#best hot crab dip

[theladydis]

Best Hot Crab Dip The name speaks for itself. The best hot crab dip recipe is served in a bread bowl and is creamy and cheese-flavored with capers and artichoke hearts.

[inertialily]

Recipe for Best Hot Crab Dip The name speaks for itself. The best hot crab dip recipe is served in a bread bowl and is creamy and cheese-flavored with capers and artichoke hearts. 1/2 cup capers drained, 1 package cream cheese softened, 1 cup buttermilk, 1/2 teaspoon Old Bay Seasoning TM or to taste, 1 cup sour cream, 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper or to taste, 1 cup mayonnaise, 2 cups crabmeat, 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, 1 cup white Cheddar cheese, 1/2 teaspoon dried dill or to taste, 1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese, 2 cans artichoke hearts drained and chopped, 1 round loaf sourdough bread, 2 tablespoons minced garlic

[cutepalefeelings]

Appetizers and Snacks - Best Hot Crab Dip The name says it all. The best hot crab dip recipe, creamy with cheese, flavored with capers and artichoke hearts, and served in a bread bowl.

[newlyy]

i lay in bed for three hours and couldn't sleep, so i decided to get up and get myself a little snack of hot crab dip which was um a mistake.

[sometimesanalice]

Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[menagerofmischief]

Dia's Diner (closed)

diner is closed for catch up as I have too many unwritten orders, time of return unknown

Welcome to Dia's Diner, here you'll be able to order your meal (fic) with as many specifications and dishes as you want. We hope you leave satisfied ;)

first step is choosing who you want your fic to be about, so pick a server (you can even pick two)

SERVERS:

Max Verstappen

Charles Leclerc

Carlos Sainz Jr.

Lewis Hamilton 

George Russel

Lando Norris

Oscar Piastri

Daniel Riccardo

Alex Albon

Fernando Alonso

Franco Collapinto 

Pierre Gasly

Esteban Ocon

Lance Stroll

Ollie Bearman

Kimi Antonelli

Mick Schumacher

Arthur Leclerc

Sebastian Vettel

Mark Webber

Jenson Button

Nico Rosberg

Toto Wolff

every good meal starts with an appetizer, by choosing your appetizer you're setting the main trope of the fic

STARTERS:

charcuterie board (dating)

artichoke dip (brother’s friend)

olives and cheese (friends to lovers)

stuffed cherry tomatoes (sugar daddy)

hummus nachos (teammates)

shrimp cocktail (rivals to lovers)

and how you want it served

HOT OR COLD: 

hot appetizer (sweet sex) 

cold appetizer (rought sex) 

now it's time to order the main dish, feel free to choose as many as you want

MAINS:

lobster (“I love watching my cum leak out from your pussy”)

caviar and oysters (“Gonna look so good full of my babies”)

fish and chips (“Where are your manners?”)

steak (“Made just for me. My pretty little cocksleeve”)

burger and fries (“Hurts? That’s too bad baby, should have thought about it before being such a slut”)

buffalo wings (“Count them for me”)

ramen (“What would your brother think if he saw us?”)

gyros (“Gonna fill you up”)

full english (“My pretty little slut”)

pizza (“My good girl”)

pesto pasta (“Slow down, you just told me to speed up. What’s it gonna be silly girl?”)

carbonara (“Look so good on my cock”)

sausage rolls (“I’ll make it fit”)

sushi (“Better quiet down, you don’t want them to hear us.)

tacos (“I’m gonna give you an attitude check”)

chicken quesadilla (“So pretty with my cock down your throat”)

crab cakes (“Yeah, gonna swallow like a good girl?”)

chicken nuggets (“Couldn’t help being a brat, could you?”)

kimchi (“Be a good girl and take it”)

tomato soup (“Running away from my dick? I don’t think so.”)

cheese fries (“I love making you squirt”)

stuffed potato (“Just where you belong … on your knees for me”)

sarma (“Gonna put a baby in you”)

moussaka (“You look your best covered in my cum”)

caesar salad (“Lie to me again and you’re not gonna like what happens next”)

chicken skewer (“Be a good girl and cum for me”)

mac and cheese (“Only good girls get to cum”)

mango sticky rice (“Next time you try that shit I’ll make him watch while I fuck you”)

chicken fingers (“Yeah, you like being filled in both ends like a slut”)

butter chicken rice (“If you want it then you better beg for it”)

eggs and bacon ("Are you gonna stop moving or am I gonna hold you down?")

spring rolls ("All you do is complain, perhaps I should shut you up")

sloppy joe ("You have the prettiest mouth. Why don't you put it to good use?")

kebab ("Look at that my cock is splitting you in half")

grilled cheese ("I buy you nice things and then I get to fuck you in them. Sounds fair to me")

pot roast ("You going to let me take my anger out on you, sweetheart?")

chili ("Look at you humping my thigh like a bitch in heat")

california rolls ("Scream my name - I want everyone to know who's making you feel this good)

PB&J ("Look at him while I make you cum")

dumplings ("Ride this cock - it's your cock")

black pudding ("There we good, you're such a good girl, taking you punishment so well")

smoked salmon ("My good girl deserves a reward")

fish tacos ("Just lie back and let me take care of you")

seafood boil ("Maybe I'll make a mix tape of your moans to listen to while I drive")

spaghetti with meatballs ("Why don't you put on that pretty little set I bought for you?")

veggie burger ("Feel how hard you make me")

hot dog ("Thought about you while touching myself. The real things is much better")

ratatouille ("I'll mark you up so much no man will dare talk to you again")

bacon pancakes ("I love when you wear dresses. It's so easy to flip it up and fuck you")

chicken alfredo ("You haven't been very good, have you? And you know what happens to bad girls")

avocado toast ("Look at you all dumb and crying on my cock")

lasagna ("Where did all that cockiness go now that it's time to take your punishment?)

gnocchi ("You like when I treat you like a toy, don't you?)

mashed potatoes and gravy ("You had no problem getting fucked in here like a slut. Then you should have no problem walking out there with my cum dripping down your legs")

having a drink with your dish really elevates the experience, drinks represent different kinks

DRINKS:

ice tea (oral giving/receiving)

sweet tea (morning sex)

mint tea (body worship giving/receiving)

redbull (filming sex)

vodka redbull (squirting)

white claw (pegging)

white wine (sir kink)

red wine (daddy kink)

rose (spanking)

champagne (threesome)

old fashioned (drunk sex)

whiskey (double penetration)

mai thai (mirror sex)

cosmopolitan (temperature play)

beer (bondage)

root beer (blindfold)

apple cider (spitting)

apple juice (edging)

orange juice (overstimulation)

pineapple juice (wax play)

boba (anal)

smoothie (hickeys)

matcha (toys)

vanilla milkshake (nipple play)

hot chocolate (dry humping)

chocolate milk (thigh riding)

espresso (dom/sub)

black coffee (chocking)

mocha coffee (degradation)

pumpkin spice latte (losing virginity)

fanta (size kink)

coca-cola (somnophillia)

coke zero (free use)

pepsi (car sex)

lemonade (public sex)

strawberry lemonade (breeding)

coconut water (jealous sex)

sparkling water (phone sex)

iced water (dirty talk)

to end the night you might consider getting a dessert, in this case dessert is aftercare

DESSERT: 

yes (aftercare included) 

no (aftercare not included)

special instructions: tell me your favorite track/race at the end of your request and I'll throw you in a freebie on the house that goes best with your order

Thank you for visiting! Here at Dia's Diner your pleasure is our priority, so be on the look out for new additions to our menu. Come back again.

A/N: I'm so grateful for each and every one of your requests, but I just ask that you be patient about waiting for it since I don't have much free time because of school.

[inquisimer]

wip wednesday

been a HOT minute since I did one of these, but my brain is spinning with [redacted] number of Veilguard fics, so I'm back with a vengeance, and a snippet from my beefed up Ossuary reunion for Arlow & Lucanis >:] I just think he should have been a little more fucked up about it all, tbh

tagging forward to @crabs-with-sticks | @shivunin | @dreadfutures | @queenaeducan | and @rosella-writes!

