#food wars fourth plate

[0097linersb]

Sour Candy (m)

Pairings: Mingi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 5k~

Warnings: Very very very needy Mingi, wouldn't say exactly sub!mingi but kind of sub!mingi u know, good boi´s just very desperate. consent lines are kind of blurred in this one so pls skip if it makes u uncomfortable, this was just written in like an hour with absolutely no thoughts or grammar-checking, head empty only filled with crying whiny men <3

Follow me on twitter: wooyosgfreal <3

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“What time did Yunho say he was coming back again?” You asked for about the fourth time that afternoon. 

“In like an hour or two,” Mingi answered patiently like he did all the other times you asked before. “Bro, why do you hate me?” 

“Because you keep making me play this boring game and it really fucking sucks.” 

“That´s just because you´re bad at it.” 

“You´re literally worse than me.” 

“Maybe modernity was wrong all along, maybe women really shouldn´t be allowed to have opinions.” 

“It is a fact, not an opinion. Maybe you men should still be in planes being shipped off to war and leave us alone.” 

“Fine. Do you want to play something else, princess?” 

“Let´s play Overcooked,” You squealed.  

Mingi didn´t even groan this time when you mentioned the game you and Seonghwa were obsessing over lately, simply going back to the home screen on Yunho´s Playstation and looking for the colorful icon. He knew there was no arguing with you. 

While the game was loading, Mingi handed you the main controller and stood up, fixing his shirt that had scrunched up and stretching his back, “Set everything up, I´m gonna go find some snacks.” 

You happily did as told, driving your little animated truck towards the level you had last failed at and playing with your phone to wait for your friend, at least until your vision was blocked by said friend pushing a red plastic bag in front of your face. 

“What´s that?” You asked, already reaching into the bag and picking up one of the soft candies inside. 

Mingi simply shrugged, already chewing on one of the jellies, “Dunno, found them in the kitchen. They´re pretty good though.” 

You trusted his words, popping the candy into your mouth and waiting for the flavors to kick in - and hell you wish you didn´t. 

“Oh my god this is disgusting,” Your face contorts in distaste. 

“It´s cinnamon,” Mingi stares you down, clearly not amused.  

“Yeah, with candle wax. Ew.” 

“Just swallow it and stop being a baby.” 

“I will literally kill myself.” 

He gave you another judgmental glare and sat down next to you on the couch once again, already reaching for his third candy from hell as you forced yourself to let it slide down your throat. You handed him the main remote and picked up the secondary one, coughing to see if flowing some air into your lungs would get the taste of rotten papaya out of your mouth.  

“Maybe it´s poison that Yunho left out as a trap because you keep stealing his food.” 

“Nah, it was right on top of the counter,” He waved it off, pressing play on the game. 

“My point stands.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“You´re very eloquent today.” 

“You´re very annoying today.” 

“The salmon Mingi, the fucking salmon!!” 

“I´m getting it!” 

“Bro, you gotta throw it!” 

“Fuck. I know, but if I leave the fucking rice is going to burn.” 

“I´m throwing you more rice.” 

“I don´t need it.” 

“Yes, you do. Oh my god.” 

“What I do need are some clean plates.” 

“Oh, yeah. On it.” 

“Why do you like this game?” He groaned, cleaning the sweat from his forehead and reaching for another candy in the bag. “You´re making me stress eat.” 

“Doesn´t it make you feel pumped?”  

“Yeah, pumped to punch the TV.” 

“We have one more minute, we can do it if you stop being dumb.” 

“There are literally two plates on the counter ready to go and you haven´t delivered them yet.” 

“Jeez, done. Can you slice me some tomatoes?” 

“One sec,” He answered, mouth full of yet another candy. 

“It would be faster if you would just stop eating.” 

“We´re not making it anyways, let me enjoy one thing at least.” 

And he was right: a few seconds later the TV screen was filled with the sad numbers displaying how you didn´t reach the minimum score - didn´t even come close to it in fact. 

Mingi let out his frustrations by popping the nth white jelly past his lips and you stared at him in disgust, reaching for the bag to understand what that malevolent creation even was.  

“Huh...” 

“What?” He asked. 

“Hm, I mean, this is all in German or Dutch but I´m pretty sure this word means aphrodisiac.” 

“Come again?” His mouth was hanging open mid chew, unblinking eyes staring at you. 

“Hm, yeah. Wasn´t Yunho´s friend just in Amsterdam? The one with the big smile? Maybe he brought those as a souvenir, since you know, it´s Amsterdam. Like, ‘haha look at this candy that makes you horny´.” 

“Oh, yeah. But it´s like a placebo touristy thing, right?” He laughed nervously. “Like, these won´t actually make me horny, right?” 

“Nah, I don´t think this kind of stuff works. It´s probably just for shit and giggles. Do you feel any different?” 

“I don´t know, my heart is beating faster. I think I´m going to die.” 

“Mingi, relax. Now it´s probably just because you´re nervous.” 

“No, what if there´s some kind of drug in these? I ate almost 10 of them! Oh my god I´m going to die. Am I going to overdose, Y/N? What if I start hallucinating?” 

He was being a bit overdramatic, but he did have genuine concerns. 

“Wait, let me call Yunho.” 

Mingi didn´t even hear you, too busy at his own pity party as he whined and stared at the bag´s labels like he could suddenly speak Dutch.  

“Y/N?” Yunho´s voice filled your ears. 

“Hm, hi. Sorry to bother you at work but we´ve kind of got a situation.” 

“Oh my god, did Mingi break my door playing with the bar? I already told him-” 

“No, nothing like that. Huh, do you know that candy that you left on the kitchen counter?” 

“What? No. What cand- Oh. Oh.” 

“Huh, yeah. So... Mingi found it and ate like 10 of them?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Is that bad? He´s kind of freaking out, he´s afraid there´s like drugs in them or something.” 

“There are some stimulants in them but like, in minor quantities. He won´t die because of it. But bro, bro.” 

“What?” You whined, Yunho´s tone making you anxious. 

“He had 10 of them? San had like 3 and said he was at it for hours.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

“So I guess these do work, huh?” 

“Haven´t tried them, but from what San says it´s some strong shit. Did you take any?” 

“Just like one, tastes like organic trash.” 

“Yeah, good. Let me know how it goes, please just stay out of my bedroom.” 

“Your bedroom? Why would- What are you trying to imply, Jeong Yunho?” 

“Oh shit, client calling. Byeee,” He laughed. “Stupid.” 

As soon as you put your phone away, Mingi stopped talking to himself like a mad man and stared at you with big hopeful eyes. 

“I have good news and bad news.” 

“Am I going to die?” 

“That´s the good news: no, you´re not. No.” 

“And what are the bad news?” 

“Apparently you will get very horny, though.” 

He froze at your words, looking down at his pants, “I don´t feel it, though.” 

“Maybe you won´t, it might be different for everyone,” You shrug, standing up and grabbing your sweater. “All I know is that I am leaving because if it does happen, that´s not a sight I want to be here for.” 

“Please no,” Mingi whined, literally throwing himself on his knees to catch your arm before you could walk away. “Don´t leave me alone here. I just ingested unknown substances, what if my body reacts badly and I actually die? What if I throw up and drown in my own puke here all alone?” 

Once again, over-dramatic but right.  

“Yeah, you´re right,” You sighed. “I would still rather die than see you with a boner so here´s what we´re gonna do: I´m locking myself in Yunho´s room and you can freely roam the apartment and do whatever you want, I´ll check up on you every few minutes. Sounds good?” 

“Yeah, ok,” Mingi agreed. 

“Also, if you´re going to like - ” You motioned vaguely towards his pants hoping he would get what you were trying to say. “Give me a heads up so I can put on some earphones.” 

“Oh my god,” He whined in shame, cheeks going flush. “Yeah, ok.” 

“Ok, good. Huh, bye,” You awkwardly waved as you made your way towards Yunho´s room. “Good luck.” 

You closed the door behind you, hearing as Mingi opened some other game back in the living room. There was not much to do in Yunho´s room so you decided to lay in bed and scroll through Tiktok until Mingi stopped thinking he was going to die and you could leave. Also, you did eat one of the candies too, so you guessed that if they did work, you would feel it as well. 

10 minutes later you still heard Mingi normally playing and cursing outside, but you still decided to yell out an “Everything good?” just to be sure. 

“Yeah!” Was his answer. 

Another 15 minutes went by, and you shot him a text. 

Not dead yet? 

Mings: Still good, I don´t think these things actually work. 

Maybe Yunho was just messing with us.  

Mings: Yeah, fucking asshole. 

You went back to watching your silly little videos, not even noticing the time passing or how everything suddenly went quiet outside. Over half an hour had gone by when your ears finally perked up at the lack of your friend´s loudness.  

You sat up in bed worried. 

You good? 

No answer. 

Mingi? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You were already picturing his dead body looking all stupid on Yunho´s carpet, thinking about how you were going to explain to the paramedics that he died because he ate too much horny candy.  

No, even worse: How would you explain this to his family? 

Oh, no. Not your best friend. How would you live without him? You liked teasing him and you bickered a lot but you love- 

Your little spiral of insanity was interrupted by a knock on the door and your body was finally able to move after how it had been paralyzed with fear for a few minutes. 

“Mingi?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, thank god. You scared the shit out of me,” You took a deep breath in relief, staring at Yunho´s white door. “What´s up?” 

“Huh, can I come in?” 

You furrowed your eyebrows at his tone.  

Something sounded weird about this.  

“Sure,” You answered skeptically.  

Mingi opened the door and came in, head cast down and gaze not meeting your eyes. 

“What´s wrong-” You started asking worriedly, about to jump out of the bed to go check up on him before your eyes finally zeroed in on the very prominent bulge in his pants. “Song Mingi! What the fuck?” 

“I- I don´t know what to do,” His eyes finally met yours, cheeks tinted in pink and hands trembling. He looked at you like a kicked puppy.  

“And what do I have to do with it? Go deal with it yourself. Eeew, we talked about this,” You raised your hand in the air to try and block the bottom half of Mingi from your line of vision.  

“I already did,” He groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. “Twice.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Nothing fucking works - and also, I just can´t stop thinking about you.” 

“What?” You never heard your voice go so high before. “Nuh uh, we´re not going there. Absolutely not.” 

“I´m not happy about it either, ok?” His fingers were squeezing the corner of the door so thigh they were almost white. “Just please, help me out this once. Please.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You just prayed that the reason you started clenching around nothing was because the candy was finally kicking in and not because stupid Song Mingi was practically begging in front of you. 

“No!” You screeched, weirded out by your own sudden reaction. “This isn´t you talking, it´s just th stupid candy, you´ll regret it after it wears off -” 

“No but I won´t,” He disagreed, closing the door and rushing towards you like a madman in three large strides. 

You had never seen him like this, you never once in a million years could have gone as far as even imagining the look in his eyes right now. 

“Fuck. It´s just - your skin is so soft, you know?” Mingi pushed the covers to the side so his hand could squeeze your thigh, his knees dipping into the mattress as he crawled on top of you. You were too shocked to move away, frozen in place with your mouth open wide, not really knowing what to do as he rubbed the palm of his hands up and down your skin, squeezing it occasionally with a heavy breath like he had just reached heaven´s gate. 

“Mingi,” You warned, but your voice didn´t sound that threatening anymore. 

“Please, just once,” He breathed out, practically rubbing himself against your body like a cat in heat forcing you to slowly lie back in the bed, his hands gently guiding yours over your head as you slid down. You looked up at his glazed eyes, at the way his hands were shaking around your wrists, the way he was discreetly rutting against your thigh without even realizing he was doing it. He looked so vulnerable and frenzied – And it was doing something to you. 

“Mingi,” You whined, not even sure what you were trying to say or do. 

“You kept walking around with this white top all day,” He let out a broken groan, looking down at said top. “Your boobs look amazing in it. I just- I – Can I?” 

His begging eyes were enough to get you automatically nodding before even realizing what you were agreeing to - When you did process what he was asking for though, his right hand was already squeezing your boobs and kneading at them like his life depended on it, his calloused fingers firm on your body. You could feel how hard he was every time he subconsciously ground against you, shaky hot breaths leaving his lips and hitting the sensitive skin on the side of your neck where his plump soft lips kept lightly brushing against with every move. 

Mingi took advantage of the position, sucking against your vein and leaving pleas in the form of little kisses around your skin. His thumb played with your nipple and your hands were still abandoned on top of your head against the sheets, not sure if you would really let this happen yet - but Mingi didn´t seem to mind, too lost in worshipping you into compliance.  

“I need to fuck you. Like, right now. I´ll - I´ll make you feel good too, I promise,” The shakier and breathier his voice sounded the wetter you got. “I promise. I promise. Please. We -we don´t even need to fuck I can – I can – Let me – Just the tip- Anything-” 

“Just the tip?” 

“Yeah,” He eagerly nodded, his eyes so hopeful you could melt. 

“Ok,” You agreed, physically not being able to say no to his pleading eyes.  

“Fuck,” He groaned in surprise, not actually thinking you would agree to it - But since you did, he wasted no time and made quick work of practically ripping your cotton short down your legs in one harsh tug. “Under normal circumstances I would, you know – But, I – right now I – I can´t.” 

“It´s ok,” You assured, afraid he would actually cry if you made him wait another single second with how desperate he was. 

He hooked his finger on the bottom of your panties and pushed them to the side, not even being able to take them out. He stared at your pussy for a moment, his eyes looking even more insane than before at the sight, like he would actually growl at you. 

“Fuck,” Mingi cursed as he went out of the little trance he was in, pushing his sweater pants and boxers down in a rush - once again not even bothering with taking them all out.  

And oh fuck. 

His cock was so hard you could imagine how it actually hurt; it throbbed against the skin of his abdomen without even being touched, looking swollen and angry with all the veins surrounding it - And man were you glad you agreed on just the tip because there was just no way that would fit without a lot of preparation first. Even with how wet you were right now. Who knew? 

Mingi leaned on top of you once again, one arm supporting the weight of his body in between your legs as he gently guided his dick up and down your folds, his eyes closing at the feeling, a violent shiver taking over his thighs and up his spine with a loud groan.  

Like he had absolutely no control over his body, Mingi positioned himself against your entrance, slowly pushing just a little bit in as promised. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” His groans sounded so raw against your ear as he cursed over the initial resistance of your walls, his forehead meeting your neck to try and ground himself. 

You even let a moan out yourself because this was absolute madness, it felt insane. Your whole body was buzzing like you were electrified, your fingers ached to scratch Mingi´s back and pull him all the way in - Damn, those candies were good.  

And you only had one. 

“Y/N, fuck,” Mingi gasped as he started moving his hips in shallow little thrusts so he wouldn´t break your agreement. “Ah - Ah. I can´t think strai - You´re so pretty. Fuck, fuck.” 

His lips met your neck once again, messy kisses full of saliva and teeth as he shuddered on top of you, leaving marks that would soon turn purple. You could feel how tense every single muscle in his body was as he fought against himself to not rut deeper into you every time he moved, and you were biting onto your lip so hard to keep the noises inside that you could taste blood.  

“Thank you, thank you,” You shivered at the way cold air hit your neck when Mingi pulled back a bit to look you in the eye, “Can I go ah- a little deeper, please? Just a little. It feels so good, I need ah- more. Fuck.” 

“Mingi.” 

