#if i want to eat i have to turn the oven on

[natalievoncatte]

Everything was in place. Lena dropped down into the passenger seat of Jess’s car. The trunk was loaded with presents and books and Lena was ready. Jess fired up the engine of her 2009 Honda Civic and off they went, navigating National City traffic.

Lena’s stomach was full of butterflies. She had her hood up and was dressed down in sweats, not looking at all her fashion place self. Jess parked by one of the service entrances and a security guard let them in with a curt nod. Lena had dropped him a four figure tip to cooperate.

The kids were gathered in a common area on the fifth floor pediatric intensive unit, ranging in age from three to fifteen. Lena fought the lump that formed in her throat as they gathered, some of the younger ones in the laps of the older.

Lena started with a reading of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, complete with sill voices and big smiles and a lot of effort on her part to keep tears from welling in her eyes.

Some of these kids were having their last Christmas, and some of them knew it. Some didn’t. Others would go home, and a lucky few would help change the world with their participation in clinical trials.

On some level Lena knew that Kara would show up eventually- she’d been dropping in regularly enough, once learning that Lena read to the kids.

Sure enough, she showed up as the kids were eating turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy prepared under the supervision of a Michelin star chef that Lena had hired at great expense to prepare their dinner.

Supergirl, all swagger and power, strode into the room. The response was curious. They knew her of course, and she’d been there enough times, even read to them, that there was a peculiar familiarity to her visits and only the new kids got truly excited.

They were more excited by Kara’s plus one. She’d brought with her the most perfect Santa Claus that Lena had ever seen. No fake beard here; every whisker was real, as was every crease and wrinkle. Even his costume was flawless, velvet coat and paints lined with genuine fur. He had a huge beach sack thrown over one shoulder and greeted the kids with a cheer, setting to work handing out gifts.

Kara came over and stood next to Lena.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” said Lena.

Across the room, Santa gave a hearty Ho! Ho! Ho!, and had taken up a seat to invite kids onto his lap.

“Believe it or not,” Kara said, “he owes me a favor.”

Lena snorted and Kara winked.

“‘sides, I live at the North Pole, too. Sort of.”

Lena watched the man with the children. He really was quite good, a consummate professional.

She looked over at Kara. There was a twinge of pink in her cheeks and snowflakes melting in her hair, and her new suit showed off her muscular arms. More than that, there was a look of a wistful joy in her eyes as she watched the kids enjoy themselves.

Lena’s heart would have grown three sizes that day, if it didn’t already feel like it might burst through her ribs every time she looked at Kara, really looked at Kara.

She’d long ago admitted her feelings to herself- it was getting them out that was the problem, even now.

Across the room, Santa Claus stood, startling Lena out of her reverie.

“I’m sorry kids, but I really must go. Lots more visits to make tonight!”

He stood and walked over to Kara. “I do have that one stop to make before I begin my rounds proper. Shall we?”

He even had the perfect Santa voice.

Kara turned to Lena and offered a hand.

That was how Lena ended up in something like the setup for a bad joke: Riding in an elevator with Santa Claus and Supergirl.

It was actually rather awkward. Kara opened the roof access door and motioned for Lena, and the Santa Claus impersonator followed her out. Kara went last, lingering by the door.

“May we speak in private?” Santa said.

“Sure,” said Lena, happy to play along. She pulled her hood up against the chill and walked a few dozen paces from Kara, and Santa turned to face her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you that easy bake oven you wanted when you were six,” he began.

Lena’s face fell. Lillian had exploded at her when she asked on Santa’s lap, a much less convincing Santa, and asked for the silly cooking toy.

She’d screamed that menial tasks were beneath a Luthor and Lena was supposed to ask for the American Girl dolls that Lillian had already bought, and what an ungrateful, spoiled little bitch she was. It was the first time that Lillian had called her that and far from the last; she’d added many insults to it over the years, like stupid or lazy or, most painfully of all, fat; dropping that one had sent Lena into a spiral of crash dieting that almost turned into full blown bulimia by the time she graduated from high school.

She’d never told anyone about the easy bake oven. Not even Kara.

Before Lena could demand an explanation or even speak, Santa reached into his bag, withdrew something, and handed it to her.

Lena took the stuffed bear on instinct. When she did she knew it was more than a bear. As her hands touched the somewhat ratty fur and she saw the little tear in his left ear she knew, she knew.

When the Luthors took her in, Lillian destroyed everything of her old life- everything of her mother, as if to erase her from ever existing. It was spiteful, and hateful. Lillian couldn’t revenge herself on his husband’s mistress so she did it to her child.

She’d burned Lena’s stuffed animals. They were all gone, reduced to ash.

Except… except…

“Clive?” Lena whispered, hot tears burning down her cheeks. “This is impossible, how…”

He placed a gloved hand on her shoulder and Lena felt a wave of indescribable shock roll through her. Something just… opened.

Her mind filled with an image of perfect clarity, and a song fresh and bright in her ears. Her mother’s voice and the distant sound of the sea that would eventually take her. All her life Lena could barely remember her mother- she clawed at scraps, more able to feel her than truly remember her.

Not anymore. As she clutched the bear to her chest, memory flooded her mind like warmth from a hearth fire filling a cold room. She grinned like a fool and choked back sobs.

“How?” Lena chirped out.

“Kara asked me to bring you something very special, and I do owe her a favor. I really must get going, though.”

Then she heard it. Jingling bells.

Lena had seen a woman fly; said woman had saved her from splatting on the pavement too many times. She had never seen reindeer fly, pulling a sleigh behind them.

Wait.

No.

This was not possible.

Santa Claus threw his sack in the rear of the sleigh and climbed aboard. He threw Lena a wave.

“Merry Christmas, Lena Luthor.”

“Wait,” Lena called. “Did you bring Kara something?”

“What Kara Zor-El Danvers wants, I cannot give her,” he said, with a cryptic grin.

Lena stumbled back as the reindeer launched into a full gallop with a blast of air, the rider snapping his reins. It was only then that Lena noticed that the lead animal had a glowing red nose.

Kara stepped up behind her and put her hands on Len/ shoulders.

“Kara,” Lena said. “That was the real Santa Claus.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t understand. That was the real Santa Claus. He’s real. Santa Claus is real and he gave me my stuffed bear back.”

As Lena turned, Kara smiled. “I know, baby.”

Lena swiped at her cheeks.

“I-I don’t know how you did this, but thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t even know what to say.”

Kara stepped closer, into her space. Very gently, she brushed away one of Lena’s tears with the pad of her thumb.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“He said he couldn’t get you what he wanted. I find that hard to believe.”

“He can’t just give it to me because it’s not his to give. He did give me this, though.”

Kara reached under her cape, drawing out a small twig with a pair of scalloped leaves and some red berries.

“Is that mistletoe?”

“Yeah,” said Kara.

She lifted it over her head and held it there, smiling at Lena.

It took a moment for her brain to catch up. Kara was holding the mistletoe over her head. She was under the mistletoe.

Lena faltered for just a moment, but then stepped forward, closing what little gap was left between them. Kara was every inch the dashing prince as she put her arm around Lena’s waist, spinning her a little as the other hand cupped her chin and tilted her head just so for Kara to place a gentle, loving, and utterly devastating closed-mouth kiss on Lena’s lips.

Suddenly Lena understood what it was that Kara wanted and for the second time in as many minutes her heart soared and Lena threw her arms around Kara’s neck and they swayed there like dancers amid the snow flurries until Kara flew them home.

[doodle-pops]

Lords of Gondolin Baking With You For The Holidays

Requests: May I request a baking with the Lords of gondolin for the festive season, sounds both fun and chaotic. Would there be anything to eat other then a mouthful of flour you threw at each other? Probably not. Unless you feel like eating cinnamon goop and crunchy burnt cookies. – anon

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this request, especially with Christmas approaching and the baking season in the air. Thanks for this request anon. Enjoy!

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Galdor

◇ He’s just too good when it comes to averaging ingredients, though he often got distracted by your playful antics each time you tried to eat the ingredients or break his concentration as he poured the vanilla syrup or honey. “Are you trying to sabotage my cookies?” he’ll whine when you throw flour at him.

◇ Might realise too late that you’re missing one of the ingredients—powdered sugar—and have to make a quick rush to the market. This unfortunately turns into a shopping spree where you two would return with extra ingredients.

◇ You’re the one to start a fight while Galdor is attempting to maintain the peace and his station clean, so your extra flour and eggs don’t end up in his bowl of cake batter. At some point, he got dragged into your ruffian behaviour and ended up covered in flour.

◇ Despite being the one making the cake and cookies, his knack for ‘quality control’ resulted in him tasting the batter/dough too often.

◇ When the first batch did come out of the oven, it was burnt which left you questioning all of Galdor’s ‘phenomenal’ cooking abilities he was renowned for. “I thought you were a great chef?” “I am, but when I have a little mouse in the kitchen, what else to expect?”