He was thinner and gaunter, cheeks sunken around the unkempt beard. Grime and sweat clung to his skin and she did not need to see beneath his ragged robes to know that he had as many new scars as he did split ends. A flash of anger briefly interrupted her relief, but underneath the toll this last year had taken were the familiar dips and planes of her best friend. “It’s really you,” she said, slipping into Antivan as she ran her hands up and down his arms. The moment was tenuous and she feared that if she stopped touching him, he would disappear back into grief-stricken memory. “You’re here, you’re here, and you’re alive.” For all the joy rushing through her, that edge of wariness hadn’t left his face. It clung to his furrowed brow and the longer it did, the faster Arlow’s smile faded into trepidation. “Arlow,” he murmured again, then closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “I want to believe you are real, and if you are, I’m sorry, but I cannot be sure unless—“ A splitting pain burst through Arlow’s head as Lucanis smashed his brow into hers. She released him and stumbled back, hand catching at her temple. Stars danced across her vision and she swallowed bile that rose in her throat—it had not been that long since Solas’ ritual, and her head did not take so well to another impact so soon. The blow reverberated through her skull; dimly, she registered the crackle of the Fade at her back as the blurred shadow of Lucanis stalked forward. “Hey!” A wall of ice sprayed between the two Crows, stopping Lucanis in his tracks. He stared at Neve over Arlow’s shoulder. “I don’t know you,” he said. “You’re about to, if you don’t back off.” A featherlight touch brushed the back of Arlow’s neck and a surge of healing rolled through her. “You good, Rook?” “Fine,” she ground out, pushing back to her feet with a glare. “What the fuck, Lucanis?” He was still staring at Neve, mouth slightly parted. The wariness had vanished, replaced by confusion. If she didn’t know the exact move he’d used, Arlow might have thought he dazed himself in his attack. “I don’t know you,” he repeated, “which means that she could not have plucked out out of my memories, which means that you—“ His eyes flicked to Arlow, and she recognized them immediately. They looked exactly the way hers had since they left the Diamond. Hopeful, and utterly afraid of that hope. “You’re real,” he whispered. “You’re really here. Arlow—“ He staggered forward and Neve raised her staff, but Arlow held up a hand. “Let him through, Neve.” “Rook—“ “Dispel it, or I’ll do it for you.” “Fine, but if you die I’m taking you to Nevarra, because I will not be the one explaining it to Lace.”

[dumbkiri]

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐙𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐘

[Name] Velaryon watches in surprise as his best friend, Addam, is choosen by Seasmoke. AKA Vermithor is tired of his babysitting role.

NOTE: very short and just a scribble

“I need you to keep an eye on Seasmoke with Vermithor. Figure out his flight plan and where he likes to nest.” 

“Mother, I have,” [Name] pointed out, his eyes looking over at the dragon that flew over the ocean aimlessly, “Seasmoke likes to fly over Driftmark as if he is searching for-” He stopped himself, thinking over his words. The loss of his father, Laenor Velaryon, hasn’t really seeped into his reality. Neither has the death of Luke. Maybe Seasmoke experienced loss just like they do. 

“Dragons aren’t simple creatures, if Seasmoke is restless it’s because he is in need of a rider. He’s lonely, it’s that obvious to me.”

Rhaenyra bowed her head down in shame knowing her oldest son spoke the truth. It was very obvious that Seasmoke portrayed the feelings of loneliness. She could hear his weak roars over the waves that crashed on the shore. 

“He won’t be for long.”

A recent memory of Rhaena and Seasmoke invaded his mind when his mother said that. His cousin trying to claim his father’s dragon didn’t go well for either party. 

[Name] shook his head and argued against what he thought was her idea, “Rhaena cannot try to claim him again. He almost devoured her! We were lucky enough that Vermithor bumped heads with him. ”

“It’s not luck when a Targaryen claims a dragon, it’s fate.”

……

“Seasmoke!” 

[Name] yelled in surprise seeing his father’s dragon fly after a poor man collecting shells and crabs on the shore. Today was supposed to be a day off for [Name] and Vermithor to relax, but the moment Seasmoke left Dragonstone after burning two people…his mother demanded they go after him.

Seasmoke is literally acting out!

 Now this was an unusual event, but one that warranted complete submission from Seasmoke or else this man was going to die horribly. 

“Aderī, Vermithor!” 

His bronze dragon snarled and dipped his snout down, tucking its wings to his side to gain some more speed downward. Vermithor flew down into the clouds and towards the ocean blue with a low rumble in his chest. This old dragon seemingly grew tired of this behavior from Seasmoke. And Vermithor couldn’t wait to dig his claws in the nimble dragon. 

Then with a sharp tug up with the ropes around his neck, Vermithor leveled out by spreading his large tan wings out. The surge of wind brushed the shore and trees aside announcing his arrival. 

Quickly, the Velaryon Prince searched for the gray shimmer of scales wanting to save the unknown man’s life. After a few seconds, [Name] spotted Seasmoke a bit further away from the shore approaching what he believed to be a man with dark hair. 

“Ninkiot.” [Name] gave Vermithor three pats on his neck and Vermithor skillfully landed on the sandy hill. From on top of his mighty dragon, [Name] watched from a good distance as Seasmoke claimed a rider. 

“This is unheard of,” [Name] whispered to Vermithor, seeing as his dragon was the only thing he could talk to in this moment. “When a Targaryen claims a dragon, it’s fate. But when a dragon claims a Targaryen, it’s luck. This man is lucky to be alive!” 

Vermithor groaned as he felt [Name] shift on top of him, sensing the excitement radiating from his rider’s body. But all this dragon cared about was ‘Finally, we’re not babysitting anymore’. 

[Name] jumped off of his saddle and ran towards the new duo with Vermithor hot on his heels. His eyes watched the man gently, but fearfully pet Seasmoke’s snout. 

“Addam?” The confusion totally knocked [Name] into a buzz as he watched his best friend with his father’s dragon. 

Addam turned around with wide eyes, a nervous smile on his face. Before Addam could explain his situation, Seasmoke pushed him aside with his snout roaring at [Name] like a child lashing out at their parents. 

[Name]’s confusion turned into a flash of anger, then he pointed at the gray dragon shouting, “Hey! You don’t get to do that! Not after how you left!” 

Seasmoke raised his left wing and slapped it on the sand which Vermithor had no patience to endure any longer. The bronze dragon snarled and approached Seasmoke, snapping his jaw at the smaller beast daring the younger dragon to do it again. 

“Go on,” [Name] crossed his arms over his chest, “Do it again.” 

Addam watched [Name] and his bronze dragon put Seasmoke in his place, that being underneath them. He couldn’t help the burst of laughter that emerged out of his lungs. 

“I thought I was dead for sure!” Addam laughed some more and walked over to [Name] who met him halfway. 

“You could have been,” [Name] hugged Addam and gave his back a few pats, “Seasmoke killed two people before coming to get you. It’s a good thing he has claimed you now.” 

“He claimed me?” Addam couldn’t believe it, he owned a dragon now. The words from his best friend cement the reality for him. 

[Name] pulled away from the hug and shrugged his shoulders, “We didn’t know that a dragon claiming could be possible until now. You’re officially his second rider, congratulations, friend.” 

“His first rider…he was your father, right? I-I don’t feel right claiming a dragon that belonged to your-” 

“Now don’t get a big head, you didn’t claim him, Addam,” [Name] chuckled and watched Vermithor settle down in the sand finally getting a break from babysitting, “Seasmoke claimed you and honestly my father would appreciate that Seasmoke isn’t alone anymore. This brat of a dragon has been a thorn in our sides ever since my mother put us on this chore. I think Vermithor might have killed Seasmoke if this continued any longer.” 

“Why is that? Are they like brothers who get annoyed towards one another?” Addam asked with amusement walking next to [Name] who decided to take a stroll towards the beach. 

“Vermithor is about a hundred years old, he’s a veteran while Seasmoke is a child in his eyes. Stupid, brash and energetic doesn’t mix with a bloodthirsty beast such as Vermithor.” 

“I thought you said Seasmoke killed two people before coming after me, would you not say that’s bloodthirsty in your eyes?” 

