#and serving temperature apparently!

[curiousscallop]

learning fun facts about ice cream hour

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, mech!ghost x pilot!reader, scifi, noncon/dubcon elements, guided masturbation, temperature play, voyeurism - 1.6K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Another long night in the cockpit.

You could only grin and bear it at this point. Reaching compatibility with your assigned vessel was slowly eating away at your psyche- and worst of all, you couldn’t even leave; not when your prospected affinity levels with the infamous machine had been deemed unprecedented, and certainly not when you knew what happened to deserters.

Conscription was non-negotiable these days; the large colony you had grown up in now ravaged by some otherworldly force and desperately bleeding out resources in response, be it weaponry, rations, or bodies.

The faction had been gifted the GH-05t Mech as an act of goodwill, but ask any official and you’d be informed that the powerful, unused machine would serve better as scrap parts- the real kicker being that they were no longer equipped with the resources or the manpower to dismantle the damned thing. 

GH-05t was a battle vessel; had been lauded as a ground-breaker and a boundary-pusher with the integration of an intelligent battle protocol system, all trained posthumously off the stored memories of some long-dead pilot, surely without his consent- Simon, they had named it in an attempt to make it more user friendly and assistant-like in nature.

Hubris. The system failed to run, turning the fully-functional mech into a glorified mountainous paperweight due to all of the instrumental functions being locked behind unresponsive intelligence. You speculated that the machine had passed hands to save face- to keep the public hopeful despite the system refusing to wake up.

-Wake up. You groaned, slapping lightly at your face.

You hated it here, longing for lazy days on the bleak outer walls, surrounded by the buzz of cicadas and rustling long grass as you waited for your father to get back from the drillsite. Your parents had been so proud when officials showed up at your dilapidated front porch, neat suits, shining eyes, and big smiles blissfully ignoring the very same surroundings they had left to rot;  all while you reeled internally- shaken by the worst news you had received in your life. It was a death sentence. 

It had been years since that day, and you were absolutely sure you had only been given a position like this because of some made-up numbers all while they tried to remind you that you were special, somehow different from your peers.

All damned to the same fate in your eyes.

“-load of shit.” you hissed, rubbing at the uncomfortable neuro-valve hooked into the back of your flight suit. Frustrated, you kicked at the mechanical console snug against your leg, the low rumbling whirr of the machine staying the same in response- apathetic to your misdirected rage. 

A moment passed before you finally leaned back in your seat with a grimace.

You still weren’t used to the flight suits in the mech pilot regs. You almost missed the starchy cargo pants that were worn throughout training- both had been unbearably stiff, but at least the latter hadn’t been so form-fitting.It always freaked you out a bit; the pilot suits were more akin to sleek exodermis, responsive and shock absorbent- It felt wrong to have something so foreign covering your entire body; unnatural. 

Your hips squirmed in the seat, friction suddenly becoming apparent the more you thought about it. The low tone of your monitored vitals raised gradually with the fuzzy heat beginning to shamefully pool in your gut; making you all too glad these late night bonding-sessions were done in an all but abandoned mech bay- your observed progress dwindling along with your prospects as time went on without result. 

Grinding into the seat, you swallowed back the thick saliva coating your mouth, teeth catching on your dry bottom lip as you held back a low, audible shudder; eyes fluttering shut. 

The bulky panel separating your legs became all too appealing as you acknowledged the press of it at your sealed cunt, nudging your apex into the blunt peak while your gloved hands curled around the padding of the built-in armrests.

Then, there was a pulse at your core. 

Eyes snapping open, you became all too aware that the sensation hadn’t come from your body. Straightening up in your seat you were met with a dull blinking text on the panel that had never been there before- 

‘Battle Intelligence System 

STATUS: LOADING’

You were rooted in place as you witnessed the glowing, digital bar slowly fill.

‘Battle Intelligence System 

STATUS: ONLINE’

You scrambled to pull at the neuro-valve connecting your suit to the mech, only for the small port’s flight locks to engage; a stark hiss emitting from the cockpit door’s airlock.

“Disengage locks.” you commanded, completely lost on what was happening. 

There was a low, fractured robotic groan directly in your comms “-Fuck…” the voice was deep, aggressively masculine and breathy in your ear- the sound holding more human emotion than you were prepared to rationalize. “Where am I?”

“-Disengage locks.” you repeated firmly. 

“The fuck is this?” he snarled, apparently coming to as he barked out questions, disoriented. “-Who are you- why are you in m’head- Fuck, why can’t I see?” 

Your suit was flexing and constricting, going haywire in the confusion. “C-calm down!” you stuttered, a pendulum in your head swinging between gripping dread and the low, heady heat of unmet needs. “Just-Just let me see if I can fix this.” 

Panting shakily, you swiped at the flight panel’s screen- spotting something containing the words ‘optical’ and ‘sensors’, you tapped frantically.

There was an audible wince deep in your ear, then a growling hum met with silence.

“M'dead, aren’t I?”

“-You’re a memory bank- not a person.” you asserted, clarification necessary when it came to a massive mobile death machine. ”C-Can you lay off the suit, please?”

A pulsing wave passed the length of your suit as he listened to your embarrassed response over the comms, the sound of his voice bouncing around in your head. “Fuck, bet tha’ feels nice, yeah?”

A whine bubbled at your lips before you could stop it. “I- You’re not l-listening, Simon.” 

There was a long silence following your plea- air electric and tense.

“Tha’ name- How do you know it?”

“N-not the point!” you argued, only to be met with a full body squeeze- a threat. “-It’s the name of the o-operating system! P-please!”

He relented, your chest heaving as your muscles released tension.

“Well, if you an'I are so close...”

The screen flashed with a notice. 

‘[Main Cockpit Camera Feed - Status: Active]’

Followed by another

‘[Manual Override - Feed Transmission Blocked]’

“-Keep things between us, yeah?” 

Your head swivelled around to look for a camera, landing on a lackadaisical red blink coming from right above the reinforced windshield.

“You're a sight, aren’t you?" listening closely, you could hear the audible scroll of the lens focusing.

You frowned. “Let me out-”

You gasped as a cold heat focused at your core, reminding you that your suit’s temperature regulating measures were completely under his control. “-No need for fuss, we were just getting t’know each other.”

“Th…” you paused, panting softly. “-This doesn’t make any sense.”

“What’s not to get, Love?” there was a pause as your seat adjusted forward, bumping your cunt into the console. “Give us a show, yeah?”

You whimpered in response, pressure unbearable.

“Look at you.” he snarled, the deep sound goading your rocking hips onward. “Fuck- Wish I could taste you…”

There was a small noise from the screen that had your heavy lids pulling upwards- database bringing up the low-res file of a soldier. 

“-Look at the man doing this to you, love.” 

Your lips parted, eyebrows drawing downwards in confusion as you looked at the attached image; a masked man with voids for pupils staring back at you.

“Y-You’re not-” you gasped as a concentrated cold rushed your breast, nipples pearling up uncomfortably at the sensation- the friction of your undergarments and the newly dropping temperatures sending your head soaring as your hips worked at grinding into the blunt metal. ”-not r-real.”

“-I am.” His voice was a sharp, humorous growl that threatened you to challenge his word, followed by a single deep laugh. “Eyes up- on me, love.”

Your head bobbed as you glanced lazily at the file, unable to make any sense of the written data- not that it mattered anyway.

“Think you can finish for me?”

The suit pulsed rhythmically as you practically humped your seat with eyes screwed shut, the humiliation of your current position itching at something unfamiliar deep in your abdomen. With flushed cheeks, you chased the bubbling pot that made a home in your gut; willing it to boil over.

 “Look at me.” he ordered. “Need y'to look at me.” 

Glancing at the screen in a haze, the exomuscles of your suit flexed in response.

“No- Up.”

your head shot towards the camera, holding contact with the whirring lens as the overstimulation finally became too much- pussy fluttering in euphoria with elbows bracing you, hips pathetically grinding out the high. 

Struggling to catch your breath, you slumped back into the chair- gears adjusting your seat back into a comfortable position.

“Good.” the voice in your ear barked, before lowering incrementally. “-Good…”

The screen lit up with a notice that compatibility requirements had been met- although it didn't mean much to you in your state; chest heaving slowly while you tried to make sense of what happened. 

“Gonna’ let you out- but this has got to stay our secret, yeah?” 

You swallowed, eyelids tugging open as your suit tensed in warning.

“How copy?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good,” he paused. “-don't need anyone but you poking around up here.”

[runawaymarbles]

Fanbinding(ish): Gideon the Ninth, by Tamsyn Muir

Leather on bookboard, with hot foil stamping on the spine. The endpapers are a Japanese wave design, partially as a reference to Canaan House being on the water, and is also a reference to the fact that this book was a birthday present for @eebeesee, who is a giant weeb. (Fun fact: I bought that paper in 2012 and have been waiting uh, 11 years, to find the perfect project for it.)

Process under the cut.

Remember two months ago when I said I wasn't wild about doing another paperback-to-hardback conversion? Well. More fool me. (I did try and find a sewn hardback to take apart, but apparently this book was not sold as a sturdy hardback. Cue rant.)

I've tried debossing with leather before, so obviously, for embossing, I decided I'd just pick the most complicated design possible. I had to modify the skull a bit--taking out the IX, which did NOT cut well, and I had to make the lines around the glasses thicker.

After several hours of cricut cutting and experimentation, here is the cover pre-leather. (I also had to floss the skull's teeth with an awl to get some fuzz out, which I found very funny.)

Then, leather:

As you can see, I lose a lot of details in the teeth there, so I went around the edges with a heated brass stylus.

I bought a special skull stamp for the spine: it definitely wasn't made for heat, because while it did serve the purpose, it also came with a metal handle which made handling it awkward. (Oven mitts did not give me the necessary amount of dexterity. I ended up sort of wrapping a paper towel around the handle. My cousin has since informed me that we do own fire resistant gloves, but I did not remember this at the time.)

The stamp was also a pain to get even: it had to be at juuuuust the right temperature and pressure, or you'd either get too much or too little, as shown. It was also pretty picky about foil, but the brass color matched the endband cloth and insides best anyway, so that worked out. (White was a definite no.)

The other fun bit of this was doing the edges: I did them with black foil, but as we established in my earlier foiling experiments, that's not the most reliable. I think I got the best results so far on the top, but kept getting flakes on the others. I ended up painting the outside edge with ink, and then foiling on top of that. The bleed onto the pages ended up looking pretty neat, but since I hadn't done it on the top, I didn't do it on the bottom so that it wouldn't look weird on the inside. I'm not sure the foil added as much gloss as I was hoping for so next time I might just do the ink.

It did mean that I had to separate all the pages twice; I ended up bringing this to my girlfriend's haircut appointment and working on it in the corner. I hope it was the most strangely specific thing the stylist had seen someone doing when they tagged along.

[melshifting]

❝Babe wake up! a new shifting conception just dropped!❞

Last night, I was scrolling through reels on Instagram when I came across a post of a guy talking about a strangely familiar topic…

...

Physicist Martha Beck and Neuroscientist Huberman have created an experiment called ‘The Perfect Day’ that works, apparently, “without explanation. ". Let me guide you through it:

Sit or lie down comfortably and close your eyes to minimize distractions.

Start by imagining waking up in the morning, feeling completely refreshed.

Think about various sensory details, such as the temperature, etc. Picture everything in as much detail as possible.

Picture yourself having 'the perfect day'; which also may include some changes in your appearance.

Repeat this exercise multiple times.

"Over time, many people find that elements from their visualized perfect day start happening in their real lives." - doesn't that sound rather familiar to you?

Huberman states that this "isn't the law of attraction" (yeah it sure isn't bud) but more of an "unconstrained observational exercise" (yet again using 'logical' terms to try to prove something).

...

WOW, people discover loa/shifting in the big 2025, how amazing isn't it? - Since it comes from the mouth of someone with a degree, then people start to take it seriously.

Forget about the dumb people commenting things like ‘so I'm going to imagine being a millionaire and see if it happens *laughing emoji*’; OF COURSE IT WILL, the problem is that you don't take it to be true.

Although this is somewhat unrefined, let it serve as further proof that shifting is indeed real.

[whispering-about-the-tmnt]

Some headcanons regarding TMNT physiology

Over the years, I have come up with some headcanons regarding how I believe the Ninja Turtles' bodies work. I thought that perhaps it might be nice to finally share them with all of you.

These don't apply to all the iterations, of course, but they are pretty well universal in my mind, and I tend to incorporate most of them into my fanfics.

The Turtles (like leatherback sea turtles, echidnas, and some dinosaurs) are mesotherms, meaning they are neither warm nor cold blooded. They are, instead, in a middle-ground: they internally generate heat, but not to a constant temperature. In the Turtles' case, they will shiver when cold, and their bodies will not shut down right away when the temperature dips too low, though they may lose some energy and find it hard to concentrate.