“Please,” He cried out and you just couldn´t believe the sight in front of you. 

Tall big strong Song Mingi with the deep voice, reduced to a disheveled delirious mess. His ashy blond hair rumpled, his cheeks burning pink and skin glistening with sweat, his pupils huge and shiny and he just looked so disheartened that it was breaking your heart to not let him just use you however he wanted.  

“I need you,” He agonized, his right arm clinging onto your shoulder like you would run away from him if you could, so out of it that he was already pushing deeper into you without even noticing, eyes shut so tightly at the sensation of your walls around him. “Please, please, please, please,” It was like a mantra. 

He was far gone. 

And kind of so were you. 

You whine in pain and raspy moans left Mingi´s soft lips every time he thrust back into you, hitting farther each time, “I´m sorry, baby. I´m sorry. You can take it right? Ah – Just a bit more, I promise. Fuck. I´m almost ah- in. Why do you smell so good? It´s driving me ah – insane.” 

It hurt, it did hurt, but you also didn´t seem to mind that he was practically splitting you open when his voice sounded this pretty apologizing for it. 

The speed and strength of his hips started picking up to match his urgency, his plush lips were open so captivatingly and his weight was now supported by both arms so he could pistol into you. He didn´t have a specific angle or rhythm to it, his moves were strictly instinctual and carnal, your nails finally finding your way down his back to keep yourself anchored to reality. 

“You´re so so so beautiful, fuck. Your lips - can´t stop thinking about them around my ah- cock. Will you show me?”  

You loved how broken his voice sounded. 

“Yeah, baby. Whatever you want.” 

He shuddered once again at your words, “I´m so close.” 

“Me too,” You nodded, still doing your very best to not let noises of pleasure escape past your lips – and kind of failing. 

“Let me hear you,” Mingi growls, managing to somehow snake his hand in between your bodies to start drawing quick circles on your clit. “Please, I love your voice.” 

You wouldn´t be able to hold back even if you wanted to.  

His chaotic rhythm had an appeal of its own, every broken moan that left his mouth drew you closer to the edge until you finally reached it. Your vision went black, nails digging into Mingi´s biceps so harshly you would feel bad for it later, every muscle in your body tightening as it all washed over you in a devastating wave, leaving your body in the form of gasps and breathy moans. 

“Oh my god, fuck,” Mingi cursed at the way your walls were clenching so tightly around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

He wouldn´t slow down and you were still coming down from your high, twitching with the aftershocks as the oversensitivity quickly began to rise, but you decided to ignore it the best you couldand push through it - you could tell Mingi was close anyway with the way his thrusts became even more erratic, and his voice went up with every moan.  

You were mesmerized by his glossy unfocused eyes, the frown on his forehead, so frantic to get what he needed by ramming into you. He looked so pretty like this, you wanted to destroy him-  

Wow. 

Wait. 

Now where did that come from? 

“Shit, I´m gonna- Fuck, fuck.” 

You watched as his whole body froze for a second before violently shaking, his eyes shot so tightly he was probably seeing white as he continued thrusting into you to ride his orgasm to the end as you felt something warm hitting your walls. And his moans, oh his moans – I mean, you were not deaf, you had always been well-aware that Mingi had an attractive voice, but to hear it like this, so raw and relieved, was truly something else. 

Mingi let out one last broken cry as he slowly stopped moving, dropping his weight on top of you to catch his breath, chest heaving up and down against your ribcage as his muscles continued twitching here and there. You took advantage of the moment to get yourself together too, stabilizing your breathing and trying to figure out what the hell just happened as you two went down, but you also kind of expected Mingi to say something or try to joke around a bit to lessen the burden of the fact that the two of you just fucked - and when he didn´t, well, you started getting worried. 

You were mustering up the courage to say something after the two minutes of silence when the last thing you expected to happen, happened.  

Your eyes were blown wide, “Mingi-” 

“I can´t stop, I´m sorry-” He whined, his still rock-solid cock now slowly moving inside of you once again, rutting into you like he had absolutely no control over himself. 

He was still hard? 

Wasn´t this like his third time already? 

His whole body was shaking in overstimulation but he wouldn´t stop grinding into you, “I´m sorry.” 

“Mingi,” You tried pulling away from him thinking that´s what he was asking for. 

“No, don´t. Ah- Need you,” He desperately grabbed onto your thighs and wrapped them around his hips, your chests flushed against each other's as he hid his forehead on your neck to keep fucking deep into you. Literal whines of pain were leaving his lips, it was like he was an animal incapable of rational thoughts, and it was making you feel dizzy. 

“Mingi, love. You´re going to hurt yourself.” 

“No, feels so ah- Just one more,” He moaned, body shuddering. His whines got you clenching involuntarily around him, suddenly realizing you were kind of close to the edge already. “Please.” 

You felt a strong bite on your shoulder disguising a groan, the animalistic act crashed with how smoothly he was sliding in and out of you, but it also showed how deranged he was at the moment. You tightened your thighs around Mingi´s hips and pulled at the hair on his nape, not bothering with trying to cover up your moans anymore. 

Mingi took the action as permission and started gradually moving his hips faster, broken little whines getting louder and more frequent each second until he was once again supported by both his arms and pistoling into you.  

“I can´t - I can´t,” His voice was so shaky, so broken. “I - Please.” 

And then your whole world stopped as you watched the first tear roll down Mingi´s cheek. 

You were mesmerized, you wanted to frame it.  

“It hurts,” He whimpered, another tear falling, followed by another and then another.  

“You´re almost there,” You cooed, deciding to be useful to the poor giant man breaking down on top of you. “Aren´t you? So close.” 

Mingi nodded, blinking harshly to clear his vision which resulted in more tears running down his face. You just couldn´t help supporting your weight onto your elbow so you could lean up and hold his jaw, kissing the salty traces across his cheeks until his face was clean. He immediately started shaking, moans growing whinier and choppier, his thrusts started losing their patterns as he plowed into you like his life depended on it, entering a mental state he never knew existed before. 

His right hand grabbed your thigh with enough force to bruise it badly as he came for what you imagined was the fourth time in an hour, holding you so close that you could feel his cock hitting impossible places deep inside of you. Mingi was breathing so hard you were kind of worried for his well-being but the noises leaving his lips assured you he was feeling pleasure at least as his nose found its place on your neck once again. 

“Feeling better?” You asked once he had calmed down a little. 

“Kind of,” He pushed back to look at you with a low chuckle, his eyes looking a tad bit saner already. “But I also kind of need to eat you out.” 

You felt his dick twitch inside of you at his own words and how the fuck was that even possible? 

A painful whimper left his lips at the slight stimulation, already way past oversensitive, “Please?” 

 He had the nerve to pout. 

[harryforvogue]

happy may the fourth LMFAOAOAOOAOAOAOAOAO sorry this is more than a month late and sorry for the horrendously rushed sex scene. i am bad at smut now <3 2.1k

***

Harry looks down at the notecards, his dinner abandoned besides his hands. He flips through a few of the cards while Yasmine slurps obnoxiously on her pasta to get him to scowl at her, but he’s too captivated by his extreme nerd behavior. Honestly, it’s embarrassing for him.

He finally settles on a card and clears his throat. “What is the name of Leia and Han’s child?”

“Oh,” Yasmine mumbles as she swallows. “Um, the hot guy.”

Harry gives her a weird look. “He’s not hot, but sure.”

“I mean, from a certain angle,” she says. “I don’t need to explain the appeal of Adam Driver to you, nerd.”

“Er, okay. What’s his name?”

“Kyle.”

Harry stares at her for a second before he puts the note cards down and scrubs his face with his hands. “No, his name is not Kyle!”

“I know it’s not! It’s Kylo. But I always think it’s Kyle so my brain goes to Kylo next because I know everyone has weird ass names in Star Wars.”

“Don’t say Kyle next time! That’ll be a deduction!”

“Stop yelling at me!”

“I can tell you didn’t study my notes!”

“Your nerd notes? Yeah I didn't! I had better things to do!”

Harry pulls his hands away from his now red face. “Like what?”

“Like making the dinner you’ve not even thanked me for!” Yasmine snaps.

Harry blinks. He glances at his dinner and then murmurs an apology, abandoning his cards behind to eat his food. “Thank you.”

“Shut up.”

He sighs and continues eating. 

Yasmine only stays mad for two minutes. Then, she’s talking. “My costume came in yesterday by the way. Are we still doing the secret thing?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “And don’t feel stupid about dressing up, alright? Think of it as Halloween.”

“Nerd Halloween,” Yasmine mutters.

Harry looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel. “You’ve called me a nerd three times already.” He takes a deep breath. “Which outfit of Padme’s did you pick?”

“Padme? I’m going as Chewbacca.”

“Hilarious.” 

Harry stands up with his plate and walks over to the other side of the table, sitting beside her. 

Yasmine looks at him. “Why did you move?”

“To be closer to you?”

“Oh.”

Harry throws an arm over her shoulder. “Am I not romantic enough? Yasmine, I swear you act like I’ve never touched you by the way you act sometimes.”

She scoots her chair closer to him. “Untrue.”

He raises his hand to gently caress her cheek. Yasmine turns her head to bite his finger.

“See?” Harry sighs, prying his finger away. “Be normal.”

“I can’t be. I have a nerd boyfriend who likes to touch me too much.” Yasmine brightens. “And you’ll touch me a lot more when you see my dress for tomorrow.”

Harry’s wiping his finger. “Which one did you pick? The one from Attack of the Clones?”

“Um.”

“The second movie.”

“Er.”

“The white one.” Harry drops his head to the table, groaning. “Oh we’re never going to win tomorrow.”

“You should just take one of your other nerd friends, Harry. I know you want that Lego Star Command–”

Harry groans louder. “Star Destroyer.”

“--whatever. I know you want it so maybe you should take someone else.”

He turns his head to glance at her. He takes a deep breath and then sits up, letting the color drain from his face. “No. It’ll be fun.”

“You’re going to yell at me.”

“Lovingly.”

“I’ll bite your head off.”

“Lovingly?” Harry asks weakly.

“No.”

“Anyways. Is it the white dress?”

“The one that’s ripped around the stomach? No.”

Harry looks very interested then. He slides closer. “The black one?”

“No.”

“The blue one?”

“Yes. Which one are you thinking of?”

“The one that looks like a nightgown.”

“No,” Yasmine says thoughtfully. “Maybe I should have done that. Mine is the other one.”

“Yasmine, Padme wear blue a lot.”

“Do you want to see it?”

Harry pauses. Yasmine can tell that he’s going through all the outfits Padme has ever worn that are blue. He comes to the same conclusion as she did days ago when looking for an outfit: the blue ones are the sexy ones. 

His eyes narrow. “Show me yours if I show you mine?”

“Deal.”

Harry stands first. He takes their empty dinner plates to the kitchen and then goes to their room to bring out the two packages of outfits. He tosses Yasmine hers and then proceeds to bring her to the livingroom to open them together.

They decided early on they’d wear a couple costume: Anakin and Padme.

(Yasmine secretly hoped Harry would wear the whole Darth Vader suit with the helmet, but that’s something to unpack at a later time.)

Harry pulls out the Anakin costume, holding it to his body. “Hope it fits.”

Yasmine imagines him in it, the pants sticking wonderfully to his thighs, his hand grasping a large lightsaber. 

“Go put it on.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You put yours on too.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They stare at each other before Yasmine grabs her outfit and goes to the bathroom.

When she returns, Harry’s changed into his as well, swinging around a red lightsaber expertly.

“Oh,” Yasmine says, stopping in her tracks.

“Fuck,” Harry says at the same time.

The outfit fits him so well. As expected, the pants are tight around his upper thighs, but Harry’s just gifted in that department, so it’s normal. Still. He looks mouthwateringly…well, hot.

He’s got sort of a wild look in his eye at the sight of her. With narrowed eyes, he walks backwards until he sits on the couch, holding his hand out.

Yasmine shuffles close, unused to the dress. It’s a bit too long on her.

“Wow.”

Yasmine takes his hand. His fingers trail up to her wrist.

It’s too quiet in here. 

His other hand raises.

He runs his fingers over her bare stomach. The top is just short enough to land by her sternum, leaving a few pairs of ribs exposed. She shivers at his touch and when she goes to move away instinctively, he grabs her wrist.

Yasmine fidgets under his gaze. “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Harry murmurs.

“Look at me.”

“You hate it when I look at you?”

“Yes.”

Harry tightens his hand on Yasmine’s wrist. “Get used to it.” Then he yanks her closer. Pulls her into his lap. “You are beautiful. I could stare at you all day long.”

“It’s just the dress.”

He laughs, just inches away from her skin. Fire erupts in her stomach. “No. Definitely not just the dress.”

Yasmine shudders as Harry leans in to kiss her neck. Her fingers tremble when she clutches his hair, staring up at the ceiling. Pleasure runs through her, landing between her legs.

She loves when Harry gets like this: so desperate to have her close, hands grabbing without a care of how rough he’s being. All he knows is that he wants her body attached to his. And it’s incredibly enticing how he shows it. He tilts his head back so that she can reach his lips. Her fingers plunge into the soft wilds of his messy, shoulder length hair. He hums and kisses her back, hard.

The dark color looks so good on him. He’s long known that black and brown look especially good on him (and Yasmine reminds him of this often to ensure he’s continuing to fill his closet with those colors). Seeing him in this outfit…Yasmine supposes she’s the nerd as well now.

She hardly cares.

With a soft maneuver, she presses herself against his growing bulge. Harry groans softly, detaching his mouth from hers. She grasps his hair tighter. His lips trail down to her neck again where he buries his face and grabs her waist. No matter how many times he makes that noise, it always sends her on a downward spiral.

“Harry,” she whispers, rocking herself against him now. His fingers grip her waist.

“Yes, baby?”

And his voice! His breathy, desperate voice.

“I wanna do something.”

“Yeah, let’s go upstairs.”

But the mere thought of going upstairs – the mere thought of parting from Harry long enough to make it there – threatens to disrupt whatever they have going on. So Yasmine slides away from Harry, but before he can stand, she sits before him on her knees.

Harry freezes.

Yasmine reaches for the sole button on his trousers.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Fuck.”

Yasmine touches her wrists in hopes of finding a hair tie there, but when she finds none, she frowns deeply up at him. Harry shakes his head and carefully pulls her hair up into a makeshift ponytail, making sure all her curtain bangs are out of her face. “I’ve got it, Yas.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, though she feels silly afterwards.

“Yeah.”

Harry lifts his hips long enough for Yasmine to get him out of the trousers. She scoots closer so that she can get his boxer briefs off as well. Harry’s hold on her hair tightens. She reaches out to wrap her fingers around him, giving him a long stroke.

“Fuck,” Harry murmurs. It’s music to Yasmine’s ears. She strokes him again, bringing him to full hardness. There’s a soft flush on Harry’s neck and face, and his thighs are tense. Oh how she loves his thighs.

She loves them enough that before she wraps her mouth around him, she bends down to kiss his thighs. 

She glances up at him as she does, enjoying the small twist of his lips when he looks back down at her. Now, she doesn’t mind his gaze. Because despite the implications, Harry is most certainly not in charge right now. She is.

After biting down on his thigh – just to hear his sharp hiss – Yasmine opens her mouth and takes him in.

His thighs tighten even more. 

Yasmine presses her tongue against him. Harry’s fingers grip her hair when she sucks gently at his tip. 

