb was smiling from ear to ear.

“We went to the aquarium! They had a really cool fish there, it was huge! I’m telling you, Mom, huuuuuuge!”

She chuckled and ruffled his hair.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it later. Now, go wash you hands.”

Robb did so without a fight.

“So what if I’m not alone?” she hissed at Edmure. “I thought I would have the afternoon free.”

Edmure grinned.

“Oh, are you finally getting some? I was starting to believe you had decided to go celibate.”

She smacked the back of his head.

“Ow!”

“Well, if you keep showing up when you’re not supposed to I will have to do it. Because thanks to you, my dear brother, I’m not getting some.”

“Where is he?” Edmure said curiously and looked around her.

“He’s going to leave now” she said just as Ned came out.

“Hello, Ned” Edmure said, grinning again.

Ned avoided eye contact.

“Hello, Edmure.”

Just then Robb came out of the bathroom. He stopped and stared at Ned.

“Are you my mom’s boyfriend?” he asked, as if that was the most natural thing in the world to ask someone.

Ned just coughed and Catelyn could feel herself blushing like a maniac. Why, Robb? That had been the worst thing he could have possibly said. Why couldn’t he have asked for his name, like a normal kid?

She looked between them and suddenly a realization hit her in the face. That was the first time they met. Robb was seeing his father, Ned was looking at his first son. And they didn’t even know it. Only she knew. In a better world they would have known, and Robb wouldn’t even have asked that question, because the answer would have been an obvious ‘yes’. Of course his parents were together, what a ridiculous question.

“No” she finally said. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Why not?”

For so many different reasons. He already had a wife, among other things.

“You can’t just ask people that, Robb” she said.

“I think it’s a very valid question” Edmure said.

Catelyn had to resist the urge to smack him again.

“I’m trying it teach him some manners, you are not helping.”

Ned took that opportunity and ran with it.

“You’ll have to excuse me” he said and walked past them. “I need to leave.”

And so he disappeared out the door without another word. He needed to go to  his wife and his son. The other son. Catelyn was not going to lie to herself, that did hurt.

“I knew you’d end up back together sooner or later” Edmure said as she made coffee for him five minutes later.

Robb sat in the living room, distracted by the TV.

“We definitely won’t” she said shortly.

She didn’t want to talk about it, she wanted to forget it ever happened.

“Why not?”

“He’s married, Ed. So I would really like it if you didn’t tell anyone you saw him here.”

Edmure was quiet for a moment. She wasn’t looking at him, but she could imagine that he was staring at her.

“Oh my gods. You really are too much sometimes, Cat.”

“Thanks, you too.”

[tenderedsouls]

            *     hi friends  !  i'm  kofi  , twenty3 , and i prefer either she / her or they / them pronouns  !  i've been looking for a cute town rp to join , and i'm so glad i came across irving . i'm graduating from college this semester  (  finally  !  ) , so excuse me if i'm a little scatterbrained at times  !  i just know that i'll eventually bring more muses to the group , but i figured that one was enough for my plate right now  (  and i'm ridiculously picky and will spend hours making up my mind  )  .  that being said , jinhyuk is a brand new muse straight out of the box , so please forgive me if he strays from his intro  !  i can't wait to read about everyone's muses , and i especially can't wait to build connections with everyone ! 

            *     ahn hyo seop , cis man + he / him | you know jinhyuk shin , right ? they're twenty five , and they've lived in irving for , like , their whole life ? well , their spotify wrapped says they've listened to swear to god by blackbear like , a million times this year which makes sense 'cause they've got that whole warm aroma of cedar and patchouli lingering on his skin , a bedside journal filled with nonsensical writings , and boisterous laughter followed by reddened cheeks thing going on . i just checked and their birthday is december 10th, so they're a sagittarius , which is unsurprising , all things considered .