◇ Offended. At least there were a few cookies saved from the extra crispiness and the cake was decent to still enjoy your day’s labour.

Ecthelion

◇ He takes baking for the holidays the same as any military operation—detailed with a precise layout, and no straying from the outline. You will be gently scolded each time you attempt to do your own thing. Like measuring without measuring cups and spoon. He doesn’t do the whole ‘pour until your ancestors tell you to stop.’

◇ But Thel being Thel, still couldn’t resist breaking his own rules when the chocolate chip cookie dough was looking delicious and sticking his fingers to scoop a dollop. “Just checking to make sure they’re not poisoned.” As he shoves a spoonful in his mouth.

◇ You somehow managed to end up with too much dough? despite the way he was eating the dough each time you turned your back. He decided that you should share it, leading to an impromptu cookie giveaway.

◇ Spends a good portion of the evening walking through the streets of Gondolin handing cookies on trays to the citizens and his servants. Even Turgon is happy to receive his batch of cookies for the holidays.

◇ When it came to decorating, he took pride in it, the same way he takes pride in his appearance. He is in charge of the designs and hands out a sheet of paper filled with patterns for you to follow. Do not diverge from the original patterns, you’re ruining the aesthetic.

◇ At least in the end, you had the perfect batch of cookies to sit by the fireplace and eat with a nice glass of milk.

Glorfindel

◇ You’re never getting anything done on time, and surely your cake or cookies will be burnt because of his distractions. Which leads to you making a fresh batch and shooing him out the kitchen. He comes right back after sneaking in.

◇ Eats the dough like it’s food and gets all puzzled when you scold him for reducing the volume. “Laurë! We’ll have none by the time you’re finished! And you’ll get sick if you continue to eat the raw dough!”

◇ With a mouth full of dough, he looked hurt that you would deny him the right to taste-test the desserts to ensure the quality was up to his standards. “I just wanted to taste the cookies. Don’t have to be so mean.” Guilt trips you into letting him eat more.

◇ You obviously end up with less dough and Laurë earns himself a tummy ache from how much dough he ate raw. Some dough had less of certain ingredients while others had too much because he pulled you to dance in the middle of measuring, so you forgot and mismanaged.

◇ You end up with cookies that were undercooked, overcooked and er…not cookies? Still, it didn’t bother him because he was willing to enjoy the hard labour of your fantastic baking.

◇ “Baking is an art, and although it may not appear the way we intended, there is merit and beauty in the outcome.” He would cheer as he plopped a cookie into his mouth while you stood there with an exasperated look. Like he was the reason for the cookies being that way.

Egalmoth

◇ He wants to make gingerbread houses, cinnamon rolls, a ton of cookies and cake and roast turkey or chicken all on the same day at the same time. He’s elaborate about the activity if you haven’t caught on.

◇ When it comes to designing, he’s in charge and has everything in order, down to how to position the desserts and food on the table. Perfectionist, often redoing the steps to get them right. “Patience is key, darling,” he reminds you and boops your nose with frosting.

◇ Despite his meticulous nature, he loves a good laugh when things don’t go right. The image in his head wasn’t aligning with the image displayed after piping frosting on the cake to resemble the Christmas tree you drew on the paper.

◇ Mentions something about your artistry skills when it comes to drawing needs to be worked on so he could have a better understanding of what he was working with. That was enough for you to dump flour on his head.

◇ Did not take his clothes and hair becoming a mess because he put a lot of effort into appearing splendid to bake alongside you. So, if he had to look like a mess, so did you. “You look cute with all that flour and eggs—I might bake you instead to eat.”

◇ By the time you two were finished, the way you two were a mess, might as well hop into the oven to bake. More ingredients were wasted than used, and you found yourself eating the remaining frosting and dough off your hand.

Rog

◇ Rog’s all about efficiency, turning your baking session into a well-oiled machine. For him, it feels as though he’s back in the forges, about to craft an art piece with meticulous create and precision.

◇ You ought to expect his knack for improvising, often adding unexpected ingredients into the mix with confidence. “Trust me, mírë. It will taste great.” As he throws in peppermint, nuts and extra vanilla.

◇ Between the two of you, you’re the one who steals dough from the bowl when he isn’t looking or bribes him with kisses to have extra cookies. So easily he falls for your charm because he can never say no with those puppy eyes.

◇ Somewhere in the mix, the oven malfunctioned, which was no strenuous task for Rog to fix. You got to stand by and hand him his tools while watching his muscles flex and look like something to take a bite out of.

◇ With his skills and confidence, you two will end up with a variety of cookies, some traditional, others experimental. “A little bit of everything makes the holidays nice.”

◇ You two made just enough cookies to eat and also share with his fellow Lords and craftsmen he works within the forges. He left the wrapping and little notes for you since he prefers your handwriting suitable for the holidays.

Maeglin

◇ He was surprisingly enthusiastic about baking, eager to try new recipes with you and make new memories. The entire time, he would stand close by as he listened to your instructions and your patient voice as you guided him on how to mix or measure.

◇ Did have a tendency to get lost in the process, forgetting to remember the baking or resting period, so you might get burnt cookies and overrisen bread. Can’t blame him, you’re in the kitchen, an obvious distraction.

◇ He compares his crafting to baking cookies and wonders how could something so simple be difficult as he held up a burnt cookie that didn’t match the snowflake stencil.

◇ Discovered that you should leave the decorating to him when you explained piping the frosting on the cake and icing on the cookies. Even the gingerbread house was a masterpiece after leaving it in his hands. He designed an entire castle.

◇ When you happen to run out of frosting and icing, or the edible beads, he suggests a trip to the pastry shop for more items which results in Maeglin growing excited at the assortment of decorations and requests to buy out the entire shop.

◇ By the end, most of your desserts are more decorations than cake and cookies to eat. The layers you might have to bite through before you taste the pastry is immaculate. At least he had fun participating.

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @zheiya @lamemaster @eunoiaastralwings @elficially-done-with-life @addaigio @hermaeuswhora

[tuesdayiminlove]

happy disaster

rockstar!eddie x fem!waitress!reader (imperfect for you universe)

summary: how you two meet

author's note: an ask about how they met came earlier today and i couldn't help myself lol. not proofread sorry! also this could be read as a standalone! but u can read the og part here! hope u guys enjoy lmk what yall think xoxo

word count: 3.1k

You’ve had your fair share of jobs throughout the last few years, trying to make ends meet while also being a consumer of the various cute things you see when you’re at the mall with your friends. One time (and this may have been one of the more miserable experiences), you worked as a receptionist for an auto shop (get it now?)).

Needless to say, you were at the bottom of the hierarchy at that whole joint. When you weren’t answering calls and taking hyperspecific notes to not confuse the actual mechanics, you were practically shunned from the moment you stepped up from your seat and onto the street to eat your lunch at the bench outside. And whenever your lips did part to make even the simplest of comments, the men either laughed at you or made you feel stupid (“You guys hired me! Clearly I’m not a fucking idiot!” you dreamt of saying, but you were just never one for the dramatics and confrontation of it all).

And, the worst part, on days you couldn’t go into work, none of the other receptionists would switch with you.

(“Sorry, babe, I just can’t,” you remember Joey Warner staying after taking a drag of his cig, coughing mere seconds later from not exhaling immediately. You wanted to take the cigarette between your fingers, toss it down, and squish it with your shoes. You really needed to pick up your brother from school, and no one at the shop is ever up Joey’s ass since he’s a guy.

“Oh. It’s alright.” You curse yourself and your lack of ever wanting conflict, because you’re more than positive that this boy deserves a beating for not taking the reins for an hour just so that your poor baby brother won’t have to wait on the cold sidewalk for your mom, who is forty minutes late.

You walk back into the shop without another word.)

So. yeah, call this mechanic memory useless, but now it's clear that your jobs have been absolute dog shit in the past.

But being a waitress at Carly’s Diner, in comparison, takes the cake in the coworker camaraderie contest.

Like, now, you’re enjoying your break with Carrie, splitting half a cupcake that Jim managed to slip into your guys’ hands when he was pulling the fresh desserts from the oven. You two have turns at it, taking nimble bites from the vanilla confection and wiping rainbow sprinkles off your uniform in the process. Your nose blends in the smell of the cupcake and Carrie’s sweet perfume, leaving a little bubble where you can hardly tell what the boys in the kitchen are whipping up right now.

Judy passes through the doors in a haste, heaving before setting her eyes on you two. The notepad in her hands is crumpled up and her hair looks all over the place, eyes bewildered as she stalks towards you and Carrie, a complan ready to spill from her red lips. 

“This fucking couple on table three is driving me nuts! Nuts!” She slumps her back against the wall and swipes a piece of frosting off the cupcake before sticking it in her mouth, sighing in relief.

“Hey,” Carrie swats Judy’s hand, “watch the cupcake!” She places it behind her back possessively.

Carrie is nearly six months pregnant and craving every sweet treat Jim has to offer in between tables and shifts. It’s a miracle that she let you split the dessert with her just now, “And table three, you said?”