[Name] paused in his steps and recalled the memory of claiming Vermithor. The bronze dragon killed a lot of the Night’s Watch men who guarded him and Viserys in the dragon pit. He vividly remembers their screams and the stench of their burning flesh. 

“Compared to Vermithor, Seasmoke is a lot more tame.” [Name] turned towards Addam and pressed onto further problems, “Anyways, it’s time you learn some commands so we can fly back to Dragonstone. Seasmoke is relatively calmer with a rider, my father commanded him with no problem at all. So if your accent is rough, it’ll be fine.” 

“You want me to fly him to Dragonstone? To your family?” Addam looked back at Seasmoke who begrudgingly followed after Vermithor. The two dragons made their way to their respectful riders and waited for the ride back home. 

“Whether you like it or not, you have joined the war,” [Name] grabbed onto the ropes around Vermithor’s neck. He began climbing up and explained as he did, “You’re my best friend and it’s obvious you are a dragonseed; a person with Valyrian blood. What better candidate could the gods have given us if not you? Now my family will accept you, but question your parents like who your father or mother is.” 

“It’s…complicated.” Addam huffed out quietly and even the height [Name] gained on top of Vermithor didn’t stop him from hearing the words. 

“Nothing’s what it seems, Addam,” [Name] reassured in an odd way. Then gestured at Seasmoke waiting patiently for Addam to mount him. “Make sure to hold on to the ropes, they could be your lifeline if you accidentally dismount the saddle.”

When Addam climbed on Seasmoke with relative ease, [Name] explained four crucial commands for dragons. “I’m going to pull Vermithor away from Seasmoke so he actually doesn’t hurt him.” 

Vermithor’s chest rumbled then at a safe distance, [Name] shouted at Addam, “I’m going to teach you four commands for flying! Number one; Dracarys!” [Name] gave Vermithor the go ahead to breathe fire by saying the command once more. 

The bronze dragon raised his head high and breathed a stream of golden fire into the blue sky. After a few seconds of Vermithor showing his technique off, the dragon seized his action and looked over at Addam with a bratty Seasmoke. 

“Dracarys is meant for the dragons to set anything ablaze; humans, structures, land, anything. Sometimes they breathe fire on their own; your dragon being one that does it with attitude.” [Name] teased and moved on to the second one. 

“Number two; Angōs. This one is meant for attacking, they will attack with their claws or by snapping their teeth at one another. Number three; Aderī. It’s used to make the dragons fly faster. Last, but not least is Sōvēs, this is your flight command that will take you to the skies. Go on, try it.” 

Addam gave [Name] a weary look, nonetheless he was eager to fly. He readjusted himself on Seasmoke’s saddle and clenched the ropes in a steady grip. “Alright, Seasmoke, this is going to be our first and probably last flight together assuming I survive.” 

“Addam, for crying out loud,” [Name] laughed while Vermithor roared at the new dragonrider as if saying ‘Go already!’

Fearful of Vermithor, Addam cleared his throat and commanded Seasmoke with a stern resolute, “Sōvēs!” 

No hesitation whatsoever, Seasmoke ran along the shore then with two beats of his wings the dragon took off. His talons no longer dug into the sand and he easily glided into the sky with Addam laughing in pure excitement. 

“Sōvēs,” [Name] pulled Vermithor along and his dragon grumbled tiredly. Despite Vermithor’s clear disdain for more babysitting of Seasmoke, the bronze fury flapped his wings and raced after the smaller dragon way ahead of him. 

[Name] heard Addam’s laughter as clear as the sky was. Then Addam turned around to address him, “Wait, how do I land?” 

“Now that’s something you have to figure out yourself. See you at Dragonstone, friend.” [Name] gave Addam a charming smile and commanded Vermithor to fly faster with Aderī. Seasmoke banked left dodging the larger dragon that roared past him picking up the leisure speed. 

“Your dragon should learn some manners, [Name]!” Addam joked watching his friend flying ahead of him now. He readjusted himself again for the sudden turn, his heart racing just a little bit faster. 

“Nah, he’s perfect the way he is! Worry about your tantrum-throwing dragon instead!” 

As if Seasmoke understood [Name]’s insult, the beast cried out then huffed with a shake of his head.

[unreliable-narrator-chilaios]

chilaios week; day 6 prompt: "beach episode/alternative universe", using both prompts; 1,579 words

no i did not do the previous days. yet. but i WAS struck by inspiration for this one. i don't want to give too much away so i'm not saying what the AU is, but you'll figure it out lol

title: Chilchuck's Secret

cws: not any, I think? this one's very sweet. i wanted to use the good vibes of beach episode... i guess there's some suggestive lines, but it's not nsft at all.

      There’s a secret at the beach, if you know where and when to look.

      And nobody knows but Chilchuck, of course.

      He was always the sort of man to keep his cards close to his chest, and this was no exception. Anything that he treasured, he had to keep locked away - hoarding everything he held dear to keep it safe and sound, out of the way of harm… with maybe only a hint of jealousy inherent in that act. Greed, even.

      Not that he was the greedy one out of the two of them. That title belonged to Laios, through and through.

      The brittle shale that crumpled beneath his fingers was cool to the touch, compared to how it would feel later. It hadn’t yet been baked in the sun for hours today. The shale and limestone and sand were blissfully cool for now, letting him take his time on his way down the short cliffside to the cove. It was the time of year that it was cool in the morning and searingly hot in the afternoon, the time of year that he was always tempted to stay from dawn until dusk. Maybe even longer than that. It was a rush to get across the route when the sand scalded and blistered his feet, but when it was cool, it was almost soft. Pleasant.

      He needed the lack of urgency - the slowly building arthritis in his hands and knees made him especially stiff in the mornings. His tri-weekly trips here had been helping considerably, but the way down to get there was rough, even if the reward was well worth it. His body creaked traitorously, even as it allowed him his nimble movements down the short rock wall, the sudden lurch from his hop down onto flat stone.

      Tide pools flourished here. It was low tide, making the shallow dips and pools in the rock especially prominent, where hardy, stubborn plants drooped at the surface and critters scuttled within and between them. He was careful to sidestep a crab on his way to the sand proper, relaxing as his feet sank into the fine grains.

      He breathed in the scent of sea spray, salt and foam, the smell of things washed up by the tide and left stranded when the waters receded. A chunk of driftwood would soon be picked up again at noon, when the high tide came back; clumps of washed-up kelp and algae littered the beach, at the line where he knew the tide would come up to later.

      The sun was still low in the sky, just barely peeking through the trees that sheltered the cove. The passage to the ocean was narrow, and the forest was thick in this area. Most of the cove wasn’t just blocked off by trees, but cliffs. His route down the side of one was the safest; the beach here was free of litter, free of the sound of crinkling plastic and the smell of waste, the bright eyesores of humanity that left their mark on nature’s majesty.

      Chilchuck relaxed as his eyes gravitated towards an outcropping of rock in the center of the water. He wasn’t here yet, but that was fine. The half foot was early to their meeting.

      He made himself comfortable. The sand yielded to him where he stepped, slipping between his toes and under his heel as he walked across the sandy portions of the beach, coming up to a rock that he’d begun to favor in the past month. Pebbles and sharp stones littered the sand here, but he didn’t mind, avoiding them the best he could before he quickly scaled the side of the beach rock.

      It was the outermost boulder of a wider outcropping that extended from the cliffs, forming a small, flat perch on top that let him have an excellent view of the cove. The chill in the rock was soothing as he sat down, careful not to let his swimming trunks get caught on the sharp little crags.

      Other than his swimming trunks, he wasn’t wearing much. Just a plain white swim shirt. The trunks themselves were solid black. He would have opted for clothing that looked a little better, but he had to replace them often - he kept stashes of extra pairs in an alcove nearby, in case of them being ripped or shredded while he was here.

      It happened much more often than he’d like. The thought alone made him huff, amused, as his whiskers twitched and his tail curled around his side. His ears flicked when he felt the breeze stir the inner ear fur. He usually hid his more… animalistic features when he could, but he knew Laios would just rip his clothes off even faster, just for a chance to feel his tail. Grabby bastard.