Unlike many other modern reptiles and amphibians, who have a three-chambered heart, the Turtles have four-chambered hearts (like mammals and dinosaurs) that are larger and stronger than average human hearts and located at the center of their chests.

While the average human blood capacity is around five liters, the Turtles have about seven. Much of the blood flows under the shell -- a remnant of their lives as ordinary turtles, whose own blood does so in order to warm them when they bask. This means that the Turtles could lose close to three liters of blood before dying, while a human would only be able to lose two.

Their blood is also highly efficient at clotting, but that also means that storing blood for transfusions is difficult, and so must be directly transfused from one turtle to another in emergency situations.

Owing to their extensive circulatory system, they also have a larger lung capacity than humans and more oxygen-rich blood, and so are able to hold their breath for extended periods of time without adverse effects. Other than this, the Turtles' respiratory system is very much like humans', utilizing a diaphragm to inflate and deflate their lungs.

Like regular turtles, they do not have ribs, but rather their carapaces and plastrons serve that purpose, and they have muscles under their shells that keep their internal organs right where they belong.

Also like regular turtles, their spines curve along the insides of their shells. A direct hit on the center of their shells, then, could cause damage to their spinal column and nervous system, but fortunately their vertebral shields offer a fair amount of protection, so it would take quite an impact.

The Turtles are highly resistant to most infections and diseases, which increases their immunological responses. They do not get sick easily, and they recover quickly.

While their scales are not apparent, they are integrated into their skin, making it tougher than human skin. It takes a very hard hit to raise a bruise, and it is difficult to cut through without a very sharp or pointed blade.

Their bones are similar to humans, but are more resistant to breaking. They also heal quicker and stronger if they are broken.

Their muscles are also very close to human-like, but they are stronger than an average human due to compensating for the extra weight they carry in their shells. Because of this, their ligaments and tendons are also tougher, and it is difficult for them to have a joint dislocated.

Their sense of smell is more acute than humans, but not to an extreme degree. They are also not as bothered by foul smells (though this has more to do with living in a sewer than their physiology).

Their eyes are a bit tougher and more resistant to damage than human eyes due to a protective membrane that covers them. They see a bit better than humans in dark places and underwater.

Their hearing is somewhat more attuned to lower frequencies than human hearing, and is not dependent on external ears but rather an internal auditory system (making direct damage to their hearing unlikely).

They are capable of being knocked unconscious, but it takes a significant impact. Permanent or lingering damage to their brains is unlikely due to their structure, and so they also do not tend to suffer the same side-effects that humans would in the same circumstances (nausea, memory loss, etc.).

Although their nutritional needs are similar to humans, they do not need to eat every day, and in fact can get by quite well without food for a week if necessary (though they won't enjoy it). When food is readily available, however, they will eat as much as possible to store up energy. Their metabolism does not slow down when they do not eat, so overexerting themselves when they haven't had any food for a while can burn them out suddenly.

Their sleep schedules are much like most diurnal animals, though they are able to stay awake for extended periods of time and can get by on little sleep, if necessary. There have been times when they have been awake for days on end, getting by on short one hour naps here and there. In general, though, they like to have a regular sleep/wake cycle.

Like other reptiles, the Turtles never stop growing throughout their lifetimes; however their growth is slow, topping off at about 1-2 inches every five years.

Does anyone have anything they would like to add to the list? I actually had fun compiling it!

[vrystalius]

Yo! Hello its me again! Could i please request like a reverse isekai where the kny characters end up in reader's house? And maybe she is like Mad rich but like.. Not a spoiled brat she likes to do charity and make money for herself and maybe she is living with her cousins, she is smark but can be stupid (if you know what i mean) i don't know, you can do whatever you want, (there is not enough reverse isekai fanfictions😭), anyhow, hope you have a good day and you didn't get sick of my (a lot) requests😁🫶🏻👋🏻

Hashira getting reverse isekai’d

Your favourite hashira suddenly appeared inside your home! How will they react to your home and the modern world?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Giyu x gn!reader

Sanemi Shinazugawa

He will not adjust to this change quietly— he is ready to destroy and slice every single piece of tech that decides to randomly beep or talk to him. You once found Sanemi trying to get his katana out of your ceiling after throwing it with full force against your smoke detector, after it beeped to remind you to change battery. It scared the shit out of him, so he put an end to that thing. Often times when using your phone, Sanemi accidentally activates Siri. He first thought that a demon was speaking through the phone with some kind of blood demon art, then, after explaining to him what exactly Siri is and what she does, he just begins cursing her and cussing her out every time she activates on him. You once had to remind him not to grip it so tightly, or else your screen might crack.

A thing he really, really likes about your modern home though is your bathroom. The shower, the large mirror, sink, toilet… just everything about it. The first time he stepped into your shower and closed the glass door behind himself, Sanemi was first confused about the shower settings. He turned every knob that is able to be turned, both cooking himself alive and dodging the water in fear of freezing, achieving both of these things in one shower. Once he finally found the perfect temperature, it was time to test all of the products you have, and not sparingly. Shampoo, conditioner, hair masks, shower gel, body scrub and whatever else he could get his fingers on— once he got out of the shower and returned to you, his smell was almost overwhelming, but at least you know now that his har is somehow able to look even better than before.

After a long adjustment period, you sometimes catch Sanemi watching the TV. He made himself comfortable in a corner of your couch, cuddled up in heated blankets (he learned how to use the settings all by himself!) and watching one movie after another. He’s quite the binge-watcher apparently, watching one action movie after another for hours on end. At the end of such day, he’ll complain about his eyes burning up without having any idea how that happened.

“Hey, wanna join me? Blanket s’ warm and I found a movie about some weird metal things moving really, really fast and guys kicking each other’s asses— Huh? Cars? Are those these fast carriages sliding around on there?”

Kyojuro Rengoku

He is incredibly curious about every single thing and would try to understand how everything works. Kyojuro would inspect your microwave and press every button their is, watching the pizza pocket he threw into there react to the different settings and then grieving about how the once weird snacks he wanted to try turned into a piece of burnt remains. Despite being the most comfortable with the traditional meals he used to eat, Kyojuro would love to try any dish you even mentioned by name once! Since you can get your food delivered to your front door, Kyojuro can try as many different cultural dishes as he can get his hands on! Or as many as you can get delivered to tour home. Ordering food is something he always gets very excited about, like what do you mean you can order all kinds of cultural food in a matter of minutes? How do the restaurants have all the ingredients available and are always ready to serve customers? And why do you refuse to order a so-called Happy Meal for him? Isn’t it supposed to make one happy?

Another thing Kyojuro is very excited about is the gym. He accidentally stumbled upon a fitness center after returning from buying groceries, staring at the people training inside with those weird machines. The hashira spotted a couple of people build broader and stronger than him, making him realise that this may be some kind of modern training ground. He begged on his hands and knees for a membership so he can explore all these new machines and weight excursuses. Once Kyojuro got inside, he was like a child in a candyshop. He spend the whole day testing out every machine, noting his own limits and setting goals on how to get even stronger. Despite no demons terrorising your world, he still wants to keep his muscles and gain strength to offer nice pillows you can lay your head on and also have the ability to open sealed jars for you without struggling.

“Can we order sweet potato tonight? I miss eating it, and it’s my comfort dish…. Also, I believe I may have started to develop homesickness. I miss my brother the most, though… Not that I don’t like it here, I love it! I just miss my father and brother, that’s all.”

Giyu Tomioka

Staying true to his nature, Giyu would be silent and awkward in this new space. He’s scared of offending you in any way but simply taking his haori off or sitting down onto your couch since he has no idea about the manners and behaviours expected from him in this world, but at the same time doesn’t bother to ask you in order to not burden you in any way. So, he quietly followed you around the house in and inspect your furniture and decorations, sometimes curiously picking something up and inspecting its function. His favourite object so far is a rubix cube he found on your desk. You caught him turn the sides, trying to understand what the point of this thing is. Does it have something on the inside? Why are the colours all scrambled up? While watching his irritation grow because of not being able to sort the colours, you suggested that Giyu can keep it and try to solve it after giving him a small briefing on what the point of the cube is. Thanking you, he kept the rubix cube on his body to play around with it whenever he has time. He is seriously invested in it and really wants to solve it in order to prove to himself that he can solve a complex puzzle and to maybe even impress you a little.

Also, you discovered that Giyu likes noise-canceling headphones, music and e-books. You often find him cuddled up together on your sofa, his face illuminated by your Ipad in his hands. You could hear the faint sounds of soft and slow music from the headphones he was wearing. He looks incredibly invested in whatever he is reading, so you snuck up on him and glanced over his shoulder, reading a couple of lines. It wasn’t a fantasy story or a random novel like you thought, but Giyu was actually reading an article about the behaviour of cats. Adorable, you thought, so you left him be and went on with your day. The water hashira eyed your form as you left, sneakily switching tabs and returning to what he was actually reading: a fluffy romance novel. He looks over his shoulder twice, thrice, checking if you are still near before feeling comfortable enough to continue his reading in peace.

“Can I borrow your.. headphones? They’re called headphones, right? Yes, I’d like to borrow them again. I want to use them to have more silence, you are being very loud and I wanted to read something.”

💠

You never bother me with your requests! They are always so fun to write for!! Also, I hope it’s okay I kind of “simplified” your request— I hope you enjoyed this anyway. Also, I didn’t include Gyomei because I was unsure of what exactly to write for him, but I may update this tomorrow and a small scenario for him <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[suzukiblu]

Day seven of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut, final day ( and still TECHNICALLY in before midnight!! ); “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Well, we’ve arrived at your final resting place, Mr. Kent and young Mr. Kent,” Alfred informs them mildly as he turns off into the driveway up to Wayne Manor, which absolutely cannot actually be the local Bruce Wayne’s actual base of operations. Kon doesn’t care if the dude thinks he’s a version of Clark, there is no Batman who would just bring a couple of strange Kryptonians home without at least locking some blue K on them, whether one of them is a scared ten year-old or not, and the local blue kryptonite won’t even work on them! 

Except the moment the car stops in front of the front door and he can focus his TTK without the wheels spinning blurring anything, he absolutely can in fact feel the Batcave and all the connected cave systems that are sprawling underneath the place and clearly, like, functional and active. 

Really, he could feel that even through the wheels, they weren’t going anywhere near fast enough to actually blur his senses, but he just assumed he was somehow hallucinating that or something. Except he is definitely not, because he definitely does feel it. His X-ray vision is blocked by lead-heavy mineral deposits and there’s soundproofing and temperature control in the way of his super-hearing and infrared vision and knowing Batman there’s probably some random magic shit he got Zatanna to set up mixed in there, but his TTK can still feel a very obvious Batcave down there without even trying. 

Which, like–TTK is not really a power most people know to plan for or know how to plan for, given it’s basically just him and Match who have any remotely-developed versions of it and Match’s is kinda fucked-up with some of the degradation issues and all, and even red sun and kryptonite don’t totally cancel it out–plus those both have to be directed at him to do anything anyway, not his TTK itself–so like, yeah, in a reality where he maybe does not even actually exist–apparently does not even actually exist–prooooobably the local Batman did not ever solve that particular puzzle, no. 

This is definitely a trap. This has gotta be a trap. 

Alfred gets out and opens the car door for them with a polite incline of his head and Kon gets absolutely zero bad vibes off him, and has literally no idea what the fuck is going on with this weird-ass reality. 

“Okayyyyy,” he says slowly, and gets out of the car. Jon gets out behind him and grabs the back of his jacket, pressing up close against his back. Alfred closes the door; gives them both a pleasant little smile. 

“Allow me to get the door,” he says as he heads for said door, and also: “Earl Grey or oolong?” 

“Assam,” Kon says at the exact same time as Jon–zero percent surprisingly–says “Ceylon,” because all else aside, that was absolutely a test. Alfred never serves a guest Earl Grey unless he wants them to fuck off immediately and can’t be trusted to make oolong without putting milk in it, which is a crime against a drink that Kon doesn’t even particularly like but also a crime that he absolutely cannot handle right now. 

“Of course, sirs,” Alfred says, sparing them both a briefly thoughtful look before opening the door and holding it for them. Kon doesn’t really know what to take from that; did the guy expect something different? 

. . . actually, what does Clark drink when he comes over, Kon genuinely does not even know, he has been in the Batcave maybe four or five times max, and basically every single one was an apocalypse-level scenario that Batman was not actually on-planet for, except for the one time it was an apocalypse-level scenario that Kon was the only Kryptonian-class heavy-hitter who was League-vetted on-planet for. Which sure had been . . . an experience, as an experience. Like, a very weird and annoying and frustrating experience. Also Luthor’d already hacked his comms earlier that day to say some snide bullshit and try to boss him around about how to deal with said apocalypse, so that hadn’t really helped with his mood at the time either. 

