#like my dogs have wonderful temperaments

[darkwood-sleddog]

more and more i become of the opinion my dogs are not reactive to strange dogs but in fact it is unreasonable to expect them to NOT be reactive when the dogs we pass are unwalked, understimulated rural hellions that thrash at the windows of their houses, bark at us and follow us for entire lengths of properties, snarl at us, run at us with tense body language etc.

is this because a neighbor (who does skijor!) moved in half mile down the road from us a half a year ago with the most polite, unreactive dog that my dogs glance calmly at as they walk by? as it is unrestrained (no underground fence) on the property? absolutely is.

is this because a few years ago a neighbor's very nice pitbull mix got out and when it walked up to us with polite calm body language my dogs reacted just as calm and we were able to walk this dog home? absolutely is.

like i am a human woman and have lived in areas with much larger populations than i do now. i remember being followed by strangers, yelled at by strangers in aggressive ways. it made me tense and yes...reactive in those moments to ensure my own safety and needs were met. but was it my fault for having to react that way? To call friends and family and be on the phone any time that i walked alone? to check in when i got to where i was going? to bring pepper spray and iron knuckles to walk less than 10 minutes away from home? I don't think it is. Rather it's the failure that allows that behavior towards me which is at fault. i should not have had to carry those things with me. or call a single soul.

same with my dogs. my dogs aren't reactive, i'm just the only person who walks my damn dogs in my rural neighborhood. even though we can walk for 4+ miles either way on safe dirt roads out of our driveway before we reach pavement. nobody else. walks. their. fucking. dogs. yes i manage my dogs behaviors, it can be embarrassing when they get riled up, but know what? it is not their fault so many other dogs fucking SUCK. and it is not those dogs' fault that they suck either. i encountered more politely behaved dogs when i lived in the suburbs and city than i do now because those dogs at least had some sort of experience with being around other dogs (passing them on the sidewalk even) out of necessity. Rural people truly just throw their dogs outside and expect that to be enough. if you're lucky they install a little underground fence that will maybe keep fido in the yard (like uwu WE don't want to have a look at a fence and we're going to make all our neighbors GUESS if our dog might run into the road at them uwu).

[rimouskis]

also I have to say: all the dogs at the game last night were so nice and polite and good and it was really fun, honestly. you'd think given my crabbiness about dogs-in-places-they-shouldn't-be I'd have been cranky at it, but I was actually right next to the dog section and it was just all super cute. 10/10 would go again

[wwerewwolves]

HELPPPP MY BOYFRIEND WANTS TO OWN A DOODLE.

[inkskinned]

i think a lot about exactly 1 thing from the roman empire: the concept of bread and circus. the idea was that if your population was fed and entertained, they wouldn't revolt. you are asking us to give up our one small life, is the thing - for under 15 dollars an hour.

what would that buy, even. i am trading weekends and late nights and my back health. i am trading slow mornings and long walks and cortisol levels. i am trading sleep and silence and peace. for ... this. for what barely-covers-rent.

life really is more expensive right now. you aren't making that up. i make almost 3 times what i did 5 years ago, and despite an incredibly equal series of bills - i am still struggling. the most expensive line item i added was to own a dog. the money is just evaporating.

we were okay with it because it's a cost-benefit analysis. i could handle the customer harassment and standing all day and the manager's constantly changing temperament - i was coming home to hope, and my life planned in a blue envelope. three hours would buy me my dog's food for a month. i can give up three hours for him, for his shiny coat and wide, happy mouth. three days could be a new mattress, if i was thrifty. if i really scrimped and saved, we could maybe afford a trip into the city.

recently i cried in the car about the price of groceries.

business majors will be mad at me, but my most inflammatory opinion is that people should never be valued at the same place as products. your staff should not be a series of numbers in an excel sheet that you can just "replace" whenever you need something at that moment. your staff should be people, end of sentence.