      Speaking of. Speak of the devil, and he shall come.

      There’s a large, dark shadow in the water. The water here is practically crystal clear, but it’s massive and far away - the cove is huge, after all, stretching across half a mile from one side to the other. He can see the little flurries of shoals of fish scattering in its wake, schools dispersing and reforming as they flittered between open water and the abundance of plants in the makeshift, tiny reef that had formed here. Small stretches of coral were in the deeper parts of the water, here, and seagrass and algae offering food and shelter a little further out, teetering off into just rocks closer to the beach. Algae particularly liked the base of the sea stack in the middle, the base of the colossal rock wrapped in slimy dark green.

      With a burst of ripples and sea spray, the figure breaks the surface of the water, hauling itself up the rock with relative ease, even as gravity drags it down. He isn’t meant for the surface, after all, and without the buoyancy of the water, he’s heavy - because, after all, he’s an utterly massive cecaelia. Pale skin transitioned to yellow-gold at the waist, the muscular fatty upper human half matched with a fat, bulky form of an octopus, rippling with muscle underneath slick, oddly-textured skin and suction cups. He easily hauled himself onto his own perch, running a hand through his blonde hair and practically deflating under his own weight for a moment.

      Those golden eyes light up like always when their gazes meet. Swaths of his skin light up in a blushing pink, giving away how happy he is. Laios was always, and would always be, an open book. He loves that about him.

      Chilchuck carefully made his way back down the rock, feet planted into the sand and pebbles and sea glass. He waded into the shallows, where the water was relatively warm. It wasn’t long until he was swimming, doing a bit of a pathetic doggy paddle to the base of the sea stack - and then one of those muscular arms gently wound its way around his torso, lifting him up out of the water and onto the little plateau. The routine was wound into them at this point, wordlessly slumping into one another as soon as he was able to reach his human half. Those big, strong arms wrapped around him, one hand coming down to pet along the drenched fur of his tail.

      He didn’t shake himself out like he wanted to. That was a bit too dog-like, for his tastes. Laios always laughed at him when he did it, with that soft, genuinely happy laugh.

      “Dork,” he mumbled, non-contextually. It earned a chuckle, vibrating through that broad chest.

      He’s pulled into a kiss, small and chaste, but sweet nonetheless. He curls his tail around the cecaelia’s hand, relaxing into his hold like always after he pulled away. That chest was the perfect pillow, letting him listen to his breathing, the beating of his heart. He knew it would sound different if he listened to it while the man was underwater, when he used his gills instead of his lungs. He found his body idly fascinating, but not as fascinating as Laios found his to be.

      The hand not occupied with his tail pressed softly against the back of his neck, thumbing across the muscles between his neck and shoulder. “You missed me,” he teased, curling one of those arms around his leg to hold him securely. He always wanted to completely surround him, hold him with everything he had. “That was… what, two days?”

      “Shut up,” he scolded, playfully. He smacked his bicep lightly, swatting at him like a fly. It just made the man laugh. His ears burned and he knew they were scarlet on the inside. He couldn’t help that Laios was the best thing going on in his life right now. His secret treasure. “I didn’t miss you, you were just annoying immediately. I mean, come on. You’re bright pink. I thought that the color change was for camouflage! Eedjit.”

      He laughed that sweet laugh again.

      “M’eudail.” He said it with the tone of an insult, a curse, even if it very much wasn’t, as he swatted him again. “Ye fuckin’ sook.”

      “You definitely missed me.” Laios was grinning, more of that oddly-textured skin flushing pink and red. “I can change the subject, though. Do you want to hear about a weird fish I caught the other day?”

      Chilchuck huffed, whiskers twitching. “Sure.”

      He could listen to him talk about just about anything for hours.

[wakandamama]

Routine

Yall been knew I had fallen down The Bear rabbit hole and have YET to climb out. So it was only a matter of time before I drop a Carmy x Sydney fic lol. So here it is! It's a bit of smut, a bit of sneaky around, a bit of character deep dive. A whole bunch of sexual tension, way too may food allegories. This is just a ONESHOT!

Sydney thinks about just how this became routine for her and Carmy.

It may have happened when he and her were the last ones left in the kitchen on a Saturday. Three weeks before the disaster of Pre-Order and the blessing of Tomato Money.

 Sydney’s highschool cousin had begged her to provide some of her family famous crab cakes for a graduation kickback for one of her friends. The friend remembered having them from way back when 18 year-old Sydney still had to babysit them as ever-hungry 10 year olds and never forgot. Honestly, Sydney felt honored that her food made such a lasting memory on a stranger just like Camry had for her-

Anyway, the kickback was at 8 and it was 7:20 and Sydney had just put the last sheet of crabcake from the oven. She called out absentminded goodbyes as Tina’s quiet “Night Jeffes,” and Richie’s brash “Night Cousin” kinda floated behind her.

 As she waited for the batch of paprika-savry crab cakes to bake, she was whipping up a creamy tabasco base sauce to dip them in. Carmy was softly in her space, like usually. He was precious in sharpening all the knives of the kitchen, old school style with a grit stone set, he stood catty-corner to her. His drilling blue eyes didn’t stare directly at her soul but instead to the delicately-deadly curve of the knife. 

For once it was Sydney stuck side eyeing him with a soft focus. Her cooking had come to  a quiet moment of waiting. Waiting for her sauce to set, waiting for the last batch and waiting for the batch before to cool, waiting to taste test.

Camry chuckled when he heard her mutter out a quiet yet frantic “hot hot hot hot” as she let her impatience get the best of her to taste her sauce with the crab cake. He shut up at her moan of delicious pleasure. A soft but throat-y sound of pure satisfied bliss. He practically tasted the seasoning of such a sound in the air and a craving to hear it again and again hit his gut, spreading warmth all over his skin. 

He glanced up from the black grit of the stone to see her all eyes closed, swaying in the taste and her crafted fingers still clutched half of the cake. He took her in further, she was dressed down from her kitchen wear, instead wearing the outfit for the kickback ( - supervising, one last babysitting gig I guess. Because I know those brats are gonna get high off their asses) 

A pair of black jeans that should be illegal on her body, a gray cropped sweatshirt and sneakers that would lead to certain death by slip in a busy kitchen.

 His eyes followed every line of hers like he was seeing the best grain to cut for optimal presentation. The curve of her calf into the curve of her thigh, into the curve of her tempting ass into the concave of her back. His eyes skirt the plane of her stomach onto the lines that made her shapely waist. Over her petite chest to the curve of her lean shoulders that connected to the slope of her neck that was still stretched back in bliss from a euphoric bite of damn good food. 

She moaned over the second bite. Camry licked his lips at the way her lips kiss over the crumbs and speckle of sauce left on her lithe fingertips. Fuck, he wondered how those plump lips of her witty mouth would fe-

Carmy bit back a curse as the grit of stone scraped with a rude sting over the side of his thumb to the heel of his hand. Like some punishment for allowing her to take his attention with one whisper of a sound and to greedily take in her beautiful shape when the fucking knives are dull.

“You good Chef?” Carmy asked. He brushed past her with a light hand on the small of her back to get to the sink. She finally opened her eyes and her nose scrunched cutely in slight embarrassment for moaning like that over a freakin’ bite of crab.  

“Sorry, it's just I haven’t made these in forever. I forgot how good I am at making ‘em. Shit, that probably sounds so conceited.” Sydney chuckled a bit nervously and Carmy shrugged.

“I only eat veal, if I cook it. That fact’s gotten me beat up by Mike once or twice.” he joked. It made Sydney smile. She grabbed another one with a graceful swoop of her wrist; she dipped it and came to his side.

“What do you think?” she asked, excitement in her eyes that Carmy was going to eat something so casual of hers. Carmy licked his lips at her obliviousness, her hands were still busy as he washed them and absently wrapped a bandage around the meat of his thumb. 

But he would never deny a taste test from her. 

Sydney freakin’ squeaked when he leaned his head close and ate the bite from her hand. Her body stiffened as she felt his lips grace off the side of her pointer finger and thumb. She is forced to focus on his working jaw as he chewed over it and gave a hum of pleasure himself. The sound made her bite her own lips, she wondered how such a sound would feel against her throat.