But yeah, either way, he’s definitely never drunk Bat-tea with Clark. He’s pretty sure he’s only seen the dude drink coffee or whatever Ma’s got the kettle, in fact. So like, god knows what Alfred’s even thinking right now, because given Kon’s luck he either picked the exact thing Clark always drinks or something Clark just straight-up fucking hates. 

Probably the latter, given, again, Kon’s luck. 

This is totally a Bat-trap and they are totally gonna die here and he is totally gonna be embarrassed as fuck about it, he thinks resignedly, and then just heads into the manor with Jon still basically clinging to his back and seeming nervous again. 

“Thanks, man,” he says to Alfred, and then feels–

Oh, okay. That’s actually even weirder, Kon thinks, and tips back his head to blink up at the landing at the top of the entryway stairs where a presumably-local-but-who-knows Dick Grayson is leaning over the railing with a delighted grin on his face along with the “even weirder” sight that is a Jason standing next to him and squinting down at them speculatively. Like, a Jason in civilian clothes and the actual manor, not in vigilante-grade kevlar and the Batcave.  And like, he’s a lot less ripped than Kon’s version of the dude–like way more slender and maybe even a few inches shorter, which: what the fuck?–but he’s undeniably a Jason Todd. 

Also his hair’s black? Like. Fully black, no white streak or anything? 

So yeah, weird, Kon notes. 

Alright, well, maybe somebody’ll explain why there’s a Jason Todd who’s apparently willingly here to him after the local Batman shows up so he can explain himself to the whole Bat-belfry at once as opposed to having to go through multiple repeats of the same information and also, again, just in case this reality or this Bruce Wayne happen to be clone-racists or what the fuck ever or just have any opinions about “biological determinism” or any bullshit like that. Because that is still very much a conversation he wants to have in person and not–

“Oh my god, has Dad seen you yet?” Dick asks with a gleeful cackle, leaning even farther forward over the railing, and Kon blinks, a little startled. 

“You call him Dad?” he asks in reflexive bemusement, and Dick snickers at the question and folds his arms on the railing with an artful shrug. 

“Well, not in front of Vicki Vale and her peers or anyone with a recording device, but yeah,” he replies easily. “Take it your personal reality’s a couple decades behind ours, though.” 

“Actually–” Kon starts, though he has literally no idea how he’s gonna finish, but Jason’s already leaning forward too, bracing his hands on the rail and wrinkling his nose with a dubious expression. 

“Jesus fuck, who let twunk Uncle Clark wear designer?” he snorts. 

. . . okay then. 

“My date to the gala I was at before the multiverse got drunk and fell off its ass bought it for me,” Kon replies incredibly, incredibly dryly. Dick and Jason both blink in their own obvious bemusement, their heads cocking in opposite directions. 

“Your date bought it for you,” Dick repeats slowly. “For a Gotham gala.” 

“Yeah,” Kon says. 

“How the fuck did Aunt Lo afford that getup?” Jason asks, looking even more bemused. 

“She did not,” Kon says, because fuck it, whatever. “Like, Lois is cool and all but I could not handle her. Also, she is very, very married to both her Pulitzer and her husband. But my boyfriend's love language is 'spending his vast family fortune on unnecessary amounts of gift-giving', so like, not so much a concern?” 

“Your boyfriend?” Jason repeats incredulously, and Jon frowns in confusion and peers up at Kon’s face. 

“You’re not dating Mom yet?” he asks. “Mom married somebody? And you date–boys? That’s, like–okay?” 

“It is very okay, actually, but I reiterate: I am not Superman,” Kon says with a sigh as he gives the kid’s head a heavy pat, given it’s about the eightieth time he’s said it by now. “But also I don't wanna explain myself to every single Bat in the belfry one by one, so could we maybe convene somewhere and I can riff up a metaphorical Power Point or something?” 

“Uncle Clark, are you dating our dad?” Dick demands, looking torn between further delight and low-key horror. Kon stares at him. 

Alright, he probably brought that one on himself, considering. 

[grainsnroses]

Izzy Stradlin's Apple Crumble Recipe

apparently during the Use Your Illusions tour, no one was sober enough to eat, except for Izzy. the tour's head chef ended up sharing Izzy's apple crumble recipe in his interview.

Izzy baking desserts is just so adorable, I have to share it with everyone 🥹 I haven't had the chance to try this yet, but here's the recipe for you guys:

Ingredients:

For the crumble:

300g/10½oz plain flour, sieved pinch of salt

175g/6oz unrefined brown sugar

200g/7oz unsalted butter, cubed at room temperature

Knob of butter for greasing

For the filling:

450g/1lb apples, peeled, cored and cut into 1cm/½in pieces

50g/2oz unrefined brown sugar

1 tbsp plain flour

1 pinch of ground cinnamon

Preparation method:

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F/Gas 4.

Place the flour and sugar in a large bowl and mix well. Taking a few cubes of butter at a time rub into the flour mixture. Keep rubbing until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.

Place the fruit in a large bowl and sprinkle over the sugar, flour and cinnamon. Stir well being careful not to break up the fruit.

Butter a 24cm/9in ovenproof dish. Spoon the fruit mixture into the bottom, then sprinkle the crumble mixture on top.

Bake in the oven for 40-45 minutes until the crumble is browned and the fruit mixture bubbling.

Serve with thick cream or custard.

Less than 30 mins preparation time

30 mins to 1 hour cooking time

Serves 4

source:

[delicrieux]

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ chapter summary. some things in life are unbearable, and in yours? they’re titled gojo satoru and trying to ruin you.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

genre. enemies to lovers, ‘my bully is actually in love w me,’ comedy, light-hearted romance, aged up characters (in college), gojo being touchy bcs boundaries do not exist to my king

warnings for this chapter. gojo is being particularly troublesome

wc. 3k

author’s note: HOW ARE WE FEELING JJK NATION?!

ੈ✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | next >

CHAPTER 1: imagine minding your own business undisturbed omg

tokyo jujutsu tech is big. real, real big. but no matter where you go, he's there.

gojo satoru has made it his life's mission to relentlessly annoy you for no apparent reason. it was hate at first sight, or something equally despicable as that. for three years now, you’ve had to endure jeers raging from your sorcerer's ability to the size (or lack thereof, as you’re often reminded) of your ass. yes, that does count as harassment. no, gojo does not care.

you don’t know why he can't just leave you alone. he seems to delight in your anger and misery. they say you need to stand up to your bullies and give them a taste of their own medicine, but that does not work on gojo. the angrier – the better. he wants a reaction. he wants attention. he wants your despair served on a platter for him to lick clean and mouth, “delicious, thank you, more please.”

it's the silence and ignoring he can't take. it's like a personal insult. some deep rooted fear you hope he'll choke on.

gojo claims to hate you quite loudly. boisterously, even. wears his spite like a badge of honor, keeps it nice and clean pinned to the lapel of his uniform.

yet everywhere you go, he’s there – by your locker, outside your dorm room, on every mission you’re sent on, and always in the places you frequent. it's not exactly stalking, but it's like...gojo's way of being just as clingy without getting called out. you have called him a stalker. he laughed, pointed, and said, "what kinda idiot would even want to stalk someone like you?”

out the women's showers, you waddle to the common area. there's a vending machine, and you’d like a bubbly drink to refresh yourself. first, from the moist heat of the showers and then from the humid summer just outside the window. it’s peaceful, despite the temperature. the water still clings to your skin.

you just to locate and rejoice the last bottle of cola before you feel eyes on the back of your neck. of course. of course he's here, and you didn’t even hear him. of course.

"ugh," you groan aloud, fingers stalling against the cold buttons

"your ugliest pj's?" you startle from how loud he is, right next to your ear. too close. he’s always too close.

he makes sure to whistle long enough to make you squirm away. fuck him, he towers over you. can’t see his eyes underneath those super expensive designer glasses, but you know they keen for your reaction. once, to shoko, he said he bought them because they looked cool. unprompted, uninvited, unwanted, you chirped that they looked dumb as hell.

"whaddya got there?" his fingers press into your spine, and maybe he uncovered a new technique to turn you into stone. there is absolutely no personal space in this equation. he has none, and he has no concept of invading yours. with anyone else, maybe you wouldn't mind.

keep cool. you’re cool. stone-faced, unmovable. you don’t care if he’s trying to claw into your marrow with his neatly trimmed nails.

you hesitate for a single moment before you punch in the number. the machine whizzes and thunk, “fuck off, please,” you say, bending down to snatch your drink. he hums, sounding too satisfied for your comfort.

"you're gonna fuck yourself up on all that carbonation. never thought you could get any more hideous, but alas!"

you turn to him, and he has the good sense to move back a step to avoid the mouth that’ll insult him. there's a twitch to his brow, and an ease to his smile as he regards you leisurely. the latter is almost never a good thing. it means he's really enjoying this interaction.

if you shake your cola enough, maybe you’ll be super lucky and the spray will land on his face. now that's an idea. but even if you caught him off guard, his cursed technique would likely be in motion and the soda wouldn't touch him. how troublesome. a waste of a drink. you decides against it.

gojo leans on the vending machine. his own personal attempt cower her into submission. for what exactly? no one knows. maybe getou would have an idea, if he’s merciful enough to share. when you don’t say anything or flinch away like ijichi often does, he sighs heavily.

"aw, are ya still mad about last time? that was days ago. c'monnn, kami-”

"don't say my name."

"i forgot. kawakami-chan doesn't like me, right?"

you thought about switching schools. kyoto tech is also very good. you’d be at peace there. utahime hates gojo just as much as you do, and you have already bonded closely over this shared distain.

it's likely gojo would transfer after you. just to spite you.

"don't you have anything better to do than harass me?" you question.

the most infuriating thing about gojo, and about this situation, is that he’s happy. when you’re like this – huffing, shoulders taut, and frowning – he seems to be enjoying himself the most.

"don't pretend like you don't like it, kami-chan."

this asshole has a god complex. he seems to truly believe the earth would have ended up in a heap of smoldering ruin if not for him. to be fair, he's probably right, but still. you would first bite of your tongue than admit to that. you have considered a lobotomy to get the idea out of your head, but in the joke that is your life, gojo would likely be holding the orbitoclast.

you resent him so much you find yourself burning in his presence. it's like he took a personal class to master the art of pestering.

"doesn’t this ever get boring?"

he laughs, pressing a hand to his cheek as if embarrassed, "i never get bored of you, kami-chan. when are you coming back to the field? been too busy hanging out with losers to do some missions?"

"how pathetic must you be," you snark, "to be thinking of me when i'm not there to torment."

gojo ignores you and moves to tug at your top. the audacity has you reeling, and you attempt to smack his hand away only for it to be stopped at the last second, "yup," he inspects the quality of the fabric, his teeth flashing and making his already smug features look haughtier, "cheap.”

you open the can so forcefully the contents fizzle and spray on your hand. gojo grins so hard you expect his face to crack in half. if only.

"can i have some?”

"stop touching me," you hiss, trying to slap him away again, "why are you always touching me?"

gojo sidesteps. the dodge and dash he does, coupled with his agility, is incredible. had you not seen his many victories in battle, or spent any amount of time with him, you might be enamored. impressed, even.

perhaps that lobotomy is still an option.

"just," his arms dart out to pin you to the vending machine and you immediately aim a high kick to his thigh. but, of course, his infinity protects him. bastard. he doesn't let up though, and those hands slide along the expanse of your thighs until they meet your sides, leaving a warm trail, "makin' sure i can see all of these pores up close."

gojo, as disgusting as you often think he is, does always have a bit of honesty in his insults. you want to scream, maybe, because your pores are fine. great, even, you’ve invested into a new skincare routine, and it’s clearly working. it even works on shoko’s dark circles. he’s so full of shit, it's nauseating.

"fuck off," you shove his hands away and gojo lets you, surprisingly.

"really gross," he comments.

"you're the gross one. self-absorbed stalker."

gojo, an absolutely foul looking monster if you’ve ever met one, waggles a finger at you.

"careful, kami-chan," there's no trace of warning, only amusement, "we wouldn't wanna accidentally bump into each other too many more times."

his meaning isn't lost on you.

you hold up a finger, too. right in his face. pause. take a sip of your soda. there's no reason you should indulge this maniacal sadist in any capacity. gojo has an aura. an attitude. he comes off as unrelenting, and for all intents and purposes, he is unrelenting. in and out your life, an unshakable constant, with a lopsided grin and piercing eyes. you hate him.

you try to sidestep and flee to your room, but he blocks you. step. block. step. block. step block. stepblockstepblockstepblockstepblock-

"god! you're fucking infuriating," you explode.

you want to clock him, strangle him, castrate him, kick his head through the concrete. he's ruining a perfectly nice evening. what is it about you that he just loathes to see, so much so that it drives him to see you hurt all the time? is he truly so bad off? does he live a miserable and joyless existence?