it feels like someone somewhere is playing a very bad video game. like my life is a toy. like someone opened an app on their phone and hired me in diner dash ultra. they don't need to pay me well or treat me alright - they can always just show me the door. there is always someone more desperate, always someone more willing.

but i go to work and know i could save for years and not afford housing. i am never going to own my own home, most likely. i have no idea how to afford her ring, much less the wedding. my dog doesn't have his own yard. everything i love is on subscription. if i lose my job, i have no "nest egg" to catch my falling.

this thin life - they want me to give up summer for it. to open my mouth and throat and swallow the horrible hours and counted keystrokes. they want me to give up mountains and any non-federal holiday. to give up snow days. to give up talking to my mom whenever i want. to give up visiting the ocean and hearing the waves.

bread and circus worked for a while, actually. it was the kind of plan that would probably now be denounced by republicans as socialist commie liberal pronoun bullshit.

but sometimes i wonder if we should point them to the part of the history book that says: it worked until it didn't.

[pangur-and-grim]

I'm looking into getting a purebred cat for the first time because I've developed allergies, and it's such a different world from my niche corner of dog breeding, I'm so lost How common is it for cat breeders to focus on temperament over conformation? I've shown a dog and been to many shows, and am working on a breed in development. I'm uncomfortable with a fixation on "correct" appearance versus a heavy focus on what an animal's quality of life is and what they're like to live with If I'm paying more for a kitten than I charge for a puppy I want to know the breeder has done a lot of handling and enrichment, grooming conditioning (for relevant breeds), and pair their cats for temperament strengths and weaknesses, not just conformation. What should I look for on a breeder site/what should I ask without sounding rude? I also have seen a couple breeders advertise a health guarantee including FIP for one year, and I'm wondering how that's possible. Can you really guarantee against it? I'm so sorry you and your gremlin are going through this, it sounds like a rollercoaster!

it's difficult to answer your first question! cat breeding seems more…..casual in terminology than dog breeding, if that makes sense? 

with temperament, there’s a stereotype for each breed (Bengals = active, Siamese = yowly, Ragdolls = angelic beings, etc). breeders often have a page on their site explaining their idea of what the breed is (the ideal appearance, personality, and so on), and then a section with their breeding cats, with blurbs for each one. and they usually also have social media, where you can see how these cats slot into their lives.

if you’re from the states, be VERY WARY of breeders who cage their cats! that’s more of a cultural norm there, and personally, I prefer breeders who treat their animals like family members and live alongside them.

here are two examples of breeders who go above and beyond: Praticalcats and Trillium Devon Rex. their sites give away how obsessive they are about their animals - all the articles on Praticalcats, and all the genetic testing on Trillium - and I would feel comfortable recommending them to anyone who asked.

as for over-emphasis on a “correct” appearance – for each breed, there will be a certain look that’s a red flag. Devon Rexes that are too brachy, Maine Coons that are too large, Siamese that are too spindly, etc. if you do enough research on your breed of choice, you’ll start recognizing it. the cat will look more ‘special’, and more ‘like it’s breed’, but it’s an exaggeration at the cost of other qualities.

for specific questions like what handling they do, whether they’re conditioned to tolerate grooming, and how the cats get paired with buyers, most of the time you have to contact a breeder to ask that. there should be a mini job interview before any money changes hand, where the breeder grills you, and you get to return the favour. if a breeder skips this, I’d consider that a major red flag. and don’t worry about sounding rude, a good breeder will be delighted that you care so much about all of this!

and now, the guarantee against FIP – what are they guaranteeing, exactly? it might be a guarantee that they’ll replace the kitten if they develop FIP (the contract with my breeder had a similar clause). but if they’re guaranteeing that any kitten from them won’t develop FIP, then that’s nonsense. basically all young cats get exposed to the feline coronavirus that causes FIP, and whether they develop it or not is just a lottery gamble. I'd be suspicious of any breeder who claims that their kittens are exempt from this.

anyway, I think I've answered everything. hopefully that was helpful, and not just me rambling!