“That’s some amazing sauce Chef. Oughta add it to the menu.” he commented, looking into her eyes once again. Sydney gave a stiled nod that almost brushed their foreheads together. 

“Thanks. It’s- jus-just uhm, well y'know something I’ve perfected since I was a kid. My great uncle taught me how.” She rambled with a shuffled step back. 

“Whoa!” Carmy warned softly. His quick hands grasped her hips and pulled her back to him before she crashed back into the very full trash can. The movement collided her into his chest, his hands slid up to her waist and back to steady them before they ended up on the floor. 

“Uhm.” Sydney whispered as their noses bumped and she was nearly eye to eye with him. 

“Whoa uh-” he muttered back as Sydney’s hands fisted into the front of his shirt. 

It was awkward and exhilarating. 

Certainly, wrong and natural as they both found each other pulling their lips closer. Carmy closed his eyes tightly and Sydney refused to move her grip on his shirt because no-way was this real. Their lips placement is slightly off initially, they taste the same to one another and Sydney is pretty sure her foot is stepping on his.

Their next smack of lips was more of a moment to be connected yet adjusting. Sydney leads them to correct their posture, him leaning down more comfortably, one of her hands leaving his shirt to hold his cheek as their heads shift. Noses bumping once more but the kiss deepened deliciously. They got greedy with one another as they refused to separate for air. 

Sydney’s hand gripped down on his gold chain, locking him down as she started to trail her lips to his jaw. Carmy’s hand grabs at her breast and gives a soft squeeze as he forces her lips back to his and swallows her moan. 

 His other hand rubbed down her side until they gripped tightly on her hip. The combination of his caresses caused her to give a stuttering moan that sent lust running wild under Carmy’s skin. He turned them and lifted her with ease. Sydney pulls apart in shock as he sat her on the edge of an empty prep table with such swiftness. 

They are forced to breathe and look at each other now, their bodies still wrongly close. Sydney's hands slid down to hold his wrists as he still had a grip on her hips.

“Fuck.” they both whispered off wet, kissed bruised lips. They looked each other deeply in the eyes for a moment before Carmy turned away first. His hand instantly ran with worry through his hair as Sydney snatched her hands and crossed her arms, pressing into herself as she looked down at the titles. 

“Uhm, that wasn-”

“Shit, sorry w-”

They both hum to a quiet, lost for words at what they just did. 

And how they both liked it.

And how they both wanted it again. 

Sydney feels an embarrassed warmth under her skin to see her lip gloss over Cramy’s mouth and chin. Carmy went red and nervous as he saw how much he had hiked up her shirt.

“Sorry for uh… you good Syd?’ Carmy asked, still not looking at her. She slid off the counter, adjusting her clothes. She pointed her look past his head to the clock on the wall. 

7:55 pm.

“I’m good, Carmy. Are you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“I’ve got to go.”

Sydney has to bush close to him to get back to her counter to get the last batch and pack the food then getting the fuck out. Carmy flinched to see that his wet hands had left a drying imprint on her shirt. He passed her to the back door and collapsed into a resting crouch, lit a cigarette on instinct.

Five minutes later she was outside too, tupperware full of the best crab cakes and sauce he’s ever had and the girl that now owns his first kiss in 8 years.

 He hastily stood up and they gave each other tight smiles. 

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Sydney asked. She frowns a bit, that wasn’t meant to come out as a question. It doesn’t matter though with how fast she is walking away.

“Yeah!”Carmy called nervously after her, she turned just in time to catch him ducking back inside. 

Sydney is sure that’s not the start. Because they showed up on Monday and worked with their usual stressed ease. They each had their usual bicker with Richie, they each worked on prep, Sydney wrote in her little notebook, Carmy ticked over leftover paperwork, they sat across from each other during family and never met eyes.

They did the same thing Tuesday. 

They did the same thing Wednesday.

If she was trying to determine something official, it would be that Thursday. 

At the end of the day she swiped a piece of leftover lemon cake and two spoons as everybody left. She went into the office and Carmy looked up in soft surprise as she sat it on top of some random receipt book from 2015.

“What’s up Chef?” Carmy asked and Sydney shrugged.

“Just cake. I… we need to talk abou-”

“Shit, yeah, uh-yeah. We don’t-”

“Yes we do Carmen. That's the whole communication thing we talked about when I first started.” 

“Oh, right.”

They both went quiet as Sydney cleared some space on the desk and sat on the edge. She dived into a bite of cake and ignored the nerves created from Camry staring at her mouth again. 

“I’m sorry for kissing you like that.” Carmy said after a minute and Sydney handed him the other spoon. 

“I’m sorry too. That was unprofessional of us.”

“No, it’s on me Sydney. I’m older than you, I’m your boss.” he added, going for a bite as well. They are quiet as they share it down to an empty plate and yellow crumbs.

“I’ve liked you for a long time Carmen. Admired you even. I think you can go anywhere and do anything and it’s great.” Sydney said. Carmy let out a bitter chuckle at her statement.

“Sydney you have a lot of talent, creativity and whatever else makes a great person. From the moment you walked in the door you started lifting this place up. I’m a piece of shit compared to you.”

“Still like you though.” 

“... I like you alot too…”

It’s quiet again, no cake to fill in the time and space. Both chefs felt like they were going to bust and the silence was the only safe space. 

Ever impatient, Sydney is the first to break it. 

“Ya know… The first time I made scrambled eggs I was like 8. I set the fire alarm off with how high I cooked them. There was salt and pepper everywhere, somehow they were both browned as shit and still runny. I’m pretty sure I broke my dad’s heart fucking up his cast iron pan like that.” Sydney rambled and Carmy gave a soft smile at that.

“I’m pretty sure I broke my nan’s heart cause I broke spaghetti noodles in half before I boiled em. I had seen someone do it on Food Network and Sugar had to save my ass from getting beat with a spoon. I was 7 I think.”

Sydney couldn't help but snort at that. 

“Yeah, but we got better with practice right?”

“Yeah.”

“Not to be mean, but you could improve your kissing skills.” Sydney said, pointedly not looking at him as he settled back in his chair in shock and awe.

“... is this a complaint?”

“No.”

“No?”

“... it’s an offer to improve I guess. With practice.”

“Sydney.”

“I’m just saying! I liked it, you liked it. You could use practice. I could use pract- oh.” Sydney is cut off by Carmy rising up. He stood in the space between her legs and crossed his arms. Sydney couldn’t help but blink in surprise as he bent in slightly to look her in the eyes. 

“We can’t.” he scolded quietly. His voice is soft yet stern.

“We can’t?” Sydney rasped.

“It’s unprofessional.”

“...It is unprofessional.”

“It’s getting too close, even if we did like it. I can’t just make out and fuck you in the Beef like I’m some asshole line cook that only floats Waffle Houses.”

Sydney huffed then crossed her arms as well, leaning back and squinting at him. Her head gently bumped the shelf above the desk as she settled back. She can’t meet his eyes though, so she focused on his nose and thinks about how it bumped her the other night.

“This joint wishes it was a fuckable Waffle House. Richie might actually get a life.'' She smarted. Carmy jerked his head to a tilt, trying to force her eyes to his in disbelief. 

“Sydney!”

“Carmen!”

“We shouldn’t and aren’t doing this here.”

“Fine.” Sydney shrugged, plump lips pursing in attitude.

She finally got the nerve to meet his eyes but smiled to see that he was checking out her mouth. Carmy pressed the inch of space closer so her legs encompassed his hips. His arms dropped so that one hand braced on the shelves behind her head and the other rested on her knee, making her leg enclose his. She felt the subtle bulge in his pants settle against the desk and the edge of her inner thigh. She glances down at it and lets her posture correct up in a deep breath. 

The layer of their jeans blocking skin was fucking infuriating. 

Once again, they were dangerously in each other's faces.

“So, we aren’t doing this here?” Sydney challenged.

“Nope.”

They ended up half stripping in the back of his car, bruising each other's necks with hungry lips. 

Sydney finds out his hair is just as soft as it looks and he groans when you tug at his nape but flinches when you go too far up his crown.