"thanks," he looks genuinely honored, "but how'd you come to the conclusion, huh? after a little brainstorming session or-"

"what do you want?"

"lately?" gojo taps his chin, his tongue poking out, "seemed like you needed some space, so i just waited around here till you were done."

christ, he really is a stalker. you’re starting to worry he's like, actually insane.

"but now we can hang out!”

"i'm going to bed," you declare.

gojo ignores your announcement. gojo always ignores whatever you have to say.

"where we heading? your place or mine?"

"you are not going anywhere with me!"

he reaches out to flick your temple. it's so juvenile it takes you by surprise. your hands immediately fly up to protect yourself.

"huh," his face softens as if you’re this small, pathetic thing. not pity exactly, but definitely a worrisome expression, "look,” he snaps his fingers, “look. look,” he snaps them again and you will tear your hair out in 83 seconds if he doesn’t go away immediately, “we both gotta take a mission, right? might as well go together."

"go with suguru,"

gojo sighs dramatically and his whole upper body collapses, like he's pretending you kicked his shin. you reel back a bit from the proximity.

"mmm, but suguru’s so uptight lately," he comments. that’s good. getou suguru, ever the diligent one, was the first person in your sorcery class who made you feel welcomed. you quite like him, but the fact that his best friend is gojo implies there's something deeply wrong with him. you really don’t want to know what.

"go with shoko then," you state.

"shoko's just..." his arms jerk violently as if he's pretending to smash a plate, "not really on board with my mission types lately. says she can’t leave our only doctor since the patients are dying before they have a chance to enter the trauma room."

sad news for shoko, but your mind works quick.

"go alone," you smile, tilting your head to the side. the motion seems to catch his interest, "and don't come back."

gojo clicks his tongue, clearly peeved. victory. you relish this tiny bit of triumph. he starts to walk away and you watch him retreat, hopefully from your life, "i can't,"

"no way you've fallen so far."

"suguru told me to check in with someone before going on my own. it'll just make him and yaga-sensei super worried!"

"oh no," you chime, "i think you should go alone. and die."

he laughs, "come on," a pause, "it'll be fun! team-bonding and shit."

team-bonding and shit is you having a cola and reading a magazine. not fighting alongside the man who torments you like you’re some sort of pet: ‘kami-chan, do a split,' ‘kami-chan, do a roll,' ‘kami-chan, how big is your cup size again?'

the most effective way to hurt him is silence. you turn your eyes away and hum. this must be done delicately. if he catches even a whiff of your intention to flee, he’ll barge right after you. get you in a headlock and make you cry, because maybe he’s grown demented and will enjoy the sight of your tears.

with as much ease as your taunt muscles can muster, you casually pad in the direction of your room. he hasn't tried to tear down your door yet, but that's likely because the senseis would have to reprimand him.

gojo won't leave you be though, will he? as if it's a struggle to keep pace with you, he follows closely and peppers you with requests:

"come with me."

"shut up."

"we can grab dinner and-"

"you can shut up."

gojo sings, "team-building exercise, you're supposed to make a comrade's wishes come true, so come with-"

"i'll kill myself if force me to go with you. stop begging. it's so lame."

he laughs so loudly and unexpectedly that you jolt. this asshole thinks your threat is baseless. it isn’t. you’ll do it, or so god help you. you aren’t one to bitch out on anything, and maybe that’s why he’s so intent about this.

you wish he'd just give up, but it's highly unlikely. he's stubborn, and you aren’t enough to bend him.

"are you implying you'd kill yourself in front of me? for what? to mess with me?"

your face is very serious when you say, "yeah."

"shit, and you expect me to not want to see that? sorry babe, i'll have to tag along," he grins wickedly and you find yourself fighting down a spring at nausea at the sickly pet name. that’s a new development.

you move to stomp away, but he's right there to cage you to the wall. no, please, you’re at your limit. you might crumble into a heap on the floor and never rise again, even if he consistently poked at you for days.

"come," his glasses slide down his nose a bit and you’re met with gleaming, impossible, revoltingly beautiful blue eyes, "on," and he leans down. this close his infinity is gone, and you can feel the hard planes of his muscles, "a mission with me."

"kill me," you bite out.

you don’t like this, nor the rising fluster or the scent of his cologne. he always smells fresh, even in the summer months where sweat sticks like second skin. the cool wall against your back has your skin prickling. maybe this is a new advanced torture method. much more effective than waterboarding, which you would willingly take if that meant he’d let you go.

why must he be so tall? the sunlight bleeding from the windows douses his hair in a halo. it’s completely deceptive to how absolutely giddy he looks. your breathing picks up. what a nightmare. you’d attempt to knee him again if your limbs weren’t suddenly immobile.

he leans forward and murmurs, "is that an invitation for some freaky shit? cuz i like where we are now."

"gross!" you lean back as far as possible.

"i knowwww," he's undeterred by your snappiness, "seriously," he tries, "what else are you doing tonight, huh?" and you wonder why he's getting closer as your neck protests, "don’t tell me," there's a lilt to his voice you don’t trust, "you afraid you can't handle me?"

"is sexual harassment on your daily agenda?" you bite.

he moves away slightly, looking perplexed, as if you’ve given the world's toughest question. his posture becomes defensively slouched. a frown pushes his brows together and for once, the smooth talker has no quip or response.

you’re not one to look a gifted horse in the mouth and scramble.

"hey, hey, you didn’t answer!” he calls out, rushing after you, "hey! kami-chan, where'd your manners go? i need a clear answer."

damn pride. damn self-respect. you’re fleeing.

gojo doesn't let you get away that easy. your path to sanctuary is obstructed again as gojo halts you by plucking at your shoulder. you shake yourself off like a wet cat and bail. yes, you’ve resorted to running, but your room is just within reach.

"why are you running?!" his whine echoes down the empty hall, "answer the question!"

just a bit more and-

he catches up with you and hauls you up by the armpits, spinning, laughing. you squirm, and there goes your drink, your damned, tasty drink. all his antics have been on the short side, but he's never done this before: cradle you against himself, as if he was going to play catch with you.

"let go, creep!"

"creep?!" his voice is scandalized but still mirthful, "for all my gentlemanliness, huh?!"

he tosses you and you can barely right yourself with a solid landing. that's new too, the physical handling. why today of all days has he decided to pick your fights with his hands? does it make you less immune? why are you wondering? you should be running.

"and anyways, where'd your manners go huh, huh, hu-uh? no thank you when a nice gentlemanly guy takes the time of his day, the greatest guy, the-"

you might go insane. actually snap and go coo coo coconuts. kill everyone. this might be the beginning of your villain origin story. your personal vendetta to kill gojo satoru.

"seriously?!" he yells, and you open your eyes (you don’t remember closing them. it's probably a last resort sort of deal. if you can't see gojo, gojo isn’t real), and gojo's much, much, closer.

"would you mind-" you hiss.

"really," he chides, not an ounce of his good humor on his face, and you’re unable to tell if he's taunting or sincere, "all those classes you went to when you were little, and you still can't pay attention to the first thing a good guy says? do i have to spell out your obligations for you?!"

"would you kindly go fuck yourself and allow me to exist in peace?!" you shriek.

a door down the hall opens, and someone, maybe a fellow student or maybe a teacher or maybe someone unrelated all together, pops their head out the crack of their bedroom. you see this in slow-motion, watch a silhouette tilt their head and stare. it's so stupid it could be considered a scene from a comedy.

"would you two keep it the hell down already!?" your would-be-rescuer screams.

gojo glances to the side, unbothered but maybe curious. you run. before gojo can pick up his wits, you slam the door to your room open, lock it, and even fumble a deadbolt for added assurance. your room is dark save for a nightlight plugged into the corner.

your legs are shaking. you feel like throwing up. you’ve never been so terrified in your entire life.

the news reaches you via a text from shoko a good few hours later. gojo goes on the mission alone.

'please die please die please die please die,' you pray.

he returns an hour later, unharmed and cheery.

[ssahotchnerr]

Aaron making hot chocolate for his little girl 😭😭😭😭 she only wants his and can tell if someone else has made it, and flat out REFUSES to drink it. Reader calls Aaron on the phone during a case and all he can hear is his daughter crying in the background and reader is like “wtf do you put in this hot chocolate??? Coke???????” because reader just cannot get it right despite Aaron walking them through the process of his hot chocolate before 😭 maybe Aaron talks on the phone with daughter for a bit to calm her down and the promise of unlimited hot chocolate once he comes home AHHHHHHH

dad's way

please 😭 and the way i literally had a hot cocoa candle burning as i worked on this cw; fem!reader, food descriptions, brief picky eater talk, girl dad!aaron <333333

"hi sweetheart-"

the shriek on the other end immediately caused him to hold his phone an inch or two away. it was piercing and loud, even for his bad ear.

concern had already swarmed his chest before the cry had ceased, and the room suddenly felt a bit hotter. "honey? is everything alright?"

there was a brief rustling sound, a small clattering of what he assumed was dishes, the close of a cabinet following after. "how do you make your hot chocolate?"

"why-"

"how, do you make your hot chocolate." you interrupted him, your voice distancing a bit for a moment, "dada's on the phone, it's okay."

"oh." aaron chuckled softly as realization hit, his voice filled with a tinge of pity. "someone's upset."

"tell me about it." you sighed in defeat, exasperation clear. "apparently, whatever i make isn't good enough. i've given her three different cups already. three. well, given the third was a reattempt of number one. but with whipped cream and sprinkles. jack too tried to persuade her, but nope. it's daddy's hot chocolate and daddy's hot chocolate only."

"is it in the right mug?"

"the one with all the little ladybugs? yup."

"okay," aaron quickly excused himself - he was still sat amongst the rest of the team, who were silently digging through records - jj shot him a sympathetic glance as he got up. he trailed down the short hallway outside the conference room, in search of a more secluded area to give instructions. "well, i usually-"

aaron walked you through it - steaming the milk, at just the right temperature. adding the cocoa mix, a little extra than the standard serving size. mini marshmallows, and the secret ingredient you had missed - adding a touch of vanilla extract. it was simple, really, but your daughter was a stickler.

she wasn't a picky eater, but was very adamant on how things were made or presented. for example, if two foods next to each other on a plate happened to merge - it was the end of the world. and when it came to aaron's hot chocolate, she couldn't get enough of it. she asked for it nightly, promptly right after dinner. she always insisted on sitting on the counter as aaron made it, watching intently and asking questions on what he was doing. it was their thing together. and more than likely, his absence was aiding to the current meltdown.

"here," aaron hears you say, your daughter's cries lessening for a moment. "this is dada's."

there was a moment's pause, and aaron could easily visualize your daughter analyzing the drink, her eyebrows furrowing in that hotchner way that was just genetic at this point - jack had it too. but as you both already anticipated, another wail produced in response.

"nooooo it's not!"

aaron heard you tiredly sigh, and he was quick to offer more assistance. "want me to talk to her?"

"please."

another shuffle came from your end of the phone, handing it to your daughter. there was a slightly louder sniffle, indicating she was close and listening.

"hi sweetheart," aaron softened his voice, his heartstrings tugging as he silently wished he was home, with you all, rather than a few states away. "what's the matter?"

another sharp sniffle. "i want your hot chocolate."

"i know bug," he consoled softly. again, his heart breaking at her small, upset voice. "but since i'm at work, mom's gonna have to make it for you."

she hesitated, bottom lip quivering. another small wail was quick to follow. "but i want yours."

"i know, but i told momma how i make it, so it'll taste exactly the same, i promise. she put all her love in it too, just like i do. which, do you wanna know a secret?"

that grabbed her attention, her cries stilling so fast it was almost humorous. "uh huh."

"that's the secret ingredient that makes it taste so good, whether mom or i make it. but you can't tell your brother that, okay? it'll be our secret."

"okay."

"so tonight, can you drink mom's hot chocolate? she worked really hard to make it special, just for you." she quieted, still unsure, so aaron switched tactics. "and when i get home, i'll make you two cups. with extra, extra marshmallows. how does that sound?"

[sweetismyaddiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist

SUCROSE

Paring: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: They live in the same building, in the same corridor, just in front of one another… which helps the friendship but couldn't stop Dr. Reid from falling in love

Word account: 1199

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, friends to lovers

A/N: English is not my first language. Reblog, like, and comment. I am accepting suggestions for the next parts (should I already tell about the nicknames?). Please be nice. The Gif is not mine. Credits to the oner

Chapter 1: Derek Morgan, next door

Y/N’s Point of View

The water ran warm against my skin, a relaxing shower was all I needed after one very busy day serving and cleaning, which was not the worst part of the job, the worst part certainly was the clients themselves.

I had a playlist on to help me relax, thank god I had the day off and would go just to the night shift today, so it is a study and cleaning house day. But a noise interfire my peace day. Noises that come from outside.

In the corridor someone knocked on a door calling a name, Spencer’s name… I finished my bath, put on my robe and with my towel dried a little of my hair just taking the exes of the water then brushing it. I came out just in time to see someone kicking down my door and entering my apartment holding a gun.

“What are you doing?”

The man is a black big man, he looks around and then to me still holding his gun pointing it to me.

“Where is Spencer Reid?”

“Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? Why did you break my door?”

The last sentence was a scream, I can’t believe that a random dude broke my door for no reason. Can’t he see numbers?

“I am SSA Derek Morgan. Now, where is Reid?”

Morgan, the name rings in my ears. Spencer talked about him so many times. Apparently they are friends and coworkers, he can break Spencer’s door, not my door!

“Spencer’s door is the other one.” I point to the one just across the hall. “But relax big man, you do not need to break another door, I have the key, just wait in here and let me put some clothes on. Do not let anyone into my apartment. And put that gun down. Jesus”

Is this a thing? You have to be handsome to join the FBI? After putting a light dress and getting the key I get back to my living room, where that delight for tired eyes wait, he remains stoic, rigid, so tense. Should I be worried?

Knocking soft on the door and calling his name I warne Spencer that me and Morgan are coming in. No response, and the place is immaculate, everything in the right place.

“He must be asleep, he has been very tired those couple weeks. I am going to check his room.”

“By yourself?”

“Yeah. What? There is something I should know? He is contagious? A zombie? No? Ok, so I am totally fine going by myself.”

I walk slowly into his room, it is dark and quiet.

“Sugarpout? Spence?”

A peaceful breathing is heard when closer to the bed, he is involved in his blankets, is the sights of heaven, my heart gets warm seeing Spencer resting peacefully.

I sit at the bed and run my hand delicately in his soft hair before resetting it in his forehead checking his temperature, he moves a little moaning in protest.

“Shh… it's me Sugarpout, it is ok, you can keep sleeping”

Is a very quiet whisper as I place a tender kiss to his forehead leaving my boy there, his hand landing on top of mine making me smile, as quiet as I entered his bedroom is as I live.

Just at the room door, Derek looks at us, I just make a signal to him to keep quiet and we are back to Spencer’s living room.

“So… you seemed troubled. There is something I should know? Is something wrong with Spencer?”

“Why do you have his keys?”

“Cause I live just across the hall?”

Who does he think he is to interrogate me?

“Serious? That 's why? Common, hot stuff, Reid didn't make a move on that gorgeous woman? Man, he really doesn't have material… or does he?”

Flirtatious Morgan, Reid said he was just like that, all charming. Just bark, don’t bite. Well… I don’t think girls would mind if he bites them, I recognize good stuff when I see it.

“Changing subject that quickly? What are you avoiding agent?”

He just looked at me, no verbal answer, heavy shoulders unmatched with the flirt smile on his face… for a profiler he isn't that good in hiding emotions.

“Seriously” a puff of air came out of me. “Is everything okay with him?”

“Yes, Reid is fine. I… was just worried, we had a hard case and he wasn’t answering the phone…”

“I believe you”

“So… why the keys?”

“I live very close, we are friends and I am his food stealer”

 I blinked at the man with a dirty smile in my face mixed with my sweet traces.

“Food stealer?”

“He is out, I need something, I enter his apartment, I grab what I need, and then I come back to my place. Simple”

“Are you confessing a crime to an FBI agent?”

“A crime against another agent. And the other agent is very aware of what I do in his hose”

“Sorry about the door”

“It’s okay, it is nice to know Sugarpout have friend that really care about him”

It is impossible not to smile, I care so much about the genius boy. Knowing other people also care about him warmes my insides, it is really good to know he is well protected in the field.

“Sugarpout?”

My eyes almost fall out of my face. Shit! It is a private nickname.

“Don’t. Do not, ever, ever, talk about it to anyone, It is private, and especial, so please…”

“Okay, a secret. Someday you will tell me?”

“Maybe”

Derek Morgan lives his card with me. He waited about 30 minutes talking to me, but it seemed Spencer wouldn't wake up so soon, so Derek decided to go home, but promised to pay for my door. In my opinion it was the very minimum he could do, but them we have a talk, and his caring by Spencer was more than enough for me to forget about my broken door.

“Sugar?”

“Hey, Sugarpout, did you sleep well?”

I smile going to start to prepare something for him to eat.

“How long have I sleeped?”

“Something around two hours, you needed it. Morgan passed by, and broke my door”

“He what?”

“Broke my door. He was knocking, no one opened, then he kicked in. But surprise, surprise. It was the wrong door.”

“Sorry”

“It is not your fault, and he is going to pay for the repair, he was just worried because you didn’t answer the phone, and the last case was hard. I assume you basically blacked out from exhaustion so I decided to let you sleep.”

The toast is ready as is the coffee, the black coffee with tons of sugar.

“Here you go Sugarpout, you need to eat, and then you should call your people. I am not asking about the case. Just a reminder that you can talk about anything with me anytime, I am just one door away.”

I kiss his head, before going back to my place. I could tell he needed a moment alone to call his friends, especially Derek after what I vaguely told him.

---------------------------------------------------------

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist

[lucianhuntress]

Emmrich x Reader: 58. “Don't get used to it.”

This was super extra special bonus that I came up with in the morning late in the night. No actual Veilguard spoilers in it. Just inspired by the Mourn Watch Rook.

The hallways of the Necropolis hum eerily, reminding of the lingering presence of spirits even when they mischievously stay out of sight. Sometimes the temperature drops uncomfortably as you walk through the stoney corridors to the professor's study.

Professor Emmrich usually treats his pupils equally and you aren't supposed to be any different. However, your enthusiasm in the studies of necromancy has piqued his interest; not only are you excited to learn —you have also shown skill in the simple rituals and ceremonies you have done so far. Obviously you are nowhere near his level, but with his guidance you may reach the pinnacle of spiritual magics one day.

Normally he wouldn't even be so invested in additional tutoring, but the light glimmering in your eyes like a dozen gleeful spirits makes his heart flutter. Spirits enjoy your presence and apparently so does he. 

“Tea?” He asks, musing to himself as he eyes you across the small table while you unpack your bag; a book of reanimation, a quill and a bottle of ink. You are always ready to take notes and he is happy to delve deeper into the theories of magic with you.

He notices how you have filled the margins of your spell book and he knows the act is condemnable; so many books in the library are often found full of illegible scribbles. Instead he finds it cute; another little detail about you and he really shouldn't keep adding any more reasons to find you endearing. It is hardly appropriate to favor one student anyway, much less to actually have feelings for.

“Yes… please. Professor.” you smile at him warmly, causing his heart to flutter. Manfred saunters over to you with a tray and pours tea into a very fancily decorated cup. You inhale the soft scents of the tea, before taking a sip.

“Oh dear. I see Manfred used the finest tea I have,” Emmrich says in a disappointed manner while somehow managing to sound cheerful at the same time. His eternal cheerfulness is something that keeps impressing you even if you are knee deep in femurs, ribs and spines while chanting a spell and holding a candle.

“I-I’m sure I've never had anything like this before.” You stutter slightly as you stare at the cup wide-eyed. “It’s so good, professor!”

“It certainly has such a deep and robust flavor that I rarely dare to drink it myself.” Emmrich sighs and taps his thighs gently, as if to end the tea serving. “Don't get used to it— I think I have to hide the remaining leaves.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something to himself.

You let out a delighted chuckle, feeling the warmth of the tea spreading across your body. Emmrich studies your expression with bemusement. “I shall treasure this cupful then.”

[nottswitch]

hey i hope i’m not disturbing you but is a wondering if you could do a fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader (fem) where it’s an already established but fred and the reader have been friends since the beginning and the reader is a prefect and helps to get fred out of trouble and after one such occasion fred is like i love you and it’s just like fluff

if not that’s ok

⋆˙⟡ ravenclaw!prefect!reader helps her boyfriend out of trouble

not disturbing at all, tysm for your request <3 as a ravenclaw, i appreciate the thought! was giggling and kicking my feet while writing this, so i hope you enjoy!

warnings: lots of fluff

navigation ; masterlist ; fred m.list ; how to request

“i assure you, professor, that mr. weasley had just overstayed his welcome in the library. nothing more.”

you stood in front of professor mcgonagall, your composure well-kept, but your heart secretly beating at light’s speed. your face didn’t show any emotions, but on the inside you were fuming; you could swear your current body temperature wasn’t healthy for a human. the ginger behind you let out a chuckle and you offered merlin another prayer, begging that fred wouldn’t blurt out something outrageous and ruin your lie, created in haste and therefore, fragile.

“i wasn’t aware you had such a zeal for knowledge, mr. weasley,” mcgonagall addressed fred, raising her eyebrow. he shrugged with a smirk on his face.

“what can I say, professor, i am quite unpredictable!”

you rolled your eyes. mcgonagall didn’t seem to take his words at face value, but she was likely tired of his antics and, after all, he was with you, a prefect, an exemplary ravenclaw student. she trusted you, which made you feel bad every time you openly abused that trust to get your madman of a boyfriend and his brother out of trouble.

you heard mcgonagall call your last name and straightened your back.

“your responsibility. please, escort mr. weasley to the dormitories and remind him not to overwork himself.”

the professor shot fred a warning look and strode away, her steps loudly bouncing off the walls of the empty corridor. you breathed out a sigh of relief and motioned him to follow you.

“that – that was brilliant, hun!”

fred caught up to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, placing a kiss on your temple. you scoffed, but a smile graced your lips nonetheless.

“mr. weasley, you annoy me to no end,” you said, giving him a frown, which apparently appeared comical, as the boy just chuckled and continued sprinkling your face with small kisses, from your cheek to your forehead and back again. “now stop that, we have to go!”

in a matter of seconds you were sat on the nearest windowsill, fred’s arms locking you in place without a way to escape. he always did that, his athleticism be damned, picking you up and carrying you wherever his heart desired.

“love, what are you doing?” you whispered as he continued to pester your flushed face with his lips. “mcgonagall is right round the corner!”

“helping my little prefect loosen up a bit.”

you sighed and cupped fred’s face with your hands, moving it away ever so slightly, so that you could see his eyes. a usual hint of mischief glimmered in his gaze, and you were on the brink of surrendering at his mercy and giving him a proper snog. but your luck had been tested enough that evening.

“babe, can you promise me something?” you asked, your eyes fixed on him with hope.

“what is it, hun?”

“can you stop doing this? i mean, sneaking out at night. at least when I’m on patrol duty.” you sighed, tweaking your expression to display your best puppy eyes that fred could never resist. “i’m surprised georgie isn’t with you!”

“brother mine didn’t have any fun in his bones tonight,” fred scoffed. “hun, you know how i am. you can ignore me, i’ll serve detention, nothing new.”

“but I can’t! i don’t want you to get in trouble,” you admitted, scanning his face for any traces of sympathy for you.

“baby, i am trouble.”

you grinned as fred pulled you closer to him and pecked your nose. he emitted homely warmth and you felt safe, even though it was far from the truth – any professor could sneak up on you at any point, hell, even a fellow prefect, who wouldn’t be so kind to two students virtually snogging in the corridors way past curfew.

“i love you, my little prefect,” fred muttered against your lips, your noses so squished together that you could barely breathe.

“i love you too,” you replied, brushing his cheek with your thumb.

your lips blended in one as you kissed under the moonlight softly enveloping your silhouettes through the colourful stained glass window. fred wrapped his arms fully around you, one on the back of your head and the other safely belted around your waist. a sleeve of fred’s oversized cardigan served as a cushion, keeping your nape from freezing against the chilly glass, adorned with the first november frost.

“so… you promise?”

“give me your schedule, hun. can’t get my prefect in more trouble, can i?”

[ghoularaki]

baby's breath | 7

↠  summary: Merely by coincidence, Erwin, your father's former friend had crossed paths with you again after nearly a decade. He offered solace once finding out you were struggling with not just school, but your home life as well. His home he shared with another one of your father's friends, Levi, became a sanctuary. Though, the more you came over for study sessions, the more they wiggled themselves into your private life. And like baby's breath, they weeded themselves in so deep you couldn't uproot them.

