#chamomile and whiskey

[ravenxbones]

just for fun, i decided to make warriorsonas for my existing ocs, just to differentiate them even more from my interpretations of the killjoys that they developed from. here’s amaryllisfoot (alex) and darkwater (damien), they’re riverclan warriors! hoping to post jamie and diego’s designs eventually as well, i already have warrior names picked out for them :)

[alrightieaphroditie]

screwed | j.m series masterlist | next part!

pairing *:·ﾟjoel miller x female!reader wc *:·ﾟ2.2k an *:·ﾟ.... yeah i don't know where this came from. i've literally been itching to write for joel but the man makes me so nervous. not too sure how much i like this but i think this will be the beginning of a lil series so hopefully i can make it work! pleaase let me know if this is bad lmao i really appreciate any feedback! i hope you enjoy!

synopsis *:·ﾟyou can't stand the sight of joel miller sitting alone - again - at the tipsy bison, so you finally decide to introduce yourself to him.

you knew who joel miller was before you even officially met the man. 

granted, anyone in jackson could’ve made that same claim. it wasn’t like you were special or anything, really. but when tommy came into the community, it only took him a few weeks to get settled in. it took about the same time for him to casually be able to mention his brother into almost every conversation. 

helping some of the guys out with making plans for a new building? joel miller would’ve been great at that. trying out a batch of the new whiskey they had made? joel miller would’ve been all over that. brushing the horses and maintaining the stalls? tommy actually wasn’t sure how joel would feel about this one, but he made sure that everyone knew his brother would do it if asked, no hesitation.

so, when you heard that joel miller had shown up near jackson, and was going to be entering the community, you felt like you had a decent understanding of the man. however, you weren’t anticipating joel miller to look… like that. even now, you still remember being huddled outside near the entrance of the town, bundled up in an oversized jacket. as the gates opened and you first caught a glance at the older, taller man walking through, you felt your cheeks burn bright red. 

your first thought about joel miller? he was unrightfully handsome. 

it wasn’t until after joel and the girl he came in with, who you later learned was named ellie, got settled that the rumors started to spread. you weren’t entirely sure where the source came from, but soon enough the town of jackson was talking about joel as much as his own brother had, but this time it was accompanied by whispering, stolen glances, and an air of hesitancy. 

you were never one to gossip, but you couldn’t help yourself strain to listen to those whispers floating around. you couldn’t understand how someone who was as highly praised by tommy, a man so well trusted within jackson, could be so ostracized in the community. you heard mumbles of him being a hunter, previously. of him murdering innocent people for his own selfish ways. of how some people didn't feel as safe in the community now with this big, bad man roaming around. 

the thing was, you had gotten quite close to ellie in the weeks that they had been there. she appeared at your house one day, standing near the curb as she watched you and some of the towns children haphazardly building a snowman. you caught her eye, waved her over, and that was that. she was your new best friend. she showed up on your doorstep almost every day after, and the two of you would talk about almost anything. especially about joel. she was very much like tommy in the sense that ellie could relate almost anything back to that man, and she meant it as praise. she really did look up to him. 

during your talks, while you sat at your small dining table with cups of tea (which, ellie had decided she quite liked chamomile tea, so you made sure you stocked up for her) you learned more about the man that joel was, and with every conversation, you found yourself wanting to simply know more about joel. ellie often referred to him as a 'scary motherfucker' but the fondness that laced her voice betrayed her. it was because of ellie that you were part of the minority of the town that was not afraid of joel miller. 

and it was then that you knew you needed to do something. it wasn’t really the whispers, the rumors, that bothered you. there wasn’t much to do in jackson, truthfully, so when people needed the entertainment, they tended to make it themselves. a few weeks ago, you were the center of it, the people claiming you were glowing from pregnancy from a hookup that quite honestly never even happened. all you could do was laugh. the people would believe whatever they wanted to, even if you were adamantly insisting otherwise. 

the thing that got you, though, was how joel seemed to have almost expected being treated poorly, being totally unwelcomed in this small town. how he seemed to be fine quietly eating dinner alone almost every night when ellie wasn’t around or tommy had patrol duty, then sitting alone, again, at the bar with a shot of whiskey. the way he seemed so comfortable being alone, and yet you couldn’t help but notice the yearning in his eyes as they shifted around. the weariness. as if he was used to everyone in his life leaving him, alone, and he was the only one left to pick up the pieces. 

so, one evening, almost a month and a half later, when you walked into the tipsy bison for dinner and saw joel sitting in the back - his usual spot, his back to the wall, facing the door - alone, again, you paused in the doorway. his gaze was focused on the lone glass of whiskey in front of him, his fingers trailing the rim slightly. the image sent a shock of pain in your heart for some reason, and before you even realized it, your footsteps were carrying you to him. 

his gaze shot up as you drew near, and you watched as his eyebrow quirked up slightly. you cleared your throat softly, suddenly feeling more nervous than you probably should've, your fingers fiddling with the edge of your sweatshirt the dead giveaway of your anxiety. 

"hi," you managed to get out as you stepped up the edge of the table. his brown eyes were staring intently into yours, and you swear you saw the corner of his mouth quirk up. "i know you've been here a little while now and i just realized i never got around to properly introducing myself. i'm-"

"i know who you are. the kid never shuts up about you." he interrupted, raising the glass to his lips, and taking a sip of his drink. you trained your eyes to stay on his, focusing really hard to not let your gaze go to his lips as he licked them. 

you felt your cheeks flush almost immediately, and a small smile found its way to your lips. all this time that you felt like you had known who joel was, and for some reason, you weren't prepared to hear the slight southern accent in his voice. you thought it was cute. "well, i hope that's a good thing," you motioned to the chair on the other side of the table. "may i?" 

his face gave away nothing, and it could have just been you, but his eyes widened slightly at the question. he hesitated for a split second before nodding his head to the chair, shifting back in his own seat. "sure, have at it. s'long as you’re not afraid to be mingling with the town outcast." he gave you a grin at the self-deprecating joke, and you didn't want to but you couldn't help but laugh. 

"oh, i promise you aren't the town outcast. i think that title goes to jimmy. i haven't seen him around town in weeks, but i know he's home because he keeps shovelin' his driveway." you teased, smiling even more to yourself as joel huffed out a laugh before drinking again. "besides, ellie doesn't think you're all that bad. that must count for something, yeah?" 

his eyes went soft at the mention of the girl, which caused your heart to melt. he shook his head while examining the glass again, his finger wiping off a bit of condensation on the side. "that girl is about as fearless as it gets. not sure you really wanna be followin' in her footsteps." 

"i'll take my chances, then." you traced a crack in the wood on the table, suddenly feeling a little awkward. you weren't the best with people, having been quite the introvert before the outbreak. good to know somethings never really changed. "how are you liking it in jackson so far?" 

"s'alright. i never thought something like this could be possible again," he trailed off, draining the rest of his drink in one go. he leaned back in his chair, arms folded against his chest. you couldn't help but notice how his long sleeve shirt stretched across his broad arms. "'m happy that tommy was able to find a community like this." he confesses, which makes you smile. the one thing you had learned from both tommy and ellie was how loyal joel was, especially to his family. it was a trait you heavily admired, and something you genuinely didn't see nowadays. it was every man for himself out here. well, not in jackson, but that's besides the point. 

"it is pretty great," you agreed. you didn't know where you would be without the community. you had somehow luckily stumbled upon them from the woods as you escaped from a group of hunters that had kept you and your best friend captive. maria had seen you and instantly took you in, giving you space to heal while becoming comfortable again. you didn't share this joel, although you felt the strange urge to, to maybe help joel see that the town wasn't all that bad and that there was good in it. 

"so, i admit i had a secret agenda coming over here. i wanted to ask you something." you tucked your hair behind your ears, trying to muster up the courage to ask. you weren't scared of joel miller, but god he was really intimidating. you weren't sure what you would do if he turned you down.

"oh?" he looked intrigued, that eyebrow of his quirking up slightly again. his expression was soft, almost inviting. "well ask away, sugar."

sugar. your blood rushed in your ears at the endearment. 