[theealbatross]

never not been mine (s.s)

Plot | Everyone wonders if you and Sebastian are together. Sebastian wonders when will everyone mind their own business.

Tags | fluff, cheesy pining, we're not together or are we, cranky!seb, slytherin!reader, curses, threats, prejudice, seeker!seb for the plot, established relationship (kinda), when you love her so much it drives you insane, seb and reader are shit seniors is my headcannon

[Disclaimer | I borrowed a scene from "no hard feelings" because it was trending on tiktok lol. Also a portion of this is heavily inspired by 'The Alchemy' by Taylor Swift'. Photos not mine.]

“Just one drink – butterbeers on me!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the eager nameless hopeful in front of you.

The wince from his two friends at the other edge of the common room was apparent at your periphery. You had to give it to him, he’s lasted longer than the others. Usually, most would be walking away with their egos bruised when greeted with your disinterest.

“Not like you have any … pending appointments, don’t you?” He tried to maintain his bravado, even taking a step closer to the loveseat you were sitting on by the fire.

Call it an instinct, a bond only kindred spirits that have tethered in-between life and death together would have, but you could almost feel him – not needing to see him to recognize the heavy steps on the stone stairs, the deep sigh as he impatiently scours the common room in search of you, and the inevitable crinkle that forms in-between his eyebrows when he sees someone else in your vicinity.

You smile.

“I have one,” you muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

His smirk faltered, eyebrows meeting, “A boyfriend?”

You shook your head.

“Pending appointments,” you grin.

His body comically cloaked the significantly shorter boy from behind.

“There you are.”

Sebastian barely glanced at the 6th year in front of you even when their shoulders bumped, making the student stumble. On instinct, you moved your legs to the side so Sebastian could curl up on the floor, his head finding comfort on the meat of your covered thigh, callused hands curling on your calf as he slumped into your lap.

His hair was still dripping sweat, the quidditch uniform he had on covered with muck and dirt and a spattering of blood, and yet here he was, shamelessly sharing his mess with your clothes. You can almost hear Ominis’ disapproving voice, ‘He's a spoiled dog!’.

Ah, but how could you not when he seemed to be cursed at being so good at everything and yet so miserable doing anything else but spending his time with you. Even you can’t be that heartless.

You ran your hands on his damp hair, making sure to press your fingers on his scalp, unable to stop the soft coos from coming out of your mouth. Sebastian had always needed extra attention after his drills with Imelda, the latter determined to tun him into her very own secret weapon of destruction for this upcoming Quidditch season.

This, in turn, had cut his time with you to his utter despair.

“Can we help you?” You were too busy tending to him that you hadn’t realized you still had an audience. Your pet wasn’t the friendliest, especially with strangers of the opposite sex that stares at you.

“N-No, I was just – we were having a conversa –”

Sebastian frowned, the boy took a step back, you place a halting hand on his shoulder.  

“I’ll,” you’re sure even this silly one knows of your Sebastian’s temperament. He wasn’t necessarily the type to be awarded as The Friendliest Senior of the Year.

(“You were nice to me the first time we met.” “Maybe I’m only nice to pretty witches.”)

“I’ll just talk to you later when you’re free.”

“Or not,” Sebastian deadpanned, his grip on your calf tightening, eyebrows meeting.

“Surely it couldn’t hurt–”

“Could hurt.”

“Sebastian.”

It was a pitiful sight but you’ve spared the boy a fate worse than a bruised pride as he muttered a clanky goodbye before turning his back the two of you. Sebastian still glowering at his fleeing back.

“Do you have to be so mean?” you half-heartedly admonished him, patting his freckled cheeks. He really is so handsome, easily the most eligible bachelor in your batch, biased opinion aside.

“Maybe I haven’t been mean enough if they still approach you,” he muttered, clearly still annoyed. His eyes shift from one boy to another accusatorially like if he stared long enough, he’ll catch them in the act of being interested after you and deliver the right sentence as an example.

