#in this case fresh is calling error hot

[l-3-m-n]

fresh is the menace in error's life.

[ghoulphile]

no use cryin' over spilled milk | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.8 k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, frottage, lactation kink, pregnant!reader, fingerfucking, praise kink, breast play, the ghoul calls reader pretty mama, he's a pervert who wants to lend a 'helping' hand ➥ summary | based off this ask; oops being an experiment from vault 4 where you may be the first rad resistant human pregnant with a possibly rad resistant baby, and you come across the ghoul who helps you get to a safe place but then he gets attached with you and the baby 🥺 (this is just me trying to insert a lactation kink somewhere i'm sorry) ➥ notes | uhhhh pls let me know if i missed anything, my brain is dribbling out my ears (its 3:44 am and i have work at 8 am rip) but the parasites persist. i'll do the tag list when i wake up ❤️ masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Going topside wasn’t an easy decision.

In fact, bile bitter regret often lingers in the back of your throat - a lump that stifled the air in your lungs.

And while you might’ve been bioengineered to survive better under these harsh wasteland conditions, every time you find yourself in a less than ideal situation, you're catapulted headlong into paralyzing self doubt; alone and rudderless.

No one lives in the vaults - not truly.

Birdie (and the others) warned you of what awaited beyond those lead-lined walls. But you couldn’t abide spending the rest of your life trapped in a cage, albeit a gilded one.

Not anymore.

Oh no, you wanted to feel a real breeze instead of air pumped through the HVAC. Experience the sun baking warm into your skin like fresh bread instead of the artificial heat of the UV lamp used for mandatory light therapy sessions. Complain about the chafe of sand in your shoes and hear the crunch of dirt under foot instead of a hollow clunk of sterile metal.

To witness first hand all the sights, sounds, and smells this world offers. 

Only… you didn’t expect it to be this hard.

Nor did you expect to be pregnant when setting off into the great unknown on your own (a definite oversight on your part [you really shouldn’t have had one last hurrah before hitting the road]).

Through trial and error, motion sicknesses that swing into crippling nausea as manic energy - your first taste of true freedom! - dwindled into dragging fatigue, you found a happy medium. None of which would have been possible had it not been for the most unlikely of companions.

Ghouls; who knew, huh?

Sure, you’d heard of them from the rotating door of visitors that found themselves at Vault 4, but you’d never seen them. While you grew up surrounded by visible mutations, seeing the battlefield of his body was off putting; how a person could survive a patina of burns and patchwork slices without unraveling at the seams was beyond you.

And kind of frightening.

But he took it in stride, introducing himself as Ghoul. Refused to divulge anything else of substance no matter how much you poked and prodded.  His life pre-bomb was a complete mystery filled with plot holes and unanswered questions (which is exactly what he preferred).

You learned to be comfortable with his meandering conversations, and all the words he spoke that said much of nothing. And what you did glean, you did so through observation alone. 

He was alone - had been for a very long time.

He was very old - one of the last of his kind.

And he was, in his own way, very kind - at least by wasteland standards.

“The fuck you doin’?”

Pausing, you stop mid push and hover awkwardly on your hands and knees. The vault suit pulls taut across your hips, pinching behind your knees uncomfortably. Your toes squeak in your shoes, socks thoroughly soaked through with sweat.

It’s been unseasonably hot (or it’s the hormones). Whatever the case, this is the first semi-decent lodging you’ve camped in for weeks, and you’re not about to miss an opportunity to freshen up.

And maybe find a way to soothe the building ache in your tits - flesh swollen tender and nipples rubbed raw.

“I’m just, uh, gonna,” you motion towards the back of the house, the askew bathroom door clinging to its hinges by a corner, “y’know, f-freshen up. See if they don’t still have some water.”

The Ghoul scans you up and down, gimlet-eyed. “S’that so?”

You huff, your knees starting to ache.

Being five months pregnant throws your center of gravity for a loop, the atmosphere weighing extra heavy on your bones. It doesn’t help that the baby’s decided sitting directly on your bladder with a foot tucked under your ribs is the best position.

“Didn’t know I needed permission to take a piss now,” you snipe. Usually, you try to reign in the hormones but the day’s been too long and you’re in pain. Anyone would be a little snippy (right?). “Can I do that on my own or do you need to watch, Mr. Ghoul?”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze glinting from beneath the rim of his hat as he tips his head. “Better watch it, sweetheart,” he says. “Otherwise, I might have’ta wash your mouth out with soap.”

Pushing yourself up with a grunt, you determinedly ignore the raspy chuckle that follows as you waddle towards the bathroom. Cussing him out all the while in your mind.

While he’s been ‘nicer’ today - stopping for extra breaks, even packing it in several hours earlier than usual because he noticed how weary you looked - he’s still an asshole.

The toilet’s gone, the tub’s tipped sideways, the linoleum’s cracked, and closing the door sounds like a pack of howling mole rats but its functional. When you catch your reflection in the spider web fractures of the mirror, you grimace.

The wastes have certainly left their mark on you. Gone is the prim-and-proper vault dweller, replaced by a gremlin of a woman Overseer Benjamin would surely scowl at.

A true ‘surfie’ now.

“Great,” you groan, scrubbing a palm over your face. “Just - ugh!”

You’re caked in grime, a steak of dirt smeared across the bridge of your nose. Mysterious stains darken the blue fabric, the golden stripes of your suit an off-putting grey.

Your hair clumps in greasy chunks. You’re glossy with sweat, and while your curves have plumped up over the last few months, you didn’t realize just how much until now.

The vault suit’s always been tight - now it clings and creases in unflattering places. And there’s nothing you can do about it, unless the Ghoul is willing to spare a sewing kit.

You could let the waist out some…

What the hell am I gonna do if he won’t? There’s no way I’ll fit if this baby gets any bigger. Shit, I look like a fucking sausage. Your hand cradles the side of your stomach, stroking over the bump with a frown. This is all your fault, you little parasite.

“You better be so fucking cute - the cutest goddamn baby in the wasteland. Or I will riot.”

Tugging down the zipper over your breasts is heaven, the swollen flesh spilling out of the parting fabric, no longer compressed. It’s almost enough to make you cry as you struggle to tug the lycra off your shoulders, the fabric putting up a fight.

After some awkward contortions that pull uncomfortably at the muscles of your shoulder blades, you manage to wrangle yourself free.

The temptation to burn the stupid goddamn suit is almost too much to resist, but then you’d really be traipsing around the wasteland in the nude and just… no.

Peeling off your undershirt is another story altogether, the soft cotton feeling like sandpaper as it scrapes over sensitive skin. Your nerves tingle with awareness, bolts of pain shooting through your nipples with every shift.

Quick like a bandaid, you think, taking a steadying inhale.

It’s a miracle you don’t scream.

Tears cling to your lashes, your nose running as you toss the shirt to the side with one hand and cradle your chest with the other. Sure, you’ve had tenderness with your period but this kind of pain? A whole new level.

You almost don’t know what to do with yourself.

How is this fair - aren’t you suffering enough?

Sniffling, you peer down at your tits and gingerly cup them with your palms. Swollen hard and warm to the touch; a heavy weight crushing your ribs.

Do I really have to milk myself like a fucking brahmin? Another bolt of lightning crackles through your nerve endings as if in response. Fine. God, this is embarrassing.

Only any attempt at touching your nipples produces pure agony, shards of glass biting into delicate skin.

No matter how slight your touch, no matter how gentle your fingers - it doesn’t work. Leaves you more distraught and in pain than when you began as inflamed nerve endings crackle and burn.

And when the tears truly start, the dam breaks. It’s not long before they drip down your cheeks in fat rivulets, your breath hitching from you in pathetic little exhales.

Your fist shoves against your mouth in an attempt to smother the sounds, teeth sinking into your knuckle until you leave sore indents.

But you should know better, not only does the Ghoul have heightened senses (he’s taunted you constantly with this fact like the asshole he is), but he’s uncannily perceptive in a very annoying way.

You don’t hear the squeal of the door, but you do sense his presence behind you; the rad warm burn of his body as he stops a scant few inches away. You feel his breath against the nape of your neck, the barest brush of his chest as he inhales.

“You ready ta stop bein’ stubborn?” he hums. “I thought I told you not ta wait s’long.”

Your voice warbles from you, “G’way.” You curl into yourself, shoulders hunching as you hang your head. “Don’t need your help.”

The Ghoul snorts. “Cuz you doin’ so well on your own, huh?”

“I resent that.” You shoot him a weak glare, the animosity ruined by the crumble of your lips. “I really, really do.”

You hate always having to rely on him, so desperate to prove that you can take care of yourself only to have every effort to do so thrown back in your face.

Shit, you hate how right Birdie was, ��Honey, you won’t last five minutes on your own. Please stay here with us where it’s safe.”

“Well, maybe so. But pickers can’t be choosers, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a languid roll of the shoulders. “Ain’t no use cryin’ over spilled milk. C’mon, the longer you wait, the worse it’s gon be.”

“I just - you don’t understand…”

He reaches around you to set his hat on the sink, the dwindling light of twilight creeping in through the holes in the roof to bathe him in its bloody light.

He looks like a grotesque demon that clawed its way from the depths of hell. It gets your pulse thudding, electric awareness an unwelcome visitor as it roosts behind your navel.

“I understand plenty. Now, let me.”

Not an offer - not really.

More akin to a demand, one wrapped up pretty like a gift. You’ve been here many times before, and while the Ghoul proffers his help under the guise of not wanting to hear your bitching and moaning, the hungry gleam of his eyes as they rake over your face say otherwise.

If it’s one thing you’ve learned in your travels with him, it’s this: he is entirely self-serving. He offers because he wants to suck on a set of pretty tits. If you happen to cream your panties while he does, well, he counts it as a win-win.

Quid pro quo.

And what you hate more than how utterly correct everyone is about life on the surface, is how needy he makes you. How desperate and dumb and dripping he’s got you by the end, drunk off the flick of his tongue and the rasp of his touch.

Because it’s so hard to be strong in the face of pain when the solution is right there; open-palmed.

“...Fine, just don’t - don’t leave marks this time, okay?”

A slow waking smile creaks across his face, and he says, “I ain’t makin’ any promises, sweetheart.”

Your stomach swoops, and your thighs clench.

Shit.

Scarred lips work over tender flesh as a talented tongue flicks and swirls over the bumps of your areola, the tip digging into your nipple and drawing the swollen nub into a hot mouth. You whimper, arms tossed over the Ghoul’s broad shoulders.

Cold ceramic digs into the base of your spine, your body crowded back against the sink as he plasters himself to your front. Cuts off any escape routes and refuses to let you squirm away from the overwhelming sensations as he suckles.

Heavy palms grope at the plush curves of your hips, fingertips digging into the fat.

His lips pop off your nipple with a sticky smack. “Always taste s’fucking good,” he groans against your sternum. “Got the prettiest set a tits in the wasteland.”

“Hnn! N-Not so hard.”

While you say that, you don’t mean it - not really. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, clit swollen and aching for friction. Your inner thighs are a mess of slick, your vault suit caught around your knees.

He never touches you below the waist directly (some boundaries still exist between you two), but at this point in your pregnancy, you’re so sensitive a gentle breeze could set you off.

“Heh, ain’t you know lyin’s a sin?” he says.

A scarred cheek drags over the swell of your breast, the rasp of rad burn alighting your nerves. Bolts of desire ricochet down your spine, fizzle like Nuka Cola on your tongue. He presses an open mouth kiss to your nipple, his tongue flicking out to massage the tender bud.

At the taste of your skin, his cock twitches where its grinding against your thigh. You feel him through his ragged pinstripe slacks, his shaft a thick line of heat.

It’s probably the hormones (you refuse to admit its anything else) but just the thought of touching him, of sinking down onto his erection - feeling how fucking good he’d stretch you out and fill you up - makes you dizzy.

You pant, your voice distinctly whiny when you say, “Please, d-do something. It still hurts.”

His grin reminds you of the mongrels roaming the wastelands. “Sh,” he hushes you. “I got you, sweetheart.”

The tips of his fingers brush along the side of your swollen stomach. Your heart flips in your chest, your breath catching as he follows the contours of your body, reaching down to brush over the skin of your mound. This is new, he’s never done this before. It’s simultaneously as arousing as it is terrifying.

“Can smell how wet you are for me,” he says, tone low and gruff. “You gonna be a good girl for me, ain’t you?”

“I-”

Then his mouth is slurping at your tit, his teeth biting down on your nipple gently as those strong fingers dip between your thighs. Blunt nails scratch through your pubic hair, a calloused pad swirling circles around your slippery clit. Your hips jump, your head rolling back between your shoulders as a loud moan rips itself from your throat.

You arch back so far your belly presses against the Ghoul’s, your tits smothering his face.

You think, half deliriously, it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a nose otherwise you might’ve broken it.

“Shit, that’s so - oh, fuck, please, please, please!’

Your legs widen to make room for his hand as yours fly up to grab his biceps, nails biting into the rough leather of his duster.

His tongue flutters across your areola. “C’mon, pretty mama, give it ta me.”

“Oh.” Sparks dance behind your eyes, your knees shaking as the Ghoul strokes over your folds, tests your wetness and the give of your cunt as he plays with your entrance. “Right there,” you gasp. “I’m gonna…”

He grunts, tugging on your nipple with his teeth.

The sharp bite of pain shoots through you, deepens the kindling warmth behind your navel that steadily builds and builds and builds. You feel on the very edge, nerves plucked like the keys of a piano.

So close you can taste it.

Then a tingling starts in the tips of your fingers.

Burns its way up your arms to settle in the weight of your chest, pins and needles pricking across the skin of your tits, lancing through the swollen buds of your nipples.

You tremble, the relief bringing tears to your eyes as tears the heaviness releases in a warm flood, your milk letting down to flow into the Ghoul’s eagerly pulling mouth.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he moans, chasing after the taste by nuzzling into your chest. His cock ruts against you. “Took you’re sweet damn time, didn’t you, darlin’?”

Your head spins, hazy thoughts scattering like confetti.

Endorphins simmer through your veins as you float on a cloud of cotton softness. Reality seems worlds away, your vision blurry as you focus on the points of contact between your bodies. The stretch of his fingers plunging into your pussy to stroke over the front wall.

Mouth slack, your hands creep up the Ghoul’s arms to trace over the sides of his neck, watch the dance of your fingers over his skin. “It feels s’good,” you slur. “Please don’t stop - wanna cum just like this.”

“Heh, wouldn’t dream of it.”

[cosmichymns]

Not beta read. All spelling errors are mine. On AO3.

When Two Halves Split

You and Emily walked into your shared high rise DuPont Circle apartment after landing back in Quantico about 50 minutes ago with used go-bags that got dropped unceremoniously by the front door. You were tired, sore, embarrassed, and still felt dirty. You could sense Emily was tense, with worry still etched in every line of her face.

You hadn’t meant to be so careless but over the past year, since Emily had become Unit Section Chief, it had been sinisterly creeping up on you. It started with little things like volunteering for more physical roles along the likes of Morgan and Alvez. Your strength had never been an issue. Then it graduated to losing your cool with the local police force much easier than your normally calm and collected temperament usually allowed. Within the past six months it had escalated to charging into potentially dangerous buildings without waiting for backup or clearing scenes. It had gotten to the point that even Rossi, your more physically and emotionally reckless boss, had to pull you aside a few times.

“Can I run you a shower, love?” The low timbre of Emily’s voice rolled through your body, causing you to snap out of your reverie.

Without looking to her, you shook your head while making your way to the kitchen for a glass of wine. You poured two glasses but leaned against the counter, facing Emily, taking a few sips before walking to your wife and handing her the other glass. She accepted it, took a small sip, and continued to study you.

“Thank you,” she murmured, holding the glass with two hands and allowing her fingers to tap along the side. “Just let me help you wash your hair. There’s still a but of dirt in your hair.” You let her run a cool hand through your loose auburn curls, proving her point as a small clump fell to your shoulder.

Dirt. The dirt was everywhere but that’s what happens when an unsub attempts to bury you alive and then when you struggle, shoots the disturbed earth, grazing the side of your deltoid. It still stung. Thankfully it only needed a few stitches. Just another scar for the book, you had thought as Alvez’s hands dug you out of the earth. JJ had called Emily right away, as she always did when you inevitably made a shit choice, and your wife arrived halfway across the country in record time.

You sighed, giving in and knowing she was right with a small forced smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Emily let her hand carefully run from your hair, over your good shoulder, down your arms until she found your hand, and fingers interlaced. She led you across the stylish yet homey apartment to the en-suite master bathroom. She sipped her wine as she turned on the tap and her fingers tested the temperature. You stood there awkwardly, watching her as she bent over to test it again.

“Do you need help, hmm?” Emily asked, setting down her now empty glass and turning to you. She made no move until you answered.

“Please?” You answered, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly needy and small.

Emily hummed quietly in response as she took your glass and started to delicately unbuttoned your shirt. You looked down, watching her recently picked at fingers remove layer by filthy layer. You instantly felt a pang of guilt at the sight of her pale, long digits. They looked fresh and not filled scabbed over and knew you were the cause. You sighed again and closed your eyes to avoid seeing the damage you caused.

Before you knew it, you were both under the spray of hot water. The bathroom lights were dimmed, a few candles lit along the windowsill, and Emily had secured a waterproof bandage over your stitched up muscle. Her hands were dotingly massaging your scalp with your favorite peony scented shampoo. Your hands clung tightly to her shapely waist, letting her care for you.

You had missed her physical presence of this last case, as well as the past four others. You missed sharing a hotel room for as many hours as the team could spare before getting up to do it all over again. JJ had offered to share a room while you but you had declined politely each time.

“Y/n?” Emily questioned softly, the inflection sounding like it wasn’t the first time she had quietly called your name. “Sweet girl?” Her fingers so gently lifted your chin up so your eyes met.

“Yes? I’m sorry… I was just…” you let your explanation trail off. She already knew.

“Sit for me?” Her fingers were carding through your clean, wet hair, coaxing you into the present.

“I think I’m done.”

“Y/n, please humor me.”

“Emily, I just want to…”

“Sit.”

The assertive tone in her voice sent a shiver down your spine, your body knowing what it meant. You looked up at her, immediately searching her face for any type of annoyance, and finding none. Knowing it was a 50/50 shot, your subconscious chose defiance as you set your jaw. She raised a greying eyebrow, a silent warning. You knew she always made good on punishments regarding your bratty behavior.

You stifled a huff, never broke eye contact, and slowly took your time sitting down in the tub, which you didn’t realize was now half full of steaming water. You had no idea why you were challenging her over the most minuscule things, especially when she was only trying to help. Trying your wife at this juncture was in no way an intelligent choice. Saying nothing, Emily held your gaze for a few moments more than necessary while standing tall above you then sat behind you, pulling you to her bare chest.

Over the course of ten minutes you sink into her embrace, melting your body into hers, as she gently kisses under your ear and partially down your neck. The kisses aren’t insistent or pushy. They’re soothing and full of affection. Unexpectedly, your eyes start to burn and fill with scorching tears of embarrassment and confusion. She shushes you tenderly as you turn your head to the side, visualizing her out of one blurry eye. She brings a hand up and rests it above a breast, anchoring your body to hers. She kisses along your cheekbone up to the corner of your eye as angry tears finally give way.

“Oh, my sweet love,” Emily murmurs with a quiet devotion.

Emily doesn’t attempt to dispel your tears. She doesn’t downplay or ignore them. She also doesn’t try to rationalize them. You lean your face into the crook of her warm neck as you close your eyes, trying to assuage your emotions. Emily gently runs her free hand over your good arm patiently.

“I don’t know why.” You say softly once your breathing has evened out.

“Why what, love?”

“Why I’m so… so reckless. So stupid. It’s just gotten worse and… thoughtless. Impetuous. That’s not who I am but…” You shake your head roughly, pulling yourself from the mold your body has made against her. She lets you.

“Hmmm…” Emily just hums, leaning her head against the edge of the deep clawfoot tub but keeping eye contact with you.

“I don’t want anything dangerous to happen to me but it almost always does because I’m so… untethered.”

“And why is that, do you think?”

You turn in the tub to face Emily, your legs finding their way around her hips and behind her back. She pulls you into her lap, hands on your waist. The dim flickers of the candle throw dancing shadows across her face. You try not to look to closely at her ever deepening worry lines, some which you know for a fact you have caused. You run a thumb tenderly back and forth along the fine crows feet lines that extend from the corner of her eyes like a burst of sunlight. She smiles, dimples popping, at your loving gesture.

“It hasn’t been the same for a while.”

“Since I’ve become Section Chief?” she ventures.