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, tilting his head back. “Fuck me.”

Yasmine’s stomach flutters. She watches him, enjoying the rise of his chest, the strain of his neck with the beautiful vein protruding every so often. Harry’s head turns to look down at her suddenly, hips rising just barely to meet her mouth.

He gives her a look.

She nods.

He blows air from his mouth and gently thrusts into her mouth, careful and soft despite the firm grip on her hair.

“If I’d known,” he murmurs, “that you’d get like this, I’d have tried the outfit on even sooner.”

Yasmine gasps softly as she pulls off of him. “It’s not only the outfit.”

He laughs, wiping the corner of her lips, which should be damn well embarrassing or weird, but neither of them seem to care. She wraps her mouth around him again, cutting off his laughter with a groan.

After a few moments, her dress begins to slip from her shoulders. Harry’s eyes catch the movement right away and his hips stutter. She’d make a joke but there are more concerning matters presently. Having been with him for a long time, Yasmine knows exactly what he likes: how she should use her tongue, her hands, her eyes that blink up at him all pretty.

“So pretty,” Harry mumbles, on cue. She feels him run his thumb over her cheek as if there’s something to be endeared about right now.

Just before he’s about to come, Harry pulls on her hair and gets her to pull off so he could bend down and kiss her mouth, and then let her tug on him.

“Not on the dress please,” Yasmine says, voice shot.

“I’ll try, baby.”

He manages quite well actually, especially with Yasmine’s effort to move out of the way, letting him spill over her hand instead. His desperate whimpers keep Yasmine’s eyes glued to him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Harry protests softly when her hand keeps moving over him. “That’s enough.”

Grinning, Yasmine fixes her dress and grabs a few tissues from the coffee table to wipe her hand.

“Maybe instead of going to the trivia night, we can do more of this tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Harry hums, still catching his breath. “Not a chance.”

“Oh come on. This is so much more fun!”

He tucks himself back in and holds his hand out, making her climb into his lap. “No.”

“You’re such a –”

“Nerd?” He laughs, grabbing the back of her neck. “I am.” And then he kisses her slowly, clearly having no issue with what they’ve just done. “Thank you.”

Yasmine hopes her face accurately portrays the glare she thinks she’s putting on. Harry’s eyes are soft and filled with love – but that’s entirely unhelpful because they always are. 

“Just don’t break up with me when I say that Han Solo is Luke’s father.”

Harry holds her tighter. “I’ll try not to.” Then he grabs her waist, pulling her to him. He stands easily, keeping her balanced on him, her legs tight about his torso. “Come on. I’ve got a favor to repay. And the dress stays on, understood?”

Yasmine shivers, despite herself. "Understood."

[2frosty4you]

Hi! Could I ask for headcanons for Soldier TF2 with a grandchild (any gender is fine!) Would he do anything special? Maybe like taking them to a picnic for Fourth of July

Soldier with his grandkid for the 4th of July [Headcanons]

| Soldier & his grandkid | 224 words | PLATONIC OBVIOUSLY | | masterlist | request-box |

Sorry that its quite short! i am australian so i dont rlly get the 4th of July hype xd

╔═════════════════╗

He will buy (STEAL) every piece of fourth of July memorabilia he can find.

Tacky or not he's taking it all.

He'd have his hands full yelling at engineer to start the truck as the store owner is running after him.

His grand-kid cannot escape fourth of July. He'd deck them out in all the memorabilia he had found. (stole)

They'd have on at least 3 hats, 2 shirts, to many American flags to count and a pool float. With one of those shity plastic sunglasses with the American flag as the frames.

He'd get engineer to help him with a big barbecue (mostly cause Engie doesn't trust him with the grill)

His grand-kid is getting SPOILED!

Scout would come running up for seconds and Solider would yell at him and lecture telling him all about how in war he only got one ration and he liked it! while he's plating up more food for his grand-kid.

Will take them to see the fireworks, he's not allowed to do his own after he was banned last year after he blew up half the base with his fireworks (ROCKET LAUNCHER)

He's allowed sparklers thought his grand-kid gets to hold one, while he's there cheering with ten in each hand and a few strapped to his helmet.

╚══════════════╝

Posted 29.05.2024

if you see any typos pls tell me!

[drarryspecificrecs]

2023.09 ~ Top 10 longest fics posted on AO3

1. Saviour's Salvation by Belle_Lestrange101 [E, 342k]

►Two months after the war and Harry is struggling to cope with life. Having faced his mortality, and being plagued by incessant nightmares from the battle, he becomes a recluse as Summer gets underway. One day he is left to his own devices and finds an old potions textbook which may have the answer he needs. He decides to take drastic actions to relive the childhood he and Sirius never got to share. After the war, Draco was acquitted for most of his crimes, and is released on house arrest under the care of an appointed guardian. Having his magic suppressed and monitored is one thing, but his Mother's cousin was an entirely different matter. How is he going to cope when he has to live at Grimmauld Place with his cousin, Sirius Black, a baby Potter and no magic!

2. The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls by @thecouchsofa [E, 256k]

►Harry doesn’t know how to cope after the War. The only things that make him feel even remotely normal again are taking risks while flying and fighting with Malfoy. It’s not likely to end well. Or, Draco becomes obsessed with ‘Wonderwall’, reads Muggle books, and drives a campervan, while Harry slowly falls in love with Draco. A story about travelling around the British Isles in the late 90s while healing deep scars.

3. One Mistake by AstridEstelle [?, 174k]

►The fall of 1996, Voldemort makes a fatal mistake, murdering Draco Malfoy's mother in an attempt to speed the boy along. However that one murder proves to have astonishing ripple effects that no one could have seen coming. A new power is unleashed, sides are changed, and along the way two boys happen to fall in love.

4. Remember When I Loved You by @amillionregrets [M, 112k]

►When Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts for eighth year pregnant, vile rumours start spreading like wildfire. The Daily Prophet is full of wild speculations and outrageous assertions. Professor McGonagall seems to know something, and Malfoy's firm refusal to reveal the other father simply adds more fuel to the flames. Harry Potter is desperately curious about the identity of the father of Malfoy's child. He feels utterly dumbfounded when an ancient paternal bond activates in the Great Hall, proclaiming him as the father. And what's worse, Draco Malfoy looks just as shocked as he feels.

5. Always to you by MadameNightmare [M, 107k]

►After a lifetime of fighting and mutual dislike, the time after the war brought to the surface unresolved feelings that both Harry and Draco denied. Out of that union, for both of them almost insufficient and treacherous, came an unexpected result: the first baby born between wizards of the same sex in over six hundred years.

6. The Discreet Gentleman's Connection by pluto [E, 80k]

►The Discreet Gentleman’s Connection is the number one choice for discerning gentlewizards, offering only the finest floo call connections. Crave the voice of another man? We’ll connect you. Securely. Anonymously. Discreetly. Five Galleons per call. Warning: The company is not liable for damages if the user discovers that they’ve been having anonymous floo-sex with their lifelong enemy. Nor is the company liable for damages if the user ends the call without revealing their own identity, intending to forget this whole thing ever happened.

7. Orpheus’ Legacy by amberskiez [?, 71k]

►Harry and Draco get sent back in time to fourth year, except this time they know what they didn’t know before, and now their only confidants are each other.

8. More Courage to Live by emmettsforest [E, 63k]

►It wasn’t that the Dursleys abused Harry, really. There were no horrible beatings, no injuries that left marks, nothing like that. But they were cruel with their words, and they controlled his food to the point that some days he thought he might go insane, and Vernon did slap him pretty hard the one time, after Harry dropped a soapy dinner plate and it shattered. Sometimes Vernon flew into rages, but it wasn’t, like, horrible. Harry could always maneuver his way through. /// Or, the one where Harry is an American high school student, and Tom Riddle is a whole other kind of villain.

9. The Chosen One by @beauregardstaxicab [T, 54k]

►Draco's conflicted when he receives a new assignment from his editor: follow Harry Potter around on his dates. Sure it's a great chance to annoy Potter after not seeing him for a couple of years, but how will he handle it if Potter actually hits it off with someone?

10. Keep Steady by monroebegone [T, 46k]

►Harry doesn't talk. Draco doesn't sleep. Together, they heal.

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 15k

※ Word count: 15k ~ 40k

The Destination Was Always You by @orpheous87 [G, 16k]

Heal to be Healed by Zulu777 [M, 21k]

Hogwarts - The House Unity Race by ProseMary [?, 34k]

Light that Persists by @rainjulyx [M, 39k]

No One Ever Told Me by Unforgotten [M, 25k]

the soft animal of your body by CheatsatUNO [G, 24k]

we are deaf, we are numb (just free and young) by muted_needs [?, 16k]

When it Alteration Finds by jellybeany [T, 23k]

who will receive you in love's offices by @jtimu [E, 30k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

Drarry Let’s Play Fest 2023 | @drarry-lets-play

HP Cottagecore Fest 2023 | @hpcottagecorefest

HP Drizzle Fest 2023 | @hpdrizzle

HP Law of Attraction Fest | @hp-lawofattraction-fest

HP Soulmates Fest 2023 | @hp-soulmates

Kill Your Darlings 2023 | @hp-mcd-fest

[pininghermit]

Dare I Desire (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Adrian x Male Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5| Chapter 6| Chapter 7|

AN: Introducing a bunch of OCs

“How do you know my name?” Adrian asks you, who sat opposite him. He was still taking in the clean castle and changed surrounding and now this… The plate of food in front of him felt foreign. How long had it been since he had such food and not just alcohol.

“Why yes Adrian, it is nice to meet you too. My name is y/n by the way.” you cross your legs as you rest your head on the chaise’s arm. As if the debacle in the storeroom never happened. Adrian felt a pulse of annoyance the more time he spent with the intruder.

Stormy grey eyes stared back at him in a silent challenge. The suave smile that concealed fangs similar to his was equally infuriating. Anger, rage, wrath Adrian felt them all at once.

“Ai, don’t glare at me like that!” you said in pseudo hurt voice with an extravagant motion of your hands. “Believe me,” with a dramatic hand on your heart you continued. “I will tell you everything but right in sequence. I will reveal to you who I am and my reason for being here but before that we need to go back in time. The story goes like this-

Long ago, maybe decades, maybe centuries or maybe millennia ago there was a world that housed both the evil and the good equally. Elves, men, vampire, dwarves, faerie, even dhampir must I say, lived on the same planes. In those times monsters were not labeled by a kind. It was the deed that labeled right and wrong, not the specie or race.

However, such a world had to come to an end when humans grew. With their growth came the need for land, the need to conquest and conflict. Soon the world that once housed all now fell into the struggle of survival and death. One had to die for the other to live.

Wars raged and monsters came to being. Our kind was not different. Born with unageing bodies that withstood decay our kind wielded the weapon of pride. But that’s just the boring part of history. Do you want the juicy part?” Adrian blinked. He had been too engrossed. Almost enough to forget about the vampire sitting in his study.

“Ahh I must say my story telling skills are quite impeccable.” Ignoring Adrian’s snarl, you continue. “Let’s skip a few years. So, the humans, vampires, elves, fae fought blah blah blah. You know the boring parts.” No. Adrian in fact did not know. None of the books in his father’s study mentioned this. Whatever you were spouting. All his curiosity was shattered by the man child, who probably was way older than anyone he had ever met. Adrian would not grant you any of his curiosity.

Slouched on chaise you spoke of war like a bedtime story. “Whatever my parents were pretty sick of all that and decided to leave the humans alone. They created a veiled world for us magical folk. Of course, superior to the rest.” If obnoxious were a person, it would be you, who sat, in front of him.

“In return they pledged to give up on blood. A bargain made with the spirits of the land that offered them a hidden valley. And so came to be Asor, the kingdom and refuge for the beings of the past world. Humans were given their world and we were given ours.

With peace came time and oh boy did my parents use it well. Now, now no judgement of course but I do have six other siblings.” Well, that was hard not to judge Adrian wondered.

“Eldest are triplets Cenfrith, Estrid, and Rowena. Close knit than any of us. They gave up their right to the throne for the sake of their weird bond. Don’t ask me…I don’t know either. Then came Yorick, the second eldest or fourth if you do the math. He rules now. Being the most responsible of us it made sense.” Despite the light manner of your speech Adrian could sense the tightness in your voice at the mention of Yorick. A weird tension that did not suit you.

“After Yorick is Harold, the artist of our family. A lone soul, very hard to find on any given day. And then comes Saewig ten years older than me and the menace. Brutal with his words and bows Saewig is the hunter who is almost is a beast himself.” You take a deep breath and pause as if to gather your marbles after that long list.

“Last and the most precious is me,” you gesture extravagantly. “Of course, having me made my parents realize that a greater perfection could not exist.” With an unabashed smile you jump up from the chaise.

“And how does this all matter to me,” Adrian mutters his heart beating wildly with an emotion he did not know of.

“You,” you point with a finger that makes Adrian want to snap it. Somehow you are now sprawling on his couch, “have the immense privilege of being the mate to the youngest lord of Asor.”

A second later you crouch on the floor as Adrian’s fist throbs from the impact of his punch. Unfortunately, Vampire bones don’t break easily.

[vulpes-fennec]

Love on Water Lilies 🪷 (Ch 1)

Summary: Prince Lucien Vanserra of the Autumn Kingdom is all play, no work. Elain Archeron, a waitress and aspiring restaurant owner in the city of Colibri, is all work, no play. Caught in a larger scheme of politics and war, Lucien and Elain are turned into frogs. Will Elain get her restaurant back? Will Lucien ever become Fae again?

Read on AO3

An Princess and the Frog inspired story for @elucienweekofficial Day 5: Nature 🍃

“Fried plantains and fresh fruit salad! Two vanilla golden toasts with honey syrup! Banana pudding!” The line cooks’ voices rang out from the sizzling kitchen.

“Coming right on up!” Elain Archeron plastered on a bright smile and cheerful voice as she dished out plate after plate of breakfast at Roy’s Cafe. The heavenly smell of fresh coffee was barely enough to keep Elain awake—she was exhausted. Elain glanced at the clock. Five more minutes…

Her shift at the Purple Flamingo Cabaret last night had certainly taken its toll, for the Summer Kingdom’s Mardi Gras festivities had begun. The swamp city of Colibri, known for good food and even better music, drew thousands of visitors every Mardi Gras. And this year, a special celebrity was in their midst: Prince Lucien Vanserra of the Autumn Kingdom, who had arrived just yesterday.

Although Elain hadn’t seen this prince yet, she heard plenty about him last night at the Purple Flamingo. The fourth and youngest son of King Beron Vanserra, Lucien was young, rich, handsome…and most importantly, single. He would probably remain that way, too, for word on the street was that Lucien was a total flirt. Gallivanting his way across Prythian’s kingdoms, taking on new lovers each week, partying all night long…

Elain grabbed a beignet to-go when she finally clocked out. Gulls squawked in the distance, green-painted trolleys clanged as they rolled by. Mardi Gras revelers walked by, decked out in chic outfits of green, purple, and yellow. With her food-stained yellow apron, worn ballet flats, and frazzled honey-brown hair, Elain felt a pinch of resentment.

Must be nice to never have to work a day in your life. Every year, the promise of generous tips during Mardi Gras dangled before food service workers like a carrot, tricking them into taking extra shifts.