Carmy learns to draw out moans from her. You had to kiss her down from the bottom of her ear, follow her jar and end at the center of her throat.

Sydney learns that holding his cheeks makes him cry. Carmy learns she likes to hide her face in her braids when her moans are out of control. Carmy learns that he’s really fucking handsy. Sydney learns that she’s a biter.

Both of them have very talented yet untrained hands that excel in finding the right spots.

It became routine. 

They’d work on Monday, then come in on Tuesday. They work like Carmen didn’t nearly crash his car with how good Sydney sucked him off on the drive to his place Monday night.

 They’d work on Wednesday. Pretending that the reason Sydney was walking so carefully is because she dropped a pot on her foot and not that Carmy fucked her thighs numb back at his apartment last night on Tuesday night.

The reason Sydney had to wear her braids in a high bun instead of her usual scarf this Thursday morning? She overslept and didn’t have time to grab one. Not the fact that it slipped off her bucking head last night and is under Carmy’s couch right now.

The reason Carmy wore a long sleeve rolled up to his forearms instead of his usual short sleeve shirt this fine weather Friday? He had to fight the alley cats throwing out the trash. Not the fact the ‘cat’ was most definitely named Sydney as she rode him in the back seat while they were parked outside her and her father’s apartment building. 

Friday was their exception. 

They alway went home separately and alone on Fridays. The dinner rush was too taxing on their bodies to be hungry for anything else but a sandwich, a beer, and to drop dead into bed. (Friday didn’t stop nudes however. It didn’t stop Carmy from getting hard at the videos of Sydney muffling her loud moans of his name into her childhood pillows. It didn't stop Sydney’s gut from tightening up at the obscene shot of Carmy beating his dick to the sound of her name) 

Work was work on Saturday. 

It was Sunday mornings like this. Where they woke up cuddling in Carmy’s bed. Him smoking out the window into the cool morning air and Sydney listening to his heartbeat in his chest in the soft light of sunrise. 

That she thinks about this, about how they got here.

She feels guilt forever getting in a situation like this. She’s fucking her boss, fucking her idol, fucking a man five years older than her, fucking a white man, fucking a Catholic, all the without a ring nor relationship in sight. Her father would burn The Beef down to the ground with Carmy inside of it and expose her to church ladies for correction. Her mother would just cackle out of the grave.

 “At least you didn’t dirty the kitchen, Syddie Kitty.” Sydney can picture her teasing out of plum-colored lips over a wine glass as funeral dirt shakes out of her locs.

Sydney turns over so that she and Carmy are pressed chest to chest. Her chin rests on his sternum so she can look over his face. His hand absently rubs a firm circle over the knot in her lower back as he continues to stare at their city waking up. 

He’s beautiful. 

She’s beautiful. 

Carmy huffs a laugh as he dodges her trying to take the cigarette out of his hand, blowing the cloud high as he snuffs it out. She sticks her tongue out and dodges back, making the kiss he aimed for her lips land on her cheek instead. 

Before they can tease each other again, Carmy’s phone rings. He cringes at the tone he has set for Sugar echoing over them. He grabs it and just stares at the screen as it vibrates and lights up with the picture of his sister.

Sydney taps her hand on his wrist, thumb ghosting on the green accept slider. Carmy is quick to deny the call, toss the phone back to the side table and twist into Sydney's body.

“You can’t keep doing that.” Sydney says after a while. He burrows further into their hold until she melts back. 

What would Sugar think? Every time he declined her calls or avoided weekly family dinners was because he was in the hands of his younger sous that he still hasn’t introduced her to. Yeah, the one Richie has been complaining about changing everything. That she was the only one that made him feel like he could breathe and that he hated church. 

He knew what Richie would say, that's for sure. He’d be all smug and smartassed and judgmental. Announcing that he knew all along baby Carmy despite the prestige of his NORMA bullshit, was just a bitch who fell for pussy and would drive The Beef and the lives the revolved round it into the ground for it. 

Both chefs are shamefully selfish this Sunday morning.

They make savory crepes and drink coffee with Good Eats playing in the background.

They shower together about it. 

Carmy drops her off at the farmers market.

Carmy cleans the Beef alone with a toothbrush as one of Mikey’s old mixed CD’s plays on the old Beef stereo. 

Sydney tosses her laundry in the washing machine as her dad plays Charles Jenkins & Fellowship aloud and remarks that he missed her at service again. 

Carmy shows up 8 minutes late to dinner at Sugar's with the wine his big sister likes. 

Sydney fries fish and makes smothered green beans for dinner, her father sets the table for them to play cards and watch Down in the Delta. 

Both chefs pray that this stays their routine. 

Taglist 🥰

@blowmymbackout @kdoxkeic @pantherxrogers @soufcakmistress

[girl-that-cant-write]

Bandages

(also posted on my ao3) not beta read

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Dazai always had a weird relationship with bandages. In one way they were like a shield, both keeping others out and him in. He's sure that if his bandages fell off he would burst out no longer being contained. A mess that he's not sure he could clean up on his own. On the other hand they were so constricting. It was like a boa constrictor had wrapped around his body and he was unable to be free. They were itchy and tight and way too hot he could melt.

Only a few had seen him without his bandages and they never stayed around long. His parents, people he knew when he was a young child, doctors, random strangers he would never meet again nor that he could even remember their names or anything of note about them. All people he didn't care about.

Dazai likes the thought that no one knows what's under his bandages. He's sure that some people genuinely think that it's just for style. That he's just a “waste of bandages”. Nothing else. But also some people definitely know what he tries to hide. What he tries to “put behind him” but never can. Whatever.

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Dazai forces himself to get up. Forces himself to put on clean clothes and grab what he needs for work. Makes himself look normal. Brushing his fingers through his hair, tugging at the bandages that cling to his skin like a hug that's been going on for just a bit too long.

Once he's in the office at his desk he's just so bored. Sure he technically could do his work but…nah there's better stuff to do. Plus if he begs Atsushi he most likely will do his work for him. So what to do with his freedom today… bugging Kunikida is always fun. Or he could try to sneak back home to rot…that sounds fun, funner than being bored at work where he has to stay up and look alive. If he says he's going to the washroom then dips he's sure no one would care that much…it would just be Dazai doing stereotypical Dazai stuff. Skipping work…asking ladies to die with him…liking crab…uhhh he's sure there's more things that are “him frfr”...shit he zoned out oops. He quickly stands up and obnoxiously shouts about how he must go piss and skips out of the room while Kunikida just rolls his eyes and sighs.

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Obviously he wasn't actually gonna use the washroom. Now he's just sitting in his room bored. He feels way too aware of his surroundings. The white nose from the vents, the way his bandages feel on his skin, the sun shining through the gap in the blinds. He feels sick but has no clue why. The day has been good so why does he feel like a mess? Why does his body feel tight? Is it because he left work he feels like this. Because he left the people making him stay normal. Not like he can go back now it's been way too long since he left to go “piss” they would most likely bombard him with interrogations if he went back. It would be best to stay home with his door locked and the curtains drawn. Alone with only his thoughts. He feels hot. Like he can't get enough air. He gets changed out of his work clothes to put on some pajamas keeping his bandages on. He still feels constricted. Like the boa constrictor is back. Slowly killing him. A painful death where he can't get enough air. Would taking off his bandages help? But if he takes them off he's sure he will explode. He hates this. He hates feeling like this. He wishes he could take his bandages off and unravel but he can't. Not even in his own home. Not even though he's alone. No one can see him so why is he like this? He wishes someone would force him out of it. Force him to be normal. But he's pushed everyone who would help him away. He will be forever alone stuck just him and a boa constrictor.

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[ladylooch]

What kind of shenanigans do Connor and lio get into in their bromance? I feel like we don’t know much about lio’s rookie year

Um, well, because we wanted Connor and Lucie together so bad we all went... AND LET'S SKIP TO THOSE TWO IN LOVE!!!!!!!!

Also, please know I think I'm v funny and I laughed so hard writing this.