You think on it for a moment. “Actually, yes.” You looked at her questioningly but she doesn’t elaborate, just studies you carefully. “I know you’re only a phone call away and in most cases you and Garcia are a reliable, steady stream through our ear pieces but…” You pause. “It’s not the same.”

Emily nods encouragingly, her brows furrowing slightly as your thumb slows to a stop. She thinks she knows where you’re going with this because it’s something that she’s keenly aware of on her end.

“I miss your presence,” you continue. “Your physical presence. We used to be paired together so often when you were a field agent… but this is by no means your fault.” You added the last part quickly. “I just feel a bit…”

“Unstable.” Emily finishes the sentence knowingly, chewing on the inside of her cheek and letting her dark eyes drift to the ceiling.

“Mmhmm”, you hum in acquiescence. “I don’t want you to feel bad or guilty or like you caused this because in no means-“ You cup your hands around both cheeks, gently tilting her head down to meet your eyes. “-your fault in the least. I need you to understand that. I feel so silly for acting out subconsciously like a petulant teenager whose frontal lobe isn’t fully formed. At least they have an excuse.”

Emily is silent for a moment, as if she’s not sure she should say what she’s thinking. You don’t push but instead run you thumbs delicately over her high and sharp bone structure. Without realizing it, your eyes have dropped to her lips while you lick yours in anticipation of her voice. She notices right off the bat and smiles sweetly, leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss on your lips as you sigh.

“I’ve asked JJ to watch over you more but that doesn’t appeared to have helped much,” Emily finally says.

“And I’ve asked Garcia about you…”

At this you both share a quiet laugh. Everything about this woman is addicting. Her lips, her eyes, her laugh…

“I can’t have you hurting yourself because you miss me though, Y/n. It’s not fair to either of us or the team. Can you honestly say you can get this under control?”

You sigh again, sliding down her body just a touch so you’re able to rest your head on her chest, right under her chin. She extends her neck back a bit, giving you more room to get comfortable. You run your pruned fingers down her strong, lightly muscled arm, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth.

“It’s never on purpose. Like I don’t plan to go into the field and fuck around and find out with an unsub. It’s hard to control my environment and without a doubt count on the rest of the team like I did with you. I never thought I would become this needy, clingy partner. I had always despised and even looked down on it… but feeling your warm skin on mine, your strong heartbeat in my ear…” You take a shaky breath, your eyes starting to burn again. Nothing you’re saying feels like it’s making the least bit of sense. “It is the epitome of everything. You’re everything. I was spoiled to work with you as much as I did and I need to realize it can’t always be like that. I have to-“ You scrunch up your nose. “-share you.”

You feel Emily stifle a small giggle underneath you and rub her own pruned fingers along your spine and over your hips. She was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll… I’ll talk to Employee Health, I suppose but I feel like I would be able to work through it on my own.”

The second the sentence slipped from your mouth your light eyes met her dark ones, assessing and reassessing. “We can try whatever you want to, my love. I’ve been considering making my presence more known in the field as well. I didn’t realize how much I would miss it. And miss you too.”

The two of you relaxed in the expensive bath for a few more minutes before drying off, redressing with Emily checking your injury, and wandered into the bedroom. Once the both of you were settled and cuddling in bed, your head once again on Emily’s chest and your injured shoulder facing the ceiling, your eyes drift slowly closed.

“We still have yet to talk about that little defiant stunt in the bathroom…” Emily’s low voice broke the comfortable silence with a tinge of playfulness.

‘Oh no…’, you thought

[cerseimikaelson]

Episode Five: Sound of Music [AO3]

[A/N: "Christmas market" was the prompt chosen by the poll I made for Episode 5, so I hope you enjoy and thank you to everyone who voted!]

They say to never bet something you aren't absolutely certain you are willing to lose.

In Athena's case, time.

One might argue it was an easy decision all around, given that she, as an immortal being, had an infinite amount of time to spare. Truthfully, that was her reasoning when she made that blasted bet.

The greatest irony of all was that she thought herself so crafty, too. She had finally found a way to get Viola to read those books on battle strategy that had been collecting dust on the girl's nightstand for about a month.

"If you finish them and write a report by the end of the week, I'll take you to the Olympian Christmas market that opened this week."

Viola's eyes had lit up, and Athena had walked away fully confident that her daughter, who couldn't sit still for five minutes at the time and hated "the stuffy, yellow tomes you force upon me, Feathers" would never fulfill her side of the bargain. This little wager was ingenious.

Athena made her first error in judgement since that travesty with Napoleon and Waterloo. 

Viola aced Athena's quiz on the material. She provided keen, insightful and intelligent remarks that Athena wanted to be mad about but at the same time she just... couldn't. After all, it would be absurd to be mad at the girl for doing what was asked of her, right?

Viola, for her part, observed her dilemma with thinly-veiled amusement.

"Your expression is so I-just-ate-a-lemon-thinking-it-was-an-orange." she said, practically oozing smugness. "So, my dear Feathers, I believe I am owed a Christmas venture."

And so Athena found herself trying to navigate the hustle and bustle of the market, grey eyes watering at the sheer amount of lights that shone like beacons from seemingly every direction. The scent of mulled wine and baked sausages and fresh honeyed pastries on sticks (Athena had honestly no idea what they were called) assaulted her senses.

Viola, of course, was in her element, beaming as she nearly dislocated her neck trying to take everything in at once. Her ability to fully immerse herself in the joys of the mundane never ceased to inspire a substantial amount of awe in Athena. 

Not that she'd ever tell her that. The girl didn't need any more ammunition to cause mischief wherever she went.

"Oh, what should we do first?" Viola was literally bouncing off the balls of her feet, and she hadn't even had coffee yet.

Not good.

"Ornaments? Pastries? Wine?" Viola wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

Athena raised hers.

"If you honestly think I am going to allow you to consume alcohol, then you and I must reacquaint ourselves. You're seventeen. The other day you talked my ear off about the Olaf marshmallows in your hot chocolate."

Yes, Athena knew who Olaf was now. The Disney Jar had striked again. 

"Don't rain on my parade, Feathers." Viola pouted, but obediently led them both to a booth where a kindly-looking satyr with holly hanging from his horns was selling steaming cocoa in paper cups.

“Hi, Peter. We’ll take two, please.” Viola greeted.

“Ah, I was wondering what was taking you so long.” the satyr (Peter, apparently) said pleasantly. “Here I was thinking you decided to skip your chocolate fix today.”

“Peter, seriously, the day I fail to show up for my chocolate fix is the day you report me missing.” Viola deadpanned. “I just had to get this one out of the house and it took me a while.”

Peter just then noticed Athena for the very first time. Eyes widening to the size of saucers, he nearly leaped out of his skin, almost scalding himself with the hot drinks he was pouring in process.

“My Lady Athena!” he let out a nervous bleat that resembled a panicked goat. “My sincerest apologies, I didn’t see you. I mean- not that you’re easy to miss. No, that sounded wrong. I was just-“

“Getting some cocoa?” Athena cleared her throat a little, reminding him of the task at hand.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Viola waited until they had left the flustered satyr behind to bite back a snort of amusement.

“You really should get out more, Feathers. It’s kind of alarming that people are this fazed to be seeing your face in public outside of a temple or a library.”

Athena opened her mouth to tell her this was deliberate, but she couldn’t help but notice the hushed whispers and hastily-diverted stares aimed at the two of them as they walked by. It was in moments like these that the goddess was keenly aware of just how much her daughter resembled her. Browsing through the Christmas market side by side was a domestic activity she wouldn’t have engaged in for anyone else, and it was sure to fuel the gossip mill for the weeks to come.

“You’re rather popular.” Athena noted as a trio of dryads bundled up in fuzzy white mittens waved cheerfully at Viola. They vanished in an instant when they saw Athena’s eyes on them, though, as if terrified she’d turn them to stone.

“Those are the nail techs at the beauty lab.” Viola supplied. “Sweetest girls in the world, honestly. They’d get along with my Faerie friends like a house on fire. All it would take is one ten-minute conversation about this season’s fashion. Who said clothes don’t bring people together?”

Athena was so caught off guard that Viola openly talked about her Fae connections (a Topic she never even skirted around) that she almost missed the arrival of a god.

“Well, well, well.” Poseidon greeted, sea green eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth as he took mother and daughter in. “Can’t say I expected to run into you guys today.”

“Feathers drives a hard bargain, but I won.” Viola supplied without a hint of discretion.

Athena choked a little.

“Good for you, baby owl.” Poseidon grinned far too jovially. He was holding a half finished stick of blue cotton candy. That probably had something to do with his unusually cheerful demeanor.

“Are you on a sugar high?” Athena demanded incredulously.

“It’s Christmas, Athena! What makes the most wonderful time of the year, well, wonderful, if not a little indulgence?” the sea god argued. “Besides, I’ll eat anything blue.”

Athena and Viola’s responses just about summed up their entire personalities.

“Artificial food coloring is so unhealthy.”

“Moldy cheese included? That’s blue too, isn’t it?”

They glanced at each other with identical unreadable expressions for several moments before turning back to Poseidon as though nothing happened.

“So, who are you here with?”

As if on cue, three more of the Eldest Six (as the first generation of Olympians was largely known as) showed up through the throngs of market visitors.

“Sibling bonding exercise. I stan.” Viola said as she enthusiastically waved at Hades, Hera and Zeus.

Athena, remembering her manners and having been blessed with all of the decorum her daughter hadn’t inherited, chose a much more subdued and appropriate greeting.

“Father.” she inclined her head in Zeus’ direction. “My Queen, Lord Hades. I trust you’re enjoying the festivities.”

“Why are people walking around with those large canes? The percentage of people with visual impairments shouldn’t have grown so exponentially. Besides, what’s the purpose of those canes if they are being waved around instead of touching the ground?” Hades grumbled with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his thick, black trench coat to stave off the cold.

All his question earned him was five vacant looks. Hades left the Underworld about as often as Athena left her study, but at least Athena had her siblings (and now Viola) to keep her in the loop. Hades, on the other hand, if Persephone didn’t correct him was liable to show up to a meeting in a velvet waistcoat, complete with a pocket watch and monogrammed handkerchief. As a result, following his train of thought occasionally posed a challenge.

After a minute, Viola snapped her fingers.

“Oh, I got it!” she exclaimed. “Selfie sticks.”

“Ah.” the other four gave a collective sigh.

“Sticks for one’s self?” Hades asked, totally confused. “For what purpose? Is it another cosplay thing, like those kids with the scars on their forehead and the oversized glasses?”

“Who have you been talking to?” Zeus shot his brother an incredulous look as they resumed walking at a leisurely pace, Poseidon taking Hades aside to explain what a selfie stick was and how it was, in fact, completely different from a cane used by the blind.

The sight of Viola’s favorite coffee shop logo on one of the booths, Cookies and Cream, Coffee and Steam (widely known as the Four Cs because apparently the all-powerful immortals hadn’t bothered with spelling lessons) sparked an idea.

A brilliant, absolutely thrilling, never-been-done-before-but-totally-should idea.

Having made sure Hera’s attention was captured by an array of beautiful, handcrafted ornaments a couple of booths over, Viola whipped around and honest to gods smacked Zeus on the shoulder.

“What?” the King yelped as he turned on his heel with wide eyes.

Athena, Poseidon and Hades stopped whatever they were doing (the former admiring the enchanted icicles hanging off a nearby building and the other two arguing over the health hazard that was walking without watching where you were going while holding a giant stick above your head) to stare at them.

“Go over there and buy a toffee hazelnut latte.” Viola said simply as though she hadn’t just issued a command to the King of the Gods.

Athena’s jaw dropped open, but no sooner than she could so much as breathe a word of apology, or ask the demon child what in the Underworld she thought she was doing, did the words register.

Apparently Zeus found himself in a similar predicament, because he didn’t immediately bring out his master bolt to fry them all to a crisp (taking the entire market out with them for good measure).

“A what?”

“Hera’s favorite coffee.” Viola explained impatiently, looking around to make sure the goddess in question was still out of earshot.

Zeus honestly didn’t seem to know what he was expected to do with the information so unceremoniously smacked into him (literally!).

Athena could painfully relate.

“Why?” he asked, briefly glancing at his brothers as though willing one of them to step forward and explain this concept to him, pretty much like they had just done for Hades and the selfie sticks.

Athena would take the selfie sticks.

Viola’s eyes narrowed into slits in a distinctively Athena-ish manner that the goddess felt a spike of alarm to see mirrored on another’s face. Was that really the effect her own death stare had on people?

“Because she’s your wife and it’s Christmas and it’s freezing and she will love it.” Viola listed as though explaining why the sky was blue to a kindergartner. “And if you are so disinclined, I will just ask Hades to buy it for her.”

Zeus’ eyes widened, while Hades perked up at the mention of his name.

“Oh, I would be delighted to be of service.” the god of the Underworld said in a falsely sweet tone.

“No one is asking you for anything, Hades.” Athena interjected before her father could lose his temper, shooting the dark god a pointed look.

Unbelievably, it seemed to be the only incentive Zeus needed. Glaring daggers at his brother, he pretty much sprinted towards the booth, his large strides carrying him over easily.

“Men.” Viola scoffed under her breath. “Jealous heathens, the lot of them.”

“I have no idea what just happened, but I am going to treasure it forever.” Poseidon looked like Christmas had come two weeks early and his present was his little brother getting bossed around by a moody teenager. “He fell for it, hook, line and sinker! Please do that again!”

“Don’t ever do that again.” Athena emphasized loudly to cover his voice. “It’s a downright miracle he didn’t blast you to bits!”

“Tis the season.” Viola batted her eyelashes, unrepentant as they come, and Athena suppressed a groan. She had walked in on that one.

“Viola, whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.” she pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a migraine coming in.

“You can’t tell me those two can’t use a gentle nudge in the right direction!” Viola protested.

“You call this,” Athena pointed at Zeus, who was returning with a reindeer patterned coffee cup in hand, “a gentle nudge? You just pushed them off a cliff with no parachute!”

Whatever Viola was about to say never made it out of her mouth, because in that moment Hera also rejoined their group, lotus blue eyes already searching for her husband.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

“Great.” the five of them responded at once, causing the queen to do a double take.

“What did you get?”

“Um, it’s for you. Toffee hazelnut.” Zeus answered, wearing the look of a person that was ambushed by somebody he thought was an ally.

Hera blinked in surprise.

“You got me coffee?”

“I did.”

“And not just any type of coffee, but my favorite?”

“I know your favorite coffee!” Zeus responded with way too much outrage for a person that had discovered this information all of two minutes ago, in Viola’s humble opinion.

Not that it mattered. Allowing him to take the credit was kind of the point of this little operation.

Hera glanced at the cup for a second as though expecting it to sprout antlers like the dancing reindeer.

“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.” she said, apparently trying to fit this tragically unprecedented incident into some existing category in her head. As Hera reached out to grasp the cup, her fingers brushed against Zeus’ (neither of them were wearing gloves) and Athena was astonished to see a faint brush gracing both the King and Queen’s cheeks.

She could feel Viola by her side practically vibrating with barely suppressed elation and just about lost her mind there and then.

There was no way this had actually worked. It defied all manner of reason. And yet there was no other plausible explanation for the fact the two rulers of Olympus were standing there shuffling their feet like love-struck, awkward teenagers instead of collected adults that had been married for thousands of years.

“Well, then, this has been fun, but we still have so much to do! Places to be, people to see and all that.” Viola broke the silence theatrically, ignoring Poseidon and Hades who were doing a spectacularly poor job at hiding their grins behind their palms. “See you later!”

And once again before Athena could even think to protest, her daughter had looped her elbow through hers, leaving the others behind until they disappeared in the bustling crowd.

“I still can’t believe you did that.” Athena grumbled a good three hours later, after they had been to seemingly every activity in the market, with the exception of the gigantic ice rink that the wisdom goddess didn’t even consider trying out.

She was already well aware that with her feet on anything other than solid ground, she had all the grace of newborn Bambi learning to walk (Disney Jar… don’t question it… just don’t).

The last thing she needed was broadcasting her utter lack of skill to the rest of the pantheon by hanging off the railing for dear immortality.

Viola had only relented after Athena had agreed to take her to listen to the choir of carolers at the main square, underneath the holographic angel ornaments whose gold and blue lights glittered like a canopy of shooting stars.

“No, you can’t believe you can’t say I told you so because my plan worked.” Viola retorted, not even looking at her. Her grey eyes were fixated on the empty platform with an almost hungry intensity.

“And what was your plan exactly? Test out my endurance by giving me a heart attack?” Athena wanted to know.

“I am going to get the big guy to show his wife the attention she deserves. Hera is a catch and deserves more appreciation from all of us, especially Zeus. She’s the one handling all the meetings with the Fae ambassador, you know. If it weren’t for her cunning Rochus Cerfas would have sold Olympus for scrap metal.”

There was so much to unpack in that absurd statement that Athena found herself momentarily lost. But before she could dissuade her daughter from whatever scheme she had concocted today, or persuade her that meddling with anyone’s marriage, let alone the one of the King and Queen of the Gods was obscenely stupid, the lights dimmed and Viola clutched her shoulder in an almost painful grip.

“Shush! It’s starting!”

Take a look at the goddess of wisdom getting shushed by a teenager.

Athena was seriously beginning to question the fabric of reality. Having a kid was an one-way ticket to an existential crisis.

The first notes of It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas began to ring across the packed square, the tune stirring something familiar and soothing, like your favorite threadbare blanket or watching the first snowflakes land.

Despite the lack of any surprise that came with hearing songs that had been sung a million times before, Athena found herself strangely comforted by the classics. The feeling of a warm body tucked next to her also contributed to it. She usually had no one to enjoy this part with every year. All the other gods were either paired off, had children already, or just went with their friends. Even Artemis got dragged out to buy a trinket or two by Apollo every year, usually silver and deer-shaped. Athena, as a technical only child and a maiden goddess, was used to her outings being strictly solitary.

But this year she had Viola, with her unique brand of chaos and frankly hilarious commentary. Viola, who considered snowman shaped marshmallows the highlight of her day. Viola, who didn’t let Athena skip out on this moment in favor of sticking to her usual routine, no matter how tried and trusted.

It took a while before Athena recognized the feeling blossoming in her chest, deep inside, as gratitude.

She turned around, not sure what sentimentality was about to barrel out of her lips and embarrass her, but just then the last verse of White Christmas echoed through the speakers.

"And may all your Christmases be white..." the baritone singer concluded, drawing out the final note. A beat of silence, and then the amassed crowd clapped and cheered. 

Athena would have thought Viola would be the loudest of them all, given her previous reactions to Let it Snow and All I Want for Christmas, so it was the silence that snapped her out of her thoughts.

What she saw stunned her. Perhaps even more so than any stunt the girl had ever pulled, no matter how daring.

Viola, whom Athena had never, ever seen cry, who had been yelled at by Zeus in front of the entire Council, who had raged over the injustice of being sent to Olympus from the Faerie realm without being asked, who had even shouted at Athena's face it wasn't at all curious nobody could stand the goddess, had tears running down her cheeks.

And it must have been the holiday madness getting to her, because Athena felt her heart lurch at the sight, something tight and uncomfortable, like Viola crying was a personal offence, something wrong she had to rectify.

"Why are you crying?" It came out half panicked and half accusatory, as if Athena couldn't really decide between the two moods. 

"My eyes are just wet, Feathers." Viola hastily wiped them. 

"Does your stomach hurt? I told you hot chocolate isn't meant to be guzzled down like that, but no, who ever listens to-"

"My stomach is fine, Athena." Viola cut her off with a hint of her trademark impatience. "I just... really loved that song. I'd only ever heard carols like, once or twice before, and it was usually a drunken retention. Off-key, the lyrics all messed up. I am just glad I got to hear the real thing. It was a dream come true." 

Athena blinked, trying to process this. Each word Viola said sparked about five follow-up questions. She sorted through them in record time, promptly realizing the blank space in the center couldn't be filled with assumptions. 

Whatever she was missing, it was the size of Santa’s sack of presents.

"I am afraid you've lost me." Athena admitted honestly. "Are carolers and choirs not common in Faerie? Didn't you ever hear them for Christmas?" 

Viola's eyes widened before realization sank and her shoulders tightened.

"Oh. I thought you knew..." she mused.

"Evidently I don't."

"Feathers, there's no Christmas in Faerie." 

Athena stared. This was the first she had ever heard of this and it simply didn't make sense.

"Are there religious concerns or something?" she asked, completely floored. From what she knew of the Fair Folk, they were as famed for their revels as the Olympians. That they would entirely miss out on a whole month of festive activities was bewildering at best.