After the events with Ranrok, high society quickly set its eyes on you. He thought he had nipped it in the bud, sending scathing letters back to prideful pureblood boys for their gall to direct formal letters of engagement to you, audaciously sticking by your side at all times, and severely punishing anyone who dared to even think of courting you. (One even tried to challenge him to a duel. It was barely entertaining, almost downright cruel. Sebastian hopes that the boy is enjoying Ilvermorny.)

Truly, he has his work cut out for him.

Your giggle pulled him out of his unpleasant thoughts, “You should go shower, it’s about to be dinner time.”

He hummed, “Can I use The Room? Hate the boy’s lavatory, ‘s a mess.”

You ignore the quick turning of heads of the students nearest you, trying not to laugh at their scandalized faces, aware of how bad it sounded. Instead, you let him stand and take your hand as he bitterly shared his hypothesis that Imelda was a dark wizard planted to torment him while he led you to the familiar steps toward the Room of Requirement.

On the other side of the room, the rejected boy glared at his sniggering friends.

“You told me they weren’t courting!” he accused.

“In my defense,” his friend shrugged, giggling at the spectacular explosion in front of her very eyes. Who would’ve thought Sebastian Sallow would catch the idiot in the act. “They aren’t but everyone knows they’re ... exclusive.”

“Exclusive?”

“We warned you! I warned you!” Their other friend, the more level-headed one was exasperated. “I’m so bloody terrified of Sallow I don’t even dare to look in her direction! Do you know there are rumors of him mastering forbidden spells? It’s why he had practically spent the entire half of 6th year serving a mysterious detention service for Professor Hecate.”

His other two friend looked at him in doubt. “I thought that was because he bombarda-ed the pants out of that Ravenclaw after he was challenged to a duel –”

“Regardless! He’s dangerous!”

“But are they dating or not?”

“No one knows, okay? That’s like in the Hogwarts top 3 mysteries.” The girl snipped.

“I may know someone who might know.”

Two heads swiveled to the boy who was already staring at a regal silhouette, sitting peacefully on the couch nearest the windows and furthest from any other person in the large common room – simultaneously seeming peaceful and brooding at the same time. As if feeling their gaze on him his unseeing eyes suddenly snapped in their direction, the boys physically flinched, the girl even covering her mouth to hide a gasp as they quickly vacated their spot before they truly tested their luck with the 7th-year Head Boy.

Ominis Gaunt.

The three sighed, resigned to leave that stone unturned.

“Guess we’ll never know.”

Sebastian flustered at the pretty boxes wrapped in silk, laces, and ribbons being shoved to his face, hand rubbing the back of his neck in a mix of embarrassment and honor.

He’s mostly gotten used to the numerous attention he receives but the abrupt surge of volume between his 6th and 7th year sometimes still gives him whiplash. It’s amazing what a growth spurt can do in your social standing.

“Thank you, ladies. I really appreciate it.” He flashed them a polite smile, genuinely flattered and touched at the thoughtful presents even if they are a bit overeager.

Swoons and giggles erupted from the small crowd, so dramatic yet so entertaining.

“Excuse me, Sebastian?”

From the middle of the crowd, Blaine Marune a fellow 7th year pushed herself to the front. She was a popular girl, sought after by many of his teammates. He cocked a brow at her Slytherin shirt when she was a Gryffindor, the team Sebastian was playing against. Was she dating someone on his team?

“Can you sign my shirt?”

Gasps scattered on the ground at her bold request, especially since she stretched out her shirt so the space by her chest was extended. He had to give it to these Gryffindors, they sure do live up to their name.

“Your girlfriend wouldn’t mind, would she?”

He frowned at the implication, suddenly hating the inquisitive eyes snapping between them, clearly curious as to his status. “That’s –”

“She’s here! Look!” A voice from behind the crowd gasped.

Sebastian swiftly turned his head, barely catching your eyes just as you slipped inside the tower that held the stairs to the bleachers up above. Mindlessly, he forgot all about the little scene that was unfolding between him and the Gryffindor and turned away from his gaggle of admirers to walk to the edge of the field, jumping on his broom to fly in front of you when you seemed to take a wrong turn to the other side of the bleachers.