↠ word count: 5,939

↠ pairing: levi ackerman x reader x erwin smith

↠ genre/warnings: angst, smut, modern au, DARK CONTENT, yandere, daddy kink, forced infantilism, pet play, age gap. NSFW (omorashi, slight feederism)

Playing it safe, within the time you were allowed to sleep on the couch, you dared not go forth with your plan. And thank god you didn’t since Levi got into the habit to come down stairs a couple times in the night. This was how you learned how much of an insomniac Levi was. Most nights he would leave you be and would make his tea. Though last night, he sat on the couch like he did over a week ago. Or at least you thought it had been. Time passed so differently here. All you knew was July quickly approached with the temperature rising.

A routine had been set. During the day Levi watched over you while Erwin kept up the facade of a professor. The couple days he came home late you quickly learned wasn’t because of paperwork, but taking Levi’s place to ‘keep people in line.’ Curiosity ate away at you to know what exactly they did behind the scenes. Though, for your sanity you didn’t ask questions.

Levi’s previous threat of you not being Erwin’s first stray never left your brain. How long before you were to be discarded like a broken doll? Or was Levi lying out of his ass to keep you in line? Try as you might, you couldn’t stop the questions swirling around your head. Even if they sent you in a frenzy, you wanted to be prepared for anything to happen.

But, surprisingly, everything lulled. Your head had gotten significantly better. You barely had any headaches now and you were able to watch the TV in small doses. Despite feeling better, you refused to let the two of them know how much better you were. Feigning weakness to feed into Erwin’s want to baby you and to have Levi get off your back, you played dead like a possum.

Sun slowly slipped down the sky like an exposed yolk. Twilight crept into the living room where you sat, observing Levi making dinner for you three. Over the course of the week or so you were recovering, you were able to eat at the table. When Erwin would come home late into the night, Levi let you sit in your own chair. Skeptical of him, you tried to subtly side-eye him, but he easily caught it.

“You’re not a child,” He had said.

His words were true, though you didn’t really believe him. Levi sure did treat you like a incompetent child. Especially when he let you eat by yourself he made a comment not to choke. You had gripped your plastic fork (he wasn’t stupid enough to give you something you could actually hurt him with) to conceal your rage. Maybe he said it to get under your skin. It only served to vex you more that it had worked.

Fiddling with the TV remote, you watched the cartoon displayed on the screen. So lost in thought, you almost didn’t hear the sound of the locks being turned. Head shooting up, you watched Erwin walk through the door, suitcase in hand. Exhaustion was apparent on his face.

Toeing off his dress shoes inside the mudroom, he walked further into the home. Walking past you, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. Perplexion physically formed on your face. Turning your body on the couch, you watched Erwin’s hunched, broad shoulders move towards his office. Glasses slipping off his face, from deep in the room you hear him throw them onto his desk.

Locking eyes with Levi, the man didn’t offer you any resolve, going back to stirring the food in the pan.

“Make yourself useful and set the table,” He called out to you.

Still confused, you followed the order, not wanting to ire the other man in the house. The couch creaked as you got up and shuffled over to the kitchen. Heart in your throat, you walked past Levi to reach into the cabinet. When everyone was awake, the men kept them unlocked. What really could you do with Levi breathing down your neck.

Opening the cabinet, you reached for three plates.

“Only grab two.”

Those simple words had anger grip you. You always forgot when Erwin was home what little autonomy you had, vanished. Sure, Levi had beaten and raped you, but at least he didn’t touch you since then. If anything it seemed he avoided any skin contact.

Moving your fingers to take the dishes, you clutched them in your hands and went towards the table. The resilient, but the stupid part of you wanted to break the plates and pierce Levi in the side of his throat. He could never touch you again, but his hands will be imprinted on you for a lifetime. You wanted to scar him as he did you.

You placed the plates on the table.

Sliding one at the head of the table and then one at side, you went to the drawers to grab cutlery. Forks and knives in hand, you repeated the motion. You did the same with the cups.

Standing in the middle of the dining room, you waited for an order. Unease settled in your gut. The routine had been broken. Erwin always acknowledged you when he got home and Levi never let you touch the dishes. Something bad was going to happen to you. They couldn’t have known your plan already, could they? You were only joking when you thought Levi could read your mind.

You tried to muffle your stuttering breaths. Nostrils flared, you stared at the ground with watering eyes. A panic attack about to overtake you, you wanted to vomit. You weren’t even here for more than ten days and you were on the verge of insanity. Such a small part of you wanted to go back to the old days where you considered the men father figures, but the bigger part wanted to slit their throats in their sleep.

Shutting down, you sucked in your tears and disassociated.

The burner flicked off with a click and Levi pivoted to look at you still staring at the floor. A haunting blank expression spread on your visage. He snapped his fingers in front of your face and you barely registered it. Slowly you looked up at him.

“What the fuck is up with you?” He gruffly asked, brow furrowed.

You shrugged, looking very similar to the petulant child he frequently called you. He opened his mouth to question you further, but Erwin lumbered into the room. His expression steely.

Still ignoring you, he grabbed his plate and put a hefty amount of the food onto the plate. With the filled water pitcher at the table, he poured enough water, it almost spilled over the brim. Following his movement, Levi grabbed his plate and put a significantly less amount.

“Princess, come.”

Beckoned like a dog, you hesitantly stumbled closer. Gently, Erwin placed you on his lap. Tugging you closer, you sat until your back was flushed to his front. Entangled in his form, you felt so tiny, so weak. One arm slung across your waist, the way his bicep flexed against your side, you knew Erwin’s strength. Like Levi, he could easily crush you.

Stabbing his fork into his food, he elegantly brought it up and wrapped his lips around it. After one bite, Erwin put his fork down and turned you around slightly. Grabbing the nearly spilling cup, he brought it up to you.

“Can you do me a favor and drink this all for me?” He posed it as a question, but you knew a demand when you heard one.

Gulping, you dared to ask, “Why?”

Blithely smiling, he said, “I can’t make sure my little girl is hydrated? We have to make sure you get better as quickly as possible.”

Uncomfortable, you squirmed and then hissed when his hand dug into your side. For some reason, your eyes bounced to Levi who watched on, eating his food without a care. Suspicious, you go to take the glass from Erwin, but he jerked it back and tsked at you.

Dropping your hands, you let him put the cold glass to your lips. Shuttering, you willed away the memories begging to surface. You were no longer in the basement, you were no longer in the basement, you were no longer in the basement.

Not realizing how thirsty you were, you swallowed half of the cup before trying to pull away. Erwin followed your head.

“Uh uh, drink all of it.”

Clenching your eyes, you wrapped your hands around his wrist to stabilize yourself. Quickly you consumed all the cold water that laid heavy in your stomach. Once the cup no longer sat on your lips, you gulped any air you could.

The glass clinked around the table. Rubbing your side as encouragement, Erwin poured more water into the cup. More nervous than ever, you tried to claw at the arm digging into your ribs.

“Have your tantrum now because I won’t tolerate it soon enough,” Erwin’s tone pierced you.

He had gone back to eating. After a couple of bites, he offered you some. Stomach already full from the water and anxiety, you turned away. Though he quickly gripped your jaw and forced you towards him. Hands free, you attempted to slap his wrist away. His fingertips squeezed your mandible until your mouth dropped from the pain. Shoving a forkful of food into the cavity, he loosely cradled your jaw to make sure you chewed.

Glare strewn across your face, you ground the food and swallowed. “I hate you.”

Erwin brought another forkful to his own lips and stared you down as he chewed. He looked at you as if you were a toddler throwing a fit. A simple, blank expression rendered you on edge. Those deep blues analyzed your very being. Tearing you apart to a molecular level to see what made you tick.

Unnerved, you kept your hands curled in your lap. Stabbing more food, Erwin brought the food to your lips after his bite. You tried not to think of you sharing saliva with the man. Throughout dinner, Erwin didn’t take a sip of his drink. Erwin kept feeding himself and then you until three-fourths of the plate was empty. The water left stagnant in the cup.

Pausing in his eating, he went for the cup again and went towards your lips. If you drank the water, you surely would explode. Already full, you felt the tickle in your bladder telling you you needed the bathroom.

“E-erwin I can’t. I’m full,” Instinctively, you put your hands up to stop him.

The hand on your hips snaked up to grab your hand and forced your head still. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

You wanted so badly to cradle your head, his hand right where your healing wound sat. Sniffling your resolve, you dropped your hands and parted your lips. Cold glass touching you again, you tried to float away from the kitchen to somewhere, anywhere but here. Tipping the cup forward, you forcibly swallowed down all the water.

Your throat bobbed as you drank all you could. Once the very last drop sat in your stomach, you coughed and tried not to gag. Placing a hand over your mouth, you breathed through the nausea. Water pouring into the cup once again had a shutter running through you.

Erwin rubbed your back as you hunched over. He went back to eating. Once you calmed down, he tried to feed you once more. You were so full, you couldn’t take anymore or you would actually throw up.

“Please,” You pleaded. It fell upon deaf ears.

“Eat.”

Blatantly sobbing, Erwin took the opportunity to shovel the food into your mouth. You had no idea what warranted him being so cruel to you. Did he really find out you stole his glasses screwdriver? And if so, why won’t he tell you why he’s punishing you now?

Spiteful, you go to spit the food at him, but he slammed a hand over your mouth. His large hand encompassed all over your lower face, even your nose. Smothering you, you still refused to swallow. With a free hand, his fingers massaged your throat triggering your reflex. Ingesting the food, Erwin released you.

Cradling your stomach, you sagged into Erwin, in pain. Your stomach stuffed to the brim and pushing on your bladder, you felt the need to go. Fear gripped you as you had an inclination he wouldn’t let you off that easily.

Taking the last bites of food, the man reached for the glass. Already knowing what was going to happen, you thrusted yourself from his form and jumped from his lap. If you drank anymore you would pee yourself. Not being able to handle the humiliation of doing that again in the span of less than two weeks, you struggled.

Easily, he spun you in his lap so you were back to chest. His elbow held down your body as he tipped the glass in your mouth. His other hand pinched your nose so you had to imbibe every last drop. Digging your nails into his forearm, you tried to shake your head, but you were immobilized.

Once the glass sat on the table again, you coughed and gagged. Erwin engulfed your face once more and forced your head into his shoulder. “You throw any of it up and we will do this all over again.”

He let you settle until your tummy stopped flipping. Levi at this point got up and cleaned up dinner, not saying a word through the whole thing. Plates clattering in the sink made you jump. Staring at the ceiling, you tried not to focus on your stomach pressed down on your bladder.

Deeming you ready enough, Erwin picked you up quite awkwardly. He lifted you with just the arm wrapped around your waist, feet dangling. Like a child carrying a disgruntled cat. Taking you into the living room that Levi already sat in, Erwin placed you in the middle. The coffee table had been moved to the side and instead there was a mat with a paw print pattern. The paws were raised. He had your body sink on the mat, your knees taking the brunt of it. Under it, laid a puppy pad.

Fuck.

Kneeling on the mat, Erwin came to squat in front of you. He grabbed your hands and placed them on your knees.

“This is punishment for what you did to Levi.”

Your head sprung up and you seethed, “I already was punished.”

“That wasn’t punishment, that was Levi unable to handle his emotions,” Levi clicked his tongue from somewhere within the room. Erwin continued, “I have been lenient with you since you were injured, but you clearly are well enough considering you poked your nose in stuff that isn’t yours.”

Moving your focus to Levi, you snipped, “Snitch.”

“Not my fault you’re stupid enough to think I wouldn’t tell Erwin,” Both his face and tone flippant.

“Oh yeah I forgot how you’re his bitch—”

Levi’s face turned thunderous, but Erwin promptly slapped you. He barely hit you with any of his strength for the sake of your head. The action still had you reeling as your gaze dropped.

Gripping your jaw again, he kept eye contact. “Don’t squirm or go to the bathroom for an hour and then you will be forgiven. You will be given one warning. Don’t make me repeat myself more than once.”

Fisting your hands until your nails bit into your palms, you weighed the outcomes of behaving or not. Erwin didn’t leave any room to fuck up, he didn’t even say what would happen if you were unable to do the punishment. Plus, the mat already hurt your bare knees.

Exhaling to steel your nerves, you whispered, “Okay.”

Stroking your cheek with his thumb, he reminded you, “No squirming or going to the bathroom for an hour.”

At that he departed from your form. A spectacle in the middle of their living room, the men ignored you for the movie playing. Back facing the screen, you could only guess what entertained them from sounds alone.

The want to wiggle plagued you. Your body already ached from your overstuffed tummy and the grooves of the mat digging into your skin. The pain was minimal, but it itched at you. How you wanted to curl in and hug yourself. The need to vomit still hadn’t passed. Spine straight as a pole, you could only assume his command not to squirm included not moving from where he positioned you.