"The Faerie realm only knows one season, Athena. Eternal spring. It's called the land of blooms for a reason. Haven't you heard the tales? The faeries of old luring unsuspecting wanderers deep into the woods, to lay on the softest grass and drink the clearest water and smell the sweetest flowers?"

"Of course I have." Athena persisted, mind racing. "But I didn't think it was quite so literal."

"Well, it is. All true, in most respects anyway. Faerie knows not the bite of frost nor the heat of summer nor the tart kiss of autumn, as the poets say." Viola rolled her shoulders like there was nothing unusual about the conversation. Athena would have believed it had her eyes not looked so fathomless. "It's a land where things always grow. That's why they are so powerful, you know. There's no shortage of things to trade with the other realms, and even if attacked or under siege, their people will never have to ration their food. Strategically speaking, it's a huge advantage." 

The key points in this analysis honestly shocked Athena more than anything else that day. 

"I can't believe I didn't know that. Nothing I've ever read about the Fae mentioned such a thing."

She had known of course that the Fae were formidable allies and deadly enemies to have. Hell, it was the entire reason she had worked so hard to secure their support. But she never could have imagined she had missed something so essential about the people she was trying to get to her side. 

"It's not like you could have visited. The Fae love their secrets. They are isolated and don't trust strangers.” Viola bit her lower lip, contemplating the next words carefully before saying them out loud. “Honestly, the fostering programs are probably a good thing. Even getting them to agree is an accomplishment. Hopefully in time they'll accept enough people to open the crossings. Then you can sign a new treaty." 

To be hearing this from the very child Athena sent away as a toddler, all because of said program's existence, honestly was mind-numbing. 

It wasn't often that Athena genuinely didn't know how to respond to something.

"You... you're being very nonchalant about this." she finally found her voice.

"I thought about it a lot." Viola said. "I was pissed as hell in the beginning. I mean, don't get me wrong, I still think there's a lot of stuff that could have gone down better. But on the other hand this is the mythological world. When was anything ever simple? Not to mention, everyone who fought in the Wars would have been really fucking proud to see where we are now. So many generations grew up hating the other pantheons, full of bigotry and taboos. To them, exchange programs and foster families and field trips were on the same league as Star Wars. To us, it's our reality. I am proud of what has been achieved. And I want to contribute in that too. Even if it means sacrificing things along the way." 

A new feeling reared its head, outshining all others, and this one Athena knew very well.

Pride.

It usually followed a tiring but productive training session, a well-fought battle, a victory rally, an honorary feast. But out of all those times, which were beyond measure considering how long Athena had already been alive for and how long she had yet to live, this was probably one of the few that the feeling was directed at someone other than herself.

Wholly. Completely. Every drop of it.

All for her. Inspired by her.

The sarcastic, meddlesome, precocious, daredevil, stubborn demigoddess.

Viola. Her daughter.

Who was now staring at her with undisguised trepidation, waiting for Athena to respond. Because that was the expected course of action during a conversation after one party had finished talking.

Athena may not have been in a position to verbalize everything that was happening in her head, (it would take several long nights of reflection for that, with strong tea and an unexpected ally in Aphrodite, the love goddess’ facade giving way to a softer, gentler side that only revealed itself for Ares and her own kids) but something told her Viola understood anyway.

Her baby owl was ridiculously perceptive, after all.

“Come along, then. Your spiel earlier has me curious about the merits of ice skating. Just kindly make a solid effort not to break your skull on the ice.”

See you next Tuesday for Episode 6!

@sarnai4, @firinniee, @appolinyou, @appolinyou, @greekmythstan

@justahumanmessingaround, @toshj13, @angelfoxlove, @i-love-ulysses-butterflies, @mythology-lover

@celestialbeanies, @darwizzylover, @kasios9, @z-eusie, @mer-acle

@motherofheroes, @childofthepeacocks Baby Owl is working hard to give you the appreciation you deserve

[diagonal-queen]

If the BSD boys were my coworkers

♡ characters: Atsushi Nakajima, Dazai Osamu, Chuuya Nakahara, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Kunikida Doppo, Ranpo Edogawa, John Steinbeck, Edgar Allan Poe

♡ synopsis: How would these boys be if they were my coworkers?

♡ cw: Swearing, knives, mentions of sexual harassment

note: For clarification I'm a retail assistant at a grocery store. So basically how good are these boys at stocking vegetables and being nice to people? This is extremely self indulgent, which I apologise for. Also apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

Atsushi:

Would be so good with helping customers. I'd always be calling after him to get me out of trouble with mean old customers lol

Like me would also be bad with the wrapping machine T-T

Pretty good at his job, not totally brilliant but also not bad. I think it'd be fine if I were left alone with him for a little bit

The kindest coworker I could ask for honestly he'd always be there to help me if I needed his help

Would bring me back a snack or cake from a nearby bakery or cafe from his lunch break <3

Like me, would find it very hard to not just start eating all the fresh fruit while he's stocking it (I kin him a lot guys lmao)

Actually like super duper efficient and we'd be able to get our work done pretty quickly. The last half hour or so of our shifts would be so slow

Would always ask me to be careful if I were using a knife to do something because he's just a sweetie

Dazai:

This dude would be so damn slow when restocking food honestly and it would be infuriating lmao

Wouldn't be very thorough when checking stock so I'd probably be finding a bit of rotten fruit while working :'(

He'd be fun to hang out with in the back though, would definitely flirt on company time and hold the both of us up lol

Would do that thing where you stand behind someone who's trying to reach something in a high shelf and you'd get it for them but also lowkey lean against them. All the time

Would be good at remembering which stock we have and what we don't have though

He would be so good and charismatic with customers, especially old women they'd call him a charming young gentleman and all that stuff

Always forgets to bring his shit (nametag, pen, apron etc.) to work and would probably have to continuously borrow things

The thing with him is that he's legitimately good at all of it but he just chooses to be incompetent just because T-T

Chuuya:

Would be so. fucking. GOOD at this job holy shit.

Super good at wrapping stock and would get the hang of all the machinery and stuff immediately

Would be civil to customers unless they give him shit then he'd give it right back lmaoo

He would definitely also defend me if I was being bullied by Karens or being harassed by male patrons (during the daytime there's my adult male coworkers and then there's me, a small girl who looks like fifteen or some shit. Y'all know I be gettin called 'sweetie' by men four times my age)

Would always be very salty about having to use the step to reach stock on high shelves lol

But he'd also be super good at heaving and lifting heavy stuff like potato sacks which I'd have to get him to do for me because I'm weak

Would look so hot in the work uniform highkey

Like the number one coworker I won't lie

Akutagawa:

Akutagawa has a serious case of resting bitch face, so customers would be too worried to approach him lmao and I'd have to help everyone

He makes up for this by being super duper good at presentation and so I'd never have to go around and organise things because they'd always look pretty lol

Probably uses his ability to help him carry things (but only in the back because that would scare customers)

Despite his fighting talent he would not be able to cut vegetables. He would be so confused with it. Same with the wrapping he wouldn't be able to get it right

Would prefer to wear gloves while working

If Gin ever came in to grab some groceries he'd talk to her for a little (and treat her better than all the other customers T-T)

Actually wouldn't be so bad to talk to while working but he would literally never initiate any conversations or small talk

Focuses so hard while he's working and it's honestly so cute

Kunikida:

He would be both good to work with but also crappy to work with hear me out

He would be great at remembering stock, helping me with customers, and helping me reach stuff on high shelves because at work I'm considered short

But he'd also hound me for being too slow or not stacking stuff correctly

That being said, he would always answer any questions that I'd have and explain things to me in a way that I'd understand :)

Works like a machine. I'd never be able to catch up to him at all (and he would hate that)

Would not want me bringing snacks or drinks to work but like what's he gonna do? Waste perfectly good food? Didn't think so Kunikida >:)

Even if he had a super long shift he'd just never tire and always be buzzing (even if he were tired he'd be great at concealing it)

Let's just be glad that he's not working alongside Dazai

Ranpo:

WOULDN'T GET ANY GODDAMN WORK DONE

I love Ranpo to the moon and back but he'd be the most useless fucking coworker of all time

He wouldn't make lists, he wouldn't grab stock and if I'm LUCKY he'd work out the front of the store. He'd use any excuse to stay in the back and just use the label maker and maybe cut vegetables because of how low effort it is

Would be super fun to hang out with if we have nothing to do though. We would talk so much shit about mean customers we encounter and stuff

He'd also bring sweets to work and let me have some sometimes, but only if I nag him about not doing any work

Would stay in the fridge just to breathe out and see mist come out of his mouth (and would also forget to close the fridge door)

Knows the layout of the whole damn store after walking through it ONE time

In conclusion I'm snitching to Fukuzawa

Steinbeck:

Absolute fucking BEAST. This dude is a farmer so he's able to rotate and complete quality checks at lightning speed

Honestly probably wouldn't need much training if any at all. He'd be the employee of the month on the first day

I feel like I'd have tons of free time at the end of my shifts because he'd just finish all the work so fast

Could use his ability to replenish stock. He could, but he won't. Just because he's a bit of a bitch (and people might not want to eat literal flesh vegetables but y'know)

Hums along to the songs that he knows on the radio while he works

Is good at being civil with customers but if they give him lip he's not gonna be as civil for much longer

Always bantering with our other coworkers and DEFINITELY talking shit about annoying customers in our free time

I mean if I want to not have to do very much work on a certain day I'd hope that I'd be working with John lol

Poe:

Would take a little while to get used to it all, because I feel like he's not the type to memorise a bunch of stuff super fast

Would be overwhelmed by customers and might freeze up on them; I'd have to come in and save him

Otherwise, he might just default to 'I'll go to the back and check for you' so he can escape the situation (same)

Would take pretty long while restocking food because he'd want to make it all look nice lol

He'd be scared of the wrapping machine (it has a hot plate to seal wrapping and he'd be scared of burning himself on it)

Might actually always be miserable because he's not allowed to bring Karl to work and so he'd feel lonely :(

He and I would talk about our niche interests when we're finished and have nothing else to do

I mean he could most definitely be worse. No matter how bad he'd be I'd love him anyway

i will do a girls version of this btw

[oh-saints]

sweetest devotion (p.2)

mason and serena finally managed to find a middle ground in their arrangements. and it made them realise they could truly work together for the better.

playboy!mason mount x princess!OC

word count: 2.3k

tw: only what's mentioned in the masterlist

notes: as a compensation for the delay to the 1st chapter, here's some special double updates for this week! but as usual, i happen to write at dawn so this is not yet beta-read.

tags: @missgaygurl @pingyu-in-wonderland <3 (lemme know if you want to be added!)

<<part 1 - part 3>> sweetest devotion masterlist here

despite his initial reluctance and annoyed mumbles, Serena managed to sit Mason down for a little longer. long enough to cover the basic terms of communication between them, because Mason was right—they at least needed to know each other's whereabouts in case the palace dropped sudden calls.

Serena, specifically, asked Mason to tell her if he's going over to his lover's house. in her defence, it was in order to prepare some cover-ups for Mason, no matter how bitter her tongue tasted as she spitted out the lies she'd cooked beforehand.

it was what you have agreed on, she thought inwardly after placing down her phone, done with another weekly check from the palace. ever since Mason’s private location were almost scandalised, the palace scheduled a weekly check if their good reputation wasn’t on the verge of being tarnished while promising a sudden call, should they see the condition fit—whatever the condition was.

Serena sent out a text to Mason, reminding him to be careful—which was the first—and of a banquet they needed to attend on behalf of the Eldorran palace in two weeks, as well as the information of the next doctor's appointment the following morning, should the footballer want to come. 

the same text was what ticked something at the back of Mason's mind. it niggled him, more so than any other time he received texts from Serena, that he had to scroll up their conversation window. 

Mason realised, after almost two full weeks now since they'd come to a truce to at least inform each other about their in-and-outs, that it was mostly him telling where he was going.

out of all things they'd exchanged one another, Serena only went out of the house a grand total of five times. those outings were also for shopping purposes—not even luxury shopping, but grocery shopping.

why she did that when Mason had hired a staff to take care of basic, simplistic errands was certainly intriguing, but at the end Mason decided to go against his instinct because why does he care?

unless it's of an urgent matter, he didn't care and he didn't want to care. he shouldn't care. they were strangers to begin with, and that was what they would end up as, unless where their child was concerned.

still, finding Serena unmoving from the kitchen stool, every time he passed down the living hall whenever he was home for some fresh linens, unnerved him all the same. 

“You're not going anywhere?”

Serena was honestly more used to being ignored while she scribbled something—the homemade recipes she magically managed to pull off from countless trials and errors, which lately was her hobby—in the kitchen whenever Mason was around only long enough for a cup of tea. So she looked up from her notepad, making sure she wasn't mishearing, and Mason couldn't help but feel weirded out because did I do something wrong?

“no, I do not have a place to go,” Serena gathered her stationery, realising they were all over the place. “Bar the monthly doctor visits.”

I must've done something wrong or else why would Serena tidy up the kitchen island?

“what about your study?”

the kettle made a whistling noise behind Serena's back. the woman stood up immediately and rushed for the brewing water. two of them? is she expecting me to stay over?

is she always like this whenever I come over?

“tea, perhaps, Mason?” albeit awkward, Serena offered him a small smile as she poured down the hot liquid. “to answer your query—it's been postponed.”

“why?”

“would you prefer the real reason or the one the palace releases?”

“both, if you can,” for some unbeknownst reason, Mason sat down this time. Serena had to hide her surprise behind her indifferent mask, the way she was raised. “may I?”

“this is your home, Mason,” Serena was merely stating a fact but somehow it kicked something inside of him. “it’s me that is rather intruding your space, no?”

Mason hissed at the first sip. he felt as if he was scolded by the scalding liquid.

“formally so I can focus on my pregnancy,” thankfully, the princess didn’t notice his discomfort and went ahead to gently shove his cup towards his direction. “but we all can agree that it would give them a bad look, would it not?”

everyone and their mothers could say that footballers are stupid people, having not gone through a normal formal education, but it didn't necessarily mean they were fools. Mason immediately caught on the implied meaning between Serena's line.

going around would jeopardise her life and would mean the opposite to the initial purpose of their marriage, which was to hide the fact that Serena was pregnant out of wedlock and to avoid being executed for that so-called mistake.

“how about having friends over?”

“Mason,” Serena sighed, a bitter smile making its way to her face. “you’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”

Mason couldn’t hide his surprise at her admission. despite being drunk, Mason did remember that she went to the club that eventful night where he was at, the night that led to their situation now, with so many people in tow. “didn’t you have so many friends when going to the club?”

bitter smile still intact, Serena looked up this time and levelled Mason’s gaze. “welcome to the lonely life of a princess, Mason Mount.”

“is that why you prepare 2 cups earlier, then?”

Serena's smile was still intact but her eyes had shifted the awkwardness somewhere else, now they were replaced by embarrassment, the emotion obviously present from the pinkish tinge on her cheeks.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

wishing Mason to stay over equaled wishing for the stars, so when Mason got up to go back to his girlfriend's house, Serena didn't waste more time to come back to reality.

she went on to tidying up the big mansion after finishing up her recipe of the day scribbles, then she made sure she'd left some portion of the dish for Mason, wrapping the plate with a foil so he wouldn't have a hard time heating them up if he felt like eating anytime he was home. 

none of the activities she did to pass up time in this humongous place was something of her routine—she was a princess, for God's sake. the palace might've enrolled her to basic life skills but that didn't mean she should be doing all this. Mason even had hired a helper for her but she let her go after the first week because Serena needed something to do while everything and everyone left her behind.

the only thing that kept her straying away from death caused by boredom was the thought of meeting her little one every month.

“it's just you and me, my love,” Serena liked to whisper against the cold air as she stroked the forming bump. up and down, up and down—just like her life, ironically. “you won't leave me alone, will you?”

just when she thought she was going to the doctor alone—like her usual days—the next day, Serena woke up to find Mason already sitting on the kitchen stool, stirring his morning coffee.

“Mason,” Serena couldn’t hide her surprise and she could only thank the heavens because if the palace’s head of PR was around, she would’ve spanked Serena by the butt for letting an emotion slip out of her. “you’re back early.”

Serena’s voice surprised Mason, too, in all honesty because he didn’t think. he didn’t think when he woke up this morning, he didn’t think when he drove to his house, he didn’t think when he boiled his morning coffee. he didn’t even think he’d stay this long—long enough until Serena woke up and found him back in the house.

he didn’t know how to respond to Serena’s reaction to finding him here, in the kitchen and supposedly her sanctuary, so he didn’t. it wasn’t like he owed her anything to say.

besides the fact that she was naturally a woman of little words, Serena didn’t mind the silence that followed after. she immersed herself in her daily routine, putting Mason’s presence to the back of her mind.

as she said yesterday, this house still belonged to Mason so the footballer could do anything he pleased. they’d only agreed letting her stay in this house for a façade, but if he wanted her out of here as soon as possible because he wanted her lover living here with him instead, she would do as he asked.

but Mason was the complete opposite. born an extrovert, he couldn’t stand the silence. “you’re going to the doctor today, right?”

“yes,” Mason watched as she navigated her way around the kitchen like a natural. so natural he didn’t notice the slight surprise displayed ghostly across her eyebrows because Mason had never asked about the child. not as far as she could recall anyway. “wha—”

“how far along exactly are you?”

his tone might still be clipped and his gaze indicated he would pretty much prefer somewhere else. Why isn’t he? Surely he’s not here because I implicitly told him I was pretty much lonely yesterday…

“entering five months today,” Serena answered and Mason concluded the woman had a dangerous knack to make his heart drop at every one of her revelations. had he been away that long? “I’m finding out the gender of the baby later.”

“can I come?”

“however put later on, this child is as yours as it is mine, Mason.”

Serena’s answer eased off something inside Mason because while her words were true, he didn’t want to come off as breaching her space. that was the least he could do when she’d been nothing but… civil and fair, for the lack of words, about the life he was living outside this house.

“you know I can always send the ultrasound to you so you don’t have to come,” Serena said as they waited side by side outside the doctor’s office. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

Mason didn’t want to jump ahead and conclude things himself but if he read the lines correctly, she was abashedly touching on the topic of her own shocking admittance. he’d like to clarify that he didn’t do any of this because she was feeling lonely—she knew what and where she was getting herself into—and that he was here because he truly wanted to see his own flesh and blood, which unfortunately could only happen whenever the expert physician was involved, but he decided against it because it wasn’t his place to explain anything the same way she didn’t have to explain explicitly why she’d always kept a pair of cups on the table.

“no,” Mason firmly responded, shaking his head. “I want to see how he’s doing.”

“you sound so sure it’s a him,” Serena spoke up again after minutes of silence between them. “what are you going to do if it’s a her?”

“humour me,” Mason glanced towards Serena, intending to confirm his suspicion, only to find her eyes were covered with teasing glint. he chuckled at sight. “i’ve always wanted to have a boy to play football with.”

“are you saying she can’t play balls?” the woman was now the one throwing a glance in his direction.  “with a father like you, she might be the next Sam Kerr, you know.”

Mason certainly didn’t expect her to know bits about football, especially about the women’s utterly skilled players that went under the radar because they’re simply women sometimes. “are you a fan of Chelsea or something that I don’t know of?”

“you’d be surprised I used to aspire to be a footballer if the occupation wasn’t deemed too dangerous for a princess,” and that was Serena’s genuine smile, to which Mason couldn’t help but smile back her way. that was also not the answer he was expecting from Serena, the well-known calm princess dubbed as calm beauty.

well, to be fair, Mason hardly knew whom she was marrying from the beginning.

but exactly at that moment, when Mason was about to banter Serena back, his phone rang. he pulled the electronic device out and saw his lover’s name splashed across the screen, the same time the nurse called for Serena’s turn.

the air now shifted back to a very awkward atmosphere.

“why aren't you answering that?” Serena commented when she noticed he put back his phone to his pocket. not because she was curious, but because it was out of place.

mason would go to the moon and back for that woman, there was no possible reason as to why he turned that thing off.

“she can wait—”

nope, she couldn't.

“you should take that,” Serena said after a full five seconds of not knowing how to handle it, both of them. “join us inside when you’re done.”

but he never did, and Serena, with the ultrasound already printed out in her hands, went out of the doctor’s office only to find Mason no longer occupying the ugly plastic chair.

we all know where he was headed.

next chapter contains:

“jaz,” and the closest sibling to Mason in terms of age, halted her steps away from him. “how do you know?”

“you reek of cheap perfume, Mase.”

[crescentmoonsandroses]

Inktobertale Day 24: You answered

Error was started awake by a tug at his magic.