“Wrong direction, darling. I saved you your seat,” he grinned even as you ignored him, walking a leisure pace as he floated beside you.

“I’m not sitting next to your admirers,” She quipped, still refusing to look at him, marching with a purpose. “Darling.”

She’s jealous. Sebastian beamed, flying closer so he could reach out an arm to stop her steps.

“Don’t be like that,” his words were soft yet the grin in his face couldn’t be tamed even if he did try. “You know I like it when I can see you at all times.”

Giggles and whispers were murmured from the seated crowd behind you.

“She’s here!” “The Felix Felicis is here!” “There’s no way those Gryffindor bastards will beat us now.”

The burn in your face doubled in intensity as you tried your hardest to ignore such embarrassing remarks.

It started with a silly coincidence.

In one of Sebastian’s first games last year, you had been running late, roped in a last-minute hunt for a large Ancient Magic hotspot that had abruptly appeared on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. When you entered the Quidditch Pitch the game was in full swing. However, your entrance had caught Sebastian’s attention which coincidentally also happened to be the moment the Snitch flew straight towards you. It was one of the shortest games in Hogwart’s centuries-long history as he had gotten a hold of it inches away from your face. The team included you in their celebration by throwing the two of you in the air.

From then on, it was duly noted that Sebastian’s performance remarkably improved every time you were in attendance. It didn’t help that the one time you didn’t attend one of his inter-school practice matches they had lost by a couple of points to Durmstrang.

Imelda had damn near made you swear on an Unbreakable Vow that you would watch every single one of their games from then on.

Hence, being Sebastian Sallow’s Felix Felicis became your position and moniker throughout the entirety of Quidditch Season, and as embarrassing as it was, it would seem your usually level-headed friend had either gotten roped in the ridiculous suspicion or was enjoying your obvious mortification a bit too much as he had taken every opportunity to snatch the same damn seat that practically showcased you to the rest of the crowd and in turn ensured he would be able to see you at all times.

“Sallow! We’re about to gather!” Imelda screamed in the middle of the field.

“Give me a second!” He turned to you. “Please, pet?”

Damn him and those brown eyes.

Harshly, you grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him till he was forced to maneuver his broom sideways, face an inch from yours.

“You better not embarrass me,” you threatened, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek before turning on the opposite direction, straight to the seat that had been unofficially yours. Lucky charms get special privileges after all. “I want a photo with that trophy, Sallow.”

Sebastian hovered in the air frozen, hand on his burning skin, until a ball hit him square in the back. “Today, lover boy.”

He gave Imelda an apologetic look before calling over an underclassman.

“You there, 5th year!” The boy was quick to jump out of his seat, heart hammering in his chest at the Seeker’s sudden attention. “Call over Head Boy Gaunt and tell him to make sure no one unpleasant sits in my section.”

The boy nodded, understanding. Everyone knows Sallow’s unofficial section where all his friends from different houses sit – every single one of them as intimidating as him. If he had gotten a galleon for every time a professor mentioned one of them either in praise or in warning on what not to do, he’d rival Ominis Gaunt in wealth.

Most importantly, she would be there. The lucky charm and Sallow’s dearest companion – though jury is still out whether they had been courting all this time or not.

From what he’d seen he’d bet on them getting married by graduation even with the lack of formal courting. They didn’t seem to be the type to care for convention. He had even heard suggestive rumors that they basically sleep in the same room every night, though that has yet to be proven.

“Yes, of course, Sallow!”

Sebastian watched the boy scamper down the stairs, no doubt to relay his message to his dear friend who won’t be too pleased of his misuse of Ominis’ position.

Oh well, all’s well that ends well.

He blows you one last provocative kiss as he departs the stands before he flies up to where the rest of his teammates are positioned, ready for the game to start, pleased with the fact you would be fuming from the attention his grand performance would bring.