"well, i wanted to invite you and ellie over for dinner one night. i already mentioned it to her earlier, but i figured i should probably ask you directly as well." you confessed with a small laugh. ellie swore she would mention it to joel, but then the next second she was asking you about one of the books you had on the counter, and you really can't be sure that she remembered your invitation. 

joel was silent for a moment, his eyes studying you in a way that made your knee bounce. the silence made your thoughts go into overdrive. maybe you misread joel earlier when you believed him to be lonely. maybe he really did just enjoy his own company and maybe he didn't want some strange girl inviting him over and interrupting his time. and maybe - 

"i'd like that, yeah." he responded quietly, tilting his head slightly in your direction as a subtle nod. it could've just been the whiskey, but you could've sworn his eyes shined in the light. you stared at him for a moment. your brain and thoughts catching up to the confirmation joel gave you. 

"oh, perfect!" you resisted the urge to clap your hands in excitement. and you were excited, but you didn't want joel to know just how much lest you come off as some crazed woman. with the way he looked he probably dealt with that all the time, right? 

"okay, well, ellie already knows where my house is so that covers that. if you both don't have duties tomorrow, we could do it then? or if you wanted, we could schedule it for next week or somethin'?" you were well aware that you were rambling, but you couldn't help it. joel didn't seem to mind it, though, as he gazed at you while you talked with your hands. 

"tomorrow's fine with us, 'm pretty sure." he adjusted himself in his chair, the old wood creaking slightly under his weight. “i appreciate the gesture, too. nice to know i haven’t scared everyone off.” you think he’s teasing with you, his grin almost invisible but you can see it. tommy never said his brother had a good sense of humor, but you were starting to wonder if there was a different side of joel that he was letting you see. you felt like you could run 10 laps around the border of the town with the way your heart was racing after his grin. 

“of course! truthfully it’s more for me than it is for you; i got a little sad seeing you in here alone almost every night.” you started to laugh, but then your words caught up to your ears and you realize you inadvertently told joel you’ve been watching him. embarrassed, cheeks flushed with heat, you stood up quickly, tucking your chair back under the table. 

“well, it was nice to finally meet you, mr. miller. i’ll see y’all tomorrow night!” the words rushed out between your lips as you slowly backed away from the table, giving joel a small wave before turning around. he probably thought you were acting like a fool, but you knew you needed to get out of the building before you said something worse. 

as you passed the tables towards the exit, you could’ve sworn that you heard a deep chuckle coming from the corner of the room, coming from the table that you just vacated. 

oh boy, you thought. you were officially screwed when it came to joel miller.

[ivystoryweaver]

With You Part 2

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Summary: Your fiancé Marc experiences his first hangover in 2 years. Can he face you in the light of day, and admit to you and Steven what he knows about another alter?

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader. Gender neutral reader, though there is one optional fiancé(e) and muñeca(o). (Reader’s choice). No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/notables: Angst, comfort, hangover (ish), cursing, cuddles in bed, assumptions, longing, feeling inadequate, brief reference to past trauma, self-worth probs (I mean, it’s Marc). Let me know if I missed a warning. Banter? If mild sarcasm bothers anyone... Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

Dividers by saradika

Steven fell asleep right away - for that, you were grateful. But sleep did not come easily for you. As Steven nestled into the crook of your neck, arm slung across your torso, you could only hope he would sleep off that three-quarters bottle of whiskey.

Pushing your fingers through his soft curls, you pressed your lips to his temple, waiting until his breathing slowed and steadied before confessing into the stillness of the night.

“Marc...I know you can’t hear me right now...” Your lip trembled as you pulled his body closer, gently twisting his soft strands around your fingers. “But we love you. We’re with you. Nothing will change that.”

You supposed it could be considered odd to be speaking to Marc even though it was Steven who fell asleep tangled up in you. And perhaps it was also presumptuous to speak on Steven’s behalf, to Marc. But you knew it was true.

The next morning, you woke up first, after a few, merciful hours of sleep. You hoped not to disturb the man beside you, carefully slipping away from his grasp. After a quick trip to the restroom to freshen up, you clambered to the kitchen, cursing yourself for not grabbing your fluffy slippers or a thick pair of Steven’s fuzzy socks. Your damn, drafty flat was going to give you all pneumonia, you were certain of it. 

To that end, you started preparing both coffee and tea, unsure of which handsome man would be enduring a hangover this morning. For Steven, you oscillated between a red and a golden tea - hibiscus or chamomile. Marc may have been born and raised in Chicago, but Steven Grant did not mess around about tea. 

Finally deciding on the hibiscus, you grabbed the air tight canister of tea leaves - there would be no dreadful teabags (as your darling Brit quoted Dame Julie Andrews) in your flat. 

Hopefully Marc would drink the tea, but, just in case, you put on the very impressively American coffee maker before finding the bread for some toast.

After everything was hot and ready to go, you crept back into the bedroom, figuring it all might go cold before your sleepy headed fiancé roused. No matter. You just wanted to be prepared.

You didn’t have to wait long because someone stirred just as you pulled on the fluffiest pair of socks with little goldfish (a Hanukkah present to Steven last year) and threw Marc’s favorite tan hoodie over your white t-shirt. Your legs were still bare and you decided that at least your grumpy, hungover boys might have a silly sight to wake up to, if nothing else.

Easing down beside your love, you gently raked your hand through his bedhead, probably your favorite way to (innocently) touch them. 

With a groan, your fiancé squinted, throwing a dramatic arm over his eyes, as if a thousand suns were burning them. (It was still dark in the bedroom). 

“Oh, god,” Marc uttered, his arm flopping back on the mattress. 

You adored Steven, but you were thrilled it was Marc. You needed to speak to him, or at least take care of him. 

“Good morning,” you softly greeted, reaching to massage his temples before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Mm-mm, bad morning,” he groaned, rolling over and burying his face in your stomach. His hands somehow conveniently slid right inside his hoodie and underneath your t-shirt, which sent you toppling over, giggling elatedly. 

Marc was a very pouty but adorable puppy sometimes. Grumpiness just worked on him. You liked to joke with him that he would make the cutest grumpy old grandpa someday. Thankfully, he was more interested in using your tummy as a pillow at the moment than the heaping shame and anguish from last night. 

“Thirsty,” he murmured, nuzzling against you. Damn, it was too bad he didn’t feel good, because he was unintentionally turning you on. 

“I got you, baby,” you whispered, prying yourself from his grasp to get his breakfast.

“No, don’t go,” he protested, locking his arms around you, his hot breath falling on the exposed skin of your abdomen, where your shirt had bunched up. “You’re m’pillow.” His words came out all muffled and so, so cute. 

God, he was distracting. “Are you calling me fluffy?” You teased. “I was just going to get you some water. And maybe some aspirin?”

“Wanna sleep,” came his mumbled reply. “You left me.”

“To make you some coffee, you baby,” you playfully shot back, finally climbing out of his grasp.

A few minutes later, you returned with a tray filled with tea, coffee, toast, water and painkillers, only to find Marc planted face first in the pillows. How he managed to look so damn good after downing a bottle of whiskey and sleeping five hours, you would never know. As his muscular back expanded with a deep breath, you almost tossed the tray full of remedies to the side and climbed on top of him.

Later, maybe. 

After a little coaxing, he finally sat up, taking the prepared tray onto his lap. Simply seeing what you’d done to ease his pain this morning reminded him of his shameful display last night. His eyes flickered over to yours, dropping down to the gesture of care and love.

“You...” He exhaled shakily, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

There was no need to argue over breakfast. You gently smiled in return, rubbing his forearm comfortingly. “I made you coffee, but...maybe you’ll try the tea? Steven says the antioxidants--”

“I was an asshole.” His jaw clenched, his gaze now fixed on your hand. The tenderness of your touch burned him with shame.

“You were?” your eyebrow shot up questioningly. “Hm...”

Marc was used to this from you. Just like you had taken a swig of his whiskey last night, your nonchalant reply should not have surprised him in the least. 

You were a champion of the real. He had never met a soul like you, and that’s probably why he was insanely in love with you.

All that mattered to you was the reality of any given situation - what was right in front of you. You were so damn hard to fight with because ... well, you didn’t fight. And for someone as self-punishing as Marc, who spent his youth hearing what a miserable failure of a human being he was, it took him a long time to understand that your steady gentility and raw honesty were not dismissive of his trauma. No, you met it, and him, head on, accepting him and loving him exactly how he was.

You had never asked him to change, never expected him to be anyone other than exactly who he was. After years of self-sabotage, it was unimaginable to him to not have to live up to someone’s standard. He never had successfully lived up to anything, in his mind. 