He rubbed his sockets, staring blearily at the tangled strings above him that disappeared into the endless white void he called home. None of those strings looked broken, which meant it wasn't DarkBlitz8 trying to escape. That hadn't happened a single time yet, but he was still wary of it after the fiasco with Blueberry - Blueberror? Ugh, it was too confusing, he just called them all Blue nowadays, it was easier. In any case, Blitz was still hanging from their strings, probably asleep by the looks of it. They'd been that way for... a while, now.

Hey, he wasn't one to judge. He liked sleep. And it was very comfortable in the antivoid. The safe emptiness around him, Sans Classic tucked into the crook of his elbow, his beanbag cradling his body like a soft pile of fresh-fallen snow, except better because it was warm and dry and he didn't have to worry about having to dig himself out of the snow once he woke up...

His sockets, which had begun to drift close again, snapped open at a second tug, a feeling like a taunt thread in his SOUL snapping. It was quickly followed by several more in quick succession, as if the person breaking his strings really wanted his attention.

He only knew one person who could be that annoying.

Okay, maybe two people, but he'd never given any of his strings to Fresh, so that only left one.

He groaned, burying his skull in his beanbag. Maybe he could just ignore it...

Nope. Several tugs at once.

"I'm coming!" he yelled into the empty void around him, then dragged himself to his feet, grumbling. "Stupid squid, bothering me in the middle of a nap..."

He opened a portal in front of him and stomped through it, marching immediately towards the brown-scarved figure who was hunched over a strange bulky shape with their eye pressed to it.

"Alright, what the hell do you want," he demanded.

Ink straightened, beaming. His eyelights were shifting rapidly between the shapes of different constellations, and there were still broken blue strings tangled around his fingers. "Error! Error Error Error you gotta look come quick!" He pointed excitedly at the weird device beside him, gesturing towards a little cylinder that stuck out. "Look through the lens there."

Error sighed irritably, but pressed his socket against the lens. He was greeted with nothing but blackness.

"Now shift it like this, just a bit to the left," Ink instructed. Error gave the device an experimental push, and it rotated smoothly in the right direction. He felt a hand on his arm, slowly guiding him with gentle touches, and though it was a light enough pressure that he knew Ink was expecting him to pull away, he didn't.

Because the inky void filling his vision was suddenly interrupted with bright, flickering dots, and his breath sighed from his mouth in a soft "Oh."

So that was why Ink's eyes were constellations.

"Well?" said Ink. His face wasn't visible, but Error could hear the smile in his voice. "You glad I called you out here?"

"Yeah," answered Error absently. "Now, Ink?"

"Yep?"

"Shut up, please. I'm tryna stargaze."

He heard the snap of Ink shooting him finger guns beside his head. "You got it. I'm gonna go get hot chocolate, you want some?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

[dismie]

hi here's my smoking hot fresh off the griddle take on calling people pigs discourse because you said you wanted it in your tags 😁😁 eat up while it's hot yummy yummy yummy 😋

so i disagree with calling unsavory people animals/diseases/forces of nature/any other dehumanizing term for much the same reasons as that post you reblogged. fighting fire with fire (or in this case, fascist ideology with fascist ideology) has literally never once worked in the history of politics and i don't get why we expect it to now. (inb4 what about all the oppressed groups who have had to respond to violence with more violence are they WRONG??? no and you know that's not what i'm talking about i'm talking about philosophical concepts and ideology okay i just wanted to clear that up.) i think people get so bogged down in like... surface-level specifics of which oppressed group is being harmed by what that sometimes they fail to stop and consider the ideology behind it if you will? he who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster and all that. we should be fighting on the side of oppressed groups because we respect everyone's innate right to freedom and a quality life not because we like fighting so much. obviously it's better for someone with a bloodlust to use it for something good, but also i believe in leftists! i believe we can be more compassionate than the murder party! and we should be striving to achieve that!!

implying that fascists or bigots or cops or whatever are less than human also removes their agency from the situation. animals don't (to our knowledge?) understand morality and harmlessness and ethics and i don't think any of us really blame them. when a hamster eats her excess babies nobody should really blame her, that's just what millions of years of hamster trial-and-error has deduced to be the most effective way to ensure as much of your genes as possible can continue on. if a human parent that wasn't expecting twins decided to mend this problem in a similar way i imagine we would all have qualms with it? fascists *choose* to be violent, they *choose* to be bigoted, acting like it's simply how they are just lets them off the hook. humans are capable of both good and bad and a gazillion shades of gray and we need to be able to accept and understand that so we can make sure we're being good people, not just cover our ears and pretend we're not also capable of intense evil.

also maybe it's the crraaaaazzzyyyy ara (i'm also an ara LOL) in me talking but i think we should respect animals more than that! acting like humans are the pinnacle of creature and to be anything else is bad and wrong just doesn't sit right with me, even though i accept that that probably isn't the conscious intention of people who call others pigs. i dunno. i just think that if we want to stay humble and respectful of other life on earth we shouldn't use them as insults.

bonus: pigs are awesome and don't deserve to be associated with fascists. i'm not even sure which trait of pigs is supposed to make them like fascists? they're not particularly dirty when given enough space to actually get away from their waste. i mean they mudbathe but plenty of people use mud or clay on their skin too. they're quite smart and perceptive and even show empathy towards other pigs and humans in some cases. i don't think they're particularly ugly and while they can be aggressive, pretty much every animal (including non-fascist humans) can and is when they feel threatened.

sorry for rambling it's one in the morning right now so this might not make a lot of sense :D i feel like i should end this ask with an actual question. seeing as it's an ask and all. i came out into the living room because i heard a weird breathing sound and i thought it was my dog but it wasn't. got any theories?

Okay so:

1) I'd like you to know I was terrified when I open my notification bar and the words "Here's my fresh smoking off the griddle take since you..." came up because I recently made a bi erasure post and have already been getting anonymous hate. Thank you for instead being SANE this was a very informative ask and a wonderful surprise :)

2) this was a wonderfully worded explanation and I do agree on your points on morality and ethics and how animals can't understand them; I was mostly wondering because, obviously calling fascists/cops/capitalists pigs is a pretty well ingrained thing in leftist culture! I wanted to know what the updated concensus was and I am absolutely going to refrain from using the term to describe people in the future!

3) To answer your question about the origins of the term "Capitalist Pig", from your local National History Day finalist [my brag for the next year and a half]: the origins of the term actually trace back to the Soviets, who called Americans pigs---as well as political cartoons, as you might expect. Probably due to the "dirtiness" of pigs--and likely as well some fatphobia as well or a way to, like you're saying, dehumanize the enemies; though honestly, pigs are probably cleaner than some people I know...

4) most absolutely i fucking LOVE pigs all my homies LOVE pigs. and another point: petting them is so nice in a sensory way...

5.1) i love how the ask is unrelated your vibes are great

5.2) ghost

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Summary: Spencer is not that kind of doctor, but he'll always come when Y/N needs him, even if germs are involved.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Warnings: One cuss (sh!t), kisses, small insecurities

Word Count: 2.5 k (was not supposed to be this long but I'm a monster)

Author's Note: From this list (3, 12, 14) since I hit 300 followers! Thank you! This request is from @willowrose99 (look for the bold)

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Spencer’s half done with his third book that weekend when his phone rang. A weekend spent in the company of Nietzsche and Sartre is, according to Spencer at least, a weekend well spent. He can feel the relaxation that settles in his bones come crashing down as he phone rings.

Thinking it’s Hotch calling the team in for an unexpected case, Spencer, lethargically, walks over to answer the phone. However, realizing the caller is not his boss pulling him away from a restful weekend, but Y/N, his heart rushes with a sudden urge of excitement.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts. He’s more than happy to have Y/N interrupt his weekend; they even made plans for a day out on Saturday at the new Anthropology museum that opened downtown. But all of Spencer’s made up plans fall in front of his face, as he hears Y/N’s quiet sniffles.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know that you’re probably enjoying your rest, but I guess I have a cold. One of the kids at school, I suppose,” Y/N tells him in between sniffles. Her voice is scratchy and Spencer tries not to think about how his brain seems to short circuit at the way his name sounds.

“I’m coming over,” Spencer says, cutting her off. He doesn’t like doing that, in fact he hates when that happens to him, but right now he knows that Y/N is going to try her hardest to stop him from coming over.

“No Spence, it’s germs. You hate germs and I’m really gross and snotty and—”

“Stop, Y/N. Don’t say another word. I’m on my way” Spencer says. He feels a little guilty for hanging up on her, but he knows that if he stayed on the line any longer she’d end up convincing him that he didn’t need to rush over. There’s not a lot of people in this world that can convince Spencer to change his mind, and he’s pretty sure that Y/N is one of them.

Spencer walks into his bedroom, looking for some supplies like a man on a mission. He decides to pack a small bag for the next three days. He’s off from work anyway, why not spend that time making sure Y/N gets better. Spencer packs away a couple of sweaters, flannel pajama pants and two thermal shirts. In the back of his drawer he spots a very old college tee shirt.

A memory, an early memory with Y/N, comes flooding to the surface. They got caught in a rainstorm after a picnic in the nearby park. Spencer changed into his comfortable tee shirt and pajamas. He would never forget the look on Y/N’s face; the way the rain collected on her glasses and for some reason she had yet to wipe them off. She called him an angel. Maybe it’s for bringing her some warm clothes or maybe she’s slightly on edge from their dash into Spencer’s apartment. Whatever it was that made her call him an angel, Spencer never wanted her to call him anything else. Besides his own name, in that scratchy sick voice that made him feel a little guilty for liking so much.

Spencer collects some other things he needs for his stay. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hair brush, and his hair serum that Y/N says she likes the way it smells. When she told him that, Spencer could hardly wait to buy the entire supply from the CVS down the street. He tucks away in this bag with a small smile.

Walking out of his apartment, Spencer locks up and makes his way down to his car. He glances at his watch, realizing that it only took him a couple of minutes to get ready for Y/N. Quicker than what it takes for him to get ready for an emergency case. Then again, tending to a sick Y/N seems much pleasurable then looking at served bodies and mangled limbs.

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After making a pit stop at a small convenience store near Y/N’s apartment, Spencer pulls into the guest parking spot near her complex. He attempts to shoulder the weight of his go bag; even though he only packed a couple philosophy books, they are quite dense. In his hands, he grasps the grocery bags.

Y/N’s apartment, thankfully, is on the first floor. Spencer approaches the door and thinks twice about knocking or ringing the doorbell. The last thing he wants to do is wake a sick Y/N up. He rummages in his pants for his car keys. Attached to the keys is a cat keychain with a spare key to Y/N’s apartment. Balancing the groceries and his own bag, Spencer quietly attempts to open Y/N’s door without possibly waking her up.

Once he finally gets the door open, Spencer realizes all too late that a large orange cat guards the tight hallway entrance. Spencer Reid, though a genius in his own right, is completely aware of the fact that he has two left feet.

“Oh, Zelda! Oh shit!,” Spencer yells as he trips over Zelda, Y/N’s orange cat. Zelda, scared from the noise, leaps from her spot guarding the hallway to the kitchen. Spencer brushes himself from his fall and picks up the groceries that fell during his tumble.

“Zelda, baby?” Y/N calls from what sounds like the couch from the other side of the wall.

“Hi Y/N, it’s just me. It’s just Spencer,” He says, placing the oranges back in his canvas bag and on the kitchen table. He sees Y/N laying on the couch. Surrounded by a pile of crumpled tissues, she smiles weakly at Spencer. He walks over to her and like an involuntary muscle, she scoots her feet so Spencer has room to sit.

Spencer, setting the beg on the floor, tucks Y/N’s legs over his. He rests a comforting hand on her calf that’s covered by a worn quilt.

“You didn’t have to come Spencer. I’m really okay, I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t ghosting you this weekend,” Y/N explains. The TV has been left on, but on mute. The colorful lights illuminate Y/N’s face in her dimly lit apartment.

“Nonsense, Y/N. What are friends for,” Spencer offers, wondering beyond belief if he messed up calling them friends. Their relationship had been quite strange for the past couple of weeks. Intense moments of silence where Spencer thinks he’d have the time to memorize every freckle on her nose or small grazes from fingers to wrists where Spencer swears she left scars that he hope would never heal.

“Friends,” Y/N says quietly. Spencer, offering a tight lipped smile, leans forward to straighten the blankets under Y/N’s chin. He presses the back of his hand towards Y/N’s forehead, feeling her warm skin under his knuckles. He’s not sure if the heat he feels is from her bug or from the adrenaline coursing through his veins at being this close to Y/N.

“You’re hot,” Spencer says, not moving his hand from Y/N’s forehead. She, loving the way his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed, uncovers her arm from under the blankets and holds onto his wrist, keeping him attached to her forehead. Not that he’d want it any other way.

“So are you,” Y/N says. Spencer flinches and moves his hand from her forehead like she scorched his hand. In reality, her comment pierced his heart with hope.

“How much cough syrup did you take?” Spencer asks, choosing to face the situation with humor. There’s no way in the world Y/N could ever find him “hot” without the aid of cough syrup or another mind numbing substance.

“None,” Y/N says, reaching around to turn off the television. Spencer, getting increasingly nervous as the minutes of that intense silence passed, mentions to Y/N that he needs to put the groceries away.

“You really didn’t need to do that, Spence. I feel bad enough that you came here just to get sick yourself,” Y/N says. She’s folding the blankets that she was just resting under.

“I’ll always come when you need me to, Y/N” Spencer says, his breath catching and his eyes latching onto Y/N. He looks at her too long and there’s that intense silence again. Silence that is as thick as fog. Spencer can’t see facts through all the love that swallows him whole looking at Y/N.

“Maybe I knew that, and maybe that’s why I called you,” Y/N murmurs quietly, almost like she’s more scared to admit it to herself than to Spencer.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, breaking her gaze to put the half melted tub of green tea ice cream in the freezer.

“I think I’m going to shower, I need to put a fresh pair of pajamas on. I’ll be right out,” Y/N tells him, turning on her heel and leaving Spencer along with his thoughts.

Spencer can hear the water from the shower turn on. He estimates that Y/N will take at least 5 minutes in the shower, accounting for a margin of error, he supposes that he should start to heat the soup he bought from the store now, so it’s ready for Y/N when she’s done in the shower. Too bad all Spencer’s brain power is good for his statistics and numbers, not recipes and romance.

As it turns out, not a single statistic, nor a single digit could account for the possibility of Y/N walking out her bedroom, her hair damp and skin practically glowing, wearing Spencer’s worn college tee shirt. Spencer reckons that his eyes must have been bugging out from his head, given the spirited smile Y/N wears.

“I’m sorry, Spence, you know how much I love this tee shirt. I was putting some of your stuff away in your drawer and I saw this and I just couldn’t help myself. God it even smells a little bit like that hair gunk you wear,” Y/N rambles. She stands, leaning on her door frame, staring at Spencer who holds a wooden spoon that he used to stir the soup.

“You look like an angel,” Spencer says before he can stop himself. He just knows that his face is flaming red.

“You remember that?” Y/N asks, her voice light and hopeful. Spencer recognizes something in it. It’s the way his voice sounds when he talks to her, about her, with her. He can only hope that this is the way she always talks to him. He hopes with every fiber of his being that she uses that light and hopeful voice with him and only him.

“Of course Y/N. Then again, even if I didn’t have an eidetic memory, I’d still remember every single detail about you,”

“Now you’re making me feel guilty about stealing your shirt. You’re being all sweet and kind with me, it makes me fuzzy in the head,” Y/N confesses. She walks to her kitchen table, slowly closing the gap between her and Spencer.

“Keep it, it looks better on you anyway,” Spencer tells her. Her eyes grow big at his words and she presses her lips together like she’s holding something in. But something in her switches. Something in her grows a little sad and Spencer watches before his eyes as Y/N withdraws into herself.

“You can’t say that stuff to me, Spencer. You can’t say that stuff to me and not expect me to love you more than I already do,” Y/N says, her eyes shut and her lips pinched so tightly that it almost looks painful.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts, unsure what he’s supposed to say. His brain always seems to be playing catch up around Y/N. “Can I say it if I do love you back?”

Y/N eyes flutter open and narrow at Spencer, as if she’s reading him. Her eyes scan for any sign of a joke, of a prank, of Spencer trying to trick her. Maybe he should be upset that Y/N is doubting him, but all Spencer can feel is hatred for the person that made her doubt herself so much to not believe him.

“I’ve never felt what I feel when I’m with you, Y/N. No one else has made me feel truly me except you, Y/N,” Spencer professes, setting down the wooden spoon on the counter to reach Y/N’s hand.

“I never thought you’d feel the same way, Spence. I love you, God. That feels so good to say,” Y/N says, letting out a strained laugh. Spencer standing up next to her, places his hands on Y/N cheeks, and tries to lean in lower to kiss her, but Y/N’s finger on his lips stops his movement.

“I’m so sorry, I should have asked. I thought that this is-” Spencer stammers, suddenly very concerned that he violated Y/N in some way.

“Shhh, angel. It’s okay. I want you to kiss me. I really do, but I just want you to tell the facts on you getting sick if you kiss me,” Y/N says, not moving her finger from Spencer’s soft lips. He kisses her finger and grasps her hand with his.

“Sorry, I just had to do that,” Spencer smirks, “but to answer your question, unless you have a bad cough, and some of the respiratory mucus has made its way into your saliva, the cold virus will not be transmitted by kissing,”

“That’s good, so please kiss me, Spencer,” Y/N practically begs, eager for Spencer to leave pieces of him all over her. Eager for him to leave physical evidence of the marking he’s already left on her heart.

“You just might have to take care of me next week,” Spencer counters, peppering kisses over her jaw, knowing he’s purposely avoiding her lips.

“Spencer, I’m sick! Don’t tease me, just kiss me,” Y/N whines, and Spencer caves. He leans in slowly, meeting his lips to Y/N’s. It was the kiss that Spencer knew he’d be waiting for. A kiss that seals fate without a return address. A kiss that reminds him that he’s alive. A kiss that says forever and always.

Spencer, resting his chin against Y/N’s head, closes his eyes. The intense silence that existed between them, now is this light and hopeful air.

“Y/N, do you use my hair gunk?” Spencer asks. He can’t help but giggle with her and breathe in the familiar scent of her hair. He places three kisses on Y/N’s head and gently pushes her hair to the side to kiss down the back of her neck.

“I’m not sure what I love more, the smell of your hair gunk or the man that wears it,”

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TAGLIST (Comment to be added or send in an ask)

@shemarmooresfedora

@willowrose99

@calm-and-doctor

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[eirist]

I Was Made for Lovin’ You

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: M (Not really explicit but mature-themed, yes)

Note: For the Day 1 of the ZoNa Days event (at @zonamievents). It’s Zoro day… what better way to celebrate it with Nami pondering about him.

I Was Made for Lovin’ You is by KISS. I had The Umbrella playlist accompany me while writing and l’m borrowing it. Enjoy!

Summary: She can’t say she’s not amused when that supposedly innocent piece of clothing article was now not-so-innocent at all.

Nami jolted slightly, waking up from her still-not-deep slumber. She blinked a few times to clear her thoughts as well as the sleep still lingering behind her eyes.

She blearily looked around her surroundings and realized she had fallen asleep on her deck chair while relaxing with Robin on the Sunny’s lawn.

She was just talking to the archaeologist earlier right?

The navigator tilted her head to her left. The deck chair beside her was empty. She must’ve have fallen asleep in between the lulls in their conversation.

With a sigh she settled back comfortably on her chair again. She was still feeling heavy-eyed and the call of sleep was still beckoning to her.

Must be because she didn’t get any proper shut-eye last night. No thanks to a certain green-haired swordsman.

Not that she is complaining. She absolutely cannot whine about Zoro lavishing her attention—physically speaking.

But it was kinda hard to explain why she seemed to be lacking sleep once, twice sometimes thrice a week. Robin and Sanji were already noticing it and were asking questions.

Was that what she and Robin were talking about earlier before she had fallen asleep?

Another sigh escape her.

She couldn’t very well tell them that a late night tryst with their swordsman was the reason.

Hell will definitely break loose.

A commotion coming from the galley grabbed her attention. She can hear Sanji’s voice rising above a cacophony of other sounds. She strained her ears to listen if he was fighting with Zoro but he was just shouting at Luffy and whoever was with the gluttonous captain, pestering the him.

The door of the boys’ quarters opened and with a loud yawn out stepped Roronoa Zoro.

Did he just woke up?

Nami frowned.

Well… she hadn’t seen him since they went their separate ways this morning. That probably meant he slept almost the whole day off!

Talk about unfair! How come he was able to get more rest than her!

Well… he hardly had any task in the ship after all.

That’s it he’s not getting any more all-nighters more than twice a week. She needs her beauty sleep after all.