Judy ignores her earlier words and nods. “I swear to God, I don’t understand your goddamn generation and why you heaps are so fucking rude. I can't do this.”

“Don’t group us with those weirdos,” says Carrie. “And I’d like to see them be rude to a pregnant woman. Protect this,” she hands you the cupcake carefully, looking at you in the eyes with intent, “and I mean it.”

Her voice is so determined, you decide that you don’t want your fair share of bites anymore. You nod dutifully.

“I got this, Jude.” She swipes the notepad from the older woman’s hands.

And with that, Carrie is kicking herself off the wall and out of the kitchen, into the main part of the diner. You silently pray for the couple that now has to deal with a moody and pregnant Carrie. 

See? Now, this is what you mean! No mechanic or receptionist at Billy’s Auto Parts will ever be willing to face an alleged-annoying couple for their coworker. Sometimes, waitressing can take the light and happiness out of you once you’re clocked out, but at least you’re surrounded by the half-decent people in your town.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Judy calls out with a wicked laugh. “Gotta love that girl… hey can I have a bite?”

You frown, knowing you’re already unable to say no when Judy is stressed and you know for sure that the confection in your hand is enough to sweeten even the most stressed—Jim just has that magic to him. “Yeah, but don’t make the dent obvious.”

You think you’re gonna spend the rest of your break with Judy, hiding in between the two walls in the corner of the kitchen until Carrie comes back. You lick a small sprinkle off the cupcake, ready to ask the woman if her daughter won the spelling bee that she’s been freaking out over all week, when the office door swings open and Lenny’s head peeks out, eyes going to the first two waitresses that he can spot.

“Hey!” he shouts yours and Judy’s last names to steal the attention. “Can one of you guys go out and get Evan? Her daughter’s principal is on the phone.” He wipes his sweat-stained brow and doesn’t wait for a response. “Thanks,”

You and Judy look back at each other. And immediately you know that you’re not going to make Judy be the one.

“I got it,” you say with a soft smile. “... You’re gonna eat the rest of this are you?”

She laughs and swipes the cupcake. “For you, my love, I wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you.”

You blow her a kiss, already making your way to the double doors of the kitchen, straightening out your ponytail and getting your waitressing voice ready (patient and respectful, garnering the best tips you can try to get). Your eyes give one swipe across the diner, catching Carrie’s eye as she talks to the couple sitting down beneath her, holding her precious bump to make a show of it. She gives you a sly wink and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing.

Afternoon rush makes it hard to spot Evan at first. His smaller stature makes it even harder to spot him in the crowd, but your eyes eventually zone in on him smiling at customer that is blocked by a family getting up to leave. You smile upon finding him and make your way to the table.

As you get closer, you finally notice who Evan is speaking two, and your brows pinch quizzically. The man is hunched, looking over the menu with sunglasses adorning his face despite his table not even facing the sun. His jet black curls curve around the lines of his face, making his features harder to notice. It almost reminds you of the movies you watch late at night when you’re munching on diner leftovers on your couch, the runaway criminal stopping for a bite to eat while trying to flee the state. 

“Evan,” you say softly, not wanting to draw attention to yourself but you know it's already bound to happen since you’re switching places with him. “Lenny’s got your daughter’s school on the phone. They’re asking for you.”

The man’s eyes widen. “Great,” he mutters, “What do you think it is this time?” “I hope she said ‘fuck you’ to that little pipsqueak again,” you joke, seeing the anxiety in Evan’s eyes at not knowing why he’s receiving a call during work. You remember the first time he got called to his daughter’s school from work due to her cursing out an older boy: the entire kitchen was laughing—Evan included—as they all wished him good luck with that meeting. “Can’t be worse than that.”

He sighed, turning back to the customer, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m going to hand you off to her for a bit.” He says your name to further introduce you two. "Thank you for your patience.”

And for the first time up close, you look at the sunglassed man and smile. Perfect teeth flash at you, mildly astonishing you at how cute he looked when he did so. It’s not abnormal for you to find a customer attractive (it’s human, we’re human), but you don’t think a smile has ever made you secretly stop you from breathing for a second. 

Flustered, you’re clumsy as you and Evan switch spots. He pats your shoulder one last time, muttering a thank you as he rushes to the back. You follow his movements and frown for a split second and forget your task at hand. You hope his daughter is okay. You hope the kitchen will be laughing in t-minus three minutes over the fact that little baby-Evan gained a new curse word under her belt.

“Sorry,” you say, looking back at the man. You find him looking directly at you, knowing only because of how his head is positioned. His sunglasses are too tinted to even see a little beneath. “Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

“Oh—uh, yeah,” he stammers, before clearing his throat and offering a crooked smile. “Coffee, please. Milk and two sugars.”

Your handwriting matches the pace as he speaks. You hold a smile on your face to keep up pleasantries. “And have you decided what you would like to eat?”

“Not yet,” he admits, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the menu. “Kind of hard to focus.” There’s a pause before he adds, a little quieter, “The menu’s got a lot of… options.”

You raise an eyebrow, tucking your notepad in the small pocket of your apron. You turn your head to see if anyone else is making coffee right now. You see Carrie there, and silently celebrate when she’s already staring at you. “All good. I’ll get your coffee ready and be right back–”

“—Wait.”

Your brows pinch, confused. “Yes?” His hand rubs the back of his neck, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “I was just, um… wondering if you had a favorite on the menu? Like… if there’s something you always recommend. Or—” He hesitates again, “Or like your favorite?”

You don’t know why he's so flustered. You don’t know why it makes you flustered. For a beat, you just look at him. Is he�� trying to flirt with me? The thought isn’t unwelcome, but you certainly weren’t expecting it, or really believing it just yet. You tilt your head, trying your best to keep your expression neutral.

“Well,” you say eventually, “We have an all day breakfast, and that’s my favorite part of the menu, and I get it a lot. It’s on the next page.”

You wait for him to turn the menu, but he continues to stare back up at you, mouth agape.

“... Is that something you’re interested in?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” he replies immediately. And then, more composed, “Yeah, I can be in the mood for breakfast.” He finally flips the page, and his head tilts up to yours fleetingly.

“Great! Our cook, Jim, makes the best strawberry and white chocolate pancakes, so that’s what I would recommend from the breakfast menu.”

His lips tug into a small, bashful smile. “Sounds perfect. I’ll take that.”

“Perfect!” you grin, scribbling his order onto your notepad. “I’ll take this to the kitchen, and have your coffee ready soon!” You flash him one more look before retreating back towards the kitchen. You finally get to look back at Carrie, who is still looking at you, this time arms crossed.

“How was the couple?” you ask when you’re about to pass her.

“Annoyed them enough to leave.” She grabs your wrist, and you just dodge the yelp that wants to escape your lips. “Do you know who you were just talking to?”

You freeze. Her grip is firm, her expression serious enough to make you hesitate. Your gaze darts briefly toward the dining area, but you stop yourself from looking back at him. The last thing you want to do is risk being caught gawking.

“I... no?” you whisper, unsure of how to answer. But even as you say it, you feel a subtle heat creeping up your neck. The weight of eyes on your back makes your skin prickle, as if the mystery man somehow knows he’s the topic of conversation.

“Why don’t you go check the newspaper in the locker room and get back to me, yeah?” she finally lets her grip go, smirking like she knows something you don’t.

Carrie's words linger repeatedly in your brain as you hesitantly allow yourself to drop off the man’s order, and then to go see whether or not you’re serving a serial killer. 

You slip the stripped paper from your notepad to Colin’s hands. “Table thirteen,” you say in passing as you make the rest of the way to the locker room, not even Judy’s cheerful wave as she smiles with a cupcake still in her hand can stop you from the mission you have decided to go on.

Upon entering the locker room, you gaze zeroes in newspaper lying flat on the bench, its closed pages teasing you with potential revelations about your current customer. You hesitantly flip it over as you come face-to-face with the front headline 

HIT AND DIP: ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON LEAVES IN HASTE AFTER CHICAGO SHOW 

Your eyes widen as they lock onto the grainy photo accompanying the article. There’s no mistaking it. The guy at table thirteen. Eddie Munson. Rockstar. Your customer. 

For the first time, you finally see his eyes. But instead of him taking his sunglasses off to reveal his brown hues, you see them straight on in the form of a camera flashing and printing onto the paper right in front of you. He looks borderline pissed as he’s gripping his guitar and shooing the paparazzi in the background away, the picture managing to catch the split-second that his eyes meet with the camera.

“He’s hot.”

You jump, clutching the newspaper to your chest as you turn to meet eyes with Judy casually leaning over your shoulder with a grin.

“Judy!” you hiss, sighing in relief. 

“What?” she says plainly, “He is.”

“He is also currently Evan’s customer on table thirteen that I now have to serve.”

Judy’s pupil’s dilate. “Oh shit.”