But you were different. The first time you “fought” had blown him away. He snapped at you, feeling inadequate over one thing or another and you simply said, “No.” He thought you were being dismissive of him, maybe even mocking him, but you were as earnest as ever, telling him, “You think that now. That’s okay. I simply disagree.” Then you kissed your thumb and pressed it to the grumpy crease between his downturned eyebrows. “I love you exactly how you are, Marc.” 

It was the first time you’d said you loved him and he was just...speechless. You then kissed the corner of his mouth and carried on with the evening. That’s why it was so easy to tell you about Steven. 

“I don’t remember you being an asshole,” you shrugged, bringing his mind back to the present. “But I do remember you being upset. And crying.” Scooting a little closer, you twisted the cap off the bottle of painkillers. “You wanna tell me about that?”

He watched your hands, pouring a couple pain pills into your palm, picking up the glass of cool water to make him an offering. His eyes met yours and he knew you were there to ease his pain in every possible way. 

Still, it was so hard for him. And anything too hard typically led to disassociation. 

To gain an extra moment, he took the medicine, gulping down the entire glass of water. 

“Now, what sounds best?” You sweetly asked, nodding to the tray, your gentle smile completely melting him.

“I-I don’t think Steven and I are alone...in the body,” he gulped, his eyes wide and worried. 

Sitting up straighter, you slowly nodded, reaching to take the tray from his lap and set it safely on the night table, giving him time to say more, if he would.

That’s all he said.

Shit, you suddenly worried you didn’t know how to ask questions without sounding offensive, despite the library’s worth of research you had done on DID. But you weren’t an investigative journalist, you were this man’s fiancé(e). So you would start with him. 

“And that scares you, Marc? Upsets you?” 

He glared at you. “Obviously.” Then shook his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed, trying to proceed carefully. It was so, so good that he was opening up to you. Instead of playing a guessing game, you decided to be your normal, candid self. 

“Do you know who it is?”

He sort of did. Another man.

“Does he have a name?” 

Lockley. He was pretty sure.

“Have I met him?”

His dark eyes locked onto yours. “I don’t know. Have you?”

Well that certainly explained one reason he was so terrified. 

“No, I don’t think so. Does Steven know?”

Marc reluctantly confessed how hard he’d tried to hide it from Steven. 

“I knew this was all too good to be true,” he brokenly whispered, eyes downcast once more. “You, me, Steven, free...happy.”

“We are those things,” you agreed, keeping him focused on the here, now - the real. “A change doesn’t mean we weren’t those things, all this time.”

“You don’t understand...” Marc rubbed his eyes in frustration (with himself) and tried to ignore his growing headache. Maybe he really should eat and drink something. He tried to tell you about Khonshu. He was going to tell you everything, and Steven too. But it was too much at once, so you found yourself with Steven once more. 

Steven was very impressed with your choice of “hangover tea” and made sure the body got the nourishment, rest and shower it so needed. He missed his morning classes at uni, but did manage to make it to his shift at the university library, which ran from mid-afternoon to early evening. 

Since Steven seemed to determined to not miss a shift over a hangover, you decided to go ahead and work your shift at the hospital, as planned. The two of you would meet back at your flat for some supper and then, hopefully at least one of you could get some more information out of Marc.

Things didn’t go as planned. 

You returned home, assuming your fiancé would be there, just the same as the previous, fateful, sobriety-breaking night, but no one was home.

You looked around the flat, texted, called. Started dinner. Texted.

Took a shower, called. Called the university library - no Steven. 

Shit. 

Dinner was cold, you had texted the boys a novel, likely filled up their mailbox with voicemails. It was a desperate look - you were aware, but the worst thing you could imagine, aside from the actual worst thing that could happen to a person, was that maybe Marc was on a bender somewhere? It wasn’t exactly his drinking style, even back in the day, but...

Your feet were going to wear holes in the goldfish socks from all the pacing. It was past bedtime, midnight, 1am...should you call the police?

You were now truly, deep-in-your-bones terrified. In four years, neither Steven or Marc had ever just disappeared like this, not without telling you. Sometimes they could be a little radio silent when Khonshu was involved, but...

Maybe they weren’t them. Maybe it was the other. The new alter. Well, new to your boys anyway. You didn’t know anything about him, but one of the first things you wanted to know was - did he possess the ability to reply to a damn text message?

You got your answer twenty minutes later when you heard the slightest thump come from your bedroom. Hoping you had imagined the sound in your intense worry, you engaged in stupid-horror-movie-behavior and went to check out the sound, in the dark.

The moonlit profile of your fiancé sent a dozen feelings through your mind and heart at once, but as usual, you went with the borderline comical response first.

“Did you just come in through the window?”

Dark eyes snapped over to you as...Marc? pulled a flat cap off his head, loosening his curls. Tossing it to the side, he reached for the fingers of dark leather gloves, pulling them loose one at a time, but saying nothing.

You gulped. “Marc?”

Once the fingers of his glove were loosened, he discarded it and reached to work on the other hand, his body language holding none of Marc’s sorrowful tension, nor Steven’s anxious hunching. He moved with ease, dropping his second glove before pulling off his leather jacket. One you’d never seen, actually. You could tell that even in the dark.

Then he eased toward you confidently, like a panther, reaching to pull loose the tie around his neck. Okay, not Marc.

Once the dark tie was free of his neck, he toyed with it in his hands, wrapping it around one fist as his head cocked to the side. 

You forgot to breathe for a second. 

He finally let the thin fabric drift down to the floor and reached for the buttons of his white shirt.

Okay, enough. “You’re not Marc,” you uttered desperately, taking one step back. “Are you?” 

He matched your step backward with a step forward. Then he shook his head once. 

Oh. What had Marc said this morning? “L-Lockley? Is that right?”

He froze.

You decided, in that fleeting moment, to deal with the reality in front of you. You drew a steadying breath, releasing the fear and worry that had plagued you all night. Clearly, he was right in front of you, so he was at least safe. And despite the very distracting sort of striptease thing he just did, he admitted he was another.

So you weren’t going to be afraid anymore and give in to bullshit stereotypes. 

You stepped forward. “Do you know who I am? I live here, with you.”

He nodded. 

He was frustrating, this one. Sighing, you rubbed your tired eyes. “Have we met before, Lockley?”

The slightest smirk pulled up the corner of his mouth. 

“Jake.” 

He inched closer. 

“But you can call me anything you want.”

Well, damn. Huffing out a laugh, you quickly regained your footing. “Smooth. Never heard that one before...Lockley.”

His smirk eased into the slightest smile, but his eyes remained dark, boring into yours before tracing down the shape of your body. 

“I can see why they’re so taken with you, muñeca(o).” 

You always knew the right thing to say with Marc and Steven like 100%, all the time, but damn if this window-crawling, stripteasing man with the velvety chocolate voice didn’t have you stumped. 

Showing you a bit of pity, he extended his hand, offering a proper introduction. “Jake Lockley.”

But once you extended your own hand, he gently grasped your fingers, bending over slightly to lay a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Pleasure,” you shot back, taking his hand and kissing it right back. 

He chuckled lowly as you retreated. 

“Listen, Jake,” you said his first name pointedly, “I’m glad you’re okay. I was really worried tonight. Do you happen to know where my fiancé’s phone is?”

Eyeing you carefully, he reached down to grab his leather jacket, producing Marc and Steven’s phone from the pocket. Handing it over as a peace offering, you sighed, a little relieved it wasn’t lost, only to realize it was powered off. 

“Do you always turn off their phone?” You challenged, attempting to turn it on when you realized...

“It’s dead,” he explained, seeming the slightest bit unsure for the first time this evening. “I was going to...I thought you would be asleep.”

You frowned, confused.

“When I got back,” he clarified, his accent clearly American, although from a different region than Marc’s, it seemed. “I thought you would be asleep, like usual, and when you woke up, one of them would be with you.”

“Like usual?” You gasped. “You come in through the window while I’m asleep...like usual?”

Shit, it kind of sounded creepy said aloud like that. Jake knew meeting you would be a disaster. He really should have paid attention to whether you were really sleeping before he ninja’d his way inside. 

“Look, cariño, don’t worry about it,” he deflected, returning to the task of unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll be gone as soon as I fall asleep.”

“No,” you protested, moving close to him - as close as you dared. “No, I don’t want you to go. I just met you.”

His confident, dark gaze softened, and he almost dared to hope...

“Look,” you tried again, “I just want to know why we haven’t met before. And why Marc is so upset. And why is he drinking again--”

“Marc was drinking? Shit,” he uttered, pacing away from you. Jake had always successfully evaded his alters, and made a point to do so as he continued their life in the service of Khonshu. 