It wasn’t always this way. Elain remembered the Mardi Gras celebrations of her childhood, the way she and her sisters danced to lively jazz and ate their way through delicacies all night long. The Archeron home used to be in the Marigold District, where all the wealthy Fae lived. But then Elain’s mother passed away, leaving her father depressed. Reginald Archeron rallied himself enough to fight in the Hybern War seven years ago, but lost his leg during one of the early battles.

Elain loved her father dearly, but it was plain fact that he had practically given up on life after becoming handicapped. The familial roles had reversed: instead of their father ensuring his daughters’ needs were met, Elain, Feyre, and Nesta were forced to take odd jobs in order to survive. Nesta delivered and occasionally edited for The Colibri Tribune. Feyre cleaned the art studios and landed the occasional art commission. Elain juggled multiple shifts between Roy’s Cafe, the Purple Flamingo Cabaret, and Emile’s Seafood Bar.

Though her shifts were grueling, Elain tried to view them in a positive light. It was career training of sorts: she paid attention to different management styles, brushed up her conversational skills with all sorts of Fae as a waitress, and improved her culinary skills as a cook. Ever since she was a little girl, a riverfront cafe to call her own had been Elain’s dream. When her family fell from wealth seven years ago, that dream was almost lost.

But now, Elain was closer to achieving that dream than ever. She was fairly confident in her capabilities as a cook and waitress. She had strong accounting skills, enough to ensure her restaurant wouldn’t go bankrupt. And more importantly, she had been in serious talks with realtors for a decrepit riverfront pavilion. The pavilion was a little run-down, but it was perfect in Elain’s heart. She juussttt needed a little more money…which was where the Mardi Gras cooking contest would come into play.

Because in addition to the multiple parades, balls, concerts, and parties, Mardi Gras featured local cuisines in a series of cooking concerts.

Today was the jambalaya cooking contest, which was taking place at Firefly Square. Tomorrow, Elain was slated for the baking contest, where she planned to wow the judges with her peach cobbler. The day after, she would participate in the fry contest, having perfected her fried chicken spice rub.

Elain stopped home to briefly freshen up. It was a tiny, cramped space—an utter downgrade from their old home. She and her sisters had squeezed three narrow beds into a room, the sole closet overflowing with clothes. The living room wasn’t much better: Feyre’s art supplies were strewn across every available surface, and Nesta’s second-hand books tilted in precarious stacks. Only the kitchen, Elain’s domain, remained spotlessly clean and organized.

Elain powdered her face, brushed her curls, dabbed a bit of lipstick, and donned a new dress. She needed to look fresh and proper, and a cute face never hurt.

She then hurried to Firefly Square, wheeling a little wagon full of ingredients and her trusty steel pot. Savory dishes were not her specialty, so Elain needed all the luck she could get. However, she was fairly confident that her jambalaya would at least place in the top three. Her best friend, Vassa La Bouff, and her sisters had helped refine the recipe over the last year, and the ladies could be trusted to give their honest opinion.

“Name?” The event attendant held a clipboard at the check-in table.

“Elain Archeron,” Elain replied cheerfully. The event attendant wrote her name on a wooden placard and placed it on the scoring rack. The five judges, a mix of renowned cooks and locals, were seated under a rich purple tent. Onlookers had gathered on the sidelines of Firefly Square to watch the judges sample each entry and announce their points.

Several other participants were already present, busying away at their own cooking stations. While there was no set “start” time due to the participants’ varying culinary skills and recipes, the judges would begin tasting at one o’clock in the afternoon. So Elain got to work.

First, she braided up her honey-brown hair and donned a flowery pink apron. Then, she began expertly mincing: peppers, celery, onion, garlic, and tomatoes. The heated oil sizzled the chicken and sausage, bringing fragrant notes of paprika, bay leaf, and thyme into the air. The meat was taken out, the vegetables added in. Elain cleaned the rice, poured in homemade chicken stock, and added more salt, pepper, and herbs.

Elain stirred the bubbling mixture, using the time to observe the other participants. There were ten competitors total. Some appeared to be seasoned chefs, others looked like novices. Regardless, everybody was making good progress on their jambalaya. And more importantly, everyone looked like they were having fun.

Elain’s mouth watered from the scents wafting from her pot alone. The consistency of her jambalaya was thick, but not mushy—it was all coming together nicely. Elain did a final taste test and smiled. Spicy, savory, and tangy…it was her best pot of jambalaya yet.

The judges seemed to think so, too, when they sampled her dish.

“Wonderful aromas.”

“The chicken is the right amount of tender, Miss Archeron.”

“Tastes just like my grandmother’s home-style jambalaya!”

This—this was exactly why Elain loved to cook: seeing people enjoy her food made her happiest. She was the last contestant up for tasting, which meant the score the judges awarded would be her final placement for the contest. Elain’s breath caught when she tallied up the judges’ marks. Third place…third place! Oh, she was going to walk away with prize money! Elain ducked her head and tried to squash her victorious beam. One step closer to—

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

The most beautiful male Elain had ever seen strode into the courtyard, lugging a steaming pot with bare hands. His skin was a burnished brown, his long red hair tied up in a haphazard bun. She found herself eyeing his corded forearms, exposed thanks to the rolled-up sleeves of his white linen shirt. The male’s straight-legged olive green pants accented his muscled thighs, and his shiny black shoes with their gold details indicated expensive taste.

An entire entourage of Fae, mostly female, had followed the male into Ironwood Square, inevitably shoving Elain to the back.

“It’s Prince Lucien,” the crowd murmured to each other. “What is he doing here?”

Prince Lucien? Well…that explained how he could hold such a hot pot without any oven mitts. The Autumn Kingdom’s royal family possessed fire magic, which meant they could manipulate flame and were essentially immune to burns. Elain even overheard at The Purple Flamingo last night that Autumn males—especially the royal princes—fucked with an intensity that matched the fire in their veins.

Elain had practically snorted upon hearing such words last night, though looking at Prince Lucien now, it was certainly believable. But the delighted giggling of several females when the prince stepped up to the podium snapped Elain out of her reverie. Ugh! Prince Lucien was a playboy at best, a heartbreaker at worst, she reminded herself. No, she would not encourage the fantasies that had been surely planted in her mind thanks to his impromptu appearance, lest she turn into a tittering female over a male like him.

“Good afternoon, honorable judges.” Prince Lucien’s voice was rich and buttery, with a slight accent. For some reason, it reminded Elain of sunlight. He turned towards the crowd, and Elain stifled a gasp upon seeing the scar that ran down his face and cut through his left eye, which had been replaced by a mechanical gold eye. Such a brutal injury, yet the prince was made more handsome even with the scar.

“Welcome, Prince Lucien!” The lead judge leapt to her feet, a wide smile on her face. The crowd cheered again. Some females even screamed hysterically.

Prince Lucien gestured grandly to the entourage that followed him, gold earrings twinkling off the tips of his pointed ears. “I am here to enter the jambalaya competition. As there was no kitchen in my hotel suite, I had to borrow the kitchen at Restaurante Genevieve. Chef Michel and these citizens can attest that I made the jambalaya all on my own.”

The prince peered intently at the scoreboard, already stacked with ten other names and numbers. Elain could have sworn his brows raised in subtle surprise.

“Though I see now that I was tardy…” Prince Lucien trailed off as his eyes swept the crowd, as if he were looking for someone.

“The entry period closed thirty minutes ago but ah…we can make an exception, can we not?” The lead judge said quickly, and the audience clapped in agreement. The other judges nodded eagerly, clearly delighted at the presence of royalty. “Well, Your Highness, we would be honored to sample your jambalaya!”

Elain’s jaw slackened. A prince, participating in a jambalaya contest? She had never heard of such a thing. Royals had their own chefs. They probably wouldn’t even know how to boil an egg.

The prince’s russet and gold eyes were still scanning the square with unusual interest. Elain eyed him skeptically from the back, observing the confident smile on Lucien’s face and the swaggering cut of his broad shoulders. There was the off chance that Prince Lucien possessed culinary skills…but he was from the Autumn Kingdom. He wouldn’t know a thing about authentic jambalaya, Elain told herself. Elain relaxed, knowing she was safe and secure in third place as the judges sampled Lucien’s entree.

“Cauldron, this is absolutely divine!”

“Look at the colors on the spoon! So vibrant, so fresh!”

“I could eat this for the rest of my life and die happy.”

“Last call to score…and…first place! We have a winner!” The crowd cheered raucously.

Elain’s mouth completely fell open when the score attendant placed Prince Lucien Vanserra’s name placard on the top of the board, shifting everybody else down. Which meant…which meant she had been knocked off third place.

Elain was in shock. She wasn’t going to make it to the podium, and she wasn’t going to earn any prize money. Prince Lucien bowed, and then turned to the crowd that had gathered.

“Good food is meant to be shared! Please, feel free to finish the pot!” he announced, voice dripping with pride. More cheers and claps rang out as Elain was jostled out of the way in the mad stampede for the winning jambalaya.

This was not possible. This could not be happening.

Elain’s face grew hot with embarrassment, as she hurriedly packed up her wagon. It was time to go; she could not bear to spend another minute in the square with knowledge of her loss. Elain half-wondered if she should join the crowd and really try Prince Lucien’s jambalaya for herself. It couldn’t be that good. But the notion of a rich, playboy prince edging her off the podium in a cooking contest he had no stakes in was too shameful to consider. She could’ve done better. Should’ve done better.

Elain didn’t look back as she wheeled her wagon home, the rusty wheels click-clacking over the cobblestoned streets. Her half-full pot of jambalaya would become leftovers for her sister and father. At least they didn’t have to spend more money on groceries this week.

Some humility would do her good, Elain knew, as she was not a “professional” chef yet, but gods…would she ever be? If a prince could beat her in a cooking contest? If she couldn’t even win a couple judges’ favor, how was she going to draw the Colibri Fae to her restaurant?

—Later that evening—

After a fitful afternoon nap, Elain decided to stop by her cafe before heading to Vassa’s house. Well, it wasn’t hers yet, but Elain had recently begun treating it as such. She sat on a bench, listening to the lapping of the Mayhaven River, watching the steamboats chugging by.

“I’m almost there,” she whispered to herself. “People are going to come here from everywhere, I’m almost there.” The riverfront pavilion was a shabby brick building that had been a mess hall for dock workers in its previous life. The interior’s open layout would be the perfect place to install a stage for local musicians. Each table would have fresh flowers, the walls would be painted a creamy tan, the big windows would offer river views and plenty of natural light… oh, it was all coming together.

The door swung open. Hudson Jennings, Elain’s realtor, walked out with a folder tucked under his arm. Elain leapt up from her bench, ready to bid him hello. But she froze when a head of red hair ducked through the doorway. No…it couldn’t be…

“Pleasure doing business with you, Your Highness,” Hudson said, shaking Lucien Vanserra’s hand firmly. Even without his entourage of fans, Lucien held himself with a regal grace and winning smile.

“Of course,” Elain could hear the prince respond smoothly. “I look forward to establishing a second residence in Colibri.” Elain could only watch in horror as the realtor handed Lucien a set of keys before parting ways. Keys to her riverfront cafe!

“Mr. Jennings!” Elain ran as fast as her little feet could carry her as soon as Lucien had walked away. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. This must be a bad dream.

“Oh! Miss Archeron!” Hudson blinked his cat-like eyes in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

“Mr. Jennings, did you just sell the property to Lucien?” Elain was breathless. Please say no, please say no, she begged silently.

“Ah, yes I’m afraid I just did.” Hudson patted the folder of papers. “I know, I know…you have been eyeing that property for some time, Miss Archeron, but the prince showed up with ample cash! We have several other properties available in town for your cafe, though. Let us talk more next week.”

“But—” Elain tried to say, then deflated. Her realtor was already walking away. There was no use. Unless she somehow managed to alter Hudson’s memory, rip up the sale papers, and steal the keys from Lucien, the property was gone. And so were her dreams of owning a riverfront cafe.

It seemed the prince was hell-bent on ruining her life. Lucien had fame and fortune, and got everything Elain wanted because of his name. Perhaps Elain had angered the Mother, somehow. For how else could so much go wrong in less than 24 hours?

Elain tried very hard not to cry as she rode the trolley to Vassa’s house. One, she was in public, and ladies did not cry in public. Two, the La Bouff Mardi Gras ball was starting in a few hours. Elain had been looking forward to the event all month, and crying right now would make her eyes puffy.

The La Bouffs resided in the Dorado District, the richest district in all of Colibri. Vassa’s “house” was actually a grand, three-story mansion of pale white marble, elegant columns, iron lace accents, and sweeping gabled roofs. When Elain arrived, the bustle of the musicians tuning their instruments and the servants, the gurgling fountain, and the beautiful lanterns of green, yellow, and purple faelight made her smile. A good party always made her feel more alive, even though she attended very few of them in recent years.

Vassa’s parents were one of the Mardi Gras royalty this year, and had invited Elain to the La Bouff Mardi Gras ball. Vassa was a true friend: she didn’t shun Elain after the Archerons fell into poverty, and for that Elain was eternally grateful. The footmen, used to her comings and goings, offered Elain warm greetings when she entered the mansion via the servants’ gate.

While Elain spent her days working, Vassa spent her days studying. The young La Bouff was finishing her last year at the prestigious Colibri Academy for Witchcraft, and was determined to be the top of her class. The only thing in Vassa’s way? Briallyn, a rival witch from the Continent. During the unfortunate occasions Elain had to interact with Briallyn, Elain felt the witch resembled a beady-eyed lizard.

Elain made her way down the spacious hallway and knocked on Vassa’s bedroom door.

“Elain! I’m so glad you’re here!” Vassa threw her arms around Elain. Her best friend’s orange hair was styled into loose waves, her bright blue eyes already lined with gold shadow. “Come, let us get ready together!”

“Vassa, it’s so good to see you,” Elain sighed, her voice still thick with emotion from earlier.

“What’s wrong?” Vassa asked, her brow creasing with concern. “Was it the jambalaya contest? Did you not get first place? I mean, second place is also fine, and so is third.”

Elain sat down on Vassa’s bed, hugging her knees to her chest. “The jambalaya concert was fine, until Prince Lucien Vanserra showed up at the last minute,” she said bitterly. “I had placed third, but that was before the judges awarded him first place. I got bumped down and I didn’t get any prize money.”

“Oh no,” Vassa rubbed Elain’s back sympathetically. “I’m so sorry, Elain.”

“It’s just not fair!” Elain complained, her face heated with anger. “The judges gave him special treatment, letting him enter the contest even though the judging window had closed! Lucien was cooking off-site, how could anybody truly tell he was the primary chef? And perhaps they didn’t want to upset a prince, so they put him first even though he didn’t deserve it!”

“I see what you mean,” Vassa hummed. “Did you end up tasting his jambalaya? Surely it couldn’t be as good as yours. Those judges must not have working tastebuds.”

“No, but that’s not even the end of it. I found out he bought the riverfront property from Hudson Jennings this afternoon. Vassa, you know how long I’ve been saving up for my cafe! To think the perfect location would be gone, just like that…”

“Cauldron boil and fry him,” Vassa muttered darkly, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Vassa. I know you’ve been looking forward to meeting Prince Lucien, that you want him to court you.” Elain sighed. “I shouldn’t be bad-mouthing him.”