You want to make a joking comment, calling Judy a cougar, but you’re interrupted by Carrie peeking her head in through the door. She looks down at the newspaper in your hands, and then back to your eyes. “Told you,” she says, her smirk from earlier still on her face.

Before you can respond annoyingly, Jim’s voice blares through the back. “Order up!” he shouts. “Waffles for thirteen!”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of its sockets.

“Jesus, do you ever slow down?” Carrie yells out the door.

They hear Jim’s “No!” and fan out back into the kitchen.

“Good luck, my love,” sings Judy.

“Can you ask for an autograph?” asks Carrie. She motions to her belly and gives it a soft pat. “She’ll think I’m real cool!” 

“Ha, ha,” you roll your eyes, already holding the order as you kick the double doors open, passing back into the diner. You try your best to calm your heart as you pour coffee into the kettle, taking sugar from the side of the counter and putting two teaspoons into the mug. You feel eyes on you the entire time, and you don’t need to look up to know whose covered eyes they belong to. 

It’s not every day that you get to serve a goddamn celebrity, so she thinks that everyone should give her a break (she’s specifically talking to her heart—it needs to stop beating so rapidly, making her brain think something is wrong).

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you hold the plate on one hand, and the mug on the other. “Just a customer,” you whisper under your breath, beginning to walk. “Just a ridiculously famous, incredibly good-looking customer who better leave a stunning tip.”

As you approach table thirteen, you notice that Eddie shifts slightly in his seat. One of his legs bounces under the table, and he drums his fingers lightly against the edge of the booth.

You \ set the plate and coffee down in front of him, you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Waffles and coffee,” you announce, sliding the plate and mug onto the table with practiced ease. You’re proud that your voice doesn’t shake—too much, anyway.

Eddie leans back, grinning up at you. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Your heart stops. You couldn’t help but think his eyes hold a knowing look, like he knew exactly what went down and now knows that you know exactly who he is.

“Enjoy,” you grin back. 

Behind you, you hear him mutter something under his breath, followed by a quiet groan, and you can’t help but feel a small flutter in your chest that he enjoyed what you recommended to him. 

The rest of the rockstar’s stay goes smoothly. You don’t intend on saying anything to give away what you know, despite it probably already being known, and you're grateful by this normalcy. You refill his coffee, make light conversation (the weather is particularly sunny and pretty today, shining through the windows and letting pretty glow spread through the diner), and take his plate when he’s wiped it clean.

You don’t even think much of his stay, mind already going back to it being a regular customer that deserves no more or less attention than anyone else is supposed to.

(Sure, his smile lingers in your mind a little longer than you’d like to admit—so what if his smile is better than any that you’ve seen, anyway?)

It isn’t until Eddie’s up and left and you trail back to the table to wipe it off, a damp rag in hand, do you notice the wad of cash left in his wake that is definitely worth more than his bill.

Your jaw drops down, staring at it and contemplating what to do with that much of an amount of money in front of you.

Next to it, a folded napkin sits.

Your mind immediately goes to an autograph; that he’s one of those celebrities, and he just couldn’t resist leaving a little something to prove of his appearance.

You’re taken back when you unfold it to see his number scribbled messily onto the fabric. Your fingers shake as you move your thumb to fully read the note that he added at the bottom,

Call me. Please. :)

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance Christmas Special

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Christmas Special

            “Kusuo, the cookies are ready!” said (Y/N), pulling the pan out of the oven. “Ow.” They hissed as the metal pan burnt their finger for a second. They drew it back and shook it out.

            “Don’t hurt yourself,” said Saiki. His psychokinesis picked up the tray and set all the cookies to cool down while he also healed (Y/N)’s finger.

            “Thanks, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling and kissed his cheek before walking to a cupboard.

Behind them, Saiki eyed the cookies—shaped like little people—and one began to float into the air.

            “No eating them until we’ve decorated,” said (Y/N), not even having to turn around. They knew their boyfriend well.

            Saiki let out a mighty sigh, and (Y/N) just laughed, holding icing and sprinkles. “They’ll be even more delicious when we’ve finished and they have icing, and you know it.”

            “Fine,” said Saiki. Not only did he know they were right, but, as usual, he was unable to say no to them (which was maybe why he thought they were right…chicken and the egg problem).

            “I was thinking we make our friends,” said (Y/N), excitedly setting out the icing. “I’ve gotten better at cookie art, and I think I can make chibi-versions of them on these gingerbread men.” They smiled excitedly.

            “Who are our friends?” said Saiki, feigning ignorance.

            “Your ‘bothers,’ as you’ve nicknamed them,” teased (Y/N), knowing he cared. “We have enough gingerbread for a bunch of friends. I was thinking at least Nendou, Kaidou, Kokomi, Miko, Chiyo, Akechi, Hairo, and Toritsuka.”

            “He’s our friend?” Saiki was really doubtful of that.

            “He’s a perv, but he’s got his moments,” said (Y/N), shrugging. They grinned. “But we’re not including Saiko.” Giggling, they pretended to be posh and put on an accent. “ ‘You didn’t capture me well enough, and I have my chefs prepare an entire cake designed after me every year!’ ”

            Saiki smirked. That was a good impression. “Who do you want to make?” He would let (Y/N) choose first so they could have as much fun as they wanted.

            “Hm…Miko, Kaidou, Kokomi, and Chiyo!” said (Y/N) with a grin.

            “Then I’ll do Nendou, Akechi, Hairo, and Toritsuka,” said Saiki.

            “Let’s get to work,” said (Y/N) excitedly.

            Saiki nodded and got to work. With his psychokinesis and art-related abilities, he was able to represent the people he knew fairly well (and by ‘fairly well’ he meant perfectly but then he dumbed it down so they looked funnier). They all had school uniforms on, but Nendou had little question marks to represent how thick he was, Akechi had giant white “text boxes” with scrawls of black to represent his rambles, Hairo had his usual energetic fire around him, and Toritsuka…was just Toritsuka. If Saiki added too much of his personality, it would be inappropriate. …Maybe he’d add a tiny ghost and that would be enough.

            On (Y/N)’s part, they were also hard at work. Cookie Miko had sprinkles as barrettes all over her head, and (Y/N) carefully placed a round sprinkle in her hand as her crystal ball—they had been really excited to find those for this reason. Cookie Yumehara was also turning out quite nicely with some heart sprinkles around her because of her romantic personality. Cookie Kaidou was a lot of fun since (Y/N) added an “evil aura” around him for his battles of magic against Dark Reunion. Hey, they might tease him for it, but it was a cute, creative outlet. Satisfied with his cookie, (Y/N) put it with Cookie Yumehara.

            Cute, they thought, smiling.

            Teruhashi was next. (Y/N) happily made their friend with blue hair and put her in the same pose as everyone else. They added the golden glow that followed her around afterwards and nodded in satisfaction. Teruhashi looked adorable even as a cookie, unsurprisingly.

            Saiki watched (Y/N) work and looked at the remaining cookies—two. Floating one to him, he didn’t even have to think. He knew who he wanted to make. (Y/N) reached over and picked up the final cookie and smiled to themself. They knew who this was going to become.

            It was silent except for the soft Sinatra Christmas music playing through the house until (Y/N) and Saiki finished and looked up. Excitedly, (Y/N) smiled and looked at the tray of cookies.

            “They all look so good! You added their personalities, too!” said (Y/N), grinning. They knew he cared and paid attention to his friends. “That’s so cute.”

            “They’re so loud it’s impossible not to notice,” said Saiki.          

            “Uh-huh,” said (Y/N), shaking their head and grinning.

            “Yours look good,” said Saiki, seeing their knowing look. He saw through him like he was transparent. And I like it. No point (or ability) to lie there.

            “Thanks!” said (Y/N). “I tried to make it look like everyone and have important parts of them.” They paused and grinned. “And I made one more—here.” From behind their back, (Y/N) held up a Cookie Saiki.

            Saiki stared. It had his glasses, power dampeners, everything down to his deadpan expression. However, it did have a tiny sprinkle heart on his chest where his own heart would be. Oh, wow. It was so…sweet. (Y/N) saw him so nicely.

            “Do you like it?” said (Y/N) nervously.

            Saiki looked at them. “Of course I do.” He picked up another cookie. “And this one is for you.” He had also meant to surprise them by creating a Cookie (Y/N).

            They let out a surprised and pleased laugh, looking at the cookie. It had them in a little baker’s hat with hearts on it, and they were smiling widely. “It’s so cute,” said (Y/N). They smiled just as widely as the cookie’s expression and looked at Saiki with shining eyes. “I love it, Kusuo.”

            “I love you,” said Saiki, the words coming quickly.

            (Y/N)’s smile softened to a loving, gentle one. “I love you, too, Kusuo.”

            They put the cookies down and held out their hands. Saiki nodded, and (Y/N) hugged him. Saiki’s hands raised and pulled them close.

            “Merry Christmas, Kusuo,” whispered (Y/N), leaning back only so they could look him in the face.