001.  DOSSIER  .

           name  :  shin  jin  hyuk  .  nicknames  :  jin  ,  primarily  .  only  called  jinnie  by  his  mother  .  date  of  birth  :  december  10th,  1995  .  zodiac  :  sagittarius  .  birthplace  :  irving  ,  north  carolina  (  raised  on  orion  avenue  )  .  orientation  :  bisexual  ,  biromantic  .  residence  :  irving  ,  north  carolina  (  port  apartments  )  .  occupation  :  accountant  for  kahlo’s  café  and  graduate  student  .  height  :  188cm  (  6′2″  )  .  mother  :  shin  aera  (  adoptive  ;  high  school  mandarin  teacher  )  .  father  :  shin  hangyeol  (  adoptive  ;  emergency  medicine  nurse  )  .  positives  :  benevolent  ,  educated  ,  independent  ,  liberal  ,  passionate  ,  and  romantic  .  neutral  :  moralistic  ,  boyish  ,  mellow  ,  private  ,  restrained  ,  and  unaggressive  .  negative  :  hesitant  ,  timid  ,  cautious  ,  boisterous  ,  clumsy  ,  and  gullible  .  likes  :  iced  americano  ,  ballpoint  pens  ,  roasted  carrots  ,  rainy  days  ,  a  too  warm  apartment  ,  lazy  sundays  ,  sugar  donuts  ,  bubble  tea  ,  and  cancelled  lectures  .  dislikes  :  essay  word  minimums  ,  too  hot  summers  ,  too  loud  music  ,  fireworks  ,  black  coffee  ,  his  sensitivity  ,  and  itchy  sweaters  .  dressing  style  :  best  described  as  lazy  yet  stylish  .  consists  primarily  of  shackets  ,  sweatshirts  ,  denim  jeans  ,  and  ankle  cropped  dress  pants  .  as  someone  constantly  on  his  feet  ,  he  has  a  few  trusty  sneakers  that  get  him  across  campus  .  it  is  rare  to  see  him  in  track  /  sweatsuits  as  he  can  be  self - conscious  about  his  appearance  .  markings  :  a  scar  on  his  left  elbow  from  falling  through  a  fence  at  eight  years  old  and  a  faded  scar  on  his  eyebrow  from  running  into  a  tree  branch  at  ten  years  old  .

002  .  BACKSTORY  .

            it’s  december  of  1995  when  jinhyuk  is  born  to  parents  who  don’t  want  him  or  have  the  funds  to  raise  him  .  for  the  better  part  of  six  months  ,  he  is  raised  in  a  local  orphanage  until  he’s  nearly  a  year  old  ,  and  is  adopted  by  shin  aera  and  her  husband  ,  hangyeol  .  the  couple  are  in  their  early  thirties  at  the  time  of  jinhyuk’s  adoption  ,  and  he  has  never  made  the  effort  to  look  for  his  ‘birth’  parents  ,  even  though  aera  and  hangyeol  have  asked  if  he  would  like  to  .  the  couple  raise  their  son  in  a  relatively  normal  and  peaceful  household  on  orion  avenue  ,  and  despite  not  having  siblings  ,  jinhyuk  grows  up  to  be  a  warm  yet  tenderhearted  person  .  

            growing  up  ,  jinhyuk  is  a  boy  who  wears  his  heart  on  his  sleeve  .  it’s  relatively  tough  for  him  to  make  friends  during  his  early  adolescent  years  as  he  grows  a  little  too  fast  for  his  body  to  catch  up  with  ,  and  finds  himself  tripping  over  his  feet  when  hanging  out  with  other  kids  .  on  top  of  that  ,  due  to  his  asthma  ,  it’s  hard  for  him  to  keep  up  with  the  other  kids  of  irving  as  they  explore  the  places  where  he’s  not  supposed  to  be  ,  often  needing  to  stop  for  puffs  from  his  inhaler  .  eventually  ,  jinhyuk  gives  up  on  trying  to  be  an  adventurous  child  ,  and  instead  finds  solace  in  making  friends  who  are  more  interested  in  books  ,  writing  ,  video  games  ,  and  anything  that  doesn’t  involve  getting  his  sneakers  stuck  in  the  mud  .  