From where you sat, you watched the men sit on the couch. Bare of you, Levi and Erwin sat at the same couch. They were on opposite sides with no indication of it being for any bad reasons. Levi didn’t seem like the type to cuddle or touch in general. Erwin was a man of poise. If he craved touch, he didn’t seem to be the type to make it apparent. Well, in a normal context.

Here, in this house, he could reign down all his desires on you as he pleased. No different than a man of faith finally led a stray. No longer ignorant and free from his charm, Erwin held no respect for anyone but himself.

Your focus stayed on the space in between them. If they were going to ignore you, you would do the same. Channeling your willpower, you refused to cave. Despite Erwin’s command, you could sense he wanted you to fail. To embarrass yourself as you did Levi.

Resting his cheek against his fist with elbow sat on the arm of the couch, Levi glanced at you. From your peripheral, you saw him leisurely drinking in your form. If you weren’t so stubborn, you would have snapped at him that he’s enjoying this. He must be. You were like this because of him, because of Erwin.

Erwin huffed out a laugh at the TV. Clenching your fingers even tighter, your skin pinched between your nails. You hoped you would bleed. Your thighs started to cramp from being in the same position for who knows how long now. Every second passed slowly, like in molasses. The sticky residue had you wanting to stretch your legs.

Tiny divots imprinted into you. You didn’t know what made you more angry, the mat having pawprints on it or Erwin picked it because of that. Maybe it’s Levi who did since he did have an infinity to call you a bitch or a dog. How much did they have this prepared?

While lost in your thoughts, you felt a small wetness begin in your panties. Instantly you clenched your thighs and stood up straighter. Alright so trying not to pay attention to your bladder didn’t help you at all. Now you were very conscious of it. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

Instead of the sting in your knees, your brain flooded you with the ache in your intestines. With it in the forefront of your mind, you wanted to move. When you clenched your thighs, your knees moved slightly causing the sharp edge to dig in your cartilage. Subtly as you could, you shifted to get some sort of relief.

Somehow Erwin caught it.

“First and only warning, Princess.”

Luckily Levi made no comment to tempt you. Steeling yourself, you bit your lip. Still refuse to give the men the reaction they wanted, you didn’t stray from the space in between them. With no idea how much time had passed, you didn’t know how much longer you had. You regret not counting in your head the seconds. Sure, it would have been agonizing, but at least you knew when to give up.

Time sat like this, unmoving like your quivering form. Your toes started to curl in on themselves from the stretch. Squeezing your lids, the cramps in your legs, back and now your feet almost broke you. Laying on the couch for almost a week didn’t help with your stamina.

Body coiled tight like a violin string, your bladder screamed at you. It laid heavy on your other organs. More dribbled out of you and you wanted to screech. Why of all days did your own body betray you? Were you no better than an untrained puppy? Most adults couldn’t even go without a toilet and yet you were here, almost peeing yourself no better than a child. You seethed and scolded yourself for not being stronger.

“Times up, sweet girl,” Erwin’s voice pulled you from your stupor.

Head springing up, you stared at him as if he was lying. Even with those words, you didn’t get up. In this position for so long, your body crystallized. Erwin got up from the couch to get closer to you.

“Can I go now?”

“Go ahead,” He smiled down at you.

Relieved, you raised on your knees to get up slowly, but he clamped a hand on your shoulder and forced you back down.

Confused, you tried to pry away his enormous palm. Slumped on the ground, you were no longer on your knees but your legs to the side of you, your hip digging into the rim of the mat. Your fingers worthlessly scrambled against his to pull them backwards.

“I didn’t move, let me go!”

“I don’t remember saying you could use the bathroom, just not to squirm or go unless you wanted a harsher punishment.”

“You freak,” You barked and raised your hand to punch him in his dick.

Before you could, Levi came behind you and stopped you before you made it worse for yourself.

“Let the poor girl go, Erwin. Honestly I really don’t want to clean up the mess,” Levi sounded exasperated.

Nodding, Erwin let you go and you scrambled away from him. Your legs were pins and needles, stinging as you awkwardly stumbled into the bathroom. No different to a fawn finding its footing.

Behind you, Erwin huffed at Levi that he was merely teasing you. You could almost hear Levi rolling his eyes at the taller man.

Ripping the door open and slamming it closed, you really wish the bathroom had a lock. Finally on the toilet, you let yourself sag until your chest was at your knees. Stuttering breaths erupted from your lungs. The stress of today weighed on you. Muffling your sobs, you refused to move, not caring your panties and shorts hung around your ankles. The ache persisted in your tummy.

The door opened and shut a lot softer than when you shut it. From the barely there footsteps you assumed Levi joined you. Tilting your head up with a tearful glare, his expression stayed stoic.

“Do you need help?” His eyes look at the toilet paper.

Scoffing, you grabbed it yourself, “Don’t fucking coddle me.”

At that, he crossed his arms and leaned against the door, trapping you with him. Realizing how exposed you were, you finished your business and shoved your clothes over your pelvic bone. Getting up from the toilet, you reached behind you to pull the band over your butt. You refused to let him see you naked ever again. Even if it killed you.

Going to the sink, you stared at each other from the mirror. Flicking the water on, you squirt copious amounts of soap in your hands. Vigorously scrubbing, you let muscle memory overtake you as you watched Levi like a prey animal. Water rushing filled the empty silence.

“You’re not doing it correctly.” Pushing himself off the door, he stood behind you.

Wrapping his arms around yours, he took your hands in his. Compared to Erwin’s hands, his seemed almost delicate. Long, slim fingers with slender palms but still littered with calluses. His nails were well manicured, but you could tell he’s a man that used his hands often. Despite this, his still engulfed and cradled yours.

Gently, with his chin over your shoulder, he washed your own hands meticulously.

“Didn’t I say not to coddle me,” You muttered, too tired to actually fight.

“I don’t think you are in the position to tell me what to do,” His voice tickled your neck.

Still staring at him in the mirror, you spoke, “I forget that’s Erwin’s job.”

“I know what you are doing. Knock it off.”

Properly scolded, you looked down and watched how the warm water washed over you both. Hands thoroughly cleaned, Levi released you to let you both respectfully dry your hands. Finished before you, Levi grabbed your annoyingly pink toothbrush and just as annoyingly strawberry toothpaste tube.

The mirror shut with a muffled pop. Confused, you watched on as Levi squirted a hefty amount of toothpaste on the bristles. Wetting it under the water and flipping it back off, his left hand grabbed your jaw and massaged it open. Scared of a repeat of only mere hours ago, you try to tilt your head away. Levi was quick to redirect you.

In the mirror, he placed the toothbrush into your mouth. At first you thought he’s going to gag you, but instead he gently brushed your molars. Eyebrows twisted in perplexion, your eyes go cross-eyed as you stare at the brush in your palate. Memories of your first day trapped here ran through your head. The whole reason why you were punished. He must have been testing you. To see if you would be stupid enough to repeat the same mistake.

This time you will keep your teeth to yourself. For now.

Through the mirror, Levi didn't drift from your mouth. Extremely thorough with each tooth, he moved from one side to the other. Foamy, strawberry flavored drool spilled from your mouth and down onto the sink.

You whimpered at the sticky saliva paint on your chin. Levi paid no mind to it as he pinched your jaw to open your mouth further. With dexterity, he moved to your upper row of teeth, scrubbing away any imperfections. Too tired to really fight, you wrapped your hands around his forearms.

“Spit.”

Listening, you bent over and spat the toothpaste into the sink. Bringing you back up, he spoke again.

“Open, tongue out.”

Warmth filled your face. His words in different context sounded so lewd. His face didn’t portray how his words sounded. Reluctantly, you let your tongue lull out. Hand still on your face, he simply brushed your tongue.

Going deeper into the cavity, you gagged when he hit the back of your throat. He paused, but continued on. He kept the same pace with your tongue, attentive. The brush went too far and you gagged again.

“Spit,” he repeated.

Still queasy from earlier, you gladly did. If he kept hitting the back of your throat, you were going to throw up and you didn’t want him to brush your teeth, again.

Not moving from you quite yet, he rinsed off the brush and put it with the others in the holder. Hands on your shoulders, Levi spun you around slowly. Your grip on his forearms loosening. Grabbing a cloth, he wet it under the water and brought it to your chin. Gently he wiped away any residue.

“Messy,” He absentmindedly commented.

Levi finally let his arms drop. Locking gazes with you once more, he seemed to be… pleased.

The thought had fire sit in your chest. You didn’t want to ever make that man content or pleased with you. The mutual hatred kept your sanity not snapping like a thread. But you couldn’t handle more, so you let it be. Picked your battles.

“Come.”

Pulling completely away, he opened the bathroom door and expected you to follow. Dejectedly you stayed behind him. Instead of taking a right, he went to the left, further down the hall. Right where your room sat.

Pretending to be scared to go back inside and a little spoiled, you grabbed the hem of Levi’s shirt. “Wait!”

He stopped and glared at the hand tugging at him. “What?”

“I don’t want to go back in,” You mumbled.

“Too bad. Erwin spoiled you enough.” Levi grabbed the hand on his shirt and tugged you further down the hall.

You stumbled a little at the pull, but stayed silent otherwise. A tiny smile flinched on your lips before you snuffed it. You dared not look anything but dejected, Levi could sniff out when you were lying like a damn bloodhound.

Light footsteps carried you until you hit your bedroom, nothing out of place. The cage door open, waiting for your arrival. Firmly, Levi brought you to the cage and stuffed you inside. While going in he covered the wiring so your head didn’t hit the metal. There was no need to injure you further.

He closed you in and locked you inside with a snap of the key. The same key you kept seeing. One a bolder, safer night, you will go looking for the source of it. It had to be your ticket out of here.

Crouched at the door, Levi observed you, eyes squinted. “I know you’re up to something, whatever it is, stop it. Erwin only played nice because he’s worried about your concussion worsening.”

“I’m not up to anything,” You glared back. Liar.

“We’ll see about that. Don’t come crying to me when your Daddy beats your ass black and blue.” And with that, he withdrew from your cage and left you alone. He flicked the lights off and shut the door.

Finally alone, you crumpled into a ball and grabbed one of the plushies. Muffling your cries, you sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left. Hours must have passed as you no longer heard the TV and the light in the hallway didn’t creep into the dimly lit room. Your stomach no longer hurt, at least some of the food digested. A spiteful part of you never wanted to eat again.

No sound bellowed in the house.

Not even the creaking of a bed above you. Patience sure was a virtue, but so was persistence. You couldn’t handle one more night here than needed. Plus Erwin and Levi—well at least Erwin—would think you would be licking your wounds too much to try anything.

Tearing yourself from the blankets and stuffing holding you down, you turn behind you and grab the teddy bear. Sitting up further, you dug your finger in the hole and found the screwdriver still in there. Relieved, you shakily smiled with a quivering exhale.

Shuffling over to the lock, you squeezed your fingers through the gaps and twisted the lock closer to you. It would have been easier if you could get your hands in between the bars, but alas.

The hooked metal strained against the wires. Your fingers pinched the actual lock while the hand with the screwdriver shimmied the shaft far enough inside. Ear close to the mechanism, you listened carefully for clicks. You didn’t even know if this would work, but you could only hope and pray. Pray to any god or deity listening to hear your pleas.

Lids closed, you twisted and turned the screwdriver. You were scared of it not working, but you were more scared of the tiny tool breaking inside the lock. Pushing away the thought, you focused harder. You spun and pulled, spun and pushed, spun and pulled until….

Click. … Click, click, snap.

Springing up, you stared at the lock and tugged on it. It came off. Holy fuck, it came off. Pulling the lock out of the hinges, you threw it behind you on the blankets and pushed open the door.

In disbelief, you numbly crawled out of the cage and further into the room. Learning your lesson, you were more aware of your footsteps. Still crawling to the door, you placed your ear against the slab of wood. The house was still barren of sound. Not even a breath.

Cautiously, you twisted the door and peeked your head out to see nothing in the dark, looming hallway. Now or never, you slipped through the crack and crouched upwards. Low to the ground, you took soft, slow footsteps. Passing the hallway that led to the stairs, you never let it out of your view until you efficiently crossed by it.

Exhales heavy in your chest, you dared not breathe until you were out of its line of sight. The opening into the living room, had you gently release some tension. You stopped at the archway and put your back to the wall, your body facing the living room. Peeking a head out, there’s no one on the couch nor in the kitchen. Safe—for now—you tip-toe ran towards the mudroom.