            “Merry Christmas, (Y/N),” said Saiki. He leaned in to kiss them, and (Y/N) kissed back happily.

            The (Y/N) and Saiki Cookies lay side-by-side under the glow of Christmas lights, together just as (Y/N) and Saiki would be forever.

Taglist:

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[coopers-kitchen]

Longpork has pretty much replaced turkey or ham as the go-to Christmas dinner, and for good reason. Being roasted alive for a big event like Christmas Dinner is something a lot of pigs dream of, and they'll do anything to make sure you get the juiciest, most delicious meat possible. If a pig wants to be cooked alive - and let's be real, most do - then telling him you want him for Christmas Dinner is usually enough to get them in your clutches.

This Turkeyboy has dreamt of being Christmas Dinner ever since his fathers switched the old-fashioned entrees out for local fat boys, but knew that he deserved to be cooked up by the best in the business. Luckily for him, I saw some serious potential in all that pork, and since he got in touch in January there was plenty of time to perfect his meat quality.

He's spent close to a year fattening up, following a strict diet and exercise regime (Whatever I tell you to eat and nothing outside of sex and chores, respectively), but now it's almost time for his big day. Right now he's locked up in a cage on day three of his fast, ready to roast up tomorrow.

I'm going to stuff this pig with a longpork, cranberry, chestnut, and red wine stuffing, then force him to drink an entire bottle. After that it's just a case of using a mulled wine glaze I've been itching to try and this turkeyboy will be getting the best Christmas present any longpig could ask for.

As for me? Well, after me and his fellow housepigs pop him in the oven, we'll take turns making sure his meat is perfect. After all, a turkeyboy likes this deserves the best. Me and my guests will stuff our faces on all this meat but let's face it, there's no way we'll get through this turkey in one sitting, even with our appetites. I'm anticipating I'll have enough leftovers to last me until new years and I'll enter 2025 a few pounds heavier.

 White meat🐷🍎🥩

[tessa-liam]

Royal Adventures 

Season’s Scrambles

Chapter 2 

Books: Choices, The Royal Romance Finale, Choices, The Royal Holiday 

A Smoke & Mirrors Series Alternate Universe 

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F! MC Riley Brooks-Rys

Series Inspiration: Royal Misadventures, Smoke & Mirrors series 1-shot 

Series Premise: 12-year-old Crown Princess Eleanor Rys of Cordonia has officially started her Royal education. Tutors that had been personally selected by His Majesty King Liam Rys and Queen Riley Rys were set to begin her royal lessons, and her days were packed full. The young princess was a natural leader, and the King and Queen could not be prouder.   

Royal Adventures Masterlist 

Smoke and Mirrors Masterlist 

Rating:  M, not Beta'd-please excuse all errors    

Category: On-going series, fluff 

Warnings: swearing, drinking, sexual innuendo 

Most Characters belong to Pixelberry Studios 

Chapter Inspiration: National Lampoon’s ‘Christmas Vacation’ 

Katie Campbell – Theme Song 1989 

Royal Adventures 

Season’s Scrambles, chapter 2 

Chapter Summary: Olivia invites the Royal Family, Leo & Amalas, Drake & Delaney, Alex Cossoy, Hana and Maxwell to the Dukedom of Lythikos to enjoy the winter season for the holidays.  Ellie, along with Drake, Leo and Maxwell decide to have a sledding competition. In secret. Olivia and Ellie conspire to grease Maxwell's sled with a super slippery substance where his sled flies down the hill at an extremely fast speed. 

A/N: My submission for King Liam Appreciation Week 2024, Day 1 - Baklava 

A/N2: My submission for @choicesholidays, @angelascribbles -Week 5- Prompt: New Traditions 

A/N3: My submission for Choices December 2024 Challenge, Prompts: 4-Traditions/5-Baking/8-Spices/21-Tree/26-Hot Chocolate/10-Snow,      All I Want for Christmas is You (Mariah Carey) 

@lilyoffandoms 

Words: 2445

 Lythokis Keep, Lythokis, Cordonia 

Carefully laying out the phyllo dough, Riley hummed a Christmas tune as she started to layer the ingredients for Baklava for Liam. The sweet honey drizzle and cinnamon made her mouth water. The smell of his favorite dessert would draw him into the kitchens quickly. Luckily, he was off to fell a talon tree with Leo, Drake and Alex, having left at the crack of dawn, not expected to return until later in the afternoon. 

"Baklava?" 12-year-old Ellie asked, as she watched her mother gleefully preparing her father’s favorite sweet treat. Sitting on the stool next to her mother, Ellie sighed, “I love Baklava,” looking longingly at the sweet confection. 

"Of course you do," Riley chuckled, nudging her shoulder. "I'll try to save you some," as Riley continued to sprinkle chopped pistachios onto the dish. 

"Thanks, Mom!" 

"I want to lick the bowl." Stefan said, jumping up and down. 

"No way!" William cried. "You always get to lick the bowl, Steffie." 

"Stefan, you can't eat it all," Riley said, looking down at her youngest. "This is your dad's and he's going to be hungry after felling that tree." 

"But I love baklava," Stefan pouted, his eyes tearing up. 

Riley looked over at him, seeing the tears in his eyes. She knew that look anywhere. 

"Stefan, no..." she warned. 

"Please?" He begged. 

She shook her head, chuckling. 

"Go ahead." 

"Yessss!" Stefan cheered, leaping into the air. 

Riley grinned and finished placing the top layer. She took the pan and placed it into the oven. 

"So," she said, turning to look at her children. "What's on the agenda for today?" 

"Auntie Livie invited Micaela and I to go sledding," Ellie said.  

"Oh really? Okay, before you go, please help your brothers with their skates.” 

"Sure, Mom," Ellie nodded agreeably.  

Riley took a sip of her coffee and walked away to get herself dressed for the winter chill, leaving the kids to their own devices. 

"Alright, boys," Ellie said, walking over to them. 

"We wanna go sledding!" William whined. 

"I'll help you get your skates on," she said. "Then you can go sledding." 

"Promise?" 

“Yes, I promise." 

❄️❄️❄️ 

"Alright, boys," Maxwell said, standing in the middle of the ice rink with Hana and Amalas, holding his nephews' hands. "Are you ready to learn how to skate?" 

"Yes!" Stefan yelled. 

"No!" William cried. "It's cold out here." 

"You won't even notice once you get started," Hana said, kneeling next to him. 

"Really?" 

"Trust me." 

"Alright," William said, nodding. 

"Come on, you two," Riley said, taking their hands. 

"Mom," Ellie said, grabbing Riley's hand. 

"Hmm?" 

"When is Daddy coming back?" 

"In a few hours, sweetie," she replied, rubbing her arm. "He should be done by lunch time." 

"Ok." 

"Now," Riley said, standing on the ice and taking the twins' hands. "Let's go." 

"Wait," Stefan said, stopping. 

"What's wrong?" 

"How do we stay up?" 

"Don't worry," Hana said, sliding next to him and taking his hand. "We've got you." 

"I'm scared." 

"Just relax and don't think about it," Maxwell said. 

"Just like when you're walking," Riley said. 

"Just don't fall," Stefan nodded. 

"Stefan," William groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don't say that." 

"Why not?" 

"You'll jinx us." 

"How would I-" 

"Hey," Maxwell said, crouching in front of them. "Look at me. Do you know who I am?" 

"You're Uncle Maxwell," Stefan nodded. 

"Do you know that I'm not going to let you get hurt? Or your mom or your Aunt Hana?" 

"No." 

"And you trust me, right?" 

"Yeah." 

"Then you have nothing to worry about," Maxwell said, winking at him. 

"Okay." 

"Good." 

"I want to go with you, Auntie Hana!" Stefan said. 

"Me too!" William cried. 

"Ok, ok," Hana chuckled. 

As the twins began to glde with Hana, Riley looked up at Maxwell and smirked. 

"Race you." 

"Oh, you're on, queen Riles," Maxwell said, smirking back. 

They sped off across the ice, the kids squealing as they picked up speed. Amalas slid next to Hana, smirking. 

"How much did you bet on this?" 

"1000 euro," Hana smirked. 

"Excellent." 

Riley and Maxwell were neck and neck, their kids cheering from the sidelines. 

"Last lap, Beaumont," Riley breathily laughed. 

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ri," he responded cheekily. 

Riley laughed and sped up. She passed him and he tried to speed up as well but instead lost his balance and fell on his face. Riley burst into giggles, falling onto the ice as well. The twins cheered, hugging their aunt tightly. 

"You beat Uncle Maxwell!" 

"I told you, Mom's the best!" 

"Thank you, thank you," Riley chuckled, bowing. 

...Meanwhile, Olivia was preparing Maxwell's sled as Ellie watched closely.

"So, it's a secret sled?" Ellie asked.  "What are you spraying on the bottom of the disk? 

"This," Olivia said, holding up a can. 

"What's that?" 

"Graphite oil spray. It's not even for sale in the Capital. It's just something I had on hand." 

"Nice," Ellie grinned. 