He trudged across the deck, still looking half-asleep and oblivious to her and his surroundings.

She just continued watching him from her chair and her eyes zeroed in on the sash that he was still tying around his waist.

The one damn reason why she was lacking sleep today… aside from the crazy swordsman himself.

Nami pursed her lips and stifled a groan as she remembered how steamy the night before was.

She had known long ago that Zoro was a domineering man. She shared that trait with him in all honesty. That’s one of the reasons why they clash so much.

And she got to experience first-hand just how much he can be when he wants too—especially during their private sessions.

Of course, it’s not like she doesn’t put up a good fight every now and then. Like he could really boss her around as easy as that whether inside the bedroom or out (well, in this case… the crow’s nest).

But damn, whatever has gotten into him last night and prompted him to bend her over and tie her hands on the metal plate rack in the nest using that red sash of his, took their sexual relationship into another level.

And seeing it again out displayed nonchalantly out in the open… was making her hot and breathless all over again just thinking about how he had skillfully used it to make her succumb to him.

She can’t say she’s not amused at all when that supposedly innocent piece of clothing article … was now not-so-innocent at all.

Now all she can remember whenever she sees it is how it had looked—tied around her wrists, keeping her hands together as if in prayer, unable to grasp anything to steady herself as Zoro mercilessly pounded her in so many positions she had fucking lost count as her brain short-circuited from too much pleasure.

Goddamn it. That was hot! Really, really, really hot.

And she should stop thinking about it right now. Not when he’s just a few feet away from her and can sense when she’s burning for him, the unmistakable heat pooling in her middle making her rub her feet together as if that would appease it.

How did he turn from an idiotic numbskull to a rather irresistible hunk who was so damn good in sex?

It’s just one of the many wonders of the sea they were sailing.

Stealing one last glance at that sash and the man who owns it, Nami decided it’s better to stay quiet and just let him go about with his business so she’d still have time to reminisce their sexual escapade last night while it’s still fresh in her mind.

Her eye caught the sun beginning to set down the horizon. It will be evening soon and they’ve been sailing without any trouble the whole day… she’ll talk to Franky later about anchoring the ship for the night.

Fingers snapping in front of her face made Nami jerked back slightly, startled at the sudden intrusion.

She blinked at Zoro, who was looking at her amusedly as he crouched down beside her deck chair so they were eye-level.

A pout appeared at her lips just as he asked.

“What are you thinking about?”

Nami’s eyes unconsciously darted from his face to that damned sash tied around his hips.

And a grin immediately appeared on Zoro’s face.

He leaned closer to her… so close that their noses were almost touching. His grey eye flickered all over her face, studying her. It was almost as if he would kiss here right there and then, in the lawn deck of their ship, for all their crewmates to see.

“You want a repeat of last night?” He asked and his grin widened some more at her reaction.

See? There was no way she can hide from him how she absolutely enjoyed their tryst yesterday.

“Come on Nami. I’ll tie you up again and fuck you good.” He whispered lowly on her ear.

Nami felt the heat crawl from where she can feel his hot breath against her skin.

“That’s really raunchy Zoro.”

He laughed at her attempt to call him out when they both know how it definitely turns her on.

Zoro captured one of her hands in his, his thumb rubbing over the soft skin of her wrist, studying the telltale marks left by his sash from their encounter last night.

Then his face broke into a smile. A sweet, rarely seen one, for her eyes only. “Maybe next time,” he murmured as he brought her wrist to his lips for a kiss.

And just like that Nami felt her insides exploded as she stared at him.

Now he’s not just an idiotic numbskull and an irresistible hunk. He’s also an endearing lover.

Remind her again how could she be this lucky?

“Damn it Zoro,” she hissed, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him to her for a heated kiss.

“Ah.” Zoro stopped her as a playful smirk graced his lips. “Not now when there are eyes everywhere.”

And with that he left in her deck chair with her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Damn it all to hell! Did he just…?

She hastily vacated her chair to chase after him and give him a piece of her mind and a kick or two.

Idiotic numbskull, irresistible hunk, endearing lover…

She also forgot to add that he can be a teasing ass when he wants too.

The overall combination was too appealing and too hard to resist.

Or maybe she really is a sucker for him.

Her eyes settled again at that red sash as she hurried towards him. Zoro just reached the top of the stairs and was about to head to the galley.

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corners of her lips as she reached him.

Nami immediately hooked her fingers on that piece of clothing, stopping him in his tracks,   before pushing him against the galley’s wall.

She pressed herself on him as Zoro gazed down at her looking downright amused. She toyed with the sash, pulling at it slightly for emphasis.

“Let me borrow this later,” she murmured the request against his lips. Teasing. Seducing.  “I’ve got a favor to return in full tonight.”

[in-superbloom]

did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? (a.i.)

right where you left me: prologue

pairing: ashton irwin x olivia jones (oc)

warnings: uhh a kinda grieving theme i guess? but no deaths. it has a sad tone overall, but nothing major (in this chapter hehe). foul language because i can't help myself. the tiniest mention of alcohol, but as a memory. think i should probably warn you that this contains a very sad ash. also not much dialogues. this is mainly for explanation and introduction, but very important for the story. if you find anything else that might be triggering, please let me know so i can add it here !!

author's note: oof okay. so. this is the prologue of a series very very dear to my heart that i've been working on for what it feels like my whole life but really it's been just a few months. but i'm in love with the story (which rarely happens with my own writing) so i hope you can enjoy it too !! this is also my very first time posting a fic since 2013 so pls keep that in mind <3 no i am not shaking as type this ofc not also: although i have the full story ready in my head, this is the only chapter that's written. i wanted to wait until i had at least a few ready before posting this but i'm too anxious for that lmao just saying this bc it will take a good while until i have any more chapters, so <3 (p.s.: i went over this thing a million times since may so if you find any errors pls look away, i'm not fixing this thing anymore. thanks <3)

another note: anna from the future here to say that i completely forgot about the playlist i made for the story lmao here it is in case you're interested k thanks bye <3

credits: title is from taylor swift's song right where you left me. model in the picture: paola locatelli. banner by me.

i also wanted to take a minute to thank some really nice friends that i've made here over these past few months & that i'm extremely grateful for @wastelandcth @suchalonelysunflower @littledrummerangie i cannot thank you babes enough for inspiring me the way that you do & for letting me yell about this to you && for encouraging me so much 🥺 i'll never be able to explain just how much this means to me, so i'll have to settle for saying thank you at any change that i can get <3 i love you all 💜 also gem my baby, thank you for the inspo with the banner 💚

@bluesdelis look babe i did it 😌 you know how grateful i am for you & for you letting me have a breakdown every week about my writing for the past 8 years so let's not dive into that or else i will write something bigger than this prologue jsjsjdjd love you 🖤

i hope you all have a good reading and a nice day ♡

let me know what are your thoughts about the fic ! ♡

word count: 4.1k

☆☆☆

Cold. That was the first thing that Olivia’s brain processed.

Still with her eyes closed, she buried herself more into the duvet, while her arm blindly reached for the furnace in human form that she calls boyfriend. However, as soon as her arm was only met with cold sheets, her eyes shot open.

Blinking the sleep away, she sat up on the bed, searching for the infamous red clock resting on Ashton’s bedside table that was supposed to look like a vintage alarm clock. Olivia had ordered it online at an auction website a couple of years back, as a gift for his 23rd birthday, since it was something he had mentioned multiple times prior that he was looking for, but still hadn't found. But when it finally came in (two weeks after the due date), it looked nothing like the picture she saw on the website. Feeling beyond frustrated, she wanted to send it back immediately and ask for a refund and maybe leave a not so polite review on the seller's page. But Ashton stopped her right away, laughing like the situation was absolutely hilarious to him, while saying, 'I like it, it’s quirky'. So, the clock stayed and found a home right next to him in their room.

Some days, however, she would wake up at some ungodly hour because of the blaring noise of the only ringtone the clock had. But whatever annoyance she could feel towards the object, it always vanished as soon as she felt Ashton's lips gently touching her face in a good morning kiss before he would get up to start his day, leaving her to catch some more hours of well deserved sleep.

As the furthest from a morning person as a touring musician could possibly be, Olivia had always feared that living under the same roof as Ashton would turn her into an early bird like him, but she's thankful that it never happened (not that he needs to know about that).

When she sees the red clock, she smiles at the sudden but welcome memories of them flooding her foggy brain, but frowns slightly when she realizes it reads 12:13 pm. Ashton rarely lets her sleep past 10 am.

Gathering all her strength and will, she rises up from the bed, smoothly picking up a grey wool sweatshirt from the chair (way too baggy on her slim body, but it smells like him), pulling it over her head and relishing on the soft material warming up her body. Making her way to the door and calmly going down the stairs, she can’t help but stop for a minute to admire the picture frames on their walls, one in particular catches her attention – probably one of the most prized pictures and memories they had. It felt older than it actually is, but it was around 4 years ago, she's sure – a little while after the two of them met. The picture was of their group of friends that still remains the same: Ashton and his best friend, Luke; Olivia, her best friend, Calum and their old hometown friend, turned into Calum’s new friend at college, turned into everyone’s friend, Michael; and her then newly band members, Suki, Eli and Ravi. Together, their group was the life of the party through all their college years, and it showed by the big smiles and drinks in hands they all had in the picture. It was a very special night, the first time Olivia’s little band played for the public – for a small audience sure, but it was a wonderful night nonetheless. What a long road it had been since that night.

Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a shiver that went through her whole body, and it made her realize how oddly cold the whole house was, not only their bedroom. Which, granted, it was November in New York and the weather was just getting colder, but that’s exactly why Ashton always made sure to keep the house warm enough. As much as she loved the chilly season, the warm weather always reminded him of his hometown, and who was she to deny him that?

The smell of fresh made coffee could be sensed even before she reached the kitchen. Arriving there, the curly haired woman still found no signs of her boyfriend, so she went straight after the coffee maker pot sitting on the far left corner of the cream marble counter. Smiling softly at the tons of memories of Ashton's sleepy figure making their favorite beverage, she reached for a coffee mug on the cupboard on top of the counter and poured the remainder of the hot liquid on it (it's her favorite mug, if she must choose – it was a gift from a fan, and it had printed on it a collage of the pictures of her and Ashton that were posted on social media through their first year of relationship).

Moving to the glass doors that lead to the mini garden they cultivate, she didn't have to open them to spot the 6-feet-tall man sitting on a bench outside, looking oddly small in his oversized clothes, coffee mug tightly held between strong hands. Something about his figure made Olivia frown, however: he was staring with an unwavering look at her small but eye-catching pot of yellow daffodils that were almost as much of a pet to them as Stitch at this point. Sensing that there’s something definitely off about his semblance, she made a mental note to talk to him and find out what’s wrong later. So she goes back to the kitchen, knowing that he might need this quiet and private moment for himself.

She lost count of the minutes that went by (couldn't have been more than five) before she hears the garden's door opening and closing, and then his bare feet are dragging his brawny body to her. Except, he goes over to the sink, walking right through her, not showing any sign that he even saw her hunched figure over the counter table in the middle of the room.

Alright, someone's in a mood.

Olivia tries to swallow the annoyance already bubbling inside her – he knows how much she hates to be ignored, no matter how mad he might be – by trying to think of what she can say that won't piss him off. This is always a hard feat to accomplish when Ashton gets in these moods, but there’s a reason for them to work so well together.

“I missed my favorite body heater when I woke up,” she says in her best sweet voice, knowing how quickly his resolve crumbles when he hears that voice.

Still, no reaction.

That settles a worry at the pit of her stomach, because Ashton is never like this. Even when he's not in the mood to talk, he always gives some kind of reaction to her words; it doesn't matter how small, just enough to make her feel acknowledged.

When he's finished washing his mug and the few scattered dishes across the sink – she noticed that he already had lunch, if the lone plate in the drying rack is anything to go by –, he dries his hand in a towel, turns around and throws it on top of the same counter Olivia was leaning up against. Once again, he walks away not even sparing her a look.

Indignant, she leaves the now empty coffee mug on top of the table and follows him as he walks up the stairs, any determination to not aggravate his mood now well gone.

“Hey! In case you didn't notice, I'm right here. Whatever got you in this sour mood, I'm certainly not to blame, so can you stop being a child now and talk to me?!”

Ashton just keeps walking – more like sluggishly dragging his body – until he reaches their bedroom and suddenly stops just merely two feet inside the room, looking around with vacant eyes; like he was expecting to see something that wasn't there.

“Okay, that's really mature of you. Are you planning on ignoring me all day then?” Olivia questions exasperated, staring angrily at the back of his neck, where the condor tattoo lives – her favorite of his, but that sight doesn't bring her any peace today like it usually does.

Her glare only breaks when she hears the familiar sound of dog tags swaying on her right side. Shifting her gaze to the direction of the sound, Olivia notices Stitch, their small, black & white French bulldog – who she thought was outside in the garden – slowly trudging his way from around the bed until he stops at Ashton's feet, looking up at one of his humans with sad eyes. That realization only makes the worry in her stomach grow uncomfortably.

“Hi buddy,” Ashton's voice cracks a bit from the lack of use, but he smiles softly at the sweet dog, and crouches down to pet him.

Olivia can't help but gasp as she notices three things all at once that leave her overwhelmed: first, how she didn't even notice Stitch was in the room when she woke up – which never ever happens, in fact, most days he wakes her up whenever he deems her bedtime as finished and can't ever contain his excitement when she finally gets up; second, how the windows blinds are closed, which, again, rarely occurs under their roof, not if Ashton can help it. And third, how sad and melancholic the whole scene in front of her is – how sad and melancholic Ashton is. Pointless to say by now – that's also a very rare occasion.

A chill creeps up Olivia's spine, putting her body into high alert and also serving as a reminder of how everything looks out of place today. Trying to keep her head from spiraling down way too soon, she wraps her arms around herself and crouches down beside her two favorite boys, trying once more.

“Ash? Can you hear me?” even with her throat closing, she softly asks, purposefully putting her face in Ashton's point of view. Her only answer is the low whispers he's letting out to Stitch, while cradling the tiny dog in his arms, spreading gentle kisses on his head.

“I know, bud, I know. I miss her too,” is the only whisper she could understand and immediately wishes she hadn't. The weak wail that comes from Stitch's throat seems to fit perfectly with how the three of them feel.

Ashton then looks up and for a couple of seconds, and Olivia can swear he’s staring right into her eyes. But when he shows no reaction, she knows he’s just staring ahead and not at her, with that look that says there’s too much going on inside his head. She feels the urge to embrace him and get him to talk about whatever is on his mind, so they can share that weight like they always do, but when Ashton gets up from the ground and settles on the bed with Stitch, Olivia can physically feel the crack in her heart caused by the feeling she’s left with.

While Ashton is pulling the duvet over him and the dog, with clearly no intentions of getting up anytime soon, Olivia stands up on her feet with a new-found determination – she needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

This nightmare had to be just that, right? Nothing but a very vivid dream – she's had those before. Scary sure, but they always go away, and soon enough she's back into Ashton's arms, with Stitch jumping on the bed ready to lick their faces off. She just needs to wake herself up from whatever fucked up dream this is – right?

She's running down the stairs this time, frantically in search of something, of what exactly, she doesn’t know – but she knows she needs an answer. The more she looks for something, the more desperate she gets, not knowing what to look for. Then suddenly, something catches her eyes.

The white and blue calendar that's held up by magnets on the side of the fridge. She knows their calendar is red and yellow. They got it from their favorite flower market. Slowly, as if scared of what it might be there – “It's just a calendar, for fucks sake” – she approaches the damn thing. Upon inspection, she deems it as a normal calendar – she really doesn't know what she was expecting – until.

She knows what's wrong with it now.

It's November. She knows it, because the Asian and last leg of her first world tour is about to begin November 21st, eleven days from today. Right after Mike's birthday, she knows this.

Then why does the calendar say today is January 14th?

☆ ☆ ☆

Ashton woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up, frightening the little Frenchie that was asleep right next to him on the bed. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, he roughly rubbed his face to get some sleep off of it and soon reached for the dog that was staring at him with sleepy but sad eyes. Ashton is sure Stitch understands far more than a dog is supposed to understand about their current situation.

The room is covered in shadows, almost pitch black, but he can see the sunlight even through the thick dark grey blinds covering up the windows. Ashton knows he won't be able to sleep again at that moment, so he gets up from the bed – much slower than he used to. His heartbeat is still out of control because of the nightmare that woke him up, but he can't bother to pay attention to it when Stitch is softly wailing beside him. Ashton lets out a ghost of a smile when the dog rests his head on his right upper thigh, looking up at him with an expression Ashton knows all too well.

“C'mon you little ravenous creature, let's feed you,” the bulldog excitedly jumps to the ground, already running his way down the stairs, not even waiting for Ashton to get up.

That gets a real smile out of him, but it vanishes as soon as he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It reads 5:13 am, nothing out of the ordinary for him. But that small and inoffensive clock, with its red paint peeling off, holds a lot of memories for him. Memories that two months ago would bring joy to his heart, but now he almost wants to throw the object across the room.

It was a stupid thing, really. He had been wanting a vintage alarm clock and Olivia got one for his birthday. But the product they received was definitely not the one she bought, and if he's being honest, he didn't like it as much as he made out to. But seeing her so excited in the weeks before it arrived, and how disappointed she was when it did, he couldn't help but try his best to make her smile that luminous smile again. It's part of his nature by now.

That's also the reason why he lets her think that he doesn't notice when she wakes up at some ungodly hour (her words, not his) along with him, because of the annoying and only sound the alarm clock is able to produce. He always leaves soft kisses in every inch of bare skin he can find on her sleeping figure, so she goes back to the dream land and doesn't wake up before 10 am. No one wants to deal with that kind of bad humor, not even him.

As much as he likes being a morning person and absolutely enjoys her company in the mornings, he knows she'll take any and every extra hour of sleep she can get before starting the day. And that's why he loves that she's so stubborn that his early bird tendencies never got to her – he knows she feared that this would happen when they moved in together, but he met her like this, fell for her like this. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

Ashton drags himself out of the bed, wincing slightly at how cold the wooden floors are under his bare feet. He doesn't bother putting some socks on, or a sweater – the cold weather in the house is uncharacteristically comforting to him. Nothing feels warm without her anyway.

While descending the stairs, he mentally curses himself for not being strong enough to look past the picture frames on the wall. One in particular catches his eyes – a picture from the night of Olivia's first concert with her band. The memories of that night are still painfully vivid in his mind: the laughter among their group that eventually infected everyone at the pub, Suki and Luke's first kiss and the silly smile that didn't leave his best friend's face all night, the standing ovation Olivia got after her three-songs set, and her captivating and breathtaking smile that made him realize right then and there, while watching her sway to the music, that he was definitely falling in love with her and there was nothing he could do to stop it – not that he wanted to.

So many memories held up on that wall, in the relatively short time since they met, that he can't help but wonder if that's all they'll get in this lifetime.

Ashton is abruptly taken out of his thoughts by Stitch's barks coming from the bottom of the stairs. He quickly jogs down the few steps left and goes straight after the dog's food in the kitchen's cabinet. After Stitch starts to happily devour his breakfast, Ashton goes to make his coffee, doing enough for two people like he always does, since Calum drops by most days for a chat or to drop Duke before going to work. Although all three of them know he just can't bother to make food for himself in the morning, while Ashton is the group's elected chef. Ashton always says he just needs a boyfriend – Olivia says Calum already has one who makes him breakfast every day.

He grabs an apple from the fridge and makes his way outside to their garden. Even though a lot of their memories took place there, the garden is the only space in the house where he doesn't feel like suffocating all the time. At least here, he can breathe some fresh air and look at the sky when he's feeling overwhelmed – which is basically all he's been doing for about a month now.

Yet, a lot of the garden has Olivia's name written all over.

He remembers vividly the day she came home after spending two weeks in LA doing some pocket shows, with a pack of daffodil seeds and the largest smile. She excitedly told him that a friend gifted it to her when she mentioned the little garden they were planning to build together at their new house. The friend told Olivia that daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, so as the good lover of symbolism that she is, Olivia loved the idea of having those flowers to symbolize their new beginning.

Ashton, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of the flowers at first – he just didn't see the appeal to them. But nonetheless, he indulged her, letting Olivia plant the seeds near the bench they used to sit during the quiet and unrushed afternoons, so they could admire the sunset, and she could happily look at the daffodils.

Pointless to say – the damn flowers grew on him.

Now, however, looking at them without Olivia and her contagious joy next to him, they were back to be as dull as they were before, if not more so.