“No, no, no,” Vassa shook her head. “Of course, I want Prince Lucien to court me, have you seen how handsome he is? But, your restaurant is something that I’ve been waiting for ever since we were little girls, Elain…when I see him tonight I will convince him to rescind the purchase.”

“Thanks, Vassa,” Elain smiled, feeling better. What Vassa set her mind to, Vassa achieved. She had no doubt her friend’s beauty and persistence would get the prince to change his mind. “He did say he wanted the property as a second residence.”

“Well! It wouldn’t be too hard to convince him to buy property in other Colibri districts!” Vassa raised her brows excitedly. “He could move in with me.” Vassa jumped to her feet, trying to inject some more life into Elain’s forlorn posture. “Now I know today hasn’t been the best day, Elain. But this ball will turn it all around! I have just the perfect dress for you, and I know you’ll have plenty of males to dance the night away with. It’s in the closet, come see!”

***Lucien***

“Just look at all of this, Jurian,” Lucien said to his best friend when they regrouped after the dance ended. “One of the best parties I’ve been to in a while.”

He had left his entourage of pretty females at the La Bouff mansion gate. Not that it really mattered, since there were even more females inside the ball. The musicians played lively tunes, inviting attendees to kick up their feet and whirl across the marbled outdoor dance floor. The La Bouff Mardi Gras decorations were simply exquisite, from the soft faelight lanterns hanging off trees to the flower arrangements on tables. Fae wine and cocktails flowed freely, wait staff walked around with platters of delicious food.

“Don’t tell Tarquin, but I’m enjoying myself far more here than the Mardi Gras balls in Adriata,” Jurian slurred slightly. The male lifted a pair of deviled eggs off a waiter’s tray and handed one to Lucien. “Though it is positively boiling in Colibri.”

“Of course, we’re near the Bog of Oorid,” Lucien remarked. He had donned an emerald green jacket with embroidered gold leaves at the cuffs, a freshly pressed white shirt, and black pants. The layers made him sweat profusely, though Lucien wicked away the excess moisture with a slight release on the damper of his magic. He looked good, and that was what mattered at the end of the night.

“Gods, I’m so hungry,” Jurian muttered as he inhaled a fried catfish filet within seconds. “They ate all your jambalaya before I could eat some.”

Lucien laughed. “Better clean up those crumbs and drink some mint julep before the next dance, Jurian. The females won’t appreciate fish breath.” Jurian only rolled his eyes as he turned his attention to a slice of Mardi Gras king cake.

Lucien scanned the rows of vendors, looking for the baked goods. But none of the vendors’ name tags read “Elain Archeron”. He sighed inwardly. He had no idea what Elain Archeron looked like, but had been hoping to try some of her famed treats. Tarquin, Prince of Adriata, could not stop talking about the hummingbird cake, peach cobblers, and powdered sugar beignets Elain made when she catered his Mardi Gras event in Adriata last year.

“If you’re visiting Colibri, you must try Elain Archeron’s food,” Tarquin had told him. “Elain’s cafe should be open by now. She is a very kind female as well, and please tell her I said hello.”

Elain Archeron had been one of the jambalaya contestants earlier in the afternoon, but the female did not bother introducing herself to him. Odd.

“Looking for Vassa?” Jurian inquired. Lucien was supposed to meet the Mardi Gras princess and ask her for the first dance, but her parents claimed Vassa was running late for the ball.

“I suppose,” Lucien murmured, even though that was not the case. Jurian knocked back another glass of Fae wine beside him. “Cauldron, Jurian. Save some space for the mint juleps before you get too drunk.”

“Aha! That reminds me…I’ll find those mint juleps while you’re looking for your princess. All this heat has me parched. Be right back.” Jurian clapped Lucien on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Lucien lingered on the side, trying to assess which pretty female he would dance with next, when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. A pale-faced female, with onyx black hair and equally dark eyes, was standing behind him. There was something cunning in her face, something odd Lucien could not quite place. Nevertheless, the female was dressed as one of the wait staff and innocuously offered him a platter of powdered beignets.

“Beignet, Your Highness?” she asked, her voice peppy. “I heard the prince has a sweet tooth.”

“Thank you.” Lucien picked one up with a napkin and absentmindedly brought it to his mouth. It was only when Lucien swallowed his first bite that he realized something was wrong. The beignet was slightly bitter, the powdered sugar chalky on his tongue. Suddenly, everything seemed bigger. Everything was bigger.

Lucien blinked, feeling like his eyes had doubled in size based on how long it took for him to fully blink. The grass…it was eye-level, the blades of green sharp and extra vibrant. His body was hunched over on all fours. He was…a frog?

Oh gods. What the hell just happened?

A looming shadow darkened the space around him. Lucien looked up just in time to see the waitress, monstrously tall with a wicked glint in her eyes, poised to slam a bowl over his head.

Act first, think later.

Booiingg! Lucien moved on instinct, his frog legs launching him into the air like a spring. He dove straight into the crowd of Fae party-goers, stalling the waitress from pursuing him any further.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. That was new. Fear seized Lucien like a vise, the adrenaline sending him into flight mode. Where the hell did Jurian go? Everything was so damn big…the distance he normally crossed in three quick strides now required multiple leaps.

There! Jurian was near the tree line, mint juleps in hand. Lucien hopped towards his friend, gaining more mastery over his new limbs with each leap.

“Jurian!” Lucien blinked, surprised that he still retained the ability to speak. “Jurian! Down here!” he called out, louder this time.

The Fae male above him glanced down and promptly dropped the drinks in shock. Lucien flinched reflexively when minty sweet alcohol rained down, but it didn’t matter any more. As a frog, he had no clothes to protect from spilled drinks.

“Fuck, I must be more drunk than I thought.” Jurian blinked twice and chuckled. “I could have sworn that a frog with Lucien’s voice just spoke to me.”

“That’s because it is me!” Lucien hissed, hopping up and down insistently. “Jurian!”

“Holy shit.” Jurian knelt on the ground, scooping him up in his hands. “Lucien, is that you?”

“How many times do I have to say it’s me?” Lucien grumbled. Jurian’s green-brown eyes peered down.

“Cauldron, you still have your scar and your gold eye. Well, it’s not made of metal anymore, but…fuck.” Jurian lifted Lucien up to perch on his shoulder. Lucien brought a webbed hand to his face, feeling at his left eye. Sure enough, he could see out of both eyes—truly see, without relying on a metal contraption. “Fuck, I probably look like I’ve gone mad, talking to a frog.”

The male took some deep breaths, pacing back and forth. Lucien clung onto Jurian’s purple jacket for dear life. “Jurian, can you stop moving?”

“Sorry. We need another drink.” Jurian swiped two goblets of wine off a passing tray and ducked behind a drooping willow tree. Lucien hopped down, sitting on all fours on top of Jurian’s thigh. “Okay, Lucien. What the fuck happened?”

“I ate a beignet from this waitress, and then I turn into a frog and she’s trying to trap me under a bowl!” Lucien glanced furtively at their surroundings, but did not see the wretched female’s face.

“What did the waitress look like?”

“High Fae. Pale, with black hair and black eyes. She was wearing the La Bouff servant’s uniform.” Jurian’s gaze darkened with protective instinct.

“Why would she put a curse on you?”

Lucien shrugged. “Not sure. She knew who I was, though, so that’s strange. I’m Beron’s youngest son, with a slim path to the throne. What good would come out of cursing me?”

“Perhaps she wanted money. Ransom a prince, you know.”

“As if Beron would pay more than a couple coppers to get me back,” Lucien said bitterly.

“You’re right, your father is a bastard.” Jurian frowned. “Could you undo the curse yourself?”

“I can try.” Now that he had Jurian to keep watch, Lucien closed his eyes and tried to tunnel deep down into his well of magic. He had always had a knack for spells and curses. It wasn’t like that of witches, who required specific ingredients, tools, and conditions to generate any effect. Rather, it was pure magic—power that stemmed from being the son of a High Lord.

He found the dark stain of the curse, but despite all his efforts to extract it, the stain remained stubbornly present. It was as if it was interwoven into his very essence. Lucien yanked and prodded and threw wave after wave of magic against it, but to no avail.

“It’s not working,” he announced glumly.

“We should find the La Bouffs…tell them that one of their staff, or the food they served, turned the visiting Autumn Prince into a frog,” Jurian proposed, his fists clenching with concern. “If they cannot resolve this, then they should be held liable.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Lucien replied dryly. “Lord and Lady La Bouff can only do so much. But Vassa…she’s studying to be a witch. I heard she’s the top of her class…perhaps she could assist with undoing the curse.”

“Perhaps,” Jurian mused doubtfully.

Lucien hopped onto the rim of the wine goblet and stuck his tongue into the chilled liquor. The sweet and tangy notes were far more sensational thanks to his new taste buds. Unfortunately, his added weight was an imbalance to the delicate stem, and Lucien promptly tipped backwards. Red wine poured over his entire underside, drenching him.

Jurian began to laugh.

“You know frogs absorb liquid from their underbelly skin, right? You’ll be drunk in no time.” Lucien stuck his tongue out at Jurian and rolled around the grass for a bit, trying to clean himself off. “I suppose Vassa would be glad to help a prince for fame, or fortune.”

“Also, we have the old tale of princesses kissing frog princes,” Lucien reminded Jurian. “With the laws governing witch magic, it’s very likely that this curse follows the same path of resolution.”

Jurian snorted. “Good luck trying to convince a princess—even if it’s a Mardi Gras princess—to kiss a frog. We are better off pleading directly.”

Lucien tried to grin, but it felt strange with a new mouth and new facial muscles. “You seem to underestimate me, Jurian.”

“Let’s bet on it: if you can get the princess to kiss you, I’ll walk Eris’s dogs for the next month.”

“I do enjoy a challenge. I offer you this, just for fun. If the princess kisses you, Jurian, then I’ll buy you a new sword. Out of Illyrian steel.” Lucien stood on his hind legs, straightening his back and tilting his chin up with the regal air of a prince. Jurian rolled his eyes.

“As if a princess would want to kiss a lowly Autumn Kingdom foot soldier over its prince.”

“I beg to differ, Jurian. I’m a frog this time…I think that evens the playing field.” Lucien winked. “Besides, stop discrediting yourself. You’re one of our most skilled warriors. Anyways…best of luck, I’m off to find the princess!”

“You bastard,” Jurian muttered darkly, shaking his head with amusement. He finished his wine in two large gulps, holding the empty glass up in a mock toast. “I would say I hope you lose, but life would also be boring if you were stuck in frog form.”

With that, Lucien hopped off towards the La Bouff mansion. There was a slim chance Vassa was still getting ready for the party—truly, females needed all the time possible plus more for these elaborate events.

Most of the ball’s festivities were taking place in the garden and first floor, and Lucien could hear Lord and Lady La Bouff—the Dorado Mardi Gras King and Queen—chatting with guests. That meant the light emanating from the window on the second floor was none other than Vassa La Bouff’s.

Clinging to small nooks in the marble, scaling up vine to vine—which was made harder thanks to his slippery frog mucus, Lucien made his way to the golden window.

Princess Vassa was standing on the balcony, and simply put, she was the most beautiful female Lucien had ever seen.

The female’s wide eyes were cast towards the heavens, her expression a mixture of hope and despair. Honey-brown hair was swept up into an artful bun studded with luminous pearls. A tiara of rose gold rested on her brow, glittering in the moonlight. Her soft curves and elegant shoulders were accented by a strapless lavender gown with a heart-shaped neckline.

“Please, please, please,” the ethereal princess whispered, clasping her gloved hands to her chest. “Please.”

Lucien hopped closer, the world spinning out of view. Ah, damn it. The alcohol was kicking in faster than he’d anticipated. Princely charm now had to be mobilized in full force if he wanted to receive a kiss.

He cleared his throat, but only a ribbet came out. The princess glanced down, spotting him. Gods, she was beautiful. Those doe brown eyes, that golden skin still warm under the silver moon, and those pretty rosebud lips that hooked Lucien in like a moth to a flame.

“If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask.”

[highlordofkrypton]

the justice league's moms' book club's guide to vampire slaying, a martha kent, alfred pennyworth, atlanna & hippolyta fanfic

Chapter 3 - Atlanna

“We’ll probably be there by mid,” Atlanna pauses, blocking the ear that isn’t covered by the phone receiver. 

“We’ll probably be—” She stops again. 

This is ridiculous. 

Atlanna once boasted being the most disciplined and fiercest warrior in Atlantis, but she cannot focus. Her home is sheer chaos, worse than it had been when her boys were children. The bickering is incessant and whenever she looks over her shoulder, her husband sits quietly beneath total war.

“I’m so sorry, Martha, give me one moment.” She can hear her friend laughing on the other line, clearly hearing the nonsensical argument in the background.

“The Little Mermaid takes place in Atlantica!”

“Yes, but their genetics are congruent with the Fishermen, not Atlanteans.”

“Their upper halves are human! Everyone assumes Atlanteans would have fish-bottoms.”

“That is offensive and prejudiced! To think, you are the chosen hair. I cannot let this go on. I, Orm Marius, challenge you, Arthur Curry, for the throne of Atlantis,” Atlanna’s youngest son tips his trident towards his older brother, lip curled in a snarl. It’s the fourth challenge this week, and though he really, really means it, this is Atlanna’s house and she has voided every single one.

“Boys! What did I say about tridents in the house?”

“Mother!”

“Mom!”

“I am on the phone . Behave. You are both in your thirties, yet you bicker like children.” Atlanna snaps, embarrassed. She has raised them better than this. For Atlan’s sake, they can at least give her husband peace. Tom is simply trying to watch television.

“Okay, but can you settle this?” Arthur pleads, looking at his mother with big puppy-eyes. The kind of expression that Orm admonishes.

“I do not know why you are so concerned with The Little Mermaid when Atlantis: The Lost Kingdom is far too close to the Kingdom of Bright Lights. The imagining of our technology should be worrying, considering Atlantis’ desire to stay hidden from the surface.” Atlanna glances at her phone, worried that she’s making her friend wait. 

“That is because Atlantis: The Lost Kingdom is a documentary,” Orm supplies.

“No, it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

Atlanna sighs, stretching the phone’s cord as far as it can go into the other room. “I am so sorry, Martha. Ever since they were reunited, they have been reliving much of their missed childhood, including the bickering.”

Across the line, Martha laughs. “Oh, it’s alright. I’ve always wished for Clark to have a brother. It’s nice to hear Arthur reconnecting with his.”

“Trust me. This gets very old very quickly,” she laughs with great affection. No matter how stubborn they are, she loves her boys. “Now, where were we?”

“Yes, so Clark and Barry have left. We are home free. Alfred said he’ll be here shortly after lunch, around one to be exact. Does that still work for you?”

Between the four of them, they’ve decided to keep their get-together a secret. Their children have been in League—pun intended—with one another for years , and yet as their parents, they have been reluctant to befriend one another. Not as a group. Martha has always been close to Alfred, and Atlanna’s history with Hippolyta is enduring, but it had always felt like they were one facet of their children’s lives—a secret to be kept like their civilian identities.

“It’s been over a century since Hippolyta has ventured into man’s world, and the last time, she only emerged from her home to save it. I cannot promise that she will take well to it this time, but I will try to make it on time. Is there anything I should bring?”

“Just yourself and Lyta. I think you’ve already got enough on your plate with just that,” Martha laughs softly. “I can’t wait. It will be nice to be all together, just the oldies.”