He should have seen this coming. Most of the scum he took care of in the dark of night didn’t even make him break a sweat, with or without the healing armor of an ancient god. But as word of a powerful nighttime avenger spread in the underworld of London, threats arose equal to the threat Jake posed. 

Just a few days ago, some asshole with powers of his own got the better of him, knocking him out cold. Jake had assumed that Khonshu had intervened but now he wondered...

If Marc woke up in the Moon Knight suit, he would absolutely freak the hell out. Which...now that he thought about it, he had no memory of getting home that night. 

This was just perfect. Jake could live without Marc and Steven knowing about him. He’d lived that way all this time, but you were something else. He hadn’t wanted to meet you like this. He had screwed up, and now you were only worried about Marc. He was worried too, honestly.

Now you would never want to know him.

[vomittedsoap]

How characters in AMC The Terror would drink their coffee (/morning drink)

John Franklin: Black, your grandpa's instant Kirkland brand coffee. Either that or 7/11 big gulp that smells like motor oil and piss. Owns a "world's best boss" mug but uses it as a pen cup.

Francis Crozier: black (with whiskey). Jopson makes it for him in one of those plaid Thermos or green old-fashioned Stanley.

James Fitzjames: he takes Starbucks and Dutch Bros very seriously. Big fan of a chai latte as well. Anything with cinnamon sprinkled on it. (insert Larry David Latte joke from Crozier)

Blanky: Same as Crozier but with some sugar and cream

Jopson: owns a French Press that he uses to make Crozier's coffee, drinks his with just a LITTLE sugar but a lot of milk. Also likes espresso sometimes. Drank from a simple white cup or whatever's available.

Hodgson: uses Jopson's French Press (and lost the lid one time). Adds CoffeeMate flavored creamer, pumpkin spice is his fave but hazelenut is fine. Really enjoys stupid mugs so most of the mugs on the Terror belong to him. His favorite is the Rainforest Cafe frog one.

Little: a double-quad-shot of espresso in a Solo Cup means nothing to him. But alas he drinks it anyways. Such is life. Sometimes will have a coffee in Hodgson's mug with a picture of a kitten and puppy playing on it.

Irving: insane amounts of sugar and milk, but will never admit it. One time a shipmate accidentally mistook it for his and instantly spat it out. Irving claimed he didn't know whose it was. The mug changes but says his favorite is the one with John3:16 on it (but actually he covets the Rainforest Cafe frog mug).

Goodsir: actually he's an herbal tea guy. Likes chamomile or things with rose/lavender. Brews them in a mug Hodgson gave him that had some dumb science pun on it, a gift for which he's unnecessarily thankful.

Stanley: black. No fun allowed.

Tozer: regular coffee with french vanilla creamer. Normal.

Hickey: Panera lemonade that kills you. Also takes sips from Crozier, Tozer, or Irving's drinks when they're not looking. ("if you have a milkshake... and I have a milkshake... and I have a straw; see? Watch it. My straw reaches across the room... and starts to drink your milkshake: I... drink... your... milkshake!")

Gibson: doesn't like coffee, but is a big fan of coffee-flavored things.

Collins: espresso with lead and an extra side of lead (with whipped cream)

Silna: Haznelnut latte with which to take her ibuprofin. Lord knows she needs it. Drinks from a baby-blue Stanley Goodsir gave her.

[unspeakable-imagination]

Cigar smoke and Sleepless nights |Part four

Switched gifs cause this one is wider and prettier

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x reader

Reposts and likes are appreciated

Cw: Cigars and smoke, drinking, reader has ptsd. Logan has ptsd, canon-typical violence, references to abuse

Part one two three

For once, you were up 'late,' and by late, it meant daytime. You couldn't sleep, to anxious since your zippo ran out of lighter fluid and you couldn't by more. You sat in the window sill, staring at the fresh snow that blanketed the grass and trees.

Dispite the fox, you felt cold. Maybe it was the lack of your nic fix, maybe it was the absence of talking to any real people. The sun had long risen, and people had been awake for an hour, maybe two. Realistically, you could go out there- talk to someone. Go buy lighter fluid. You had the money from Charles. It was to cold to go outside, you decided. Slipping from the sill, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. Just the same old you.

A lump rose up your throat the closer you got to the door, and it felt like it was burning. To anxious to try to leave your room. What if- What if, so many what's began to fly through your head, but then, they all went silent.

'[Name], it's okay.' A voice. It wasn't Charles? You heard a knock and then opened the door. A lean redhead with bright eyes was looking right at you. "[Name]," she said. "I'm Jean. Charles told me to check on you, and it seemed like perfect timing. He could hear your thoughts from down stairs." You were still confused. It was ger voice you heard in tour head.

"Are you like Charles?" It was the first words that slipped passed your lips. She shook her head,

"No, but I am similar. He can hear just about every one constantly. I'm not like that." She placed her hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I will be, I think I just need some tea to ground me." You wished it was bourbon, or whiskey, or maybe any other liquor. Jean snorted and backed away, having heard what you thought. Of course you were unaware. For a moment, you worried she was laughing at you, but she was able to quell thag worry in just a moment.

"I'd best be on my way. Be safe, [Name]. You'll be okay. Just keep that head up." You nodded and watched as she walked away before you stepped out your own door. Stepping down the stairs, minding the flood of people of all mutant sorts, trying your hardest to ignore the beating of your heart from your chest.

You made it to the kitchen, and with no students there, you were finally able to breath, really breath. Grabbing a mug off the rack, you quickly filled it to the brim with water and put it in the microwave to heat. Whole that happened you shoveled through the cabinets till tou found a perfect tea packet. Chamomile and sweet berry.

After tossing the packet on the counter, you spent your time looking for the honey. That was fairly easy. It was in a large squeeze bottle, shaped like a bear. When the microwave beeped, you were quick to pull the steaming ceramic mug out, taking as little time possible do tou wouldn't burn your hand.

Putting the packet in and rigually tying the string to the handle, you squeezed the honey on top thag way it would dissolve and mix with the pinkish tea flowing from the bag.

Sitting there, you patiently waited. And by patiently, you were actually darting around the kitchen, desperate to find something to do. You looked in the sink, in the fridge, freezer, cabinets and pantry, in the fridge again. Anything to keep your mind off of the driping anxiety.

Like a timer went off, you squeezed the rest of the bag around you fingers getting any of the concentrated tea out of the cup and threw the garbage in the trash. Using your finger to briefly stir it, then licked it off you finger.

You took a deep gulp, one that took almost a third of the glass, trying to use it to calm your nerves. What you didn't realize was that the reason you were growing calmer was the scent of tabacco flowing from behind you. It was hard to smell metal with all of the worry, confusing it for the smell of your own blood. That was until someone cleared their throat.

"That's my coffee mug," Logan said behind you. Jumping from you skin, you nearly spilled the tea over your sweatshirt. "Oh my gods," you sighed. "You scared the fuck out of me. I'm sorry, I didn't know it was your mug, I'll wash it right now." You didn't even give him a moment to speak. You grabbed another mug from the rack and poured your tea into it,

"Oh," he said, to slow to stop you. His brows knitted together as he watched you quickly wash then scrub his mug, rather diligently. You flipped it upside down into the drying rack. "Hey," he said. He wasn't loud enough to break through your trance as he watcher you dip around, grabbing the coffee pot.

"Seriously I am-"

"Hey," he shouted. You stilled, the coffee pot dropping from your hand, the hot drink spilling over the linoleum tiles.

"Oh my god," you said, beginning to panic. Logan was quicker than you this time putting some hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist, stopping you from nearling pulling you your hair.

"Jean," he yelled for the redhead, his jaw twisting over his shoulder. "Jean!" Then, you relaxed, your vision going spotty.

When you woke up, your steaming cup of tea was on your bedside table. Charles sat next to you, his hands folded neatly on his lap. His expression was cross, funn of concern and worry.

"I always try nor to pry into my students head without permission, however you had such a poor reaction to an accident I had to try to help," he said gently. A sour taste filled your mouth, as if bile was rise up your throat.

"What did you see?" He looked at you and you couldn't already tell it was everything. You sat up, glancing to the mug and taking a sip.

"I can take all thoes memories away, [Name]. Usually, I wouldn't offer it, but I feel like it could help you. Wothout living in fear." You raised your hand.

"No, I can't. They make me who I am. They're so important- they show me what not to do." Charles only nodded.

"I know. Don't be afraid to seek help."