"Now, we just spray it on the sled and voila." 

"It's not gonna look too obvious, right?" 

"Don't worry," Olivia said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He won't know until he's already halfway down the hill.... and by then, it will be too late." 

"Perfect," Ellie said, clapping her hands together. 

"Now, we go over the plan again." 

"Exactly, good thinking." Olivia nodded. 

"And if it works, we get to win the bet with uncle Leo and uncle Drake? And they will have to be our personal butlers for a week?

"Yup." 

"But Uncle Drake and Uncle Leo will hate us forever." 

"Oh ... not forever," Olivia chuckled. "Just until the next competition. And they won't win that either. They will not be pleased." 

"This is mean." 

"It's a bit mean," Olivia cackled. 

"But I still think it's a great idea." 

"Good. Now, let's go over the plan again." 

❄️❄️❄️

As Liam, Leo and Alex was returning to the keep, the sun was setting and snow was falling gently from the sky. Riley and the kids were standing on the balcony of the grand suite, waiting for their arrival. 

"Look, boys," Riley said, pointing down the path. "There they are." 

"Where?" Stefan asked. 

"Right there." 

"Daddy!" William yelled. 

Liam looked up, waving to them. Riley and the kids waved back, the kids jumping up and down. 

"Daddy, Daddy!" They shouted. 

Liam walked noticeably faster, the other adults quickening their pace to keep up. He made it to the stairs, climbing them two steps at a time. Once he reached the top, the boys ran and leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly. 

"Hi, Daddy," Stefan said. 

"Hi, boys," Liam chuckled. "Have you been good?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Yeah, Daddy." 

"I'm so glad." 

"Did you have fun, Dad?" Riley asked, leaning against the rail. 

"I did," he said, nodding. "Leo almost fell off a tree, but other than that, we had a lot of fun." 

"Uncle Leo almost fell?" 

"Yeah." 

"That's hilarious!" 

"You're telling me." 

"Come on, boys," Riley said. "Let's give your father a break and get him some hot chocolate." 

"Hot chocolate!" They yelled, running down the hall. 

"Ahhhh ... there is my beautiful bride." Liam placed a sweet kiss on her cheek as Riley wrapped her arms around his neck. 

"I can't believe this will be our first year spending the holidays here since after our wedding ... and that was our first holiday as a married couple." 

"What special traditions will you make this year, love." Liam wrapped his arms around her waist. 

"I'm ready to make some new traditions with you." 

"Oh yeah, I can't wait, love. So, what did you and the twins do while we were gone?" Liam asked. 

"Went ice skating." Riley grinned.

"Oh really?" 

"Maxwell taught the boys how to skate," Riley said. "He kept them occupied while Amalas, Hana and I had some girl time." 

"Sounds like fun." 

"It was. How was your time with the other men?" 

"It was interesting," Liam chuckled. "Alex and Leo tried to make a tree fort, but Alex fell through the roof." 

"Wow." 

"Yeah." 

"So," she said, stepping closer to him. "Did you bring home the prize?" 

"We did," he nodded. "A 20 foot talon tree." 

"Excellent." 

"Mm-hm," he murmured, leaning forward and kissing her. 

"Come on," Riley said, taking his hand and pulling him to the hall. "Let's get you warmed up. I have a surprise for you." 

"Ooh, what is it?" 

"If I tell you, it's not a surprise, your Majesty." 

"Fair point," Liam chuckled, following her down the grand staircase. 

Once they were in the kitchen, Liam's eyes landed on the counter. 

"Is that...?" 

"Baklava," Riley said matter of factly. 

"Really?" 

"Really," she nodded and smiled coyly. "Made it this morning. Our new holiday tradition: freshly baked, homemade baklava." 

"Oh, baby, you are the best," Liam sighed. 

"I know," Riley giggled. 

"Mom!" 

Riley turned and saw her sons walking into the room. 

"Daddy, do you want to come sledding with us?" William asked. 

"Can't," Liam said, picking up a slice of baklava. "I've got business to take care of." 

"Oh, please," Riley said, looking up at him. "Come play with us." 

"You don't have to convince me," he chuckled, popping another bite into his mouth. 

"Yay! Come on, Daddy!" 

"Ok, ok," Liam laughed. 

They put their jackets and boots on and walked outside. 

Olivia, Ellie, Micaela and Alex were standing on top of a snow hill planning the race, surrounded by lots of freshly fallen snow. Drake, Maxwell, Hana Delaney, were chatting and drinking Lythikos nog. Leo and Amalas met Liam, Riley, William and Stefan to take them to watch the race.

"Are you ready?" Olivia called, looking down the hill. 

"Bring it!" Drake yelled. 

"Oh, you're gonna get it!" Ellie shouted. 

"Alright, let's start this," Maxwell said, clapping his hands. 

"Who's racing?" Maxwell asked. 

"Me, you, Auntie Laney, and Uncle Drake," Ellie said, hopping up and down. 

"Oh," Maxwell said. "Then it's three against one." 

"Yeah," Olivia smirked. "I'm rooting for my niece." 

"Same here," Amalas chuckled. 

"Oh, boy," Maxwell groaned. 

"You've got this, Ellie!" Micaela cheered. 

"We'll win this," Delaney said. 

"Suurre, you will," Drake said. 

"Oh, we will," Ellie countered, nodding. 

Alex placed the circular discs in a line, 10 feet apart for Ellie, Maxwell, Drake, and Delaney.

Olivia and Ellie looked at each other, smirking. 

"On your mark," Alex said, "Get set. Goooooo!" 

They pushed their sleds down the hill, the cold air hitting their faces. Olivia looked over and saw Maxwell's sled was flying down the hill, far ahead of the others. She and Ellie looked at each other, laughing. 

"He's gonna crash," Ellie said. 

"He's not gonna stop," Olivia chuckled. 

"You're right," she sighed. "He's gonna wipe out." 

"Hopefully he'll learn his lesson." 

"What lesson?" 

"Never bet against us," Olivia smirked. 

"Yeah," Ellie chuckled. 

As they neared the bottom of the hill, Olivia saw Maxwell's sled skid off the side, sending him flying into the air.

Maxwell was having a blast, the speed at which he was barreling down the hill was exhilarating.

"Woo-hoo!" He yelled. "I'm flying!" 

"Not for long!" Ellie laughed. 

"Huh?" 

Suddenly, Maxwell's sled flew off the side, sending him tumbling into a snowbank. 

"Maxwell!" Riley cried out, running to him. 

"Ouch," he groaned. 

"What happened?" Liam asked. 

"I don't know. My sled just shot off the hill." 

"He's fine," Riley said. "I'm sure it's not the end of the world." 

"Yeah," Maxwell nodded. 

"Oh, man," Ellie chuckled, nudging Olivia. "Good thing they can't prove anything." 

"I agree," Olivia whispered. 

"You are a bad influence, Liv" Riley said, noticing their devious expressions 

"Maybe." 

"Alright," Drake said, stepping next to the snowbank. "Who wants a turn?" 

"I do!" Ellie cried, leaping into the snow. 

Liam stepped up and stopped his daughter from lifting the fast disc.

"Ellie, hold on a second," Liam said calmly. 

"Why, Daddy?" 

"Because that's not a toy, and it's dangerous." 

"I can handle it," Ellie said. 

"You need to be careful." 

"I will be." 

"No, Ellie. Just use the slower sled." 

"But-" 

"I won't tell you again." 

"Fiiinne," Ellie groaned, trudging over to the slower sled. 

"You know, Li, you never used to be so strict," Leo said, stepping next to him. 

"Well, times have changed." 

"True." 

"I can't risk her getting hurt." 

"Of course not," Leo nodded. "But she's your daughter. She's gonna want to try new things and get out of her comfort zone." 

"I'm aware." 

"So maybe let her have a little more freedom. It's not going to kill her." 

"I'll think about it." 

"Good. But remember, we did a lot of stuff we shouldn't have when we were kids." 

"Exactly.” 

@choicesficwriterscreations @choicescommunityevents @kingliamappreciationweek @choicesholidays @choicesmonthlychallenge @choicesdecember2024 @choicesprompts

📌tags in the comments

[terrificchocolateferrets]

Why does it have to be so hot. I am literally sweating inside my house. Isn't it about time we had another ice age because I think an ice age would be lovely this time of year

[orcelito]

Super sexy me is so sexy I accidentally set off the fire alarm while baking pie shells for my pumpkin pie. And now I don't know if I should've even baked them in the first place. But well. Too late now 👍

[herefortheships]

Feeling pretty bleh in my stomach tonight. 🤢🥴

Hopefully I can sleep.

[nexus-nebulae]

went to a farmers market the other day bc someone spontaneously asked if i wanted to go with them and i bought a bunch of vegetables and somehow for the first time in years I've had the energy and motivation to make myself a sandwich and a salad out of them

[do-you-have-a-flag]

Text recounting of the full events below but oh my god please watch this person explain the wildest thing happening to them

[image text]r/trueoffmychest post by CptnSpaceCase tiktok handle kelseycanstand

Today my aide cooked what should not be cooked

I have to get this out, because today feels like an actual nightmare I keep expecting to wake up from.