“I prefer the term ‘well-seasoned’.”

“That makes us sound like a plate of food!”

“That’s the whole point. Has Clark not told you? You look like a snack. Truly, the highest surface compliment I have ever heard.”

“Arthur is rubbing off on you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll see you soon. Hopefully, with Hippolyta in tow. We are still keeping it a secret from the children, yes?”

“Please. It’ll be nice to be just… us.”

[orthodoxydaily]

SAINTS&READING: WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 2024

august 29_september 11

THE BEHEADING OF THE PROPHET FORERUNNER OF THE LORD , JOHN THE BAPTIST

The Beheading of the Prophet, Forerunner of the Lord, John the Baptist: The Evangelists Matthew (Mt.14:1-12) and Mark (Mark 6:14-29) provide accounts about the martyric end of John the Baptist in the year 32 after the Birth of Christ.

Following the Baptism of the Lord, Saint John the Baptist was locked up in prison by Herod Antipas, the Tetrarch (ruler of one fourth of the Holy Land) and governor of Galilee. (After the death of king Herod the Great, the Romans divided the territory of Palestine into four parts, and put a governor in charge of each part. Herod Antipas received Galilee from the emperor Augustus).

The prophet of God John openly denounced Herod for having left his lawful wife, the daughter of the Arabian king Aretas, and then instead cohabiting with Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip (Luke 3:19-20). On his birthday, Herod made a feast for dignitaries, the elders and a thousand chief citizens. Salome, the daughter of Herod, danced before the guests and charmed Herod. In gratitude to the girl, he swore to give her whatever she would ask, up to half his kingdom.

The vile girl on the advice of her wicked mother Herodias asked that she be given the head of John the Baptist on a platter. Herod became apprehensive, for he feared the wrath of God for the murder of a prophet, whom earlier he had heeded. He also feared the people, who loved the holy Forerunner. But because of the guests and his careless oath, he gave orders to cut off the head of Saint John and to give it to Salome.

According to Tradition, the mouth of the dead preacher of repentance once more opened and proclaimed: “Herod, you should not have the wife of your brother Philip.” Salome took the platter with the head of Saint John and gave it to her mother. The frenzied Herodias repeatedly stabbed the tongue of the prophet with a needle and buried his holy head in a unclean place. But the pious Joanna, wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, buried the head of John the Baptist in an earthen vessel on the Mount of Olives, where Herod had a parcel of land. (The Uncovering of the Venerable Head is celebrated February 24). The holy body of John the Baptist was taken that night by his disciples and buried at Sebastia, there where the wicked deed had been done.

After the murder of Saint John the Baptist, Herod continued to govern for a certain time. Pontius Pilate, governor of Judea, later sent Jesus Christ to him, Whom he mocked (Luke 23:7-12).

The judgment of God came upon Herod, Herodias and Salome, even during their earthly life. Salome, crossing the River Sikoris in winter, fell through the ice. The ice gave way in such a way that her body was in the water, but her head was trapped above the ice. It was similar to how she once had danced with her feet upon the ground, but now she flailed helplessly in the icy water. Thus she was trapped until that time when the sharp ice cut through her neck.

Her corpse was not found, but they brought the head to Herod and Herodias, as once they had brought them the head of Saint John the Baptist. The Arab king Aretas, in revenge for the disrespect shown his daughter, made war against Herod. The defeated Herod suffered the wrath of the Roman emperor Caius Caligua (37-41) and was exiled with Herodias first to Gaul, and then to Spain.

The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist, a Feast day established by the Church, is also a strict fast day because of the grief of Christians at the violent death of the saint. In some Orthodox cultures pious people will not eat food from a flat plate, use a knife, or eat food that is round in shape on this day.

Today the Church makes remembrance of Orthodox soldiers killed on the field of battle, as established in 1769 at the time of Russia’s war with the Turks and the Poles.

Acts 13:25-32

25 And as John was finishing his course, he said, 'Who do you think I am? I am not He. But behold, there comes One after me, the sandals of whose feet I am not worthy to loose.' 26 Men and brethren, sons of the family of Abraham, and those among you who fear God, to you the word of this salvation has been sent. 27 For those who dwell in Jerusalem, and their rulers, because they did not know Him, nor even the voices of the Prophets which are read every Sabbath, have fulfilled them in condemning Him. 28 And though they found no cause for death in Him, they asked Pilate that He should be put to death. 29 Now when they had fulfilled all that was written concerning Him, they took Him down from the tree and laid Him in a tomb. 30 But God raised Him from the dead. 31 He was seen for many days by those who came up with Him from Galilee to Jerusalem, who are His witnesses to the people. 32 And we declare to you glad tidings-that promise which was made to the fathers.

Mark 6:14-30

14 Now King Herod heard of Him, for His name had become well known. And he said, "John the Baptist is risen from the dead, and therefore these powers are at work in him." 15 Others said, "It is Elijah." And others said, "It is the Prophet, or like one of the prophets." 16 But when Herod heard, he said, "This is John, whom I beheaded; he has been raised from the dead!" 17 For Herod himself had sent and laid hold of John, and bound him in prison for the sake of Herodias, his brother Philip's wife; for he had married her. 18 Because John had said to Herod, "It is not lawful for you to have your brother's wife." 19 Therefore Herodias held it against him and wanted to kill him, but she could not; 20 for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a just and holy man, and he protected him. And when he heard him, he did many things, and heard him gladly. 21 Then an opportune day came when Herod on his birthday gave a feast for his nobles, the high officers, and the chief men of Galilee. 22 And when Herodias' daughter herself came in and danced, and pleased Herod and those who sat with him, the king said to the girl, "Ask me whatever you want, and I will give it to you." 23 He also swore to her, "Whatever you ask me, I will give you, up to half my kingdom." 24 So she went out and said to her mother, "What shall I ask?" And she said, "The head of John the Baptist!" 25 Immediately she came in with haste to the king and asked, saying, "I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter." 26 And the king was exceedingly sorry; yet, because of the oaths and because of those who sat with him, he did not want to refuse her. 27 Immediately the king sent an executioner and commanded his head to be brought. And he went and beheaded him in prison, 28 brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl; and the girl gave it to her mother. 29 When his disciples heard of it, they came and took away his corpse and laid it in a tomb. 30 Then the apostles gathered to Jesus and told Him all things, both what they had done and what they had taught.

Source: Orthodox Church in America_OCA

[usagirln12003]

Camilo Madrigal: Hogwarts AU

Camilo Madrigal is a Pureblood (Metamorphmagus) wizard that was born on the 28th of December 1971 and started attending Hogwarts on the 1st of September 1983, being sorted into Ravenclaw House.

He has a Spruce wand with a Unicorn Hair core.

His Patronus is a Chameleon.

His favorite subject is Transfiguration and his least favorite subject is History of Magic.

He was one of the Ravenclaw Chasers from his fourth year onward.

Described as a "theater kid" and natural entertainer, Camilo is a fun-loving, easy-going, and energetic teenager. Unlike his quiet older sister and his timid younger brother, Camilo is more extroverted than them and the one that takes after their spirited parents the most. Social and charismatic, he is on good terms with many at Hogwarts, displaying a charming attitude when he interacts with them and having several friends in his year. While not boastful or vain, Camilo enjoys the spotlight and has a good sense of humor with a penchant for dramatic movements, such as twirls or exaggerating stories based on rumors (his tales about Bruno) for flair. Camilo likes to use his Metamorphmagus abilities to entertain and prank people, constantly trying to impress everyone. He is noted to enjoy eating, particularly food by his aunt Julieta, and is seen trying to sneak seconds by pretending to be Dolores and serving herself much larger plates than any adult in the family. When he is not playing pranks or helping his friends and loved ones out, Camilo loves quidditch and enjoys playing mostly with the company of Casa Madrigal or friends from Hogwarts.

Young and still discovering himself, Camilo enjoys using his shapeshifting ability to try different personas and playing pranks or playfully teasing his relatives. Of all the family members, his cousin Isabela is notably the person he enjoys teasing the most, acting like an annoying younger sibling towards her. He consecutively mocks Isabela for her relationship to Mariano and every time the man is mentioned, Camilo shapeshifts into him to annoy her, much to her frustration. Another person that Camilo likes to tease and mock is his father Félix, as seen before Antonio's Hogwarts letter arrives when he transformed into him and repeated his father's words in an amusing manner. Also to some extent, he may enjoy dramatizing about his uncle Bruno as a creepy and evil monster, though it's possible they are not out of any truly malicious feeling towards him. While mischievous and a bit impertinent, Camilo's antics are harmless and are simply playful in nature, often taking to being caught or scolded by his father in good stride, such as responding with a good-natured "worth a shot". When Isabela jinxes him for his teasing, he merely chuckles a sheepish look on his face, showing no annoyance when caught when he does mischief.

Despite his wisecracking and impish demeanor, Camilo has a very tender, sweet, and responsible side, especially towards his family. Much like Mirabel, Camilo is good with children and infants, frequently using his shapeshifting abilities to play with them and care for them as a way to make quick cash during the summer, and also a caring brother to Antonio, as he tries to help him relax when he is awaiting his Hogwarts letters by jokingly impersonating their father. In a family photo, he has his arm lovingly around him and then, when the family loses their house during the Fourth Wizarding War, Camilo pushed past his own pain of losing his home to worry over how Antonio was feeling. Unlike how he constantly teases his father, Camilo is very sweet to his mother Pepa and it is clear that he is very close to her, to the point of being nicknamed "Mamá's Boy". While dealing with his emotional mother, he treats her in a soothing manner when trying to get her to calm down and puts up with being accidentally cursed by her without complaining. When Mirabel tries to go after the families' Candle heirloom in the crumbling mansion, Camilo (along with Isabela) runs after her to help her get it and save the heirloom because all his life Abuela Alma has told them that it is the most important object in their family, demonstrating his protective drive to help his family.

While not addressed often, Camilo does suffer from pressure and has insecurities like much of his family, though he hides it under his cheerful demeanor. Although he enjoys his life at Hogwarts, it makes him questions his sense of self, and constantly shapeshifting for others does tire him out. When the secret about Bruno's vision and the impending destruction of the family mansion is revealed, Camilo is visibly stressed and was clutching his entire head in fear. His rare moments of stress can affect his Metamorphmagi magic, such as him involuntarily changing into a baby's head. Although he likes to exaggerate his expressions when he transforms into other people, Camilo himself displays a dry wit. After being sad about losing their home, Camilo snarkily emphasizes that the family is left homeless and protested not being allowed to speak the truth as he points to the rubble of the house with an incredibly neutral expression. During his first years at Hogwarts, Camilo's personality was notably more rude, sassy, sarcastic, and arrogant than during his later years at Hogwarts. At Mariano and Isabela's failed proposal dinner, Camilo happily tells his father about Bruno's vision and Mirabel hears him wondering if she's going to make him lose his quidditch trophy, but in reality Camilo was nervous because the family was in danger. After the mansion collapses, Camilo makes an unflattering and cruel comment about Mirabel when they are in the ruins of the house, but he later starts regretting this while worrying about Antonio.

[ally-notebook]

Celine

Bonus!:

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You can find close ups and better quality pictures on the wiki!

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[ID: Six screenshots of Celine from Fire Emblem: Engage, featuring her pages from the in game ally notebook. The first screenshot, there is a polaroid of Celine on the left page, draped in her green and white dress with black and peach accents, the picture cut off at her thighs. Her head is tilted slightly to her left, and her left hand rests gently on her chest. The polaroid is held to the page by a bronze wax seal, a butterfly etched into it. The page on the right reads as follows:

Celine. Initial Class: Noble. Birthday: December 18th. Basic Info: Princess of Firene and Alfred's younger sister. She joined the Divine Dragon in Florra, bringing along her retainers and the Ring of the Caring Princess.

The second screenshot is of the ext few pages of the ally notebook. On the left page, there is a polaroid of Celine holding a fire tome in her right hand, left hand outstretched to the viewer, a relaxed smile on her face. The polaroid is held to the page by a silver wax seal, a butterfly etched into it. The page on the right reads as follows:

Likes: tea parties, reading, fashion, black tea, birds, flowers, her allies' happiness. Dislikes: spicy food, war, weapons, overwhelming happiness, forced positivity.

In the third screenshot, there's another polaroid of Celine, this time wearing an outfit that can be bought from the clothing vendor in the game. The outfit consists of dark blue sleeves with white details along the wrists with ruffles, and a sky blue dress with an orange sash around the waist that reaches the floor. Silver vine details adorn the torso, and dark blue buttons matching the sleeves trail down from the collar. She is speaking to someone who is not shown in the photo, left hand raised in a gesture. The polaroid is held to the page by a gold wax seal with the same simple butterfly. The page on the right reads as follows:

Hobbies: hosting tea parties. Talents: identifying teas. Background: At a young age, she was a bit of a crybaby. When her father, the late king, died, she hardened herself in order to support her mother and brother.

In the fourth screenshot, there's another polaroid of Celine on the left page. She kneels before pink and white flowers in a bush, gently reaching out both her hands to touch the petals. She wears her casual clothes, a small dress with a white apron with green and peach detailing, her sleeves shorter and poofier, yet still her crown remains. She wears an amber necklace held in silver. The page on the right reads as follows:

Height: 5'11". Ring Size: 3.5 | G 1/4. Personality: Kind but shrewd. Studying comes easily to her, though she doesn't shrink from battle. Worries about Alfred and has the sharpest tongue in the army.

In the fifth screenshot, there is another polaroid of Celine on the left, held to the page by a seal with the same butterfly, yet now the seal is half blue and half red, melting together in the middle. She stands against a blue sky, puffy white clouds circling overhead. She stands pulled into herself, one hand on her chest with the pact ring glimmering on her middle finger. The page on the right reads as follows:

Life with Celine: has tea with the Divine Dragon daily. They support each other even through tragedies n battle. She keeps the Pact Ring on a peony-shaped pedestal, though she always wears it when they're together.

In the sixth and final screenshot, the Divine Dragon is standing over the momentos drawer, looking at the gift that Celine has given them in return for the pact ring. It is a simple white tea set, complete with a tall teapot and two teacups on their plates lined in peach detailing of flowers. The textbox on screen reads as follows:

An impressively fancy tea set from Celine. She gave it to me so that we'd have matching sets for our tea parties.

End ID.]

[stackofstories]

shotgun rider | chapter 2

Like the rest of the Great Hall, Blaise watched as Harry made his way to the stool where the sorting hat sat.

McGonagall, a tall severe severe-looking witch, dropped the hat onto Harry’s head. The hall went quiet. The type of quiet where even breathing felt too loud.

Blaise crossed his fingers. Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin. Anywhere but Slyther--

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted to the entire hall.

Blaise twitched as the whole of Gryffindor let out a single thunderous roar of approval. Harry’s sorting brought out the loudest cheer by far. Thank Merlin—Blaise’s galloping heart calmed. Harry was a Gryffindor.

Look, Harry’s half Weasley. Blaise watched the string of redheads orbit Harry. The youngest Weasley squeezed next to Harry in minutes completing the set. Harry would forget about him by night’s end.

And then, it was his turn. Blaise felt the barest touch of the worn felt on his braids before the old thing was screeching Slytherin. As long as it wasn’t Gryffindor, Blaise was pleased.