[violent-darkness]

Monsters

Billy Butcher x OFC/Second person POV

“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

Chapter III: I See You

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter IV

AO3

Warnings: 18+ mdni, alcohol consumption, mentions about past trauma.

Summary: You and Butcher share a tense yet intimate moment, reflecting on your emotional scars. Your connection deepens and unspoken feelings surface. Would you allow yourselves to be vulnerable with each other?

Notes: This is an x OFC story, told from the second person POV, with minimal physical description of the OFC.

*At its core, this is a story about how people deal with their inner demons. Are monsters truly capable of love, or do they only seek to destroy? Can broken parts be mended?*

The hot water from the shower felt rejuvenating. You stayed under it for quite some time, basking in the sweet cocooning sensation and the joy of finally being in your own apartment after so many months. The memory of what happened just a few hours earlier was still vivid but slowly fading. So much time had passed. You had gradually taught yourself to lock away those memories, hiding them deep inside.

As you cocooned on the couch with a few cozy blankets, you found yourself strangely drifting not to your own memories but to Butcher’s. You recalled the guilt etched on his face when Lenny killed himself, and it crushed you. He didn’t deserve that burden. No one does, asshole or not. You wondered how much that event had scarred him, shaping who he had become as a person—much like your own horrible past. And could anyone ever outgrow it? Ever since you both woke up, you had continued to avoid each other, both pretending the other didn’t exist.

Hours passed, yet you were too restless. Your legs kept fidgeting, and your mind kept tracing circles. You tried to watch a stupid movie on TV, but to no avail. The chamomile tea was of no use either. You counted every single sheep on the globe, but sleep was still far away. Finally, you got up from the couch with a deep sigh, put on some decent clothes, and called Hughie, who was half asleep at this point in the night.

"Hey, is everything alright?" he asked, punctuating the question with a big yawn.

"Yeah, sure, peachy. Listen, you’ve been to Butcher’s place, right?" You decided to jump right to the question.

"Rrriight… He doesn’t live too far from you, actually. Why?"

"Can you text me his address, please?"

"Wait, what’s this all about?" Hughie asked, sounding confused.

"Never mind, everything’s fine. I just need it for… something." Luckily, Hughie was too sleepy to push further and texted you Butcher’s address. You left your place, convinced that this was the stupidest idea you’d had in a long time.

You bought a bottle of whiskey from the store nearby, and 15 minutes later found yourself knocking on Butcher’s door. You kinda hoped your guess that he would also be awake was right; otherwise, you might look like an idiot. Relief washed over you when a few seconds later Butcher opened the door. He was wearing one of his usual Hawaiian shirts - a navy blue one, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. A flicker of surprise and uneasiness crossed his face, but he quickly managed to mask it.

You smirked and showed him the bottle. His eyes immediately lit up with interest as he smirked back, took it, and swung the door wide open for you to enter, all without saying a word. While he fetched glasses, you took a look around. His place was surprisingly tidy—you’d half expected it to be messier. There wasn’t much furniture, and everything was very basic, but interestingly enough, there was a huge pool table, occupying half the living room. No decorations whatsoever, except for a framed photo of a much younger and beardless Butcher with a cutesy little English Bulldog. Next to the photo you noticed a gramophone with a couple of records lying beside it. Just as you were about to peek through them, Butcher returned with two filled glasses and handed you one. Time was passing by without either of you saying anything. The silence was thick as fog, wrapping around you both and creating a protective layer between you and the outside world. You both just stood by the window, drinking in silence, avoiding each other's gazes. You were enjoying the full moon outside, its tender light spilling into the dimly lit room, as you fidgeted with your glass. It was strange—it should have felt awkward, but you were largely at peace like this, with him by your side. "This Mindstorm was really a cunt," you finally blurted.

Butcher burst out laughing, "He was, wasn't he?" The resonance and the sincerity in his emotion pierced through the silence and broke the barrier between you.

"Listen—" "Hey," you both chimed in at the same time. Butcher smiled awkwardly. "You first."

"What you saw earlier… No one knows about it. And I, um, would appreciate it if it stayed that way." The painful subject was bubbling inside you, threatening to burst at any moment, so you had to let it out.

"Do I look like someone who shares secrets?" Butcher scoffed, his brows furrowing. "I'll keep yours if you keep mine. No one knows about me either—about Lenny…" You noticed a shadow of guilt pass briefly across his face before he masked it again. You raised your hand in a definitive gesture, stopping him from finishing his sentence, and gave him a brief nod.

"Are you in touch with your sister now?" Butcher asked after a short pause. He was desperately trying to distract himself from how beautiful your face looked under the moonlight.

“We rarely see each other,” you said, your voice softening as you looked away, lost in thought. “But I love her very much.” A flicker of sadness crossed your face. “She spent some time in a mental health institution, but she’s doing better now…” You glanced up, searching for a change in Butcher’s expression. “What about your family? Your dad? Are you in touch?”

"He’s dying. Ass cancer. And me mum, I told her I ain’t speakin to 'er, until she leaves him." Butcher grunted. His gaze was intense, fixed somewhere beyond the room as if he was trying to escape the weight of his own words.

"Well, I wouldn’t say I’m particularly sad," you couldn’t help but admit.

"You and me both, luv." Butcher was struggling internally. How much could he reveal to you? How long before you ran away screaming, realizing what a proper cunt he was? He acted all tough on the outside, but deep down, he feared rejection just like everyone else. He ran a hand through his hair. He decided that tonight he'd lower his guard. Just for you. His face grew very serious. "Lenny was the only good thing in my life and I blew it. Like I do with everything good that ever comes close to me. I infect it with my poison." He downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and poured himself another glass.

Butcher showing you his vulnerable side caught you by surprise. You felt out of your depth, so you quickly followed suit and downed your glass in one big gulp, your gaze fixed on the floor in front of you. The golden liquid burned through your throat and created a nice warm sensation that spread throughout your body.

"Look at me, Butcher," you finally found your inner strength. "I want you to look at me and listen very carefully, because I am only going to say this once." Your eyes met for the first time that evening, yours filled with resolve and decisiveness. You turned towards him and closed the distance between you, feeling the radiating heat of his body. "What happened with Lenny wasn't your fault. It wasn't. It was your dad all along - he was the monster. And you are nothing, nothing like him."

Butcher shook his head, but remained silent. His expression was a mixture of skepticism and reluctant hope, a tight line forming between his brows as he wrestled with his own doubts. He didn’t fully believe you, not really. But just for a brief moment, he allowed himself the luxury of doing so and it felt good, letting the warmth of that fleeting trust seep into his guarded heart.

He left his glass on the windowsill and took a step closer to you. "You saw me. You saw me for what I truly am. And that’s not a sight I show to anyone, ever. Cause it ain't pretty. I may not be like him, but there's darkness in me, and it won't let me have any peace. Never..." His dark eyes pierced into yours, pleading, expecting a reaction, desperate to receive acceptance. 

Your heart pounded against your chest, as his intense gaze was burning into you. "And you saw me. I'm as broken as you are. The darkness is eating me up from the inside. It's been there all along and affects everything around me... I just try to stay away from everything nice." The words tasted bitter in your mouth. Later, you would wonder why you shared some of your most private thoughts with him. Maybe it was the whiskey talking, or maybe it was something else. Perhaps the dark part inside you finally recognized a kindred soul. 

There it was again—the same hint in his eyes that you had noticed on the boat. But this time, you didn’t have the strength to deny it or pretend you hadn’t seen it. His gaze shifted to your lips as he took another step closer, now mere inches from your face. You could feel his breath on your skin.

"I ain't nice, luv," he leaned in to whisper in your ear, causing an electric spark to course through your entire body.

His kiss tasted of whiskey and fury—passionate, intense, and messy. His lips crashed against yours with a desperate hunger, the heat of your bodies mingling as the world around you faded away. With his kiss, he wanted to take a piece of you with him, to reach the deepest, most intimate corners of your entire being. The feeling of his tongue brushing against your teeth drove you wild. His hands traced patterns across your back, pulling you closer into his arms, unwilling to let you go. Suddenly, a dog barked loudly outside, the sound snapping you out of your trance.

"I should go," you broke away from the kiss abruptly, your breath catching as the weight of the moment hit you. Your lips lingered for a moment, but a surge of urgency overwhelmed you and you turned and stormed out the door, leaving Butcher stunned and motionless, unable to respond. You couldn’t allow yourself to be with him or to feel anything for him. This was a recipe for disaster, bound to end badly for both of you. So you did what you knew best, what you had always done to avoid the pain, to keep yourself safe from getting hurt—you ran away.