I'm disabled, and need help with stuff around the house. Today was the second day with a new agency and new home health aide, "Tina." I set it up so she would come by in the morning while I'm sleeping (insomnia is killer), and I texted her last night what I would need done today.

One of those things was to roast some precut squash I'd gotten so I could have it with my salads and pasta. I was very clear in my instructions: what it looked like, where it was in the fridge, how to use the oven, how to cook it. I also have a roommate who was up and told her she could ask them for help if she couldn't find anything. Or come get me if truly necessary.

Now, I have three pet ball pythons. They eat rats that I thaw from frozen in the fridge in a reusable plastic bag. Yes, that's where I'm going with this.

Tina couldn't find the squash, and so, obviously, that meant she should roast the first other thing she could see that was technically also encased in plastic, in a completely different area of the fridge. The FUCKING RATS. In butter and salt, in my nice baking dish.

And like, that's insane all on its own, but if you're going to cook any animal, you should at least clean and skin it first, right??? Like, do the crazy, disgusting thing properly so I can respect the effort, instead of sticking them in as is. Fur and guts and all.

And the smell. Good God baby Jesus the SMELL. It woke me up and had me gagging the moment I opened my bedroom door. Definitely not squash. Or food-smelling for that matter. At first I thought the squash had spontaneously rotted overnight and she'd tried to cook it anyway. That would have been slightly less insane and much preferable.

I had to pull it out of her what she was cooking instead when she said she couldn't find it (it was in plain sight), had to open the oven and see my snakes' dinners in place of my own and still couldn't process what the fuck was happening, what I was looking at and smelling. I don't like yelling at people and generally avoid it. Today was a day for exceptions. And at the end of my half-crazed, dissociative rant, I told her to get the whole dish and its contents and herself out of the fucking house. And to not come back.

Suffice to say, I've contacted the agency to report it and am requesting a new aide. Now I'm sitting at a cafe trying to calm down and eat something despite the scent memory that's taken up permanent residence and turning my stomach. The whole house reeks like musty, sewage-dipped pork that had been left out for a whole day before being cooked in rancid oil, and I'm not sure Febreeze is gonna cut it. I don't want to go home. 🫠😭

[cheswirls]

spent the past 6 hours staring at a screen trying to remember to code, the sun set 5 hrs ago so being in near-dark for all but 2h of it didn't help much. now my head hurts and my jaw hurts and i haven't eaten in 8+ hrs and im still not done even tho i am rightfully finished for the day so i can't even say it was worth it bc the task is completed. so. hm. so much i wanted to do today and this is what happened instead.

[inkskinned]

i have a fever. let's imagine pokemon world dash discourse together. (sorry i do not have darkmode.)

🤳🏻 pokestopit reblogged team-sprocket

👻 gengaydar Follow

For the last fucking time owning a gengar is NOT graverobbing. what is actually wrong with you people

#gengar #why am i even still on this site #i don't have a gengar but like. what's even going on over there #is marowak graverobbing now too??

💅 deerlinguist reblogged givemeyourstrongestpotion

👩‍❤️‍👩 lightscreend Follow

farfetch'd is like the most edible pokemon just because he comes with his own aromatics. pop that bad boy in the oven with some oran berries.... don't mind if i do

⚧ feministforcepalm Follow

@dyketraining tags pass peer review

🚣🏼‍♂️ magicarpaltunnel reblogged haxorsus

🐦‍⬛ corvikite Follow

I love to hate things and people. And when I turn out to be RIGHT and that person is a DICK? All parasocial relationships are bad and evil unless I am right about hating someone and then parasocial relationships are good actually

🪐waterbubbil Follow

We all thought about the same person let's just be honest here....

🎀 contest-winrar Follow

For me it's always going to be people who keep Pokémon without any thought as to their enrichment and needs. You do not need a fucking Arcanine, you live in a studio apartment and don't walk more than a block a day. You think you want a Gardevoir but are you okay with having an unknowable creature reading your thoughts every waking moment of the day? Even while you do... the nasty?

It drives me crazy because people see a Champion and think they have the time, energy, money, and space necessary to raise a Dragon type. Unless you have generational wealth, let me spell it out for you: you do not have the funds for a Dragon type. And yes! Charizard is on that list, guys! You can't even afford to feed yourself!

📯 jessiejustlickme Follow

local tumblr user declares the poors only get rat pokemon. maybe a bug pokémon if we are very good. we must grovel in the streets amen

🎀 contest-winrar Follow

Laugh all you want but I'm serious. I have heard of someone who is living with a MR. MIME like it's her HUSBAND!!!! That's fucking GROSS. These are creatures that TRUST us and NEED us.

Did you know that most Ponyta prefer to be in a herd? Are you going to have the space for that? Did you know that if you don't properly care for certain fire species their flame goes out? Sure, they're cute when they're small: but unless you're a rancher or a Gym Leader... I'm sorry. You're gross to me if you think otherwise. I hate people like that.

And for the record, rat and bug Pokémon are very valuable from an ecological standpoint. They hold an extremely important niche. People like you would rather they be hunted to extinction because they're pests, not pretty. It's disgusting.

🐦‍⬛ corvikite Follow

anybody in this thread smoke weed

#NOT THE RATS FOR THE POOR PEOPLE... GIRLLLLLL #the thing is they're not like... wrong.... #like i agree with the sentiment #my friend tried to get a slyveon just by like. playing catch a few times #.... like you do need to try.... #also fyi i have a large species so i'm biased #grovyle my baby . my man. u are costing me like so much in pokepuffs per month

👁‍🗨 badsol

why are we all talking about what pokemon to eat tonight lmafo

#.... obviously jigglypuff. homegirl is 90% cotton candy

🪅 feebassguitar reblogged metrognome

🫖 sinisteacher Follow

Like okay I got into science because I love to learn but the more I find out about how we've classified Pokémon types the more insane I feel. What do you mean there's no singular true indicator? What do you mean that there are several conditions which completely alter their base type?

Literally today my lab partner and I got into a very serious discussion about Luxray. That thing is a fuckking dark type!!!!! I'm sorry!!! I don't care what Bulbapedia says!!!! anyway i threw a pokeball at him and it swallowed him whole and now i'm going to jail for unlawful imprisonment of a TA

🍙 thesandwichking Follow

there's something, like, very dystopian about the idea that if u put an ugly hat on ur favorite little creature it changes like. the DNA. like. do other pokemon look at what you've done and cower? that's their friend... similar but changed... forever having known a life that is entirely alien to them...

🐳 wailordsupreme Follow

.... Are we going to ignore that OP swallowed a human into a ball???

#yes we are. #my friend loves those hats but I think they're so ugly #and stupid #if i wanted a specific type imma get that type..... #typesetting #show james

🧗‍♀️ backpacksandcavesnacks reblogged eevee-lotion

👑 lemmegrabmyballs Follow

ROUND 5 of 6 (see blog for more)

PLEASE REBLOG FOR VISIBILITY:

✍️ dreepydrabbles reblogged ash-hole

☠️ marrowhackoff Follow

just saw someone say writing omegaverse fanfic of your pokemon is bestiality. ma'am this is the monster fucking site. you should be grateful that it's only omegaverse.

#the things i've seen would melt your eyebrows clean off your face #..... typhlosion they could never make me hate you baby #i know that's not what's in your heart

🪽 honey-tree-skies reblogged gymcrawler

🐛 youngstirjoey Follow

Okay say what you will. But shorts really are comfy and easy to wear

🛀🏽 intimidatecutsyourattack Follow

Sorry bud. But. Investing at 3 notes

🐛 youngstirjoey Follow

don't do this to me. i h avue a wife . and chi ld

[sunflowerrboyy]

today i learned anxiety and allergy attack dont mix

[charliemwrites]

Men At Work - Part 3

I know this has been a little slow to start, but things should progress a little more quickly from here. I wanted to establish some of the groundwork for this weird dynamic they all have but unfortunately, these men don't know the meaning of slow, even in my own head.

No Content Warnings

“How are the repairs going?” you ask.

It’s just Nikto today, returning your Tupperware from dinner the other night. He’s covered head to toe once again, all that’s visible are those glass blue eyes. One way mirrors - hiding everything beneath the surface.

They remind you of… something. 

Hmm. When you figure it out, they’re sure to make an appearance in your next novel.

“On track,” he answers in that sharp, staccato way you’re learning is just his way.

Unfortunately for him, that just makes you more curious. You know it’s a bit obnoxious - you’re not entitled to information, you know that. And most of the time you curb the inquiries tapping at the back of your teeth. But he’s in your house, snuggling your traumatized cat. If he’s got a problem answering casual questions, you’re certain he’ll have no problem letting you know.

“You’re redoing the whole thing?”