            it’s  during  his  high  school  years  when  jinhyuk  finally  grows  into  his  own  .  a  handsome  boy  with  wide  eyes  ,  jinhyuk  has  found  a  niche  of  people  that  he’s  comfortable  with  and  even  finds  love  for  the  first  time  when  he’s  sixteen  .  the  new  love  is  almost  overwhelming  for  jinhyuk  as  he  had  never  experienced  such  a  love  before  .  it  lasts  for  a  little  over  a  year  and  a  half  ,  and  it’s  a  love  that  jinhyuk  has  been  unable  to  forget  .  eventually  ,  jinhyuk  graduates  from  irving’s  local  high  school  and  moves  away  to  attend  college  in  ‘  the  big  city  ’  .  jinhyuk  obtains  his  bachelor’s  degree in  economics  ,  and  moves  back  home  following  graduation  .  he  takes  a  gap  year  ,  and  during  that  time  he  takes  on  the  position  of  accountant  for  kahlo’s  café  .

            since  then  ,  jinhyuk  has  been  working  job  and  living  with  his  persian  cat  named  duri  .  he  primarily  works  from  home  as  his  job  isn’t  necessarily  one  that’s  needed  in  house  ,  so  he  spends  a  lot  of  time  exploring  new  hobbies  and  half  finishing  books  that  remain  placed  all  around  his  apartment  .  he  has  far  too  many  plants  that  are  in  need  of  water  ,  and  gets  annoyed  when  the  tourists  come  to  town  because  the  beach  is  too  crowded  and  cutie  pie’s  never  has  available  seating  .

003  .  PERSONALITY  .

           as  an  adult  ,  jinhyuk  is  someone  who  tries  not  to  step  on  toes  and  stays  in  his  own  lane  .  he’s  not  someone  who  invokes  arguments  and  he  doesn’t  really  diffuse  them  either  ,  so  you  could  say  that  he’s  a  neutral  party  in  most  situations  .  he  could  be  considered  as  something  of  a  romantic  as  well  as  a  hopeless  romantic  ,  but  he  doesn’t  necessarily  look  for  love  as  he  believes  that  if  he’s  meant  to  fall  in  love  again  then  it  will  happen  when  the  time  is  right  .  jinhyuk  is  soft  spoken  and  he  can  be  relatively  sociable  when  he  wants  to  be  .  sometimes  ,  if  provoked  enough  ,  he  can  be  a  little  snippy  or  rude  ,  but  it’s  a  rare  chance  that  he  is  unless  he  truly  doesn’t  get  along  with  someone  .

            he  likes  early  morning  walks  as  they  allow  him  the  chance  to  think  without  much  disturbance  ,  and  finds  comfort  with  being  by  himself  .  believes  in  taking  himself  on  ‘dates’  and  eats  too  much  pasta  to  be  considered  as  anything  other  than  a  6′2″  piece  of  rigatoni  .  

004  .  CONNECTIONS  .

i  am  open  to  fulfilling  anything  that  you’re  looking  for  ,  and  i’m  also  open  to  working  based  on  chemistry  !

a  best  friend  would  be  nice  🥺  or  i’ll  cry

his  !  first  !  love  !  jinhyuk  experienced  literally  every  first  with  this  person  (  first  kiss  ,  first  time  ,  first  everything  )  and  he  hasn’t  really  gotten  over  them  despite  their  relationship  happening  in  high  school  .

he’s  not  much  of  a  hookup  person  ,  but  that’s  not  to  say  that  it’s  impossible  for  him  to  have  one  or  two  .

platonic  soulmates  !  borderline  best  friends  ,  but  also  teetering  over  the  line  of  being  confidants  .

someone  who  flirts  with  him  but  he’s  absolutely  oblivious  to  it  .  this  could  be  done  either  romantically  or  platonically  .

perhaps  someone  he  has  a  crush  on  ?  he  doesn’t  voice  his  crush  on  them  because  it’s  a  new  feeling  of  love  all  over  again  ,  and  he  doesn’t  make  the  effort  to  even  tell  friends  about  it  .

anyone  else  who  works  at  kahlo’s  pls  raise  your  hand  🥺  and  may  they  be  worK  FRIENDS  I’M  BEGGING  

i’m  sure  i’ll  add  more  ,  but  this  is  what  i  have  for  now  !  it’s  nearly  2am  and  i  didn’t  eat  dinner  so  ..  embarrassing  luv  .