Back in his empty apartment, Butcher stared in the direction you had left. He took a few steps toward the door, as if to follow you, but stopped at the last moment. Running a hand through his hair, he convinced himself that this outcome was for the best. You needed to stay away from him, for your own good. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and headed to his bedroom.

[worth-this-and-more]

do think sel is has drinks coffee

oh he definitely drinks coffee. black coffee. 100% sure. it will be a splitting replica of his wardrobe, because homeboy likes everything black lmaoo.

since the topic came i think nick would be an energy drink lover, don't ask me why i sense those vibes from him.

bree and alice definitely share the same taste in drinks, either iced lattes or cappuchinos.

and william is ofc a tea guy, chamomile tea could be his fav.

valec was seen drinking apple juice and aether vials, so i could safely assume that he is into fruit juices, as opposed to what i initially thought (i thought he's a whiskey/beer guy lool).

these are the ones i could think of?? additions and opinions are appreciated!!

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

I’ve requested a few times as anon and decided to do a request like this. Recently I’ve been listening to “Too Sweet” by Hozier and all I can see is Eddie saying this when Reader doesn’t the smallest things to help out, whether it’s bringing him a glass of whiskey or a cup of coffee ☺️ @randomreader1999

💞☕

I think I'll take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at three

You're too sweet for me

You're too sweet for me - Too Sweet - Hozier

"You're too sweet for me" Eddie sighs as he downs the coffee that you made for him. Your smile is tender and full of love every time you bring it to him.

You're always doing this, doing the smallest things to help out. Whether it was cooking a meal for Eddie and making extra for Uncle Wayne, bringing Eddie his coffee or on a very rare occasion Whiskey.

When he falls into bed at three after practicing songs on the guitar for Corroded Coffin or planning campaigns, you always wake up and help soothe him to sleep, whether that's by reading to him or soft kisses and lovemaking.

You were far too sweet for him but fuck he never wants to let you go.

"I adore you Eddie, I like doing these things for you, to show that I care" you reply and he pulls you into a hug, holds you tight and gently kisses your forehead.

💌❤️

He's had a shit day at work and all he wants to do is see you, he called you half an hour ago to say he would be heading home. Clients were being assholes, he was left to fix up a behemoth of a truck on his own and his head feels like it's going to explode.

When he heads into the trailer, he can smell your delicious cooking and there's a hint of lavender and chamomile in the air.

You come out of the bathroom smiling, gently kiss him and wrap your arms around him, giving him a big hug. His worries and the tension he's felt all day begins to melt away.

"I ran a bath for you babe, it always helps me when I have a shitty day, I also dropped off at the store and got some meds and supplies for your favourite dinner". Eddie's heart skips a beat. You did all of this for him?

"You're amazing, you're too sweet for me princess" you cuddle into him and the words he's been dying to say for a while now blurt out.

"I love you so much" you gasp and look up at him stunned but then a slow, pleased smile forms on your face.

"I love you too Eddie" Yeah, you were too sweet for him but he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life.

[ltsokaylove]

What You Would Smell In Your Amortentia

✨Marauders Edition✨

James Potter (Prongs)

Mint, cigarette smoke, cinnamon cologne

Sirius Black (Padfoot)

Cigarette smoke (obviously😭🙏), fire whiskey, leather

Remus Lupin (Moony)

Parchment, old books, coffee, chocolate

Peter Pettigrew (Wormtail)

Jelly beans, musky cologne, chamomile tea

[littlemisspascal]

New Writers added to The Pedro Library 🐼

@milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape

New Works Added ✨

Many fics aren’t appearing in the tags when searching. If I miss yours, please let me know 💗 Or add me to your taglist cuz I love being tagged 😊

As always, if you would like me to remove your work from the rec list, please let know and I’ll remove them asap 😊

@burntheedges Joel Hearts / Frankie Is This a Date?

@beskarandblasters Joel As Long As I Have You + The Warmth of Your Gaze, The Lingering of Your Touch / Frankie Watch the World From the Sidelines

@wardenparker @absurdthirst Joel For Valentine’s Day / Dieter “I'm not getting you coffee, your order is ridiculous".

@flightlessangelwings Joel Could I Have This Kiss Forever? / Din What Was Unspoken, And What We Finally Said

@eupheme Joel Are You Mine?

@missredherring Joel A Flower in February

@whatsnewalycat Joel Ruthless

@firstofficerwiggles Din A Beskar Valentine

@lowlights Din Recalibration

@dindjarindiaries Din Your Needs, My Needs

@saradika Din Beneath the Mask

@haylzcyon Din Fell in Love With the Fire

@undercoverpena Frankie Wet n’ Wild / Din Cold, Lips Blue

@absurdthirst @storiesofthefandomlovers Frankie The Cupid Shuffle

@toomanystoriessolittletime Frankie Fucked Royalty

@tieronecrush Frankie BNBG (brand new baby girl)

@musings-of-a-rose Clint A New Life

@ezrasbirdie Dieter Bright Lights

@tightjeansjavi Dieter Tea Party + Chamomile

@psychedelic-ink Dieter + Javi G Amour Amour Amour / Joel A Happy Man / Marcus P The Louvre

@secretelephanttattoo Marcus P Confetti

@movievillainess721 Whiskey Watermelon Moonshine

@morallyinept Marcus M Heyday Hero – A Valentine’s Story  / Dieter A Cup of Love

@sirowsky Marcus M An Unexpected Valentine

@something-tofightfor SNL Wing Pit Second and Goal 

[klaus-littlestwolf]

I have put together a list of all of the Smells that I think each designation would possess, mostly good, natural smells but some bad as well that come from negative feelings like Fear and Anxiety

Alphas Good Smells:

Pine Trees

Fireplace

Aftershave

Whiskey

Leather

Old Spice

Burning Wood

Brown Sugar

Apple Pie

Peppermint

Coconut

Toffee

New Car Smell

BBQ

Tequila

Matches

Fresh Money

Dark Chocolate

Bacon

Freshly Brewed Coffee

Maple Syrup

Sandalwood

Gasoline

Patchouli

Seawater

Ginger

Hay

Mahogany

Gunpowder

Pears

Cedar Wood

Amber

Pesto

Sautéed Onions

Funnel Cake

Cigarettes

Blackberry

Fresh Cut Grass

Ink

Snap Fire Crackers

Bad Alpha Smells:

Wet Dog

Rancid Meat

Blue Cheese

Blood

Sweaty Feet

Tar

Betas Good Smells:

Lilies

Bamboo

Champagne

Apricots

Pumpkin

Shortbread

Almonds

Tulips

Pina Colada

Mochi

Raspberry

Macaroons

Sharpies

Baby Powder

Butterscotch

Mangos

Sautéed Garlic

Key Lime Pie

Dove Soap

Peanut Butter

Coal

Black Tea

Wet Forest

Marigolds

Fresh Basil

Lilacs

Vanilla

Soda Flavored Lip Smackers

Bad Beta Smells:

Rotting Fish

Oil

Burnt Popcorn

Tuna

Dog Food

Vinegar

Omega Good Smells:

Chocolate Covered Strawberries

Chamomile Tea

Jasmine

Spearmint

Roses

Old Books

Crème Brûlée

Honeysuckle

Eucalyptus

Marijuana

Citrus

Caramel

Cherry Blossom

Cinnamon Bun

Lavender

Whipped Cream

Apples

Dryer Sheets

Fresh Bread

Aloe Vera

Sea Breeze

Peaches

Magnolia Trees

Thunderstorms

Honeycomb

Cherries

S’mores

Cookies Fresh from the Oven

Blanket Fresh out of the Dryer

Sky After it Rains

Smell of Baskin Robins

Bad Omega Smells:

Burnt Rubber

Rotten Eggs

Bleach

Nail Polish Remover

[dragonskxn]

Draconic Harvest Festival — The Menu!

You can't have a fall festival without good eating!Anna's made a full menu for party goers.

Muses are encouraged to bring their own dishes as well for everyone to enjoy! You're visiting a 500+ year old dragon lady with grandma hobbies; you're definitely gonna leave with a stuffed belly AND leftovers to take home.

Vegan options are available in place of the meat dishes!