When he joined the Slytherin table, the Headmaster got to his feet.

“Welcome,” Albus Dumbledore said. “Welcome to the new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment. Tweak!”

“Thank you!”

Dumbledore sat down. The Slytherins politely clapped.

“Dumbledore knows gobbledygook?” Blaise asked. It was a notoriously difficult language.

“Well. He is Dumbledore,” an older year with a milk complexion as if that explained everything. “I heard he also knows Mermish.”

That didn’t surprise Blaise. He could very well imagine his floral robe-wearing Headmaster caterwauling and screeching with the best of them.

“Mad,” Blaise said.

The older year gave him a rueful curved smile.

All thoughts of their eccentric Headmaster fled with the appearance of food. English food appeared on the gleaming serving plates: roast beef, lamb chops, pork chops, roast potatoes, chips, etc. There was enough for seconds, thirds, and fourths if one was feeling particularly gluttonous.

Blaise thought of arancini.

When Mamma was around she cooked his favorites. He thought of last night and himself seated at her right side. Her dark skin glowed like the best of Tahitian pearls and her golden hoop earrings caught the fireplace light. He had gorged himself on her arancini hoping to keep a part of her with him when he went away.

Blaise shook his head. He piled his plate with fried fish and chips. With a dash of vinegar, it wasn’t the worst thing he had ever tasted.

Blaise nibbled on a chip. He looked over at the Gryffindor table and saw the curly-haired ghost from earlier with his head pulled to the side hanging on by a sliver of ghostly skin and marrow. Nearly Headless Nick, Blaise abruptly remembered. How had Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington become nearly headless again?

His stare moved from jolly old Nicholas to Harry beside him. His moss-green eyes were curved and he was smiling and talking and laughing.

Blaise swallowed. He turned and focused on Malfoy prattling away doing his best to ignore their House lar—the horrific Bloody Baron—haunting his shoulder.

“— yes. Cousin Livia goes to Ilvermorny. It’s the premier school in America but Hogwarts is the best wizarding school in the world,” Malfoy said.

Blaise held back a snort. That was categorically untrue. The best schools were in Alexandria and Shanghai. But Malfoy was no more likely to be admitted than Blaise had of being a dementor. Blaise ate another chip.

“There was never a question about my attendance even if Father is worried about the rise of riffraff. Father will be talking to the education board, of course.”

Of course. With the last two wars, the crown jewel of wixen British society – the Blacks – dwindled into a nearly defunct House. In their place stepped in the Malfoys and so had many lesser House like Nott, Parkinson, Bulstrode, Flint, Crabbe, and Goyle. Their names became synonymous with power and prestige in place of the old like Rosier, Avery, Yaxley, Lestrange, and Gaunt. Malfoy and his ilk now sat at the head of the table, but from Blaise’s perspective, it was more of the same, just another wheel turn.

The connections Blaise was meant to curry if he stayed in British society.

Blaise stole one more glance at Harry. Curious green met his.

Blaise broke the connection.

Harry was going to be trouble. He minded his own business.

_

Blaise might have considered Harry’s thoughts on the matter.

_

Harry wobbled on the seat next to him placing his bag under the table.

“Do you want to have tea with Hagrid and me this afternoon? Ron is coming along.” Harry ducked down and fiddled with the brass scale.

Blaise stared at Harry incredulously until the boy wonder looked up at him. Doubt in his eyes.

“You do have Friday afternoons off, right?”

Blaise made a noise in the back of his throat. Harry wasn’t this dense. Couldn’t be.

“Why are you sitting over here?” he asked.

“Er, Snape told us to partner up for the pimple–”

“Boil.”

“— potion, and.” Harry faltered, licking his lips. “And well, it’s been a lot. How have you been?”

How have I been? Blaise rolled the question around in his head. Competing answers crowded his tongue. He shook his head, glancing over his shoulder to see his head of house, Severus Snape, make a sharp turn toward their direction.

Blaise wanted none of Snape’s ire though he was sure because he was there Snape would be a little less intense. But Snape also disliked Harry from the jump.

“It has been a lot.” Blaise agreed. “Can you weigh the nettles? I’ll bring the cauldron to a simmer.”

“It’s wicked though, right? I never want to go back to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Ron’s older brother, George or Fred, I don’t know—one of the twins told me that Slytherins were stuck in the dungeons. Do you know about the moving stairs and the portraits that talk? It’s almost like telly. Have you watched telly? I tried explaining that to Ron and he looked at me like I belonged in an institution. And we have to say a password to get into our common room, do you guys also have a password?”

Blaise blinked at his simmering pot. Once more reminded of the train ride and what exactly Harry was trying to tell him. Harry talked a lot but not the self-assured chatter of Malfoy. It felt hurried and unpracticed like Harry was trying to tell him everything all at once as if he were going to die or go away for a long time.

“We do have a password and you remember we share classes. I have been on the stairs,” Blaise said. He held out his hand for the dried nettles then set Harry on crushing the snake fangs– “No, crush the fangs into a fine powder not just pieces,”– while he stewed the horned slug.

Snape arrived at their table. His dark eyes swept over Harry and their potion. Snape’s sallow skin held the barest hint of red to match his sneer. He offered no biting criticisms but no praises.

It was not because Snape was bereft of words. A table over, Snape’s weighty whisper transformed into stirring praise for Malfoy’s technique for stewing slugs. Blaise contained his eye roll.

“Of course, Snape would like that prat,” Harry muttered darkly. “They go together like peanut butter and jelly.”

Blaise bit back a laugh. He continued stirring his potion, glancing over at the other table to check their progress. He froze. “Stop Longbottom.” He hissed at Harry. “The porcupine needles.”

“Neville! No!” Harry raised his voice. “Don’t put the needles into the potion.”

“B-but it says too,” Longbottom said.

Snape sauntered over. A dark cloud brewed on his face. “Idiot boy!” he spat. “The needles go in after taking the cauldron off the fire. Your incompetence would have sent you to the hospital wing though I suppose some might need a more hands-on lesson.”

Tears filled Longbottom’s cow eyes.

Snape banished the potion, growling. “Since I can’t trust you with a cauldron maybe you’ll be a better hand at writing. An essay on why a close reading of potion instructions is fundamental will be due next class.”

Snape whipped around to Harry. “You – Potter – thought you could play hero in the classroom and do Longbottom’s work for him? Anoth--”

“Professor.” Blaise stood as tall as possible. His face smoothed down into nothing, revealing nothing despite the chaotic confusion bubbling inside of him. He knew better. He was raised better but it was out in the world and there was no putting the genie back in the lamp. “I advised Harry to help Longbottom and his partner.”

Snape looked at him with his black eyes. They reminded Blaise of lake waters and their murky depths.

“In the future, concern yourself with only your potion.”

“Sir.” Blaise bowed his head.

Snape turned to the rest of the class, snapping. “You have an hour left on your potions. Any table with less than an Acceptable Boil Brew will be joining Longbottom in writing an essay.”

Harry gleamed like goblin gold when Snape went to harass another student. “You stuck up for me,” Harry whispered with a toothy smile.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter,” Blaise said tightly.

The chaotic confusion inside of him shifted into jitters in the bottom of his stomach like hot stones.

“No one has defended me before.”

Blaise closed his eyes and inhaled. Harry needed to stop telling him bits and pieces.

“I’m not writing that essay.” Blaise shook his head. “Let’s focus.”

An hour later, they were finally out of the Potions classroom. Harry was hot on his heels like a duckling. That was another thing. Harry had little concept of personal space. He was always skirting too close.

The youngest Weasley caught up to them. His book bag was worn and full of stitched patches. He and Weasley exchanged appraising looks.

“I can’t believe you left me with Hermione,” Weasley faced Harry. “She’s such a know-it-all.”

“Got you out of writing though,” Harry said. “Cheer up.”

Weasley sighed. “Is he going to Hagrid’s with us?”

He was obviously him. Blaise adjusted his satchel strap across his chest. “I hate to decline. My hair. It’s Wash Day.”

Before they could answer, or in Harry’s case protest, Blaise spun on his heel and walked away. His mind raced. Harry wasn’t going to disappear as easily as he had thought.

[merge-conflict]

catch for us the foxes

cyberhanami day 3: "love is blindness"

content warning: none, just pure fluff :)

Valentine/Goro

summary: Five times Valentine and Goro ignored each other's flaws, and one time they didn't.

The Coffee

If there was one thing about Abernathy that V could still appreciate, it was her commitment to stocking her conference room with the best array of coffee Night City could offer, freshly ground and pleasingly presented. Their weekly status meeting was immeasurably improved by the aroma alone, and it was the one day of the week that she was eager to reach work early. Still, no matter how early she managed to arrive, Goro was nearly always there before her, looking well rested and without a hair out of place.

This morning was much the same, and V slid into her chair, trying not to stare at his back as he busied himself making his usual cup. Once, he had talked at great length about the virtues of tea, from the plant to the processing to the ritual of consuming it, and so it was only with great difficulty that she endured the sight of him configuring the machine to brew the ugliest, thickest, oiliest brew of coffee it could create only to cut it with an obscene amount of milk and sugar. That he viewed even the finest coffee only as a convenient source of caffeine was endurable, but to watch him produce such a monstrosity in front of her was too much to bear.

V dove into the sanctuary of her interface instead, opening her neglected inbox and sorting through the newest wave of emails. So distracted was she that the sound of a heavy mug clinking onto the table made her jump. She dismissed her interface to find her preferred blend steaming gently in front of her. It was brewed to perfection, smooth and with just the barest hints of chocolate, without being muddled by pointless additives. Goro, settling into the seat across from her, returned her smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling momentarily before Abernathy entered the room.

2. “Food”

The past few weeks had been illuminating in several respects when it came to understanding the daily life of office drones, but Goro sometimes wished he had remained ignorant. He didn’t often have a reason to spend much time in the special operations war room, thankfully, and so was able to avoid the pervasive aura of stress and body odor– but what time V did not spend cloistered with Abernathy in her office she spent here. It gave him the opportunity to observe her in her natural work environment.

Normally she always knew when he walked into a room unless his interface was running silent, but it had been twenty minutes and she was still oblivious to anything outside of her computer screen. From the looks of her and her companions, they’d been working in the room since the previous night, no doubt poring over the data that had recently been recovered.

V stood abruptly, as though summoned by something, with the same determined look in her eyes that she had when she had decided to stab someone. Her aim today, however, was the small table shoved in the far corner of the room which served as a mini-canteen, stacked with all manner of plastic-wrapped garbage, all of which could scarcely be called food. She walked by him twice without noticing him, returning to her workstation with a plate stacked with two grayish lumps, which he supposed were intended to resemble burritos.

He could not help but watch in fascinated horror as she sat back down and proceeded to methodically eat both, one after the other, with exactly the same number of bites– as though it were something she had done many times before. It was entirely revolting, and yet, when she had finished she sat back with a privately satisfied smile which reminded him how she had stolen his heart. If he tuned his hearing and listened closely he could just pick out the faint sound of her humming, and he had to look away, or risk breaking into his own smile.

3. User Experience

After the fourth time Goro frowned at the tablet in his hands, tapping at it with growing frustration, V had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying anything. No matter how long he wrestled with technology, he was incredibly resistant to even the gentlest suggestion of assistance– the only way she’d found to help was to intercept him before he became entangled, a point which had long since come and gone. If they had not been within the confines of an office, she was almost entirely certain he would have snapped the tablet in half, and only his strong sense of dignity and propriety was keeping him from doing so now.

He swore under his breath, and then looked up too quickly for her to pretend she had not been watching. “Whoever made this software should be retired.”

“The menu options aren’t laid out very well,” she said, diplomatically.

“The menu?” he repeated, as though she had said something incredibly stupid. He managed to rein himself in somewhat, although he was still over-enunciating, which was a clear sign of his anger. “It is not the menu. I cannot get the blueprint to correctly rotate.”

V’s hands twitched, and she raised them enough to show him the gesture as she said, “Perhaps the screen is glitchy?”

He frowned deeply, inhaling before he set his jaw, the muscle at his temple jumping. To her great surprise he held the tablet out to her, although he looked like he would have preferred to hurl it into the nearest wall. “Show me.”

She kept her face neutral as she took it from him. The diagram he was looking at was rotating around some arbitrary point rather than the center, which was causing some strange behavior because of its size. Although the fix was rather simple she deliberately slowed her taps as she sorted through the menus and locked several of the settings to prevent the same sort of mistake before she corrected it and handed it back to him.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

“One of the techs must have configured it wrong,” she lied, with a dismissive gesture. “Happens more often than you would think.”

“Hm.” He exhaled through his nose. “Thank you.”

“You’re the one getting me out of that office. She’s in a fine mood today,” she said, which was only partially true. “I should be thanking you.”

His expression softened, annoyance dissolving. “Of course. I am happy to be of service”

She bit the inside of her lip, practiced smiling with only her eyes. “Of course.”

4. Laundry

The room in Konpeki that V had been provided was much smaller than Goro’s own, and perhaps half the size of the apartment she had used to rent– but it did have the advantage of not being located on the same floor where Yorinobu was being held, which meant it was much less closely watched. Unfortunately, while it was not nearly as disorganized or cluttered as her previous home, it seemed to be only a matter of time before it reached such a point. The bed was clear, at least, and he could safely sit on the edge without disturbing the expanding pile of tools and hardware piled between the far side and the window.

“They’re going to miss you, aren’t they?” V asked, as she stripped off her undershirt and tossed it into a growing pile of similarly discarded clothing that blocked the bottom drawer of her dresser from opening. “Oda will.”

“Mm. Not for an hour, at least.”

“Oh.” She turned sharply on her heel, blinking as she met his eye. “This is your dinner?”

The concern in her expression was so genuine that he felt a surge of guilt for his judgment. But right on its heels was a bloom of appreciation. Once, she had been hesitant and uncertain to bare herself before him, afraid he would condemn her as Arasaka did. She still flinched occasionally under others scrutiny, but right now she stood handsome and comfortable in her own skin: the thief with his heart in her hands.

He rose. “I am not hungry.”

The corner of her mouth tugged upwards. “No?”

He hummed, pulling her a little closer so he could run his fingers up the back of her neck and be rewarded with her ravenously barbaric smile. “Perhaps I am.”

When it came down to it, he found he did not mind when his own shirt joined the top of the pile.

5. Form

If it had surprised V that Goro had agreed to bowling, it did not surprise her at all that he was good at it. He had claimed not to be practiced, but whether that was modesty or the truth she hadn’t decided. She had lied and told him she had been part of a league, once– which had naturally brought out his competitive nature. Which was the reason, as the ball clattered into the pins for a strike, that he looked so morose her composure almost cracked.

“You’re catching up,” she told him, as he rejoined her at the table.

He gave her a withering look. “Do not patronize me.”

She had to get up then, or risk laughter. In truth he was bowling very well, but in another three frames she’d have a perfect game, and his own score was marred by several spares. He was a sore loser, but what was really eating him was not her victory, but the way she was earning it.

With an unnecessary flourish she pulled her ball from the return and lined herself up on the lane. The software she was running had been refining its predictions based on her earlier performance, and so with each frame her job had gotten easier. But the real trick was the correct stance, and when she had picked her line of attack she carefully dropped into a squat, and bowled from between her legs, sending the ball rolling along the exact line trajectory projected by the software. The speed left a little something to be desired, but by the time she had walked back up to the table to retake her seat, she heard the clatter of the pins and the celebratory chime that announced a strike.