Still lost inside his head without any sense of how much time went by since he sat down, Ashton doesn't hear the front door closing, and doesn't notice that he's no longer the only person inside the house until someone sits next to him on the bench. Yet, he doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement to them.

A few minutes go by before either of them speaks up.

“Luke said you didn't go to see her yesterday,” Calum starts softly, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the morning.

Ashton takes a few seconds to respond, “No point in doing that.” The black haired man licks his lips while thinking carefully about his next words.

“You know staying inside this house all day by yourself won't help either,” Calum turns his head to his left and takes a good look at Ashton's uncharacteristically hunched over figure, and immediately thinks that anyone can tell this man is not himself anymore. His second thought is that Olivia would hate seeing him like this.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Move on with my life like nothing happened? Like I'm not slowly and painfully losing the love of my life? Just because it’s easy for you doesn't mean it's easy for me.”

Calum closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows Ashton doesn't mean it, it's the anger and frustration talking. He knows it. Doesn't make it sting any less.

“I'm not telling you to move on with your life, because that's far from what I'm doing, and I certainly don't expect you to do it. I'm just saying you need to occupy your mind or else–”

“I'll go insane? Think it's a bit too late for that,” Ashton interrupts with a bitter tone that doesn't belong to his usual chirpy voice.

“You know it's not,” Calum sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee, moving his body slightly, so he's facing the blonde man, “I got a job interview for you at that school you talked about so much last summer, the principal said you can go any day this week. I went ahead and sent her your resume as well as explained everything that she needs to know about Olivia, so you don't have to. You just gotta put on some decent clothes and show up.” he sees Ashton's face softening a little and takes it as a victory. A few beats go by and then, “Maybe take a shower too. That's gonna make you feel better.” Calum leans in closer to his friend's personal space and takes a sniff, causing Ashton to deflect from him slightly, but not to push him away – another small win.

“Definitely take a shower, you stink. When was the last time your hair saw shampoo?”

“Fuck off,” is Ashton's only reply to the younger man's inquest. But Calum can see a smile creeping up on the blonde's face, which brings out a smile of his own.

“I'll send you all the details later today,” he checks the hour on the watch on his wrist and gets up, “Just please, Ash, go. I can't lose you too.”

Calum gently lays a hand on Ashton's shoulder and squeezes a little. The man doesn't look up, but gives a curt nod to his friend, who's satisfied enough. Calum stops on the threshold of the garden glass doors to give some kisses to Stitch – who came to make Ashton company as soon as he finished his food –, and then he puts the coffee mug on the dishwater. And soon enough, he's on his way out of the door. But not before snatching a tangerine from the fridge.

Ashton is left by himself once again. As he hears the sound of the front door closing, he thinks that this might be his life from now on. Just him and Stitch, trying their hardest to make it through another miserable day without the love of their lives. While everyone else comes by just to make sure he's still breathing. Breathing, maybe, but alive?

Swallowing the tears, he looks up at the sky. It's a deep, beautiful mix of orange, pink and blue, but he knows that it won't last long and soon the rain will be pouring down. He thinks about how much Olivia loves the rain.

God, he needs to pull himself together. She would hate to see him like this. Maybe he should take Calum's offer after all, he really needs to occupy his mind.

Making a mental note to thank Calum later, and also to apologize for how rude he was to him this morning, Ashton slowly gets up from the bench to put his mug on the sink and makes his way to the living room, with the small dog loyally following his every step. He puts on some cartoon that for once doesn't remind him of her (she always lovingly made fun of him for still watching those) and cuddles with Stitch on the couch. He can take a shower later.

Not half an hour goes by, he falls asleep and has a good dream for a change. He dreams of the days he spent with Olivia in the Philippines last February, right before her first world tour started. Some of the most magical days of their lives – surrounded by delicious food, a whole new culture to learn about and the warmth of the sun. Infinite counted days full of love and passion, where they were the only people in the world.

Even his subconscious knows to hold on to that brief moment of happiness, because he might never live that again.

[oceandrew]

The whereabouts of: Andy Jason

I had this idea of a series that’s interesting but at the same I don’t know if it’ll be good cuz it might repetitive nor if I’ll keep doing it since there can be little to no information on the whereabouts of some of the ND characters and the series is called “the whereabouts of:”, yeah I know what a lousy name but it sounded so cool when I thought of it at midnight while reading this amazing post also ideas at nighttime while listening to folklore music tend to be very interesting and iconic (to me at least).

What’s the series about?

well good question, the series is going to be discussing about what happened to some of the ND games characters by checking the references and the tributes/homages to the characters and putting my hot take / theory about what happened to them. 

Please don’t take this seriously it’s just for entertainment purposes. 

P.S. The series is going to be a kinda spoiler free series but there will some tiny spoilers like the year that a case happened or something but just incase I’m gonna put the spoiler tag also English is not my first language so excuse the grammatical errors that I have.

Anyways I’m starting this series with the one and only Andy Jason from DDI hence his whereabouts were very intriguing and amusing and started to think about it quickly while playing DAN.

So after DDI, where did he go?

First, In 2008, the year where VEN took place, in the stage of where Nancy goes to Fango’s office there are few certificates of Fango’s but there is one certificate that stands out the most and it is this one seen below. A Masters certificate of computer science earned in 2003, what’s important is that the signatures below are the signatures of some of the ND characters throughout the game series and were also mentioned in this post from left to right (Louis chandler MHM , Taylor Sinclair SSH , Andy Jason DDI and Tammy Barnes AKA Minette from DAN). So this indicates that Andy Jason was an Instructor at the University of Bologna prior to DDI which is interesting.

Second, we all know about the reused shorty model in CRY but did you know that there’s also a reused model of Andy Jason (left) in DAN?! Apparently he’s a French policeman.

And finally, DDI took place in 2003 right?? right so three years after DDI, he travelled to the other side of the world to start fresh and move on with his life and so he travelled to France changing his name and nationality and somehow he became a policeman in Paris?? Either that could be him or a doppelganger who knows?

P.P.S. Guy on the right kinda looks like Brady Armstrong but that’s unlikely it’s him.

So, that concludes my first series entry (kinda?), but it was fun speculating what happened to a character only from a reused model lol.

Thank you for reading this post and please feel free to reblog and add more if you want to because like I said in the beginning it’s a discussion and as they say, the more the merrier. 

[soliavenne]

A Holiday Episode for The Sand Family: What Would Be Their Perfect Holiday Drink?

Alright ya’ll, this had been a running late holiday episode I was supposed to post a few days ago, but I just got to finish finalizing the recipes and the drawings the other day haha. Either way, here it goes! 

Hope you enjoy! :)

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Temari starts off by finely chopping her pre-cooked, roasted and peeled chestnuts. She places the non-stick pan on medium low heat before pouring the chopped chestnuts in it, followed by the whole milk.

She then proceeds to chop the stick of vanilla bean into two pieces, takes 2/3 of it for the drink; with the remaining 1/3 of the stick to be set aside to flavor the whipped cream later. Temari splits the vanilla bean in half, lengthwise, and scrapes out the vanilla pulp inside and stirs it right into the simmering milk. The same step will be done later to the remaining vanilla bean. Temari prefers using vanilla bean instead of vanilla extract, as the vanilla extract contains unnecessary ingredients and tastes weaker compared to the vanilla bean itself.

Temari doesn’t like using ground cinnamon, as it doesn’t dissolve into the drink. To still have the cinnamon flavor, she throws in a small cinnamon stick into the milk.

Knowing from bad experience, Temari doesn’t leave the simmering milk unattended. She diligently scrapes the bottom of the pan every 1-2 minutes with a rubber spatula so it doesn’t form a film of milk solids that could burn if left neglected. She cracks up the heat a little to medium high to bring it to a boil. After so, Temari reduces the heat at the lowest setting to allow it to simmer, still stirring it occasionally for five minutes before taking it off the heat.

Temari likes using bittersweet chocolate instead of cocoa powder, as the butter content of chocolate allows for a richer taste. She chops the chocolate very finely to have it dissolve faster into the hot milk. Since bittersweet chocolate doesn’t taste as sweet, she adds two tablespoons of light brown sugar and stirs it to dissolve. After that, she takes out the cinnamon stick.

Temari prefers to blitz her hot chocolate in her high-speed blender as it allows her clean the counter and wash the utensils for the meantime as it blends. It leaves little to no trace of remaining chestnut pieces and usually results to a very smooth consistency.

After dividing the nutty, hot chocolate into her mugs and Shikamaru’s mug, she stirs in the Bourbon.

Temari prefers to whip her cold, heavy cream to a medium peak with a hand-held mixer alongside 2 tablespoons of confectioner’s sugar and the scraped vanilla bean from the left stick.

She tops off the drink with a healthy amount of sweetened, vanilla whipped cream, roughly chopped roasted walnuts (as expected), and a drizzle of her own chocolate sauce on to finish it off.

Bonus recipe:

Temari prefers homemade to store-bought if it doesn’t take much of her time to do it, one of the things she swaps for a homemade version is chocolate sauce, knowing it’s a one-pot no brainer recipe. So how does she do it?

Temari’s Homemade Chocolate Sauce

1) 1 ½ cups water

2) 1 ½ cups white sugar

3) 1 cup cocoa powder

4) 1 dash salt

5) 1 stick of vanilla bean.

Pour in the water, sugar, cocoa powder and salt into the pan and heat it over low heat. Stir the mixture constantly until it thickens up and comes to a simmer. Take it off the heat and then stir in the scraped vanilla bean. You can serve it warm, or make it in advance and store in a container into the fridge until ready to be served.

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Kankuro gets cold easily, and he likes to be experimental at times with the food he eats. Hot chocolate with Tequila and a little kick of cayenne? Yep, you got him intrigued. He would certainly give it a shot.

Kankuro usually goes for whole milk, but he decides to go for full cream milk this time to balance off the taste of alcohol and spice perfectly. He does find it resulting to a thicker, decadent hot chocolate, which is something he’s not shy to indulge himself upon.

He prefers to use both parts of milk chocolate and semisweet chocolate. There are times where he opts to not add sugar at all due to the sugars present in his chosen types of chocolate, but if he’s feeling a little kick of a sweet tooth, he would use light brown sugar.

He starts off by finely chopping his chocolates and placing them onto the bowl. Last year, he thought he could chop it at the same time as he allows the milk to boil, but he ended up losing his concentration as he found joy in the sound of chocolate being chopped by his freshly-sharpened knife. The milk boiled over, and the panic had him throwing the chocolate into the scalded milk; with the weight of the chopping board tipping over the pot and resulting to a hot chocolate-less night. Never again. He knew better now. He learns the best after his own mistakes.

To make his favorite hot chocolate, pour in the milk, sugar, salt, ground cinnamon and cayenne pepper into the pot and heat it over medium low. As he only makes this once a year, specifically for the holiday as a sort of little tradition for himself as he dons his holiday sweater, Kankuro is extra mindful to scrape the bottom of the pot until it reaches a gentle boil. He reduces the heat to the lowest setting before pouring in his finely chopped chocolate from his fancy little glass bowl. After stirring it to dissolve, he removes it off the heat and then uses a ladle for extra precaution to transfer it to the mugs.

Stirs in the tequila into the hot chocolate.

Kankuro likes to top it off with a thin layer of store-bought whipped cream. He then sprinkles a small amount of roughly chopped milk chocolate to sweeten the cream, and pinch of cayenne for an interesting contrast.

Note: I forgot to add 1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon powder into the recipe image, but the recipe does call for it! I’m sorry for the error!

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Gaara is not very keen on overly-indulgent, sweet drinks. Already thinking that chocolate is very rich itself, Gaara chooses to use low-fat milk. The lessened percentage of fat from his preferred type of milk is complemented by the butter content that the semisweet chocolate offers. The unsweetened cocoa powder packs in a deep, flavor of strong cocoa minus the fat content. This combination results to a less thicker form of hot chocolate, which Gaara prefers the most. To balance off the bitterness and the acidity, he adds a teaspoon of light brown sugar.

Same old step, Gaara combines the simple, yet the highest of quality products in his non-stick pan. Highest of quality meaning having it exposed less to commercialized practices, as Gaara opts to buy his commodities from Suna’s own, proud farmers as a form of his utmost support. Suna had propositioned to buy additional farmlands from Konohagakure, and their own agriculture business is now thriving for the better.

There are times where he visits the farmers himself, and they are more than happy to welcome their beloved Kazekage with an enormous feast of the freshest of their harvest. Gaara vowed to bring Shinki, Araya, and Yodo next time to introduce this practice he upholds in hopes of passing on the economical and moral importance of supporting their own people and own products to the next generation.

Since it is the holidays after all, he lets himself slide off a just a bit by topping his drink off with his own recipe of espresso whipped cream. It’s fairly simple, he whips the cold heavy whipping cream alongisde a small amount of vanilla bean and a teaspoon of instant espresso powder. It may come off as a surprise that he adds another shot of sugar into this as he wasn’t a person with a sweet tooth at all, but he does find that the molasses flavor of the brown sugar balances the concentrated caffeine flavor of the espresso perfectly.

He then proceeds to counter the sweetness from the brown sugar with a healthy sprinkle of sea salt on top, which Chojuro gave as a gift from the previous Five Kage meeting in hopes advertising it as an international product considering they were the ones who discovered it due to Kirikagure’s being surrounded by large bodies of seawater. It was still a new business, the Mizukage said with a chuckle, but the Kages, including Gaara himself, were intrigued and happy to try it.

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Shikamaru loves coffee. It was what kept him going from the long, dragged afternoons spent in the office doing paperwork ever since he started working for the Sixth Hokage up to the Seventh Hokage. The holidays doesn’t faze him to try something entirely new, it’s got to have a punch of caffeine in it, no ifs, no buts. Alcohol and chocolate? Sounds great to indulge himself in once in a while, but the taste of coffee needs to roll familiarity in his tongue for him to enjoy it fully; so an alcohol-spiked mocha is the perfect stroke to tickle his spots.

It’s nothing too fancy, set up a kettle to boil water for the coffee later as he heats up the milk for the hot chocolate to a gentle boil on a very low heat so it’s less of a risk to burn in case he forgets to stir it now and then. Once it does, he tosses in the semisweet chocolate chips, as the whole chopping business thing was something he didn’t want to trouble himself with. Once fully melted and combined, he takes it off the heat.

Shikamaru then proceeds to dissolve the instant coffee powder and the light brown in the boiling hot cup of water.

The ratio he goes for is to fill the first 1/3 of the cup with hot chocolate, then other third of it with the fresh cup of hot coffee. He then stirs in the amaretto, and a tops it off with a thin layer of store-bought whipped cream or Temari’s leftover whipped cream if he runs out of the previous choice. A little dusting of sweetened cocoa powder for the taste and the aesthetic.

Enjoys his second round of Amaretto-spiked Mocha the best when Shikadai is already asleep upstairs, leaving him and Temari alone to accompany each other as they sit together in the couch, cuddled and laughing under the warm blanket as they savor the cold holiday night in Konohagakure together.

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Shikadai would rather have a freezing milkshake than a hot chocolate because he doesn’t like waiting for the hot beverage to cool down as his mother and father had already gulped half of what they’re having.

Cookies and Cream milkshake was one of the specials that they only offered for the special milkshake month in Thunder Burger Restaurant during September. Since there was no way he could order it by the time the holidays arrive, he asked for Chocho and Inojin’s help to devise his own favorite milkshake recipe. Soon enough, he was able to perfect it; as approved by his own teammates, and Temari’s own highest standards.

Shikadai’s prefers to use skim milk, as he had discovered that the presence of egg yolks in his favorite french vanilla ice cream is what makes it creamier and richer than the usual vanilla ice cream. The lack of fat content in skim milk would balance off the french vanilla ice cream’s richness to prevent it from tasting too indulgent.

Shikadai allows the ice cream to soften up a bit to room temperature where it’s just a little melty. After that, he combines the ice cream, cold skim milk, half amount of the scraped vanilla bean, powdered sugar and chopped, seven pieces of oreo cookies into a high speed blender. He turns it off once he sees it is fully-blended.

He likes to drizzle the homemade chocolate sauce that his mother makes onto the milkshake glass, both for taste and aesthetic as a genetic nod to Shikamaru’s mentioned choice with the dusting  of cocoa powder. One of his favorite parts in drinking this milkshake is whenever he uses his straw to scoop up the chocolate sauce that dribbled down onto the bottom of the glass.

Prefers to buy store-bought whipped cream to ease his job and just add the remaining half of the scraped vanilla bean to flavor it. He then proceeds to roughly crush 2 oreo cookies and mix it in with the vanilla-flavored whipped cream. After topping his milkshake with it, he likes to garnish it on top with a whole piece of oreo cookie.

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Shinki’s disciplined behavior renders him uneasy in consuming so many indulgent foods in one night, considering every holiday within the Kazekage’s household had always been a feast. Braised stew and gizzard? Fine, everyone has their weakness, and he might find himself slipping up a little, but with his chosen drink, he would like to tone it down a bit.

Shinki’s health consciousness encourages him to try different healthier alternatives of the popular foods they consume on a daily basis. His latest endeavor was focused on the swelling trend of plant-based milks in the market. He studied the differences between a plant-based milk and regular milk, and he found notable information that he once shared with Gaara over dinner. Gaara smiled at Shinki’s interesting thought, and was now intrigued as well to try it, urging Shinki furthermore to give it a shot.

He went home once, paperbags filled with different cartons of different types of milk. He poured each one of it into small glasses for a taste test. Apart from the difference in the tastes, he also discovered that there were certain milks he thought would pair the best with a specific function. He liked oat milk the best if they are paired with cereal, and the notable creaminess and less nuttier taste of cashew milk paired well with coffee.

Coconut milk was better off for dishes where you naturally expect it to have a “coconutty” taste, since it was distinctly overpowering. Soy milk on the other hand… was an acquired taste for Shinki.

Now that he has the background information as to how it is supposed to taste like, he knew that he would increase its chances of being entirely healthy by making it himself. He wasn’t sure about it at first though, as he would opt to buy it if the recipe calls for professional skills and labor, but once he discovered how easy it was to make by the time he read the recipes Gaara printed for him, he was undeniably excited despite how stoic he looks like on the outside. If you look in close enough, you would see a curt, small smile on his lips.

Out of all the attempts of making almond, oat and cashew milk at home, Shinki found himself favoring cashew milk than the other two. Almond milk required straining it with a nut bag, and tasted prevalently nuttier, oat milk on the other hand ended rather a little slimy. Cashew milk was the easiest, as he didn’t need to do the extra job of straining it, and it resulted to a perfectly creamy milk with with a subtle, nutty note that goes well with his usual go-to drinks, such as coffee and tea. It was his perfect choice.

He might not make it as often as he wants to, but on the holidays, he makes it a day in advance prior to making his reverse whipped coffee.

Shinki pours in the overnight-soaked, softened raw cashews into the high-speed blender, alongside water, Gaara’s favorite sea salt, and the vanilla bean. Shinki likes to use preserved, pitted dates as a sweetener as it also offers another depth of flavor into the milk. He then starts it off by blending in low speed, and then cracking it up to a higher setting until it is fully smooth.

Shinki has his own labeled jar for his homemade cashew milk. To give it another depth of flavor, Shinki likes to throw in two small pieces of cinnamon sticks into the empty jar prior to filling it in with the cashew milk, allowing it to steep the spice’s flavor slowly as it stores in the fridge.

The next night, Shinki starts off by putting in the instant coffee powder, sugar, and hot water into a medium sized bowl. Shinki used to do it on the coffee mug itself, but the found out that it took  longer to thicken up due to the lack of air circulation within the small area of the mug. He scrapes the bowl clean using a rubber spatula as he transfers the whipped coffee into his mug.

He then proceeds to heat up his cashew-milk to a gentle boil alongside one piece of cinnamon stick. Shinki leaves the other to steep in further into the left cashew milk. Shinki uses a fine mesh sieve to strain some small pieces of cinnamon from the stick as he would prefer the coffee to be thoroughly smooth.

The aeriated, whipped coffee adds a natural foam on top of the coffee. Shinki doesn’t like to add further garnishes.

Likes to keep it bitter and less sweet because he’s secretly eyeing the dark chocolate cake Gaara only buys during the holidays for later consumption.

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Bonus recipes to try from Araya and Yodo!

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A happy, happy holidays to all of you lovely people! :)

[meteorrogers]

chocolate covered strawberries | r. d.

summary: a precious person like you was what had been missing in Ransom’s life. 

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: fluff only, language, implied smut maybe?, oh and beware of fucking soft!Ransom

word count: 3,479 (less or more)

a/n: well, i certainly didn’t expect it to be this long. anyway, this is a soft and ooc!Ransom fic, no spoilers because i follow practically nothing from the movie (at least i think). excuse my errors, please, and enjoy!!😊let me know what you think!!