A jealous darling would be bad luck after all.

And he had a trophy to win.

“And the Triwizard Champion is Sebastian Sallow from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, House Slytherin!”

Green confetti and fireworks exploded all over the stadium overwhelming Sebastian as he tried to catch his breath and not let his knees buckle under his weight when all the adrenaline left his body. He belatedly realized that the cold, golden trophy had been shoved in his hands not until he was lifted by fellow schoolmates up above their arms in celebration and was staring at his own gobsmacked reflection in the shiny hardware.

More familiar faces and deafening cheers accosted him as he was brought into the section where all Hogwarts students were gathered. Only when he was put back in the ground to be showered with pats, congratulations, and splashing of fizzing butterbeer did his brain finally catch up with the rest of his body.

Immediately, his head started swiveling, looking for the face he needed to see the most, his instincts screaming at him that she was near. She has to be. She promised.

From the back of the crowds – there she was. Her beaming face, humbly waving from behind as if she wasn’t the reason he had fought so hard for this victory – that it really should be in her name and it shall, for he will lay this victory on her feet, first of his many devotion for the rest of their lives.

In haste, he shoved the trophy to the nearest body, uncaring of who was able to grab it as he pushed and shoved anyone on his way to you. The rest of the world blurred. He cared not for the gasps, shrieks, or protests – not when he saw the beam in your smile as you jumped into his arms – the golden ring that was hanging off a simple chain on your neck clanged with the similar one hanging off his own when you jumped into his arms.

The wedding rings he had prepared, ready for the day the two of you turned into adults in the eyes of the law and were permitted to be married. It would be for mere formality, his heart after all had been tied to yours the moment your eyes met.

“I’m so proud of you.”

He’s never felt satisfaction as fulfilling as this moment.

Finally, he has earned it – has earned the right to say it.

“I love you.”

This love was finally his.

The papers were printed in a few days. Bold letters with a bolder headline:

Triwizard Champion and Hero of Hogwarts Secretly Betrothed!?

Right below such an accusatory headline was the photo of the two of you framed almost too perfectly in a café’s window, Sebastian pressing a kiss in the unmistakable diamond ring he had bought with his winnings while you beamed at him.

It has not been a kept secret that many noble families have vied and proposed for the heavy hand of the Hero but all were rebuffed. All but one. Sebastian Sallow, a promising orphan from a fallen house seemed to have Championed the heart of the lady just as he had conquered the challenges of the Triwizard Trials. As remarkable as it is, his distinct lack of proper lineage, colorful history of delinquency, and the whispers of his preference for obscure magic would truly prove to be a challenge he might not be able to slay quite as easily, especially for a bride as coveted as –

“I am going to fucking kill that wench!”

You slammed the newspaper on the table, making Grace choke on her tea just as Ominis winced at your colorful choice of words, quickly conjuring up a silencing charm around your table lest you make it harder for his lawyers if you actually do deliver the threat.

“I know you’re upset –”

You glare at Grace. Upset barely covers it.

Finding that you have not insulted it enough you crumble the bundle of paper in your hand, even going as far as to grab two that a couple of fourth years were reading before throwing them to the fire in a huff, screaming an Incendio on the fireplace just for the satisfaction of seeing it all turn into soot in a blink.

Ominis quickly sends an owl.

She should still be in Hogsmeade, your mind runs. You’ve heard that the unpleasant reporter had made a home in one of the apartments in Hogsmeade once the Tournament started.

It should be easy, you try to suppress your maniacal grin as you turn, marching straight into the stairs that should lead you to the nearest floo, ignoring how quickly the other students parted for you as your head ran all types of scenarios on how you can absolutely gut that waste of space. She had unfairly targeted Sebastian from the start of the games, pointing out flaws on his runs even when he had won the stage, cruelly bringing up his 'upbringing' in Feldcroft, and even bringing up how he wouldn't be able to give it his all while still grieving his twin sister and should be replaced.

That fucking wench.