Goro’s hands were relaxed, but he was tensing the muscles in his arms so strongly she could just make out their shape through the sleeves of his shirt. “I suppose you will be choosing where we eat.”

V raised her eyebrows in an imitation of his own version of a shit-eating grin. “I guess so.”

Catch for us the foxes / the little foxes / that ruin the vineyards / our vineyards that are in bloom.

While he still had not been cleared for active duty, Goro felt better than he had in weeks. He was still adjusting to his new pair of lungs, and while he was not up to his usual standards he was more than comfortable enough to spend some time on a surprise for V. And when he was finished, there was nothing to keep him from enjoying the comfort of her couch for a well-deserved nap.

He was awoken a few hours later when V flicked him in the forehead, looming over him with an intense expression that sparked a flame in his chest. She said, “Good morning.”

“It is evening.”

“Good evening,” she said, in the same tone, the muscles in her temple jumping rapidly. “You cleaned my bench.”

“Yes,” he agreed, carefully sitting upright.

“You–“ V repeated, grinding her teeth. She turned away, taking in a deep breath before she turned back and tucked her fingers loosely into his collar. He stood up and obediently followed her restrained pull, until they both stood next to the desk that took up one entire wall of her new apartment. She paused for a moment, clearly picking her next words carefully. “How long?”

“A few hours,” he said, trying and failing to keep the smugness from his tone. “First, I had to find the clips to organize.”

The surface of the desk, once buried under several layers of broken tech and abandoned projects, was now entirely clear save for the box of tools he had organized to make it suitable for display. The largest drawer, which she now had opened, was stacked neatly with various types and lengths of cables, all neatly secured with clips. He had been required to guess the various functions of some of the objects, but while his methods had been crude, they were now organized and easy to find. V looked as though she wanted to murder him and was just working out the details.

“You did this on purpose,” she said finally. Her restlessness was starting to win out over her attempt to remain unmoved, and she smoothed down his collar and tucked all his stray hairs neatly back behind his ears.

“Yes,” he agreed again, not bothering to conceal his smile.

She grimaced, and pushed him gently back against the desk. He sat obligingly, as she pressed up against him, hands braced on his legs. She spoke through her teeth with a smile that was anything but friendly. “For the love of all that is holy Goro, why?”

He put his hand under her chin, gently stroking her jaw with his thumb. “Do you remember the last time you chose where we ate? I believe you described it as ‘your favorite place for dumplings’.”

Instantaneously all of her fury dissolved and her smile turned coy as she looked poised to break out into the same cackling laughter as she had when he had first sampled what could not in any civilized manner be described as “food”. Even now she displayed not the barest hint of regret.

“Oh,” she said, leaning into his hand.

“Mm.” He pulled her in for a chaste kiss, lingering as her thumbs dug into the meat of his thighs. “I thought so.”

“Well,” she said, sounding reasonably chastised. “I suppose now we can call it even?”

He laughed, pulling her closer by the hips. "Yes, I think so."

[transfem-nerevar]

October 9th 2024, humanity heard a familiar chilling horn call out through the impossible expanse, and the horsemen stirred, Gabriel had called them in to work. The four convened out front of a small house in rural georgia, a spot picked by chance, or perhaps a spot decided by some greater divine than even god.

As the four apocalyptic coworkers dismounted their steeds they quickly fell into an argument, the kind only old, practised friends can keep up for long, their argument went long, and as dawn broke over the small, impoverished lot. A wizened, elderly matriarch descended her porch steps and aproached the four beings, unnoticed. As the four continued to argue about nothing important to our story, the spritely, 70 year old spoke up, "Would you fine folks be interested in breakfast by any chance?" the silence, almost deafening in its totality rushed to fill the space. "E-excuse me?", said Death. "You do know why we're here right?", said War. "Oh of course" she said, no hint of any fear in her voice, "at my age you get used to the end coming for you before your ready, and I've made too much anyway, I never really got used to cooking for one after my Johnny passed away." death, war, and pestilence all opened their mouths to decline, but famine was faster on the draw (being as he always was, ravenously hungry) "of course we'd love to join you!", he said with a wide, predatory grin, the other three horsemen groaned but went with them anyway, if only to continue their argument in a more comfortable place (if comfort ever really had any relevence to towering skeletons in robs, pillars of ash and shrapnel, and the hooded swarm of rats and pests that was pestilence, is irrelevent)

Inside Famine was delighted to find a pot the size of a small barrel on the stove, full to the brim with sausage gravy, and an oven full of biscuits. They sat down, three with modest plates, for politeness only as they had no real need or desire to eat, and famine with a large mixing bowl of food. As they sat around the table eating breakfast, conversation began to happen, as it is want to do. It seems even apocalypse spirits are under the sway of breakfast gods. Eventually the conversation turned to storytelling, with Rosa telling them about her family, and about her deceased husband Johnny. The meal finished and they continued to talk, and everyone present began to feel things they'd never felt before, War felt genuinely and fully at peace, Death felt genuine remorse, Famine was satisfied, and Pestilence felt cared for, and as Rosa talked, in that long, fond way only little old ladies can, the four began to realize that maybe, just maybe the world didn't have to be quite so cruel, as they left the building and gabriels horn sounded for a third and fourth time, no doubt becoming impatient that the endtimes had yet to happen, the four horsement decided unanimously that god was a dick and they were going to do things their way. From that day onwards everyone lived a long life, and those who were taken before their time, by murders and car accidents always lived long enough to say goodbye, Pestilence and War became familiar, almost faces amongst the Red Cross and Doctors Without Borders, helping with preternatural efficiency, and noone ever complained when shrapnel from indiscriminate bombings curved through the air in blatant, daring defiance of Sir Isaac Newton. Famine found satisfaction, and satiated her hunger by helping others, no soup kitchen understaffed, and no food pantry empty.

Every year on October 9th they meet up, thundering hoofbeats shaking the shingles on that small little house in Georgia, and they talk about everything they've done that year, War telling grandiose war stories about how he helped a team of volunteers to lift a building off of a family, Famine talking about the greatful tears a man shed when he recieved the first hot meal he'd had in months. Death told them about a man who thanked him for letting him say goodbye before the cancer beat him, and pestillence told them about how covid 19 would finally join smallpox on the list of extinct pathogens. Rosa couldn't be there, she had passed a few weeks after the first meeting, but she was their in spirit and she would always be remembered by her four, apocalyptic friends.

[40sandfabulousaf]

大家好! The boss and I caught up with Antho, our mutual friend, who introduced us to a stall specialising in mala. We left the ordering to him and he filled our small table with enough dishes to feed 5! The food was so delicious, I couldn't stop eating even after I was stuffed to the brim. None of us stopped until we wiped all the plates clean.

I'll share about what I got up to during Chinese New Year in the next post. This week, I came across a stall selling tomato soup fish bee hoon (vermicelli). In a nutshell, they serve the tangy broth used in tomato egg noodles with thick slices of fresh fish, tomato chunks, tofu cubes, lettuce and thick bee hoon. Digging through the noodles, I discovered a generous portion of fish slices, so for the price of $7.50, it was decent value for money. I'll return to try their original flavour sliced fish bee hoon soup.

Hokkien mee, frequently a combo of thick bee hoon and yellow noodles, is wok fried with egg, veggies and a flavourful broth. The noodles absorb the broth, making them very tasty and a firm local favourite, any time of the day. There are 2 versions: with prawns (usually sold by stalls that specialise in this dish) and without (sold at cai fan, or mixed dishes and rice) stalls. The former usually has a much more robust prawn flavour since it's eaten on its own, whilst the latter is milder tasting so as to pair well with other dishes. Both are very delicious.

This Chinese New Year, whilst I love my country deeply, I'm also fiercely embracing my ethnicity and roots. Grandpa came from Xi Men, Taipei, ROC and spoke solely in Hokkien for all his life. When he told me stories about how he came to Singapore, he always said he came from China. So to me, there was never any question about Taiwan; it's part of China. Nonetheless, the issue of Taiwan remains strictly between it and China. I have enough respect to keep my nose out of China's internal affairs.

We might be feasting during this festive period but elsewhere in the world, including in Gaza, hunger persists. Palestinian civilians currently survive off animal feed and rice. Food supplies are dwindling whilst Israel is interfering in how and where aid is delivered. Why haven't the US, UK, Canada and other Western countries said anything about the abuse of human rights? 下次见!

[alexthegamingboy]

Toonami Weekly Recap 03/25/2023

Food Wars: The Fifth Plate (The BLUE Arc) EP#75 (02) - The BLUE Preliminaries: While Erina has a special invitation for BLUE, only three students from Totsuki will be allowed to participate. In order to determine the three students who will participate, Erina organizes the BLUE Preliminaries, pitting Totsuki's most talented students against each other. With the theme being soup, all the gathered students begin making their dishes. Soma makes third place with his Golden Eggs filled with hamburg steak, yakiniku, omelet rice, and fried salmon soups. Takumi makes second place with his cheese fondue minestrone soup. Megumi earns first place with her seafood meatballs filled with various different types of miso soup. Meanwhile, in the United States, Joichiro is defeated in a cooking match against an unknown challenger. One week before BLUE is scheduled to start, Suzuki challenges Soma to an unofficial Shokugeki, explaining he needs a win against the First Seat to earn a spot in BLUE himself so he can achieve his dream of making Erina his bride. Soma accepts under the condition that Suzuki reveal the secret he is hiding if Soma wins.

My Hero Academia Season 6 After the PLW Arc EP#131 (18) - Izuku Midoriya and Tomura Shigaraki: Izuku awakens in the vestige world of One For All, where he encounters all eight predecessors of One For All (with the second and third users facing away from him). The first user reveals that between One For All's increased growth in power and All For One's intervention, they are now freely able to communicate with each other and Izuku. The fourth user and the user of Danger Sense, Hikage Shinomori, introduces himself to Izuku, as they discuss with him about the true nature of One For All. He reveals that he died at the age of 40 due to "old age", after holding One For All for 18 years. Aware that All Might held the power for 40 years, they determine that One For All greatly diminishes the lifespan of those who already possess a Quirk, and because All Might was Quirkless, he was saved from this burden. Due to this revelation, they surmise that due to the increased power in the Quirk and the decreasing Quirkless population, Izuku may be the last wielder of One For All. Nana then confronts Izuku, asking if he is resolved to kill Shigaraki, stating that All For One intends to use his intense rage to overwhelm and finally steal One For All, which he has failed to do in the past. They are aware that Izuku felt like he needed saving, but warn him that he could be beyond saving and turn into an unstoppable monster. Izuku stands firm that he saw a little boy crying within Shigaraki during their encounter, and that All Might showed him One For All is a power meant to save not kill, so while he is resolved to do so if he has to, he wants to try and save him first. The users accept his hand as Nana breaks down in tears, apologizing for testing him. Back outside, Hawks and Best Jeanist confront All Might about One For All and realizing he can't keep the secret anymore, reveals everything to them. Several days later, Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist put on a press conference to address the public of Dabi's accusations and their plan to turn U.A. into an evacuation facility to protect the civilians. At the same time, Izuku gives letters to all of his classmates, revealing the truth about One For All and All For One, and leaves the school.

My Hero Academia Season 6 Dark Hero Arc EP#132 (19) - Full Power!!: Ketsubutsu Academy third-years Yo and Tatami enter a nearly abandoned city in order to evacuate the remaining civilians, having received reports of a jailbreaker causing destruction nearby. Yo attempts to convince them, but they refuse as they no longer trusting in Heroes and believing they can fend off danger and protect themselves. Shortly after they encounter the aforementioned jailbreaker Muscular, who Yo attempts to fight off while Tatami goes to protect the civilians. Yo is pinned down, but even after using his Quirk at full power, Muscular has the upper hand and nearly kills him, until a hooded Deku, covered in purple smoke, appears to save him. Muscular recognizes him from their fight in the forest and excitingly prepares to fight him. Deku hands the unconscious Yo to Tatami and re-enters the fight. The sixth user En warns him to not overuse his Quirk Smokescreen as Deku uses his new arsenal of abilities and experience to get the upper hand on Muscular. He attempts to reason with him, asking him why he causes trouble and even referring to him by his real name, but Muscular declares all he cares for is wanton destruction. Taking advantage of his muscle fibres being damaged by Yo, Deku punches him with a Detroit Smash, knocking him unconscious. While Deku brings Muscular to prison, the civilians agree to evacuate with the Ketsubutsu students, not wanting anyone else to get hurt. Deku temporarily reunites with All Might before heading off to deal with the next threat. Several days prior at the hospital, Izuku awoke to learn the injuries on his body were not as fatal as they initially believed due to his increased in strength in his body. He and All Might then tell Inko the truth behind One For All, with Izuku saying he won't be returning to U.A. in order to protect everyone with Shigaraki targeting him. He comforts his tearful mother telling her he will return to her, with All Might saying he will stay by his side. They decide to team up with Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist, using Izuku as bait to lure the villains out of hiding. Before leaving the hospital, Izuku visits Gran Torino who tells him killing can be a way to save, and hands him his scarf to wear.

[writer59january13]

I leave buying food at the market to the spouse...

one helluva comparative humdinger savvy shopper, who can rattle off the best buy

for most any given item,

at the drop of a hat analogous to baseball fanatic

(unlike myself who knows and cares nothing about the game) spewing forth Batting average (BA),

on-base percentage (OBP),

and slugging percentage (SLG)

often referred to together

as a player's "slash line".

A fourth batting stat

known as on-base plus slugging (OPS),

which is a combination of OBP and SLG.

Other batting stats include runs batted in (RBI),

where a batter is credited with an RBI

when they score a run

as a result of their plate appearance.

Meanwhile back to the wife, who would willingly truck

(courtesy driving our 2020 Sonata Elantra) from one store or another to purchase sought after item(s) despite schlepping the extra miles, and often scoops up goods from clearance section, and adheres to the postman's credo "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds" often considered the motto and inscribed in gray granite above the entrance to the New York City Post Office. The phrase comes from The Persian Wars by Herodotus, written around 500 B.C. during the wars between the Greeks and Persians.

Herodotus referring to the Persian mounted postal couriers, who he observed with great admiration and said were undeterred by the elements from completing their rounds. The phrase was modified and approved by the Post Office Department in 1914 by William Mitchell Kendall, an architect at McKim, Mead & White, the firm that designed the New York General Post Office.

Kendall (the son of a classics scholar) enjoyed reading Greek. Every now and again, I accompany her, after she tries in vain to coax and wheedle yours truly (with threats she won't buy me any favorite drinks - such as Kombucha), nevertheless but frequently remain holed up in our one bedroom apartment disinclined to subject myself,

(a socially anxious aging baby boomer, and lapsed long hair pencil neck geek to boot) to the cruel embarrassment and harassment linkedin with Samson syndrome characterized courtesy lovely long golden locks, (and rivaling the storied Rapunzel) despite the small investment in shampoo bully me prime target for mean people who offer their unsolicited feedback Matter of fact, she went out earlier this saturday morning (enjoying spate of cool temperature for August seventeenth and accompanied by light rain courtesy hurricane ernesto to unload bags of recyclables

jammed into the trunk giving the television show

characters Sanford and Son

(a 1972 break out hit), a run for their money.