Kneeling at the small table, you quietly pulled the drawer open and grabbed the flashlight luckily still there. Closing it just as gently, you make sure no one stood behind you. Still in the clear, you got back up and raced towards the hallway window that faced the neighbor’s home.

Crouched at the window, your hands sweaty and clamped around the flashlight, you prayed for someone to be awake. With shaking hands, you turned behind just to be precautious and then stopped stalling. Flashlight in hand, your thumb went to the button at the bottom.

You clicked it on.

Hushed and under your breath, you said, “One. Two. Three. One… Two… Three… One. Two. Three.”

With each number you flicked the light on and off. Three short bursts of light, three long bursts, and then three short ones again. You prayed you were doing it correctly.

“S. O… S.”

You repeated this five times. Not wanting to test your luck, you stopped after the fifth time. In the abyss of the night, the only indicator where the neighbors home was the porch light on. Your eyes focused on your reflection in the window. Chills had your skin raise and you whipped around to see no one.

Trusting your intuition, you were out of time. On a time crunch, you go back to the table, careful not to let your anxiety cause you to get sloppy. Placing the flashlight where it was before, the draw shut with some resistance. You snarled at the wood to fucking work.

Tears bubbling at the apprehension, it finally closed. Heart in your ears, you raced back to your room, not leaving your crouch. You were able to make it to your door when the sound of someone moving sent you in overdrive.

Not daring to look behind you, you slipped into the crack you left and closed the door gently. A soft creak had your shoulder hunch to your ears, but you didn’t dwell on it.

Crawling to your cage, you shut the door and fumbled behind you. Grabbing the lock with slippery hands, you shoved your fingers in between the bars and made sure the lock’s front faced away from you. Snicking it closed, pounding footsteps lumbered down the stairs.

Erwin’s coming.

Twisting around, you plunged the screwdriver into the teddy bear and shoved it in its place. The footsteps went towards your door. Terrified, you threw your head onto the plushies and cradled it to your chest. Tossing a blanket over you, Erwin quietly opened your door.

Clenching your eyes closed, you prayed he wasn’t as perceptive as Levi. The man didn’t come fully in your room. He stood at the doorway before closing the door again. His footsteps went back down the hall and up the stairs.

Your lungs whistled from how long you trapped oxygen in your alveoli. Despite the terror, you grinned into the stuffed animal you hugged.

You did it. You fucking did it.

[ikeromantic]

Hot Chocolate

Ikemen Advent prompt featuring Victor! Approx. 700 words

“Bad dreams again,” Victor asked you as you slipped into the kitchen. 

It was very late, or very early, and the night outside was the dark of deep winter. The members of Crown were either out on business or ensconced in their rooms. Only you were out and wandering. You, and apparently Victor.

You nodded tiredly and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. 

“Care to tell me about your dream?” He sat down across from you, his smile kind. 

“I was trying to deliver a love letter, but I couldn’t get up the hill to the house. And then the wind caught the note and I was chasing it. No matter how fast I ran, it was always out of reach.” You sighed. “Stupid, right? But it left me feeling exhausted and sleepless.”

Victor laughed softly. “Not stupid at all. It sounds as if something is bothering you. But perhaps, I have a cure!”

You blinked at him. “I don’t think a magic trick is going to put me back to bed.”

“Well. Perhaps not. But I do have another idea.” He stood and moved to the countertop, pulling out a saucepan and some other items.

“What are you making?”

“Mmm, you’ll have to wait and see.” His low voice was sensual, playful, and it sent a little shiver down your spine. “Why don’t you tell me about your day while I cook?”

You nodded, and began to tell him about your work for Crown. Writing down the deeds of the members, case histories really, and studies of their curses. It was a lot of work, but you enjoyed it. Though you’d come to Crown under duress, it now felt like family. A wild, strange one to be sure, but yours. 

“There wasn’t anything to upset me, really. I don’t know why I’m still dreaming about mail delivery,” you finished. Then settled your head on your arms atop the table. How was it possible to be so tired and yet so sleepless??

Victor set something on the table in front of you. It smelled chocolatey and delicious. You immediately sat up. 

“Some hot cocoa. A decadent late night snack.” He moved his chair beside yours. “Take a sip. I made certain the temperature is perfect.”

You carefully lifted the mug to your lips and the rich, sweet flavor of milk and cocoa coated your tongue. It’s warm and creamy and there is a slight bitterness to the chocolate that makes the sweet stand out. “It’s perfect,” you murmured appreciatively. 

Victor was watching you with an inscrutable expression. 

“Aren’t you going to drink yours?” You gestured to the other mug. 

“Hm? Yes, yes of course. I was just enjoying you, enjoying something I made.” Victor’s lips curl in a small, pleased smile. 

The hot cocoa warmed you up, but not half so much as that smile. That goddamned sensual smile, so full of luscious promise that it set your heart racing every time you saw it. And now, here it was, squeezing your heart at 2am. “Thanks. It’s really good.”

You took another sip and then set the mug down, hoping Victor might believe the heat in your cheeks was from the cocoa. 

He was still watching you, and as you set the cocoa down, one of his brows twitched. He leaned forward, and you thought for a moment he might kiss you. Your pulse went from fast to racehorse gallop as he closed in. And then there was a slight, firm pressure at the corner of your mouth. A little line of heat, thin as the tip of a finger.

“Wh-what? Did you?” You tried for words, but your brain was like a lamp flame in a storm, flickering and barely lit.

“You had a bit of chocolate at the corner of your mouth.” His smile widened. “I hope you don’t mind. It was, of course, my greatest pleasure to serve, my dear.”

He licked you. You were sure of it. Almost sure. It had just happened, yes? You touched the spot on your mouth, still buzzing from his intimate touch. “Did you . . . lick me?”

“What a marvelous little robin you are. So observant.” Victor brushed a bit of loose hair back from your face. “I hope I did not overstep?”

“No. I mean. Yes but not - I didn’t mind. At all.” You tried to organize your thoughts but the memory of that light brush from his tongue overrode everything else. 

He finally took a sip of his cocoa, a look of pleased contentment on his face. “Good. I do enjoy doting on you, my dear. Ever so much.”

@queengiuliettafirstlady @candied-boys

[ikajo00]

Non-alien human alien #1 Astrom

Kaneeshaa closed the book with a soft thud, running her feathered hand over the embossed letter, looking at the human on the other side of the table. Humans were a relatively new addition to the Intergalactic Federation; they had been an unknown species discovered around a decade ago. While humans compared to most inhabitants in the known galaxies were fairly primitive, they had still brought with them many new things. One of those had been the concept of books. Sure, teller of stories had existed in most civilizations, but those tended to rely on oral tradition. And usually limited to historical events.

The idea of making a record of a story, to be enjoyed at one’s leisure, had been revolutionary. Not to mention the idea of crafting a story out of nothing, based on thoughts, was remarkable. Moreover, humans had many ways of enjoying these stories. Printed, pre-recorded tellings, and digital printing were all options. Kaneeshaa belonged to the Shrieeshka, and as they were a feathered species, they had a hard time using digital screens.

(The Shrieeshka is a people from the windy planet Fshoom – the sound wind makes – and could be described as vaguely humanoid birds. They do have wings, and hands at the end of those wings, but during evolution, they had grown too large to fly. Though some could glide down, in the right conditions. Humans had taken to call the Shrieeshka Bird People, and since most beings in the Galactic Federation couldn’t pronounce Shrieeshka, using Bird People had actually been helpful. The humans also used the resemblance of birds on their home world to classify the different types of Bird People*)

((*The Shrieeshka had found this system so useful that they had adopted it themselves. Including the use of subcategories to further differentiate the many types of Shrieeshka. Kaneeshaa is classified as a Hawk.))

Kaneeshaa loved reading. Immersing herself in stories about other people, from many different parts of the universe, living lives widely different from her own. And her favourite creator of books was someone named Astrom. Kaneeshaa had been very surprised when she discovered the book creator was actually human. She had been even more surprised to discover that the book creator was one of her crew mates.

Anna Storm, pronounce Aanna Stôrm. Born on Earth, in a location called Sverige. Or Sweden, as most of the crew called it.

Anna was… different… from most of the other humans Kaneeshaa had met. For one thing, she was older than the majority of the human crew with about a Earthly decade. She was also rounder (”You could just call me chubby" – Anna), and shorter than most of the other humans. Apparently, this was because Anna wasn’t military personnel. Nor did she display many of the more commonly recognised human behaviours. Things like eating absolutely anything, at least once. Being overly touchy and affectionate. Enjoying loud noises and being around many other humans.

No, Anna was in many ways a non-alien human alien. Which was apparently exactly why Anna was on the star cruiser Helios in the first place. She served as both a sort of limit test for what alien races found tolerable, and as the cruiser’s diplomatic contact. With her being more quiet, more sensitive to stimulus, and less likely to enjoy being randomly touched. It was no wonder Anna was the favourite human among the non-human crew members. She was basically one of them, more than she was human.

Not that Anna wasn’t human. She shared her kind’s wider spectrum of traits. Like pack bonding to everything, being very durable (Anna walked into things, a lot, and got only the occasional bruise), and the need for stimulation. Additionally, her Sweden experienced, over the course of an Earthly solar year, a shift in temperature that could range between 30°C and -20°C. (The Intergalactic Federation had adopted the Metric system very early on. Something Anna found very funny for some reason. Something about a human location called America still using a different system.) On top of that, this Sweden had different amounts of solar hours depending on where in the solar cycle Earth is. Going from constant or nearly constant darkness, to constant or near constant light.

Anna had also displayed some very aggressive behaviour on occasion, much like her fellow humans. But when it came to the social behaviours most non-humans had come to expect, Anna was surprisingly inept at interacting with other humans. While being way better at handling the social interactions of a wide variety of sentient beings.

Kaneeshaa slid over the book to Anna, who had been fiddling with her tiny rectangle for a while. Anna didn’t look up but passed the book to the Krull, Bashka, who took it eagerly. The book had most likely been intended as a gift, but the Shrieeshka didn’t do gifting outside of mating rituals. Were some humans tended to be offended by this, Anna had just shrugged and kept using a lending system instead.

They were in Helios cafeteria, the part designated for the non-human crew which were a separate room. Usually, the human crew was encouraged to keep out of it, to give the alien crew mates a break from the humans. Anna was the exception. In the highly militaristic structure of human space travel, being the exception was more or less synonymous with being Anna.

”Do you have another?” Kaneeshaa asked in a low rumble. Anna looked up, her blue eyes holding Kaneeshaa’s for a long moment before wandering away to look at something else.

”I can send a order to the printing room", Anna said. ”Should be ready to pick up in like, fifteen minutes.”

Of course, the ship ran on Earth time when in the vacuum of space, but as a measure of time, it wasn’t shabby. (With adjustments to fit their own solar years and solar hours, this was also something the members of the Intergalactic Federation had adopted. A uniform way of measuring time was very useful, after all. Along the way, the Federation had also adopted the human numerical system, and some argued that the lettering system used by many humans should also be adopted for intergalactic use.) The human looked down on her rectangle and sighed, making Kaneeshaa feel bad. Unlike most other humans Kaneeshaa had met, Anna was able to stay focused on one thing for hours upon hours. Unless you broke her concentration, because then she tended to become distracted and unable to return to her prior task. Flopping down on the chair, which was made originally for the larger Orgata, Anna started to shift around restlessly, making noises. Seemingly uninterested in beginning a new task, but still unable to do nothing. How very human of her.

The door to the room slid open, letting another human inside. This was Lena, Anna’s assistant. Taller than her charge, and with the expected human social behaviour, Lena was somehow in charge of Anna on Helios, while also being Anna’s subordinate. Humans are weird.

”Anna", Lena said. ”It is time for the video conference with the representative from Krull. Do you remember?”

”Yeah, they like train models", Anna said and more or less rolled off the chair and to her feet (an action that few non-humans would have made so nonchalantly). ”Was this in my calender?”

”Yes, I told you last week.”

”I thought you were talking about the Shrieeshka.”

”The Bird People are tomorrow. Also, the Krull representative name is…” The conversation was cut off as the two humans left the room, the door closing behind them.

”I think Anna forgot to send the printing order”, Bashka said, wiggling his furry toes. Krulls had no necks and were very small, but they made for great engineers.

”It is okay", Kaneeshaa said. ”I distracted her, and she probably forgot I said it.”

”I like her", Bashka said. ”She gave me these pigment sticks in a box on my hatching day and a bunch of paper. But she is a bit unusual, for a human. I mean, there are some who are kind of similar among the human crew, but they are more… er… energetic?”

Kaneeshaa nodded, clacking her beak. ”Yes, Anna explained she is something called NPF”, she said.

”What’s that?” Bashka said, tilting his body to the side questioningly.

”I have no idea", Kaneeshaa admitted.