You’ve had enough practice breaking and entering through the many locks in Hogsmeade to be able to sneak into her abode. A simple hex would be child’s play, maybe you should curse her to lose one finger every time she writes a bad word against your beloved or maybe a limb or you should just do the wizarding world another favor and make her illiterate.

Once you were on the grounds you summoned your broom.

The punishment should fit the crime.

“Levioso.”

Before you could fly you found yourself already levitating up the air, from below Sebastian was way too pleased at your shrieks and foul mood.

“Let me down, Sebastian!” you kicked.

“I would but I would rather we not spend our lives running away from the ministry if you kill that journalist, my love.”

So, he has read it. The fact that he was able to see those vile words made your blood boil harder. Sensing your temper and the fact that you were about to break out of his spell he plays dirty.

“Accio.”

You shriek at the speed but the comfort of his arms was almost enough to quell the itch in your hands to curse that bloody witch into a pulp.

Almost.

He tightens his hug, playfully pulling you off the ground with a grunt and swaying the two of you gently. “Still upset?”

You push your blunt nails on his back and he chuckles. “It doesn’t bother me, you know.”

“It should!” you snap, a blast of your ancient magic smashing a statue to pieces that he quickly fixes with a ‘repairo’ without so much as a glance at the shrieking fifth years that had nearly gotten blasted with it. “It bothers me.”

That they think so lowly of him – him! A man worth ten –  if not hundreds – of those pompous pricks from noble houses who offers nothing but their ‘pure’ blood and rotting riches like it was enough, like it could buy your heart and pride.

If they knew –

If they knew it was him who cleaned your blood and licked the jagged wounds in your spirit in the quiet of your lowest nights, that it was this boy who pulled out the rubble of a girl after the war – carefully piecing it together until you felt like a person and not a hollow husk filled only by nightmares, that it was this lowly orphan they sneer at who had become your chain to your sanity – your family.

Would they still look down at him if they knew it was only his kindness, and his love, and him who stopped you from giving up on them? That if someone as beautiful as him could exist in the wizarding world then it was a world worth saving.

Sebastian frowns at your upset. Ominis had grossly underestimated how the article had affected you, he would be touched if he wasn't so angry.

“It shouldn’t,” he gently carries you like a bride – his bride – under the largest tree by the Beasts Class classroom, away from the prying eyes of a crowd, overlooking the lake. The songs of the breeze and birds were the perfect soothing balm along with his soft coos. “They can write about me all they want at the end of the day it is me who is coming home with you.”

He’s sure you’re aware that his overly sweet words are all to calm you down but you fall for it anyway, smiling on the skin of his neck. “I should have her tongue.”

He shushes you, pressing his fingers on your waist till it tickled, he smiles on your hair when you slap his shoulder. “Don’t you think you’ve terrified the freshmen enough with that mouth of yours.”

It doesn’t escape you that the other students have transferred their fear of Sebastian’s murky past to your present wicker-short temper. You are aware that it is only because of your impeccable grades, immeasurable talent and a sprinkle of Fig’s legacy that the headmaster has not suspended or expelled you for your insolence.

His palms run a soothing patten on your spine, letting you continue to bury your head on the crook of his neck to lull you into a calm.

You suddenly pull yourself away, looking straight at him. “Are you sure you don’t care? I promise I won’t get caught.”

He chuckles at that, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head before leaning back on the trunk of the tree, pulling you closer to him.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled. “As long as you still plan on marrying me nothing will ever bother me at all.”

“I reckon she's calmed down?”

Sebastian doesn’t bother to mask his stormy expression now that you have fallen into a nap, sparing Ominis a glance as he sits on one of the empty wooden crates.

“I was sure I’d catch the two of you digging up a shallow grave by now.”

Sebastian glances down at you, shaking his head. “Haven't you heard? I’m a changed man.”

Ominis chuckles at that. “Well, their vile words shouldn’t matter anyhow,” Ominis sighs, grateful at least that this betrothal had managed to calm at least one of his dearest friends down. “She’s yours now.”