Ransom is furious, driving home from another family gathering that couldn’t end any differently than with yelling, insults, and throwing things at each other. He has no idea why he‘s still going to these things, he always swears to himself that the next time will be the last time. Maybe somewhere deep inside of him, there’s still a sparkle of hope that one day he will have a normal conversation with his mom and dad.

He needs something to calm him down and while a drink and some bimbo he’d meet in a bar sound amazing, it is still early for that. On his way home, there is this bakery he‘s always liked to stop by because they have the best fresh-from-the-oven chocolate-filled croissants to ever exist. They are maybe even better than alcohol. Just maybe.

He leaves the coat in his car and heads towards the entrance. The bell above the door rings as he enters, taking his sunglasses off. The shop is quiet except for the soft chatter of the patrons that are occupying some of the seats. He doesn‘t even need to look at the display case with all the baked goods, he already knows what he’s having, so he heads directly to the counter to order.

After the cashier takes his order and disappears in the kitchen, Ransom slowly moves to the waiting counter where a young woman is chatting with the older man (Timmy, he thinks is his name) that owns the place together with his wife. The woman has a big genuine smile on her face and occasionally a beautiful laugh leaves her mouth when Timmy says something supposedly funny. Ransom has never seen her before. Maybe it’s not so early to charm his way into a woman’s bed after all. He gets closer and as Timmy hands her her order on a pink paper tray – two Halloween themed cupcakes, with white frosting, yellow and orange sprinkles and a little marzipan ghost sticking out – Ransom only hears their goodbyes.

You are still smiling, cheerful from the conversation you had with Timmy as you turn around, ready to leave, and enjoy the sweet treat on the way home. But you don‘t even have the time to react when you suddenly collide with a solid figure. You stumble a little, but strong hands on your shoulders steady you, which you don‘t even realize since your mind‘s only focus is on the mess you have caused. And just like that, your smile disappears.

“Oh my god,“ you gasp and your eyes widen as they scan the not-so-white-anymore cable-knit sweater covered in frosting and sprinkles. “Oh my god,” you repeat, a little louder this time. Panicking, you quickly dispose of the tray with crumbled cupcakes, taking an unnecessarily high number of napkins from the holder on the counter and trying your best to clean the beautiful cozy-looking piece of clothing.

You have yet to see the person’s face, either too embarrassed to look them in the eye or too concentrated on getting the crumbs out of the wool. Probably both.

“I am sorry.” You say, throwing the dirty napkins on the counter. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve been looking where I was going. I was still so absorbed in the conversation that I didn’t notice you,” Oh, god, here comes the downpour of babbles… „And I didn’t even hear you come behind me or maybe I wasn’t paying attention, that’s prob–“

Your gibbering is interrupted by the stranger’s hand circling your wrist, also stopping your frantic movements.

“Would you calm down? It’s just a sweater. I can buy a new one.”

You finally look up, your eyes meeting ocean-blue ones with hints of green around the pupils. His voice sounded empty, emotionless and you aren‘t sure if he is upset or just doesn‘t care.

“Oh,” slipping your hand out of his hold, you break the eye contact, the situation too embarrassing for you. You look at the mess on the countertop, the paper tray still laying there, dirty napkins scattered across the surface and some of them even found their way to the ground.

Shaking your head, you grab all the garbage, bend down to pick up the ones on the floor and throw it into the trash can situated in the corner.

You turn back to the man, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Um… Can I at least pay the cleaning bill?”

“It’s fine, really.”

He still hasn’t cracked a smile.

“Well, let me buy you something sweet then. What’s your guilty pleasure?” you smile again and look over his shoulder, studying the selection of desserts.

“I said it’s alright,“ he bites. “Besides, I already ordered.”

You don‘t expect him to snap at you like that so it kind of shocks you. Better let sleeping dogs lie…

“Okay,” you nod. “I’m sorry again,” you stuff your hands in your coat pockets and head out.

Ransom stands there, looking at your leaving form and he sighs. Shit.

When you bumped into him, he was really pissed that you ruined his clothes at first, but then you started apologizing, cleaning him and rambling . That infuriated him even more. Why the hell did you even care? It wasn’t even your sweater!

You were annoyingly sweet, which Ransom isn‘t used to at all. Sure, women are nice to him, giving him that fake sugary smile just to get into his pants. He never complains, of course, it makes getting laid much easier when they’re trying to get his attention, not the other way around. But it was just an act. The smile you gave Timmy was genuine and so was the concern about his sweater. How was he supposed to react?

His thoughts are interrupted by the young employee who took his order, signalizing his croissant is ready. He takes it and turns to leave, his face still painted with… confusion?

“Fuck.” He curses silently. You can‘t be far. If he hurries, he can still catch up to you and… apologize? He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, except for one thing.

He faces the cashier again. “Hey, could you give me two of those Halloween cupcakes? With the ghosts. And wrap it up. Quickly,“ his voice is intimidating, arrogant and the boy doesn‘t have the balls to argue so he just does as he is told. Ransom snatches the covered tray from the boy’s hands and sprints out.

He looks around and luckily sees you not so far away from the shop so he decides to add a jog to his steps as he follows your direction.

“Hey!” he yells to catch your attention, which he successfully does. You turn around, brows furrowed, stopping when you notice the man from the bakery.

He runs up to you and when he reaches the place where you’re standing, you open your mouth again.

“Oh, did you change your mind?” Your hand makes a move to reach into your bag. “Just say how much and I’ll –”

“No.” He interrupts and confusion becomes evident on your face again. “As I said, it’s fine.” You expect him to continue, to tell you why he stopped you in the middle of a street. But he just stands there, looking at you as if he expects you to say something.

See, when Ransom spontaneously came up with this great plan, he didn’t think it all the way through. He seriously didn’t know what he was going to do, so now, he is just awkwardly shifting on his feet as he contemplates what to say.

“Here.” He shoves the mini tray into your hands. You look at it and then back at him, still confused. „It’s the cupcakes you bought before my sweater decided to have a taste.“

Really? That’s the smoothest thing you could think of? Jesus, what is wrong with you?

But you laugh. And god, is that a beautiful sound. Wait, what?

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.” you smile and before Ransom can argue, you stick your free hand out. “I’m (Y/n).”

He closes his fingers over yours. “Hugh… I mean, Ransom.”

The smile doesn‘t leave your face. “Well, which is it?”

“Ransom, you can call me Ransom.”

“Nice to meet you, Ransom.”

You have known since the beginning that Ransom has some skeletons in the closet. Hence the rudeness when you first met and struggle of wording out an apology for his manners. He managed to apologize in his own way and that was okay with you. You know people who don’t even try, but Ransom? He did his best and for that, you gave him your number when he asked.

It didn’t take him long to call you and ask you out. You agreed.

When he asked you on a date, his plan was to take you out for a dinner in a luxurious restaurant, order some expensive wine to get you a little bit tipsy, and spend the night at your place. The next morning he would silently sneak out of your house, block your number and never see you again.

But you are here, sitting across from him, with that big smile on your face, wearing a lovely cream knee-length dress that shows just the right amount of skin which makes him horny and at the same time, he just wants to focus on not how hot, but how beautiful you look.

“So, tell me more about yourself,” you say after the waiter takes away the empty plates.

There is no way he will talk about how filthy rich he is, how his grandfather owns one of the most successful publishing companies and lives in a huge mansion in the rich part of town. No, he’ll save this information for the gold diggers.

“Well, you might know my granddad, Harlan Thrombey?” Okay, nevermind. “He owns Blood Like Wine?” In his defense, this is all he’s ever talked about with girls. He just needs practice. 

You nod. “Oh my God, yeah, of course, I know him! I mean, not know know him, but I’ve read some of his books! Just don’t ask me about them, I’m not exactly a number one fan.” you scrunch your nose and his mind tells him how adorable that is. Shut up, brain.

“Okay, I won’t.” he laughs genuinely. He always fakes laugh when he is on a date if you can even call the ones he’s been on that. “Besides, you can’t be a number one fan even if you wanted to, because that place is mine.”

“I wouldn’t assume anything else. Are you close with your granddad?”

He averts his eyes for a second and clears his throat.

Instead of answering, he throws the question back at you, his voice defensive, maybe a little too harsh. “Are you close with your granddad?”

The corners of your mouth slightly falter and you look down for a second before facing him again, “I was. He died when I was 15.”

“Oh.” Ransom’s face softens.

“But I loved him. Every Halloween, I’d force him to tell me scary stories all day and all night.” you smile at the memories. “You know, I’m sure he and your granddad would get along. He did come up with some pretty amazing tales.”

And suddenly, he is intrigued. “What was your favorite?”

You tell him about the cursed toy factory, how every Halloween all toys come to life and they stuff all the employees with plush so they become these living toys, too, and from all the anger, they do the same to the future workers the following year.

He laughs at that, agreeing that your grandfathers would indeed be good friends.

“I’m not that close with my granddad,” he says after a few moments of silence. What surprises him is your hand carefully coming to take his which was laying on the table. His eyes focus on your thumb that is stroking his knuckles as he continues. “I’m not close with anyone from my family, actually.” Why is he telling you that? Fucking stop.

He clears his throat and withdraws his hand, scratching the back of his neck.

“You ready to go?” he asks and you just nod.

He isn‘t in the mood for sex anymore, so he drops you at your place and speeds home. God, what are you doing to him? There is something about you that makes him want to open up to you, spill all of his secrets, desires and dreams.

It felt kind of good to tell you about his family, but to be honest, he is scared. He doesn‘t want another person that’s just going to treat him like a worthless piece of shit in his life. I mean, he is, but it would just make him even more shitty.

He’s decided. He is not going to see you ever again.

Then his phone beeps.

(y/n): I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable but I had a great time! I’d definitely be up for doing it again! You can tell me more about your family:)

He scoffs. Why the hell would you want to hear about his family when he told you he’s not close to them?

Then the phone beeps again.

(y/n): Or not! I mean, we can talk about whatever you want! But if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. That’s what I meant.

A smile involuntarily makes its way on Ransom‘s face. Maybe he will see you again.

Since you started spending a lot of time at Ransom’s house, he convinced you to bring some of your stuff. Some clothes, your favorite mug with a whale, saying mornings blow, books and a strawberry-scented shampoo which Ransom became to love.

Almost every morning you share a shower. Sometimes it escalates into a morning shower sex, but most of the time you try and fail to tame him, even though you remind him and yourself of all the times you’ve been late for school, which he doesn’t really care about, to be honest.

You head to the bathroom first, because it takes time for him to get out of bed. After a while, he joins you under the stream of water, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as he kisses you where your neck meets your shoulder and licks the drops of water from your skin.

You sigh in contentment, putting your arms over his and enjoying the relaxing moment.

Seconds pass and you turn around, taking the bottle of your shampoo while doing so, squirting some into your palm, and the scent of strawberry fills your nostrils. As usual, you bring your hands into his hair, massaging the liquid into his skull and he closes his eyes in bliss, humming.

“You enjoying yourself?” you smirk.

He opens his eyes again and smiles, those butterflies in your stomach coming to life.

“You know I do.” He leans in to kiss you, your arms circling his neck. His hands slide to your butt, kneading the flesh before they grip the back of your thighs but when you are about to jump, he shrieks.

“Shit!” he backs up and his back hits the opposite wall.

You panic, not knowing what’s happened. “What?! Baby, what happened?” You come to him and his fingers are already rubbing at his eyes.

“My eyes! My eyes!” He screams. “I can’t see shit!”

You suppress a laugh, reaching up to remove the hair from his face and wipe away the suds. Then you reach for the detachable showerhead, turn down the temperature, and put it in his hand.

“Here, baby, you have to rinse them.”

He does just that, moans still leaving his mouth at the stinging.

After he finally manages to get all the chemicals out of his eyes, you can‘t hold it anymore. You burst out laughing, unable to stop and he just stares at you with a scowl, putting the showerhead back into its place.

When he turns to leave, you grab his wrists.

“Oh, baby, come on.” you wipe the mixture of water and tears from your eyes. “Don’t leave me here all alone.”

He frowns, his bottom lip sticking out just a little bit. “Might as well. I’m not gonna let you make fun of me.”

The grin is still on your face but you stand on your tiptoes and kiss his pout away. Ransom immediately reciprocates the kiss, pushing you against the wall.

“It hurt,” he says in between the touches of your lips.

“I know, baby,” you say. You pull away and smirk. “Is there a way I can make you feel better?” your suggestive tone hits his ears before you’re sliding down the wall to your knees.

Thank God he didn’t leave the shower.

It’s Friday night and you are watching TV this time in your apartment. Ransom still hasn’t come home from the mansion where he’s spent most of the day, as well as his family. He’s been working with Harlan for quite a while now which boosts up his confidence (not arrogance, there’s a difference) a little and it makes him feel better about himself, proud even, that he‘s finally useful. However, Walt has been giving him shit for it ever since Harlan gave Ransom a chance to be the Acquisitions Editor (of course, he has been pestering him long before that, but now it’s even worse).

Ransom can defend himself, you’re not worried about that, but his family brings out the worst in him, they push him into this dark place that is hard to find a way out of and sometimes you’re afraid that it will destroy him. That’s why you’ve promised yourself that you’re always going to be here for him, no matter what.

And as you expected, you hear your door being unlocked and then slammed shut with a force. He doesn’t even jokingly call out his honey, I’m home! which he never forgets to do. Uh-oh. Doesn’t look good. But again, you didn’t expect anything else.

He comes to the living room, strands of his hair sticking in every direction and falling over his forehead.

“Jesus, why’s it so hot in here?” he takes off his maroon sweater, revealing his plain white t-shirt underneath.

“It’s winter and cold. You expect me to have snow in here, too?”

He just shakes his head, coming to the back of the couch as you crane your head to give him an upside-down kiss. Then he heads to the kitchen, searching the cabinets for something to eat, meanwhile, you turn off the television.

“There should be three croissants in the breadbox!” you say loudly enough for him to hear.

“You want one, too?”

You answer with a no and wait for him.

When he comes back to the living room, he sits next to you and leans his back on the armrest. You’re already looking at him, watching his every move, and trying to see a sign of any emotion he might be feeling. He gives you a knowing look and you shift so you are fully facing him, putting your hand gently on his bent knee and lightly stroking it in a comforting way.

“Three, huh?” he asks with his mouth full.

“Just in case it went really bad.” you give a nervous smile, waiting for him to either confirm or rebut.

Seeing the crumbs fall from his mouth, you reach for the plate that is on the coffee table and give it to him.

“Well... nothing I’m not used to.” he takes another bite of the chocolate pastry. Once he swallows, he takes your hand and kisses your palm. “I love you.”

You smile and lean towards him, supporting yourself by putting both hands on his thighs as you kiss him on the lips that now taste like cocoa.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his mouth.

After Ransom finishes the pastry, instead of going for more food, he lies down, putting his head in your lap. It‘s kind of a ritual now, every time he comes home (his or yours, wherever you are) after visiting his family, he satisfies his sweet tooth (sometimes it’s 1 croissant, sometimes it’s 5), then he sprawls his body on the couch and rests his head on your thighs, nuzzling his face into your stomach while you thread your fingers through his hair and read a book or watch the TV.

“You want to talk about it?” you ask softly.

You stroke his ear with your thumb. He stays quiet and then sighs.

“Later.”

You bend down as much as your position allows you to, placing a few kisses on his temple and across his cheek before you let him drift off to sleep.

You are Ransom’s safe place, just like he’s yours and always will be.

the end

a/n2: so, ehm... *crickets chirping* okay! i have a thing for fucked up guys who i believe can change if you show them a little bit of love, sue me! no but seriously, Ransom is an asshole and he would probably shove the rest of the cupcakes into my face but a girl can dream, right?

anyways, i do have some ideas for part 2 even if it looks like this doesn’t necessarily need a second part..? it could probably be read as a stand-alone but i’ll see if i even decide to post it lol.

thank you so much for reading, any kind of feedback will be appreciated!🥺❤️i love you, guys!!

oh and my other work can be found under #writer luci !!

[emilyplaysotome]

Queen’s Choice: Part 4

This is the fourth chapter to a multi-part smutty fic with the MLQC boys. 

Catch up:

 part 1 part 2 part 3

I don’t feel nervous until I’m in the elevator, on my way up to see him. 

You’d think I’d be used to seeing Victor by now, and even more used to him giving me grief about my presentations but I’m never prepared enough when it comes to him. 

I realize it’s because I owe him in more ways than I feel comfortable admitting. 

I owe him for helping my company and for saving me. 

Again and again and again. 

I know that they all care about me, but Victor has this uncanny ability to appear and whisk me out of harm’s way. I shudder when I think about what might have come to pass had it not been for him. 

Goldman is the one who breaks me away from my thoughts and I make small talk with him as he leads me to Victor’s office. I’m dressed slightly different, with a tight pencil skirt that’s flirting with being a bit too skimpy for me and a conservative blouse so it looks like a mistake. 

I’m not wearing underwear and I can feel my heart racing as I interact with a man outside of my target, worried that he can tell and I’ve accidentally exposed myself.

That doesn’t seem to be the case though, thanks to my blazer that covers my chest and I take a deep breath as I enter Victor’s office, the door shutting behind me. 

He looks even more handsome than I remember and I remind myself that my intention for today is to tease, not necessarily seduce - though I’m open to the latter. His eyes are glued to his computer screen, and he doesn’t so much as glance up in my direction as I take off my blazer and sit in front of him. 

The fabric of my blouse rubbing against me combined with the chill of the offices has made my nipples erect, and I resist the urge to cover up, instead arching my back to give the illusion of a fuller bosom despite barely filling out an A cup. 

When he does finally look at me I see a flash of irritation in his face before he says, “Your presentation was filled with errors.”

“What!? Really?”

I’m genuinely shocked because I spent so much time checking and rechecking my work and without thinking I run beside him, behind the desk and bend over to see the computer screen. As a result I can feel my skirt riding up and I wonder if I’m as exposed as I think I am. 

Victor doesn’t seem to notice this though, exasperated he walks me through what I need to do better and I end up forgetting about teasing him and take notes diligently. It’s because of this that when he finally asks, “Are you trying something funny with me?” I don’t understand what he’s talking about at first. 

“What?”

“You really are a dummy, you know that?”

With that he pulls at the back of my pencil skirt, his fingers accidentally brushing against the top of my thighs. I blush uncontrollably and nervously scuttle back to my chair. 

“I didn’t want panty lines,” I whisper so softly it’s barely audible but he hears me and sighs again. 

“I’m driving you home and you’re changing so no one else sees you like this.”

“Is it that bad? You don’t...like it?”

It’s then that he pauses and with an eyebrow raised asks, “Is this for me?”

“Maybe.”

He grins now and I’m worried about what will come next. 

“Have you dumped those other 3 and come here to confess?”

“What other -“

“Let’s not act like I don’t know and you don’t know. Call me when you’re done with them and then I’ll fuck you silly right on my desk if you want.” 

He goes back to work and I’m stunned by his the straightforwardness of his response. 

“I...”

“Was there something else?”

He’s smirking when he looks at me and I can’t help but feel like he’s enjoying playing with me like this. 

“I want to negotiate.”

I can tell that this intrigues him. He puts down his pen and sits back in his chair, crossing his legs and waiting for more information. 

“I agree to stop seeing one of them and we see what we are like together.”

He laughs and my face instantly feels hot. 

“Why is that funny? Aren’t you curious too?” I say a little too loud and with an indignant expression I can’t help but have. 

“Dummy.”

He leans forward in his chair, putting his weight on his elbows as his closes the distance despite his grand mahogany desk between us. 

“I’m not curious because I already know.”

My face burns but I don’t back down. 

“Well I don’t. Offer stands.”

He considers this and with a smirk says,

“Three.”

“That’s basically confessing! I’m not ready!”

“I thought we were negotiating? I have the upper hand you know....”

“Two! And that’s my final offer.”

“I’ll consider it. But for now, let me take you home.”

—

I feel rejected as I sit in the passenger seat and far more disappointed than I expected to feel. 

None of them have denied me, and I can’t stop fantasizing about what it would have felt like to have him capitalize while I was next to him, bending over. I think about how his fingers could have entered me and how exhilarating it would have been to fuck on that grandiose desk of his. 

But it looks like I won’t find out. 

The car pulls up in front of my building and he says, “I’ll be in touch. Cover up in the meantime if this was really for me...”

“Huh?”

He sighs but he doesn’t look exasperated. He looks gentle and tender and loving and he says, “I’m trying to tell you that I love you as you are.”

He drives off before I can reply. 