“Most of it. Foundation is good. The rest - дерьмо.”

You don’t know a lick of Russian, but you can guess.

“Good bones,” you hum in understanding. As if you know anything about construction. “That helps. When do you think it will be done?”

He shifts, sharp eyes flicking between your busy hands, the door, and Rasputin holding him lovingly hostage.

Little guy is currently perched on your shoulder, face buried against your collar in abject despair that his bestest friend hasn’t come to visit. Shithead is poaching (or attempting to, anyway) the sandwiches you’re assembling. So far, she’s only swishing her tail, biding her time. You’re keeping an eye on her.

“Two months. Three if any of us are called.”

You hum, reach for the tomatoes. It’s only because you’re looking at him that you notice the slightest twitch around his eyes. Beneath his mask, you’d bet he’s scrunching his nose.

“No?”

“I will eat.”

You leave the tomatoes off. Guy mews sadly, you tilt your head to press a kiss to his little ear.

“So, two or three months. Krueger said you’ll move in then.”

“Da.”

You top the sandwiches with a final slice of bread and turn to the oven. Spin back just in time to catch Shithead’s paw reaching for Krueger’s designated sandwich. Nikto eyes the plate of brownies in your free hand; you bite the corner of your mouth to keep from grinning.

“What about the yard?”

Nikto tilts his head. If he didn’t give the impression of a particularly large predator, you’d call it cute. As it is, even spiders and snakes endear themselves to you somehow.

“What about yard?”

“Any plans for it?” You sneak an extra brownie onto Nikto’s plate. Reward and apology for wrenching conversation out of him. “Grass? Trees? Flowers?”

He blinks. Just once. Some sort of intuition tells you that even that behavioral tic is a big social step for him.

“No.”

“Oh, uh… gravel then?”

“We mean no plans,” he corrects.

“Oh! Alright, I suppose that’s a long way off anyway. There’s still so much work to do on the inside.”

But it does get you thinking. What even goes into fixing a house? And how do they know all this stuff? The electric, the insulation, the… whatever else goes into a home. Is it just Weird Things they picked up from the military?

You stare contemplatively at the house’s exterior as you walk the plates across the street with Nikto. (Ras is riding on his shoulder and Guy refused to detach his claws from yours. You fear for the state of your home with Shithead left behind, but neither you nor Nikto had a spare hand to wrangle her with.)

Nikto practically kicks the door in, shouting for the others as he goes. Guy chooses that moment to start crying - uncanny sense for appearing pathetic as possible.

Konig must hear him halfway down the stairs, because the steady boot steps get faster after a moment.

“Oh, bubchen! Why are you sad? What has happened?” Konig coos, nearly running to your side.

Of course, now that he’s gotten what he wanted, Guy’s volume lowers. He makes a pleased little “mrow” and slinks off your shoulder and into Konig’s reaching hands. You’d call him a traitor but you’re a damn sucker for a big man with a cute animal. 

“You two are ridiculous,” you laugh, setting the plates on the counter.

It’s already been replaced since last you saw it. Black granite, very sleek. You like it. (Which of them installed it? Nikto? You usually catch glimpses of him on the ground floor.)

“He is a baby, Biene,” Konig protests, “he must be treated like one.”

“He’s already five!” You reply, like you don’t have a papoose for when your hands are too full to snuggle him.

“Did I stutter? I do not think so. This is a baby.”

You have to turn away to hide your laughter, pretending that taking the foil off the lunches requires your full attention.

Krueger steps up behind you while you’re not looking. The heat of him is what alerts you, the only reason you don’t jump when his rough voice comes by your head.

“Where is the Shithead.”

“Hello to you too, Krueger. How is your day?”

He grunts and reaches past you, trying to snatch up a brownie. Without a thought, you slap at his hand - balk at the sharp whack sound it makes. He jerks his hand back in shock.

“You deny me my dearest friend and you attack me in my own home.”

You spin on your heel, mouth already open. False start as you realize he’s even closer than you expected. The height difference doesn’t seem like much until you’re eye level with his neck. You untangle your tongue and ignore the smirk growing at the corner of his scarred mouth.

“This is barely a house, never mind a home,” you scoff.

He snorts - that smirk turns to a full blown grin. A little crazed. Unfortunately, that makes it more attractive. (And the bastard probably knows it too.)

“You insult me too, now.”

“Sure, but I brought you food.”

He flicks his eyes to the plate behind you and arches a brow.

“Bring me the little Sheisskerl and I will forgive you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Go get her yourself.”

What the hell did you just say? Inviting a man into your house unaccompanied?! You may not be a true crime writer, but you know better.

You still don’t take it back.

He locks eyes with you, gives the distinct impression that he knows exactly what you just thought and he’s amused by your obstinance.

“Fine.” He reaches past your hip. Smells like sweat and something that reminds you of heat. Solder? Certainly not anything you’re used to. “Behave, eh? Konig is easy to take advantage of.”

You snort and glance at Konig over his shoulder, who’s glaring now. (Somehow no less intimidating even with Guy nuzzling at his mask.)

As Krueger turns, he takes a big bite of brownie, humming appreciatively under his breath. You shake your head, then turn to Konig.

“If you want to steal one of his sandwiches, I’ll look the other way.”

Konig barks a short, sharp laugh of surprise. It startles you a bit, but not enough to wipe the grin from your face. You know he really means it when he sounds like that.

“How are the bathroom repairs going?” you ask.

“They are going well!” he answers. Then launches into an in-depth explanation of all the ongoing projects. Replacing walls, rewirings, outlet and light installations. What doesn’t go over your head is almost too fast to understand as his accent thickens with excitement. You nod along anyway, because you asked, and he’s stupidly endearing - big muscular man getting a bit squeaky while he rambles about pipes.

He barely even notices Guy’s little paw reaching until it’s shoved into his open mouth. He sputters as you burst into laughter, gently tucking Guy’s arm against his chest.

“Why would you do this?!” he asks, only to receive a slow blink in response.

“He’s saying you need to eat,” you giggle, nudging Konig’s plate.

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for the lunch!”

Barely a couple bites in and you hear the door open again. Krueger stomps in with Shithead bundled in his arms, one hand under her bottom, the other around her tummy. She’s got her head tilted all the way back to chirp and chitter at him.

“Why are you carrying her like that?” you ask, choking back a giggle. 

“It is how she wishes to be carried.”

You blink at her - but sure as shit, she’s perfectly content being held like a child’s toy.

“Well good luck eating like that.”

“You won’t feed me?” he leers.

“I don’t want rabies if you bite me.”

His laughter is even harsher than Konig’s. You like it instantly.

All that’s left is to hear Nikto’s.

Agatha is outside when Nikto walks you back home.

(Krueger huffed that he had too much work to do for the day, but he would see you for dinner. While you were still blinking in shock at his self-invite, Konig transitioned Little Guy back into your arms. All the while grumbling at Krueger’s impatient German.)

She scowls as she notices your two-person parade. Nikto’s juggling Little Guy and Rasputin; you’ve got a firm grip on Shithead and the stack of dirty plates. You snort a bit just thinking of her paranoid comments about them being bad men. Sure, they might be in some ways, but it’s a hard sell when Ras is trying to lick at the edge of the mask around Nikto’s eyes.

“Afternoon, Agatha,” you call, just to be petty.

“When is your fiance coming by again?” she calls back. “Such a lovely young man.”

Your mirth dries up in an instant. “I broke up with my boyfriend four months ago. I thought I told you.”

You did. You know you did. Because she’s a nosy pain in the ass that was asking about your Easter plans with him (trying to invite you to church once again) when you told her that you left him. She’d even fussed about it at the time, saying that there’s hardly anything that can’t be healed with time and understanding.

(It was only your commitment to your own privacy that kept you from asking how much time it takes to smooth over someone cheating with your cousin.)

At your side, Nikto grunts. You glance sideways at him, wondering what he must think.

But his eyes are on Agatha. Even Rasputin has paused the grooming routine to narrow his one eye at her.

“Is this the one that looks in mailbox?” he asks, louder than you’ve ever heard.

Loud enough that she hears. And flushes redder than the poppies in your flowerboxes.

“That��s her husband, actually,” you answer. She sputters, and an incredibly immature bolt of satisfaction suffuses you.

He grunts again. Eyes her up and down. “Maybe we leave surprise for him next time, da?”

You press your lips together, but it does nothing to prevent you from grinning. He’s deadly serious, though, which somehow makes it even funnier to you.

“Maybe!” you reply in a tone that really means absolutely.

Nikto shuts the door on her face before Agath can get out a threat to call the police.

“You’ve got a petty streak,” you say, grinning at him.

He tilts his head. “You like.” He doesn’t even sound sure if it’s a question or a statement.

“Yeah,” you giggle, “I like it.”

He grunts and takes the plates from your hand. “We wash. You think about dinner and revenge. Da?”

You plop yourself onto a stool by the kitchen counter. “Da.”

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[possum-tooth]

i need more friends i need to socialize