The Shenanigans Connor and Lio get into:

Connor goes home with a straight up cray cray bunny. He literally has to use the fire escape to get free. Lio picks him up from the alley as Connor is running in only his boxers, shoes falling off his feet. "Drive!" He yells once he has a leg in. "Tell me you didn't have sex with her?" Lio asks as he drives. "I don't wanna lie to you. We did. It was pretty good. Might call her again."

Lio and Connor have millions of dollars but can't buy an alarm clock that actually works. They have several close calls getting to the rink on time. Fines happen. Bag skates happen. And they owe the whole team dinner, twice.

Connor takes Lio to a strip club for the first time. Lio is wide eyed at the amount of boobs in view. Connor, meanwhile, is bellied up to the buffet table. "They have the best crab legs in the city." He says, dipping a claw in clarified butter. "Plus the oil on your hands reminds you not to touch the girls."

Lio brings home a girl who thinks she's moving in after one night of rolling in the sheets. Connor and Lio come up with a plan to get her out by pretending they have bed bugs in the apartment. "Hey Lio!" Connor yells down the hall. "The bug guy just called. He said he forgot about your room during the extermination and he'll be back for it tomorrow!" Didn't see that one again.

One morning, Connor is walking his date from last night to the door. "Had a great time last night." He murmurs, "Can I see you again?" "Ahh I'm really busy. Maybe next month." She leans up to give him a kiss goodbye. "Good to see you again, Lio." She calls with a wave and walks out of the apartment. "Dude. It finally happened." Lio laughs after a sip of his coffee. "No." "Yep! Cooch cousin!" "Dude, it wasn't even that good. Fuck. I need to find a real woman." Connor moans, falling to the couch in shame.

Ope and one last thing...

"Hey my cousin that's like my sister is coming to NYU next year." "Cool, she hot?" "Not if you're looking. I know where you've been." Lio chuckles. Connor shrugs. "Plenty of women in the metro."

[allwaysfull]

Margaritaville | Carlo Sernaglia and Julia Turshen

Breakfast

Pineapple and Coconut Milk Smoothie

Key Lime Yogurt with Graham Cracker Granola

Baked Boatmeal Squares with Blueberries and Coconut

Huevos Rancheros

Key West Omlet

Key Lime Hollandaise

South Florida Eggs Benedict

Spicy Breakfast Quesadillas

Triple B (Buttermilk, Blueberry and Banana) Pancakes

Best-Ever French Toast

Our Breakfast Potatoes

Appetizers

Volcano Nachos

Warm Asiago Crab Dip

Grilled Oysters with Tarragon Butter

Peel-and-Eat Shrimp

Mustard Sauce

Drunken Shrimp Skillet

Lava Lava Shrimp

Conch Fritters with Calypso Sauce

Spanish Octopus Salad

JWB Crab and Quinoa Cakes with Curry Kale Slaw

Crispy Calamari with Peppadews and Lemon Aioli

Fried Oysters with Creamed Spinach

Lionfish Carpaccio

A Day on a Boat

Kusshi Oysters with Granny Smith, Cucumber, and Mint Granita

Veracruz Seafood Cocktail

Tuna Poke with Plantain Chips

Paradise Ceviche

Belizean Shrimp Ceviche

Pimiento Cheese Hushpuppies

Crispy Eggplant and Goat Cheese Stuffed Piquillo Peppers

Fried Baby Artichokes with Remoulade

Tostones with Mojo Sauce

Hollywood Burrata with Grated Tomato Dressing

Jalapeño Deviled Eggs with Pickled Mustard Seeds

Cajun Chicken Quesadilla (Blackening Seasoning)

Spicy Buffalo Chicken Wings with Buttermilk Blue Cheese Dressing

Sweet Chile Chicken Wings

Salads and Soups

JWB Caesar Salad with Sourdough Croutons

JWB House Salad with Cashew Dressing

Little Gem Wedge Salad

Avocado and Papaya Salad with Spicy Lime Dressing

Quinoa and Mango Salad with Seared Tuna

Fried Green Tomato Salad with Salsa Verde and Quesp Fresco

Andalusian Gazpacho

Luxurious Lobster Bisque (Lobster Stock)

Bahamian Conch Chowder

Chicken and Corn Chupe

Burgers, Sandwiches and Hot Dogs

Cheeseburgers in Paradise with Paradise Island Dressing

Black-and-Blue Burgers

Turkey Burgers with Cheddar and Barbecue Aioli

JWB Surf’n’Turf Burgers

Ultimate Veggie Burgers

Grilled Flank Steak Sandwiches with Horseradish Sauce

Cuban Meat Loaf Survival Sandwiches

A Day on The Beach

Tailgate Muffuletta for a Crowd

Beach Club Sandwich

New Orleans Fried Oyster Po’Boys

Delta Fried Catfish Reubens

Blackened Fish Sandwiches (Jalapeño Tarter Sauce)

JWB Lobster Rolls

Aloha Hot Dogs

Own-Damn-Fault Hot Dogs

Blackened Chili Dogs

Main Dishes

Best-Every Chili (alt: vegan version)

Margaritaville Family Recipe Cuban Meat Loaf

Veal Saltimbocca Pockets

Prime Sirloin Oscar

Steak au Poivre

Summer Grill Surf’n’Turf

Grilled Skirt Steaks with Carlo’s Chimichurri

Slow Cooker Pork Should with LandShark and Cola

Chicken Enchiladas with Salsa Verde, Smoked Ancho, Pasilla Sauce

Chicken Tinga

Jerk Chicken

Buttermilk Fried Chicken with Country Gravy

Shrimp Mofongo al Ajillo

Spear Fishing with Carlo

Outside-Optional Cajun Clambake

Sardinian Seafood Stew

Pan-Seared Halibut with Artichoke Ragout

Seared Grouper with Fresh Mango Salsa

Crispy Sicilian-Style Pounded Tuna Steaks

Coho Salmon in Lemongrass-Miso Broth

Salt-Crusted Whole Snapper

LandShark Beer-Battered Fish

Seafood Mac and Cheese

Lobster Pasta

Paella del Mar

Jimmy’s Jammin’Jambalaya

Baby Back Ribs with Guava Barbecue Sauce

Pizza à la Minute

Side Dishes

Pico de Gallo

Guacamole

Cilantro-Lime Coleslaw

Crispy Brussels Sprouts

Yukon Gold Loaded Mashed Potatoes

Spicy Red Onion Rings

Livin’ Floridays

Lobster Hash Browns with Jalapeño Cheese

JWB Creamed Spinach

Oven Fries

Fajita Black Beans

Island Rice Pilaf

Creamy Spinach and Cheese Grits

Skillet Cornbread with Honey Butter

Grilled Corn with Lime Butter

Pickled Jalapeño Mac and Cheese

Dessert

Baked Florida

Key Lime Pie

Banana Cream Pie with Caramel Rum Sauce

Coconut Tres Leches Cake

Island Rum Cake

Strawberry Sponge Cake Shortcake

Frozen Mango Cheesecake

Crispy Bananarama

Chocolate-Bourbon Croissant Bread Pudding

S’mores Nachos with Warm Chocolate Sauce

Drinks

Brunch Rum Punch

Perfect Bloody Marias

LandShark Micheladas

Incommunicado

Jimmy’s Perfect Margarita

Frozen Paradise Palomas

5 o’Clock Somewhere

Red Wine and Cherry Sangria

Cucumber and Mint Coolers

Watermelon Pink Lemonade

[cosmereplay]

So it's June and you know what that means... The planterlanche strikes again! Yes it's kinky Rosharan plant fucking time and if you didn't know, then I'm happy to report a growing number of fics featuring fat vines and wet flowers, and your favourite characters discovering them 😅. Check out the planterlanche tag on ao3 if you're so inclined.

Tonight's offering is hot off the presses:

The Triaxi Cure by cosmere_play

Rated Explicit, 1500 words, RoW era. Lirin and Hesina discover some of the unique properties of a medicinal plant.