—

My head is filled with fantasies of Victor beyond the ones in his office after he denies me. I check my phone to see if he has agreed to my terms but I don’t see anything from him. 

I feel frustrated but I also don’t know who I would pick. 

I really don’t want to choose. 

In the days that follow the intensity of the fantasies increase and I find myself alone in bed touching myself to the thoughts of being with him. I get messages from the others but I’ve got tunnel vision. 

I’m a woman obsessed and whose curiosity needs to be satiated. 

I eventually buckle and write him, asking if my terms have been agreed to, all the while not knowing who I’d pick. 

I get no answer. 

—

I’m thinking about what my next move is a week after our encounter in his office. I’m home, wearing a comfy pj set, hair still wet and fresh out of the shower when there’s a knock at my door. I’m honestly wondering if Lucien has returned next door but it’s Victor who I see through the peep hole. 

He’s holding something and looks impatient and I eagerly open the door, forgetting that I’m not exactly in sexy attire. 

“I’ve brought a contract,” he says, breezing by me and heading to kitchen to fix himself a drink before walking over to my couch. He’s clearly come from work, but he’s loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, indicating that he’s done for the day.

I sit beside him and confused mumble, “a contract?”

There’s a snort and he says, “Our negotiation? Or have you already forgotten?”

“No!” I exclaim, but my heart sinks knowing what’s most likely in here.

When I look over the papers, I’m surprised to discover that there’s no mention of parting ways with anyone. Instead the demands are...far more accommodating to my desires. 

The contract outlines in details how we shall entire an exploratory phase with each other, and will not finish until both parties are satisfied. This period has no deadline other that it will last until both parties are satisfied.

There is one catch. 

With each week that goes by, I have to say goodbye to one suitor. Two weeks, two men total. Three weeks...well, the decision will be made by then even should we not have a label on our relationship. 

Victor smiles as I realize the contract is outlined in a way should I have unlimited men, one would be sacrificed per week. 

He hands me an expensive looking fountain pen and asks, “Do we have a deal?”

I nod, taking the pen from him and signing my name next to where he’s already signed. 

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” he says and extends his hand for me to shake it. When I take it, he grabs me and pulls me into him, his other hand wrapping around the back of my head as he kisses me. 

It’s brief because of how we are situated on my couch, and he pulls me onto him so I’m straddling him as he unbuttons my top, before sucking on my breast. His tongue flicks at me while his hand gently pinches the other and I moan helplessly. 

“Is this what you wanted when you appeared in my office in that sheer blouse?” He teases, but I can’t formulate a reply. 

“Well?” He pushes again, not accepting my half moan half whimper as a response. 

“Yes but more.”

“What more? Describe it.”

It’s embarrassing to tell him everything I fantasized but I do and as I do I can feel him getting harder and harder underneath me. I can tell he loves hearing about the nights spent with nothing but myself and thoughts of him and he carries me to my bed, stripping me of my bottoms, and demands I show him what I did those nights. 

I’ve never touched myself in front of anyone before and it’s both nerve-racking and exhilarating. As I start to do it, he strips down in front of me and does the same. 

It’s the first time I’m seeing him like this, not just naked, but animalistic in the way he watches me. I can tell by the way he’s stroking himself that things are escalating for both of us. I don’t want to come because he still hasn’t really touched me, but he demands that I show him exactly what I did and I feel compelled to obey.

I cry out as a wave of pleasure rushes over me and moments later he’s kneeling between my legs on the bed, hovering over me as he finishes on my stomach.

We’re both panting as I hand him a tissue to wipe himself and I’m about to get dressed when he grabs my arm and stops me.

“We’re not done,” he says with a smile.

For a moment I’m surprised, but then excited at the thought that our first night together is only beginning.

Part 5

I hope you liked the fourth chapter of my steamy fic. As I’ve said before this is very out of my comfort zone but I tried to kick this up a notch! If you liked this, please comment, share, and like! I love seeing that :)

As always, if you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend, liking it, or buying me a coffee!

Just lmk if you don’t want to be tagged and I’ll take you off.

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[ey8508]

Hidden Weapon [暗器迷局]

Rumors and Secrets: Li Zeyan (李泽言）| Victor

Li Zeyan SSR: A Great Secret

【 Everyone wanted to know how he sat on the highest chair with confidence.】

Note:

R&S for this card (CG above)

Chapter SPOILERS up to Season 2: Chapter 6-9 (read at your own risk)

Contains 5 chapters

Translation isn’t 100% accurate (or include grammar errors)

Every part for LZ’s dialogue would be in “this setting”

Do not repost to any other site (reblog is fine)

Chapter 1 Page 1 BLACK SWAN Investigation Log. Permission level: normal Name: Small syringe experiment Experiment recorder: Senior Experiment Researcher Jagger Experiment contents: [Day1] Investigated the illegal drug "small syringe" that is popular in the underground market and secretly went undercover. Page 2 .... [Day4] Send a preliminary investigation report to the BOSS, and receive a reply instruction. Nox will take the lead in handling this task, and everything will be under her command. [Day5] Seized samples of suspected small syringes from special channels. [Day6] The sensory organs can’t distinguish the components of the sample, and decided to make the injection. The experiment risk: high.  This application was rejected by Nox on the spot. [Day7] The experiment sample is missing. [Day8] Received BOSS order, this experiment was terminated and abolished. Page 3 This is the first time Jagger has been frustrated in an experiment since joining BLACK SWAN. Fortunately, before he became a BS member, his life has not been smooth, so he can bear it. Since he was young, he discovered that his Evol distinguishes chemical components through his body, he has been struggling to become a scientific researcher.  It's just that he behaves badly and has a violent personality, getting narrower and narrower in his career.  Finally, after conducting an experiment that violated the bottom line of ethics and morality, he was jointly expelled from academia and was not allowed to step into the laboratory for life. Page 4 The night when the people from BS found him, he was living alone in a warehouse somewhere in the suburbs.  So he picked up the beer can beside him and slammed "What BS! Don't bother me!" Looking at Jagger on the ground like a puddle of mud, the member had to take out his mobile phone and made a brief report to his superiors. "....Okay, understood, I'll start preparing now ." He hung up the phone, took out a delicately designed holographic projection metal box from his arms, and placed it in the open space in the middle of the warehouse.  A few minutes later, I only heard the box "drop" shooting a blue light from the dot in the center. After the light shot up and down in the air for a circle, a slender shape figure slowly emerged. Page 5 Jagger narrowed his eyes and looked at the holographic projection in front of him, and saw a man sitting on a leather chair, his entire face hidden in the shadows, only his bright leather shoes and neat suit trousers could be seen. Jagger couldn't help but spit into the air. "What is this shameful sight!" As soon as the voice fell, the BS member beside him looked up at him almost immediately and even took two steps closer.  Jagger shrinks his neck subconsciously. "Look- " Page 6 The man in the projection knocked on the armrest of the chair twice, and the member immediately retracted his gaze and stood back to where he was before. "As far as I know, you were jointly expelled from academia three years ago and you are forbidden to participate in any experiment for life." The man spoke slowly, his voice low, but he revealed an unstoppable momentum. "So what?" "BLACK SWAN can give you the opportunity to re-enter the laboratory" Page 7 "Heh, BLACK SWAN is so famous, so many eyes are staring at it in the society, once my name appears in the laboratory, someone will immediately take notice and you'll be in trouble." "Who said that your name will appear in the laboratory?" "How do you contradict yourself? You said that BS gave me a chance to re-enter the laboratory, and you said that my name would not appear in the laboratory. Could it be you," said Jagger. His eyes suddenly widened. "Giving you a new identity is not difficult for BS." Chapter 2 Page 1 The turbidity in Jagger's eyes lit up instantly.  He opened his mouth and didn't know what to say. "Since you have some knowledge of BS, it is not difficult to know that BS's social resources are top-notch. BS's power is more than enough to support you to do experiments and..." Although he couldn't see the man's face clearly, Jagger felt the man's direct gaze. "Join BS, the worst situation is better than you are now." Page 2 Jagger realized that this holographic projection is a bidirectionally visible BS technology that has already reached this level of advancement. He lowered his head and glanced at himself, his face suddenly hot.  After the man behind the barrier said these words he slightly cleared his throat as he raised his hands signaling to cut off the phone. Blood instantly rushed to the top of Jagger's head, and he unwillingly picked fresh from the opponent. "Since BS is so powerful, why should the superior BS leader had to invite a little man with a poor clothes?" In such a big pomp, he had guessed the identity of the opponent just now, and he broke this point, it was just a momentary quick guess. The other party's movements seemed to give a chuckle. Page 3 "For talents, I will do my best." The tone was steady, without a trace of irritation. Jagger suddenly felt that he had lost in the game. But it is precisely because of this sentence that he willingly joined BS. It takes seven inches to strike a snake. This is the first thing Jagger learned from the BOSS. But that was the only time Jagger had direct contact with the BOSS. After joining BS, he never saw the BOSS again. Not only him, but almost all the members around him.  Perhaps it was the first meeting with the BOSS that left a deep impression on Jagger, and when he has nothing to do, he put this sentence on his lips- Page 4 "Have you seen the BOSS? I mean, the BOSS himself." The member who was asked was stunned for a moment: "How is it possible? Seeing BOSS is like seeing an ancient dragon. I heard that even during the board meeting he's behind the barrier and no one can see him at all. In our organization, I heard that there is only one person who have actually seen him. Jagger nodded, indicating that he knew this person: "You mean Nox?" The other party sneered: "Don't call them just by their code names, we are below them, but we call them with the honorable 'Miss' " Jagger was puzzled, and the man came immediately interested. Page 5 "Don't tell it to others. I have something else to tell you..." The member looked around again, then lowered his voice, "They all said that the relationship between BOSS and her is unusual. Although the they remain anonymous from the outside world, BOSS is often doing things from behind the scenes to maintain Nox. Some time ago, have you heard about the leak of the Evolver identity of artists under Nox? It is said that after this incident, many board members asked to punish Nox at the meeting, but they were all blocked by BOSS. Jagger snorted, but didn't answer.  Although he is very curious about the identity of BOSS, he has never been interested in this kind of gossip. Chapter 3 Page 1 Soon after this conversation, Jagger was appointed to join the investigation and experiment of the illegal drug "Small Syringe", and the leader of this mission was Nox. He was in trouble for a while, not because he discriminated against women, but since joining BS, BOSS closed one eye to his "pioneer" experimental methods. At least, his experiments have been carried out very freely. However, Nox's acting style is notoriously conservative. If she is told that he is doing bold experiments, she should be taken earlier notice. In addition, if the relationship between Nox and BOSS is really unusual according to what the member said last time, then Nox's opinion will be adopted by the BOSS, she is 'a hot potato'. He has to seek the consent of the BOSS before Nox can stop him. So he pretended not to know, and after obtaining the preliminary investigation results, he sent the investigation report to the BOSS as usual, but he did not expect to receive an immediate reply: Page 2 "Nox will take the lead in handling this task, and everything will be under her direction." The next day, the informant sent a sample that was suspected to be a small syringe. He flexed his hands and went to his head for a while. First, he experimented with the sample by smell and taste, but he could not distinguish its components. So he made a decision to inject the samples to himself.  After deliberation, he asked Nox for instructions. Sure enough, he was directly rejected by Nox on the spot. Out of desire for the results of this experiment, he decided to lie about the loss of the sample and intend to conduct the experiment secretly.  Unexpectedly, he was caught by the BS inspection team that night, and even reported the situation to the BOSS himself the next day. Jagger didn’t expect to see BOSS again, this is actually the case. Page 3 "Since the application has been rejected, why did you still do it?" 

A familiar voice came from behind the barrier, mixed with a trace of fatigue. "It stands to reason that I can perform general drug component analysis from sight, taste, touch or smell alone, but the composition of this sample is complicated, hence these are not enough. If I allow injection, once the sample enters my blood,  I can feel the state of its movement in my body. Through my body's reaction, it should be possible to analyze it." "Do you know why Nox rejected your proposal to do the self injection for the samples?" Page 4 "This is because there is only one sample. If there is no experimental progress after the injection, all the efforts will be ruined." "She checked your information. Every time your body is injected with a drug, it will cause irreparable damage. It will not take long for you to die in this type of experiment." Jagger was stunned. "Although BS is in a critical position, it never needs to use the lives of any members as a stepping stone." "This experiment stops here." Page 5 "Also, Nox's orders, should not be disobeyed anymore." .... After the meeting with the boss, Jagger's heart was mixed, and he sat in place and meditated for a long time. It's just that the brain, which has been in contact with the most direct chemical elements all his life, will not know this inexplicable emotion. However, he knew very well that this BS 'Miss' was indeed a bit capable. Chapter 4 Page 1 BLACK SWAN meeting minutes Permission level: advanced Recorder of the meeting: Member of the board of directors, Assistant Mr. W. Content of meeting: Page 2 【Previously, the "small syringe" incident set off a huge wave in society. This meeting mainly focused on "whether BS should develop a drug similar to the small syringe O-tube". During the meeting, some members expressed support for this approach, believing that BS, as an organization centered around Evolver and human evolution, should take the lead in researching such drugs to screen ordinary people and accelerate human evolution. Another part of the members believes that it is too early to invest in development projects before investigating the main cause of the small syringe incident and the role of the drug, and even BS should crack down on the market value of small needles from all aspects to restrain such cases. Drugs are being re-developed to fundamentally eliminate such drugs. Page 3 The two voices stayed at each other during the meeting. In the end, the BOSS decided to investigate the small syringe incident first and postponed the development of such drugs indefinitely. 】 From the beginning of this meeting, Mr. W's heart has been hanging. Since the introduction of the small syringe, the internal voice of BS has become noisy, and those desires that have been hidden have begun to move around. Many people want to get a share of the small syringe. However, what worries him is not these noisy sounds, but the thoughts of the person behind the barrier.  If that person also thinks that the power of BS is enough to develop EVOL!  Evolution potion, then the road behind BS may be even more difficult. Page 4 Mr. W looked at the faint figure behind the barrier, and seemed to be sitting upright and calmly at the moment.  Even though there was a verbal battle in the conference room, the man always looked like he was out of the picture. Until a member spoke: "I don't know about this, what is the BOSS's opinion?" Everyone finally calmed down and looked at the barrier at the end of the round table. Mr. W leaned forward unconsciously, and had to admit that he was looking forward to know what the BOSS would answer. .... When the young BOSS first took over the office, Mr. W also had a questioning attitude. Page 5 After all, BS had just experienced a mighty internal turmoil at that time. Whether the BOSS was a hero created by the time or whether it was really capable of this position, no one knew. In addition, BOSS has never announced his identity since he took the office. Except for Nox, no one has seen him in the entire BS. Whether it is the core mysterious high-level Twelve or the board of directors, they can only communicate with him through a barrier, which has caused dissatisfaction among many members. These people formed a small group in a very short period of time, trying to pull him into the abyss before the BOSS sits firmly on the throne of the BS leader. Before they did it, even in the early days of their small group, they had already been taken up by the BOSS.  He quickly uprooted the group and carried out a cleanup inside BS. Overnight, these people disappeared from BS without a shadow. Page 6 Mr. W has inquired about the whereabouts of these people through various channels, but has never found any clues. These people seem to have never existed in this world. Mr. W still remembers that in the earliest meeting after the small group was eliminated, the BOSS was silent for a long while. After sometime, many people who had been eager to move in their hearts and had not had time to put it into practice almost lost their breath. The person behind the barrier spoke: "The remaining few people who plan to instigate rebellion, the reason why you are left is because you are still helpful to BS." "Take care of the extra hands and feet within three days, don't let me do it myself." Page 7 As soon as the voice fell, many of the people present changed their faces slightly. Fortunately, he was used to looked calm under such situations. After re-adjusting the rigid posture, he realized that there was actually cold sweat behind his back. Since then, the noisy sounds inside BS have finally quieted down. Mr. W began to appreciate the decisive decisions made by the BOSS and is actually celebrating with the new change. Page 8 But that was the only time Mr. W heard such obvious emotions in the mouth of the BOSS.  Later, many meetings were held in BS. He observed that no matter what level of personnel the questioning voice was, whether they agreed with the other party’s point of view, BOSS always respected the other’s point of views and stood at a higher level. Neither makes people too ugly, nor does it show one's position too much. This allowed the members of the organization that had always been fighting to put down the war for a while, and the internal balance of BS reached an unprecedented balance. Mr. W believes that at the age of BOSS, few people can do this. Put aside the identity of a member of the BS organization, Mr. W has never seen such a method in business for so many years. If you have to name someone who can be compared with him, Li Zeyan, the president of Huarui, has a style similar to that of BOSS. It was not that he had never suspected that it was the same person, but no matter how he investigated and inquired, the information he got was very few. Chapter 5 Page 1 Maybe he stayed in a high position for too long, and there was nothing new to pass the time, so Mr. W gradually regarded the inquiring of the boss as his personal task. In addition to trying his best to investigate the identity that matches it in society, he will deliberately talk against the BOSS during meetings in an attempt to find clues.  However, no matter how he made a fuss, the people behind the barrier will always stay calm and undisturbed. As the leader of BS, BOSS can handle everything without any leakage. Page 2 At first Mr. W just felt dull. But over time, as an older member, he found that this was a serious problem. He realized that there seems to be a certain trait missing from the BOSS, which is a human commonality that any ordinary person should have. If you have to be clear, you can call this trait a human touch. For a while, this is indeed not a great thing, but it is precisely because this thing is so common, so precious enough. Mr. W is worried that people who lack this trait will not sit in the position of leader for too long, or that such person will once again lead BS to an extreme. Page 3 "What is my opinion, it is up to you to convince me." The deep voice pulled his thoughts back to the meeting room, and seeing the other members in deep thoughts, he realized that the BOSS had just answered the question of the member just now. He lowered his head and modified the voice in his heart a bit, then raised his hand signaling to speak. "What we should do now is to figure out the ins and outs of the main incident, who developed the small syringe and for what purpose the opponent is an enemy or a friend. These key information are very important." Page 4 After hearing this, many members tried to refute, but they were preempted by the BOSS. "All the resources of BS have always revolved around Evolver's evolutionary issues. At this time, instead of developing evolutionary drugs, they are investigating small syringes. Is it not upside-down?" Members supporting the research and development of drugs echoed. Mr. W's heart sank. Does the BOSS support the development of such drugs? He tried to swallow the suspicion that was surging up, and couldn't help but tried to make an excuse. Page 5 "On the contrary. At this stage, ordinary people already have a lot of opposition to Evolver. In addition, after the main incident, many ordinary people and Evolver's body have suffered varying degrees of damage. The development of small syringes is very powerful. It may come with a hostile attitude. In the long run, Evolver evolution is a major event for all human beings. If we do not investigate clearly and blindly follow the trend to develop evolutionary drugs, then we are likely to fall into each other’s trap. It'll makes things difficult for BS to move forward with evolution in the future." Page 6 Perhaps he said too much. Once again, there was silence in the conference room, only the sound of regular fingers tapping on the tabletop came from behind the barrier, which sounded a certain kind of calmness. Mr. W has a foreboding that perhaps BS's development of evolutionary drugs is already a certainty, and perhaps his painstaking persuasion is just futile. Just when he was frustrated, the sound of the man's fingers tapping on the tabletop stopped. "The reason is good enough to convince me." "The development date for the evolution drugs will be postponed indefinitely." The meeting room became noisy again, and many members were angry. Page 7 "I said, my decision is determined by your rhetoric." "Of course I respect different opinions. As long as your reasons are valid." Those members who had been crying out to support the development of the drug were hesitating at this moment, and could not give a reason strong enough to bring the situation back, and had to accept their orders and took their seats. "Since there isn't, that's it for today." The BOSS issued an eviction order and the meeting room was cleared within a minute.

Page 8 Only Mr. W is still sitting on the spot, he has an important question that he wants to confirm to the BOSS. "BOSS, what is your side of position in this matter?" The BOSS seemed to stand up, walked behind the chair, and finally stood by the window behind the barrier. "My position has been made very clear." Mr. W walked out of the conference room with this answer, which was not an answer. Page 9 The moment he stepped out of the door, he suddenly remembered that before he had a long discussion in the meeting, the BOSS raised a sharp question uncharacteristically.  This question seems to be on the side of the members who support the drug, but it was after answering this question that the BOSS was quickly ‘convinced’ by his own reasons. Mr. W stood there thinking for a moment, then he stretched his brows and frowned all day. It turned out that today, I was ‘utilized’ by the BOSS. Everything he said today was just that the BOSS used his own mouth to silence other members. But this kind of use is very useful. Page 10 After thinking about this, Mr. W let out a long breath. The problem he had been worried about had been settled.