Appetizers/Snacks

Acorn Bread Rolls

Honey Buns

Cheesy garlic bread

Grilled eggplant

Escargot

Spicy salmon bites

Dragon's eggs (artichoke stuffed with soft boiled egg)

Corn on the cob

Fried onions

Soups and Salads

Pumpkin soup (served in mini carved out pumpkin)

Potato venison stew

Carrot soup

Cabbage and leek soup

Mushroom stew

Rabbit stew

Autumn harvest salad (dandelion greens, raisins, sunflower seeds, golden tomatoes, garlic croutons, and drizzled with herb vinaigrette) 

Radish and turnip salad

Main Course

Roasted turkey legs

Spit roasted wild boar

Spiced venison ribs

Vegetable risotto

Rosemary lemon chicken

Beef (or grilled vegetable) stuffed pumpkin

Gourd casserole

Roasted rabbit haunches with peppercorn and cloves

Steak and vegetable skewers

Dessert

Caramel apples

Candied apples

Pumpkin pie

Sweet potato souffle with marshmallows 

Baked Alaska (set on fire by Anna herself)

Blackberry cobbler

Cinnamon apple pie

Blueberry cheesecake

Cotton candy 

Drinks

Kettle corn

Cranberry Buns (shaped like pigs!)

Rose tarts

Baked and Honeyed apples

Smores

(Alcohol is served in special wood tankards carved with dragon and pastoral motifs, and can be taken home as souvenirs!)

Dragon's Blood Wine (VERY strong and has quite the kick to it)

Wyvern Whiskey

Ale

Beer

Honeyed Mead

Spiced Wine

Lavender Lemonade

Chamomile Lemon Tea

Spring Water

Apple Cider

[gilverrwrites]

For Black Mask 🖤 for the Headcanon Meme < 3

what does their breakfast look like?

what is their favorite wine / liquor?

how do they take their coffee / tea?

do they take any medications?

what does a typical day off work look for them?

On a standard day, breakfast is just a black coffee with one sugar, but if he's in the position where breafast is easy/a must (a meeting in a resturant, a day off, a special occassion) then he's partial bagels. He's not fussy what kind but he defiently prefers savoury: a plain or wholewheat, bacon egg and cheese with butter.

For wine, gotta be a nice expensive bottle of italian red, but he'd always reach for a whiskey first. Probably bourbon, but he prefers sweet flavours over nutty or woodsy.

Black americano with one sugar, preferably brown sugar. He also enjoys a (again black) cold brew in the summer. He has many boxes of chamomile tea, meant to help calm him when he's in bad mood but he never drinks them.

Yes, however I am not a professional so I couldn't get to technical here. As he has a pacemaker, he probably takes some kind of beta bloker to help reglaute his heart rhythms. Pacemakers can also cause pain/discomfort so he probably takes a lot of over the counter pain meds. and I wouldn't be suprised if he's prescribed (but not taking) something for a mood disorder. (Mood disorders are often the cause of anger issues.)

Days off are few and far bewteen, and it nobody is there to distract him, he'll prbably end up putting in at least a few hours of work. But with the best of intentions: Probably has breakfast ordered from his favourite deli and brought to him at home. After a slow start to the day he'll probably take one of his cars for a drive, not in the city, but wherever the closest scenic route is. Really feel the wind blowing over his big bald wooden head.

In the evening it can go one of two ways. He's either meeting with friends/criminal associates for poker, drinks, ladies, or something of the sort, and not going home untill the early hours of the following morning.

Or he's having a nice long hot soak in the bath with a glass of wine before retiring to bed where he'll watch mob films/documenaries.

Thank you for the ask! 🖤🖤🖤

[ineffablelunatics]

Food/ Drinks Throughout GO2

This is a comprehensive list of all of the food and drinks in Good Omens S2. Some of these are references to food or drinks. Some are things that are consumed like the laudanum. It also mentions if they were finished. Let me know if there has been anything missed or if something is incorrect.

Episode 1

Maggie orders a flat white which Nina calls a skinny latte

Jim drinks hot chocolate given to him by Aziraphale

6 shots of espresso in a big cup nothing else, Aziraphale orders something calming which turns out to be Eccles cakes(they are not eaten and they get left on table somewhere in the bookshop)

Maggie orders an herbal tea, mint/chamomile? It never shows which one

Nina gets wine out of the back which looks to be a cheap white

Episode 2

large sherry for Azirphale, large talisker (whiskey) for crowley

Crowley drinks the wine says its promising and Aziraphale eats the ox ribs

Job’s children ask if Aziraphale brought the wine for the party

Episode 3

double americano with oat milk and hazelnut syrup for Ms. Sandwich’s girls

Aziraphale gives Muriel a cup of tea whilst he drinks his own. Muriel mostly stares at it and likes the way it heats their hands

Aziraphale eats the travel sweets in the Bentley

Crowley, Aziraphale, Dowrimple, all drink whiskey whilst talking as doctors

*when Az goes to the The Ressurectionist pub, he never drinks

Elspeth gets the poison from Dowrimple with the money says she’ll buy wine with it instead of gin(gins faster, wines fancier)

Crowley drinks the laudanum

Episode 4

fire in Hell that Furfur spills on himself and Shaz chugs

Crowley gives the bottles to Mrs. H but they were broken. 80% proof whiskey

not actually food, but something thats eaten was the zombies eat the man that was singing once they wake up

Zombie eats the magic man

AzCrow drink some type of red wine at their 1941 date

Episode 5

Crowley drinks red wine after he finds out he is in love with Aziraphale 

Finishes his wine bottle when he goes to see Gabriel

Crowley makes Jim hot chocolate

The Ball people drink wine and eat tiny little dinners from Gabriel not sure what they are though

Episode 6

Demons make fun of Aziraphale wanting “big human meals”

Gabriel offers demons hot chocolate

Peanuts in front of G and B

Some liquor that humans normally consume or two regular pints for G and B with a packet of crisps, neither drink or eat

Maggie goes gets different milks for Nina

large oat milk latte with a dash of almond syrup for Aziraphale ordered by the Metatron(then later he says a hefty jogger of almond syrup) then says it totally should be delish 

Crowley says an extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz

[k-marzolf]

Lavender.

A Drabble set in the Monsters in the Dark universe.

Warnings; grumpy!Billy, dark themes, and hints of abuse from reader’s father, kissing, fem!reader.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack @firexfate

Monsters in the Dark Masterlist

x

You came in excitedly, seeing Billy waiting at the door for you, arms crossed, “Billy—“

“It’s been raining cats and dogs outside. Where the fuck were you?” He growled, his worry translating to anger. He was not at all used to worrying after people.

You pulled off your coat. You were soaked through, dripping on the floor. “Getting you this,” you said softly, unconcerned with his temper, soft with him as always, pulling out a bundle of lavender. “It promotes sleep, if put under your pillows.” You said.

Fuck. You were so sweet.

His cheeks flushed, and he looked down. Your socks and everything were soaked from the downpour.

“C’mon.” He said shortly, making you follow him down the hall and into his room. Billy knew you were disorganized and had forgotten to do your laundry.

He pulled out a sweater and some sweatpants. “Put these on,” he said, before leaving the room.

While he waited his heart raced. He wasn’t sleeping well at all lately, and being a Marine he’d learned to go on very little sleep. But sometimes he wanted to sleep without the nightmares.

He usually ended up sitting up in the chair by the window, drinking whiskey.

But you’d thought of him, and spent your own money on him. It made him ache.

He peeked in, and saw your back as you put his sweater on. You were scarred terribly, it looked like you’d been stabbed. You turned as you pulled it down, smiling at him.

“Who hurt you?” Billy asked, trying not to be so aggressive, but whoever hurt you that badly deserved pain beyond comparison.

He helped you tie his sweatpants, they were falling off your hips, you watched him frowning, and wished to smooth the lines on his face.

You leaned against Billy after he’d tied them for you, “My daddy didn’t like me. But—“ you dug around in your bag and pulled out some chamomile tea. “This can help with sleep, too.” You said, watching his expression.

He was stunned. Most people weren’t thoughtful, they didn’t think of Billy. But you’d always thought of him, always wanting to take care of him, or dote on him.

But he hated your father for the scarring on you, he could only imagine what he’d done to make those scars.

Billy’s fingers cupped the back of your neck, pressing a kiss to your mouth, making you press closer eagerly.

“Thank you, sweet pea.” He said, hoarsely.

You smiled softly, “I can make you the tea before bed.” You said against his mouth.

“I’d like that.” He said, surprised by how violently he’d been taken with you, how badly he wanted you. You weren’t what he usually went for.