Explicit excerpt below the cut:

As his erection grew, the plant seemed to accommodate him. Curious! How does it know? He lowered the bottom lip of the flower to slip his scrotum in, and found it wet with the same liquid. "Yes, there is a definite sucking happening," he reported. The flower pulled on his scrotum in quite a pleasant fashion. “The…ah…the flower is certainly making more liquid,” he said after a few breaths. Hesina’s pen scratched paper. “It looks like it’s stuck to you,” she observed, and dipped her head to look between his legs. “The coverage seems appropriate for crabs. How far does that petal go back?” Lirin reached behind him to confirm, though he was already sure he could feel it pressing between his cheeks. Yes, he could confirm. “It’s wetting my anus,” he said. “The amount of liquid is…prodigious now.” His finger lingered, using the liquid like lube to massage the ring of muscle and slip the tip of his finger inside. “This liquid has…quite similar properties to lubricant,” he panted as he touched himself. “I can see the sucking motion down the flue!” Hesina exclaimed happily, then slammed the book closed. “Well, I’d say this experiment was a success!” For a moment, Lirin paused. He was one knuckle deep into his ass, and he had started sweating. He had been fully thrusting into the flower, confident in its depth. This felt incredible, and she knew it. She was teasing him again. She was going to make him say it. He swallowed dryly. “I think…it would be best to continue…for medicine.”

Keep reading

[wickedsrest-rp]

Welcome to our weekly round-up! We do these every week to provide plot drops, highlight starters posted that week, and share other information about the setting. Anyone is welcome to use these bullet points in starters, plots, anons etc. Also let us know if you want us to include one of your setting-related plots in here for next week by sending us a bullet point!

What’s new in town?:

Something not quite right is in the air as the impact of the mining accident proves to be more far-reaching than anyone anticipated. Check out our ongoing plot of the week for ways to interact!

Over the past few weeks, several Wicked's Rest residents have reported being 'rescued' from muggers and robbers by a fiery figure. According to these reports, this figure is most often seen around the Gatlin Fields and Worm Row neighborhoods, and seems to focus primarily on stopping crimes that are happening out in the open. It is unknown who this resident superhero may be, but one witness claims they heard the vigilante refer to themself as 'Magnets.'

The mutated hermit crabs have been flocking around Ronnie the Claw at Rock Lobstah. It seems like they are drawn to the animatronic lobster and almost appear to be listening to it. That's probably a coincidence, but it does make it hard to spin the claw of fortune, so you may wanna plan to pay full price.

A sculpture exhibit put on by UMWR's Art students has resulted in a number of new grotesques on campus, at least resulting from the stone sculptures. Most notably, one of these grotesques looks like a rocky Spongebob Squarepants meme.

Starters:

Leticia has some questions about this Russian Farmer EDM band and whether they use a jug

As the resident expert Jasper is recommending everyone stays away from the mines and leave it to the scientists

If someone wants to get some wood-chewing rats of Luis' hands they're free to a good home

Considerate as ever, Leila is advising people stay away from the caves if they like their sense of smell

Don't let the stink get you down, Gussie has some thematic and tasty treats at Starring Role

The other crabs may be getting strange, but Sully wants you to know Shadow is just fine

Lil found some bones hanging out in the middle of the sidewalk and is wondering about the best course of action

Teagan is in town and wondering the best place to find some good sweets to go with her tea

Elias is here and working at the Mushroom Circle. You should go visit, according to him the bartender is a whole snack

Conor is trying to figure out how to block emails from the Nigerian Prince and could use a helping hand

Bring in sour candies and Bridie will give you half off entrance to the club and cover your tab if you provide Barnaby's first name

Masami is a bit over people's lack of common sense and no your dog is not an exotic pet

Sofie has got some antique items she can deliver while she's on the go this weekend so get yours today

Thea is wondering what's going on with the stink outside and is assuring it's not her

Humans are confusing and Ren isn't sure what they want if it's either too hot or too cold

Looking for a job? Dis is looking to hire a housekeep at Elysium Hotel and Casino

Cass needs to know how many scented candles are too many scented candles

Everyone's so creative and Jo is here for it and wants to purchase one of these metal band-fied crab t-shirts

Kit just discovered Spotify and has some questions about this whole remastering thing

Owen is curious about La Sauce and looking for someone to take a dip with

Monty is considering some suggestions to have a petting zoo in the warmer months and looking for thoughts

Emilio is looking for a phone that won't break and could use some suggestions

Are you good with restoration of old building? Hit Benevolence up to help with some projects

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Melete (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- principessa by her mother

Age- 10 (immortal)

Location- Queenstown district, New Olympus

Personality- She's a total bookworm- finding wonder & escapism through pages of another world. She's also friendly, thoughtful, and a true virtuoso!

She has the standard abilities of a goddess except shapeshifting. As the goddess of thought & meditation her powers/abilities include audiokinesis (sings on a perfect pitch), meditation empowerment, and thought projection.

Melete lives with her mom Lyrikós (Titaness of voice & song) and younger sister Mneme (goddess of remembrance) in a penthouse apartment in the Queenstown neighborhood of New Olympus. She has one pet- a british shorthair cat named Bella. Her bedroom is the quintessential girly girl room with floral wallpaper, a mini chandelier, a canopy bed, and mink white carpeting. There's a seperate closet with built in shelves that holds her book collection.

A go-to drink for her is her mother's homemade hot chocolate (which she likes to dip biscottis in). She also likes cappuccinos, sparkling water, lemonade, cheesecake milkshakes from The Frozen Spoon, peach iced tea, & lychee mint soda.

As well as being able to read and transcribe music, Melete can also play the piano, harp, lyre, violin, & flute.

Notable physical features include a beauty mark near her top lip and her bright hazel-green eyes.

She loves when her mom makes her famous ricotta pancakes for breakfast. On the rare occassion where they're running late, they'll stop by at The Bread Box where Melete will get a sausage, egg, & cheese on a hero.

She recently got her ears pierced!

Melete is currently on break from school, attending an esteemed private school in downtown New Olympus with her baby sister. She's friends with a few students in her grade including young deities like Ersa (goddess of morning dew), Eulabeia (goddess of caution), and Calleis (goddess of allurement). Melete's best friend is Aidos (goddess of shame, modesty, humility, & respect). Melete is also friends with Xenia (goddess of hospitality), a fourth grader. The third graders include her baby sister, Caerus (god of opportunity & luck), Myrízei (god of smell & gases), Prophasis (goddess of excuses), Hebe (goddess of youth), Paidia (goddess of play & amusement), Aceso (goddess of healing), and Physis (goddess of nature).

Her favorite classes are literature and music. She's even a part of the school's band!

Melete got an ice cream cone shaped jeweled Diamond Ave. clutch from her big sis Aoide (goddess of voice & song) as a birthday gift.

Her favorite dessert are her mom's cannolis! She also likes the tiramisu cupcakes from Hollyhock's Bakery.

An upcoming school trip she's looking forward to is to Delphi to see the Omphalos stone.

Most days afterschool & on the weekends, her and her sister take ballet classes.

Melete's favorite vocalists are her older sister and mom. She also likes listening to some artists signed onto her sister's record label like Pale Blu, O, & The Gypsy Belles. Her other favorite singers include Apollo (god of the sun, music, poetry, healing, medicine, archery, plague, light, & knowledge) and the music group M9 (which she keeps secret from her big sister).

A recent guilty pleasure of hers has been crab sushi rolls. She tried them when Calleis' mother took her and Aidos to The Ocean Roll, a popular shift restaurant in the Tsunami neighborhood following a trip to the cinema!

Every week afterschool Melete and Aidos visits the Silver Owl Bookstore where they end up buying more books than intended! Her favorite genres to read include contemporary, fantasy, & historical fiction! She vividly remembers the scandal at recess when she brought a romance novel written by Aphrodite (goddess of love & beauty). Her and her friends laughed & blushed at the "sweaty parts."

She has hopes of signing onto her sister's recording label as an upcoming artist after her induction ceremony. She loves stopping by at Aoide's record studio!

Melete & her mom often go to mother/daughter yoga classes.

In her free time she enjoys listening to music, reading, drawing, bike riding, doing lanyard, & going to the cinema. Melete has even taken on cooking as the latest hobby- her most well known snack being pepperoni & sausage calzones loaded with mozzarella cheese.

Her all time favorite meal is lobster risotto.

"The good thing about creativity is that it never runs out!"