But when your eyes lit up, because he was going to let you make him some tea, he felt possessive of you. He kissed you again, and you encouraged him with your sweet sounds, the way your fingers tangled in his hair.

He was well and truly fucked.

[serene-faerie]

Gotei 13 Lieutenants/Squad Members as Aesthetics

Sasakibe— earl gray tea, thunderstorms, organized files, a tidy desk, sharp eyes, smiles that are rarely seen, undying loyalty, quiet evenings in the office, classical music, neat handwriting, edelweiss, tailcoat suits, puzzles, a wooden chess board, butter biscuits and scones, earned respect, lightning, a stern voice, an antique desk lamp, fountain pens, reading the newspaper, black-and-white movies, the smell of ink and papers.

Omaeda— rice crackers, being a big brother, protecting family with one's life, deceiving appearances, stacks of cash, a spiked iron ball attached to a chain, buying gifts for loved ones, ivy leaves, gold rings, stacks of gold ingots, giving piggyback rides, a grand mansion, lavish banquets, expensive cars, being smarter than how one looks, the smell of strong cologne, undying loyalty to one's superior and family, candies, men's magazines, lazy afternoons.

Kira— yellow carnations, rainy and cloudy days, writing haiku poetry, soft candlelight, a heart burdened with grief and regret, thick blankets, hesitant smiles, love for one’s friends, the smell of earth after rain, hot showers, a bowl of hot soup, leather-bound journals, cold hands, quiet laughter, working late at night, trusting reluctantly, loyalty to a fault, a cold and calculating fighter, a mug of warm green tea, grieving alone, drunk karaoke with friends, an organized workspace, appreciating the arts, painting with watercolours, listening to white noise, bearing burdens alone, the weight of guilt, sleeping peacefully after a long time.

Isane— shy smiles, neatly folding sheets and laundry, the smell of antiseptic, the hands of a healer, crying happy tears, gardenia flowers, collecting medicinal herbs, a strong knowledge of medicine, always carrying bandages, chamomile tea, gardening for fun, blue butterflies, open windows on a summer afternoon, a slow-moving ceiling fan, a soft-spoken voice, a graceful height, playing with one's own hair, always finishing work on time, short afternoon naps, a glass of fruit juice, secretly reading romance novels.

Momo— peach blossoms, a calm spring breeze, crackling fires, chamomile tea, the smell of freshly-baked cookies, baking desserts, always being organized, smiling to hide the pain, humming quietly to oneself, bread and peach jam, a shelf full of well-loved books, pure adoration, hands that tremble ever so slightly, reminiscing over the past, a quiet strength, thick wool mittens, fiery rage, april showers bring may flowers, always working hard, healing from the past, carefree laughter.

Renji— long hair as red as blood, stray dogs, fiery red sunsets, wolfish smiles, eyes that are both warm and fierce, hearty laughter, sun-kissed skin, sleeveless shirts, howling wolves, lifting weights at the gym, tribal tattoos, sleek sunglasses, heliotropes, tea with spices, heavy metal music, spiked collars, fingertips stained with ink, hot summer nights, strong and warm hugs, a strong sense of justice, wanting to do what’s right, giving a middle finger to the rules, late night talks, sword-callused hands that touch gently, a spirited warrior, loving with one’s whole heart, snake skulls, a strong and sultry voice, red lanterns, taiyaki, the smell of sandalwood.

Iba— intricate back tattoos, vintage sunglasses, bruised knuckles, oak trees, bottles of sake, a loud izakaya, the smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke, matsuri parades, the sound of taiko drums, playing cards, relentless ambition, a pack of wolves, burning the midnight oil, thyme leaves, a bowl of fresh ramen, drinking coffee at the work desk, men's magazines, a low drawling laugh, unwavering loyalty, whiskey on the rocks, an old ceiling fan, the sound of crickets at sunset, skipping stones across the lake, wood carving, polishing glasses, a pragmatic fighter, no-nonsense words, looking out for friends.

Nanao— thin glasses, floral furisode kimonos, a neat updo, tidy stacks of paperwork, elegant handwriting, early to bed and early to rise, a morning bird, the smell of lavender and rosemary, blue hyacinths, speaking in even tones, upholding the rules, firm glares, working in silence, a cup of green tea, romance novels as a guilty pleasure, meticulously keeping a journal, a small vase of flowers, a strict work schedule, simple dresses, a touch of makeup, floral-scented hand cream, a vast collection of classic novels, reading by candlelight, a hall of mirrors, hidden strength, smiles that are rarely seen, humming softly at night, graceful postures.

Shuuhei— motorcycle rides, leather jackets, late nights in the office, old newspapers, sharp scythes, playing rock music through headphones, leather wrist cuffs, messy hair, an old acoustic guitar, black coffee, the smell of mint and sage, friendly smiles, a lone desk lamp, never forgetting acts of kindness, trying to do what's right, drinking with friends, facial scars, strong arms, chin-ups in a door frame, a decadent voice, black chains, basil leaves, pinwheel fireworks, glasses of sake, forgiveness, grieving with friends, hands that are both strong and gentle, moving forward, unwavering resolve, early summer evenings.

Rangiku— long and wavy hair, infectious smiles and laughter, the golden hour shining past the curtains, carrying many shopping bags, red-bottomed high heels, an impeccable sense of fashion, cats, caring hugs, glasses of red wine, eyes that hold a touch of grief, lonely nights curled up in bed, getting lost in memories, purple hyacinths, cherishing mementos, the smell of designer perfume, citrus-scented hand cream, pink nail polish, glittering pink eyeshadow, rosy lip gloss, cocktail dresses adorned with sequins, fruity cocktails, warm bubble baths, silver jewelry, sparklers, dried persimmons, bottles of sake, handmade friendship bracelets, always being the life of the party.

Yachiru— a bowl of sweets, wandering through forests, a pink scooter, the smell of caramel, colouring books, finger painting, playing with sidewalk chalk, getting piggyback rides, catlike smiles, sneaking into hidden places, climbing trees, playful kittens, un-childlike anger, melon soda, konpeito, reading bedtime stories, having a fiercely protective father, eyes that are both innocent yet all-knowing, a plush teddy bear, glow-in-the-dark stars, white carnations, the smell of crayons, childish laughter, playful nicknames, strawberry milk, father-daughter relationships, unwavering faith in loved ones.

Ikkaku— bloodied knuckles, old bandages that need changing, a fiery glint of determination, arm wrestling, red eyeshadow, rough and strong hands, light-footedness, loud laughter, street fighting, bench pressing, an appreciation for beauty, messy handwriting, the smell of sweat and musk, spider lilies, wooden swords, a mug of strong beer, dusty streets, a fighting spirit, sleeping beneath a shaded deck on a blistering summer afternoon, buzzing cicadas, summer thunderstorms, windy days, wiping off blood from one's face, adrenaline rushes, the sound of classic rock music.

Yumichika— peacock feathers, neatly braided hair, glittery nail polish, sleek eyeliner, shimmering blue eyeshadow, a killer fashion sense, jewel-toned suits, rich brocade, the smell of lemon and bergamot, bloodstains on one's hands, silk kimonos, brilliant blue butterflies, elaborate cocktail drinks, soft skin, carefully applying makeup on another's face, manicured nails, eyes that gleam with purpose, purple wisteria flowers, keeping secrets, feathered earrings, orange scarves, secretive smiles, a teasingly lilting voice, airy laughter, soft hair, undying loyalty and friendship.

Nemu— smiles that are rarely seen, a soft-spoken demeanour, lithe and graceful movements, a cup of milk tea, braided hair, daisies, glass beakers, white lab coats, meticulously writing reports, always carrying a first-aid kit, a camera around one's neck, the smell of lilies, yellow sundresses, small high-heels, short skirts, quiet piano music, charm bracelets, a heart-shaped pendant, neat handwriting, surprising strength, always protecting loved ones.

Rukia— crisp winter mornings, dark hair, snowflakes caught in one’s hair, a fresh blanket of snow, white rabbits, a cup of hot ginger tea, the smell of peppermint and vanilla, eagerly watching soap operas on TV, playful smiles, rosy cheeks, yellow jasmines, thick wool scarves, elegant kimonos, a subtle touch of makeup, ice skating, a gracefully melodic voice, holding hands, a fierce and protective love, eyes as violet as the skies at dusk, the light of the full moon, doodling in notebooks, reading shoujo manga, friendship bracelets.