The boy’s words made Sebastian think.

Think back to the first time he met you: the curiosity, the anticipation, the instant tug on his soul the first time your voice had pulled him out of his own head and you stood in front of him while the growing foreboding feeling that meeting in that room, in front of the fire was meant to be, bloomed in his chest.

He was young enough not to recognize love for what it was but not stupid enough to not act upon it. Monopolizing you and your attention, wrapping his being around you until people could no longer separate the two of you as individuals, guarding his precious hoard ferociously from wolves and thieves until he grew into the man who could claim it.

She’s yours now.

When he really, really, thinks about it, it almost makes him laugh. He always thought he'd lead a simple life. Get a decent job, marry a modest girl, and settle down into a humble life. Grand delusions weren't for him, that was more Anne's forte and he wasn't destined for a greater purpose, that was for Ominis.

And he was satisfied with that, honestly and truly thankful for it. He thrived in the shadows, after all.

But he met you and damned himself by falling in love with the one person he shouldn't have -- the one person he could never deserve even if he lived the rest of his life as a saint.

He loved a grand adventure personified and in a lickety-split threw away all of his dreams of a quiet life -- jumping straight into a den of goblins and trolls and certain death. Hit the ground running in a race between bachelors to get to you, to earn the honor of deserving your love. And even mercilessly overwhelmed any contender to your hand until it was uncontested that it was only him who could stand beside you.

It was only he who earned it.

She’s yours now.

In quiet moments he sometimes couldn't quite believe just what happened to his life in two years.

Because he never thought he'd fall in love with a brilliant witch vied by the world or that, out of all hands stretched out to her, she would hold his, that she would love him back.

She’s yours now.

Sebastian would beg to disagree.

It was fate. (He made it so.)

It was written. (He rewrote it.)

She’s always been mine.

[hitomisuzuya]

consider,, (fem) hexenzirkel!librarian reader x wanderer, reader helped set up the simulanka event to get wanderer to make some friends / have a nice time. and when he gets back to teyvat he immediately marches into the house of daena where reader feigns innocence, but mini durin recognize's reader from a statue & immediately starts bombarding her with question's about teyvat & wanderer? bonus points for established relationship + reader being a teasing little shit to wanderer but very motherly & eccentric to mini durin.

i love both of them so muchhh... cute little found family of two powerful beings and their weird cursed dragon son. (what a life LMAO)

wanderer (scaramouche) x fem!reader. fluffy fluff fluff. humor. established relationship/implied marriage.

i am really happy you guys enjoy my fluff. i couldn't stop smiling when typing this. i loved this event, which was very clearly made for scara. with how much important lore hoyo includes in these bigger limited time events, they should make them permanent playable like star rail's.

gritting his teeth, wanderer strode with a purpose. he needed to talk to you about your.. shenanigans now! on top of that, he'd missed you terribly which irritated him more.

"hey, slow down," durin said, following as close to wanderer as he could as he threw open the doors to the house of daena. "where are we going?"

"be quiet," wanderer snapped, however durin was unfazed by his temperament. he was too busy looking around at the utter wonder that is the house of daena.

immediately, wanderer zeroed in on you as soon as he saw you. he knew exactly where to find you, shelving some books in the library. "you, i wanna know what's going on. right now," he hissed as you turned to greet him the biggest smile on your face.

"scara, you are back. i missed you," it was your usual greeting, one that he generally loves and soaks up (he still does in this moment) when you put your arms around him and nuzzle against him lovingly.

he put a hand on your forehead, stopping you. however, before he could open his mouth to further interrogate you, durin gasped in recognition. "it's you," the little dragon exclaimed excitedly, flying over to you from his place hovering over wanderer's shoulder.

you put your hands on durin's cheeks, smiling in the same soft way at him as you did in the statue he was so was familiar with. "durin, i am glad to see you well, my sweetie," wanderer's eyes nearly popped out of his head seeing durin practically wag his tail like a happy dog with joy. "i am truly sorry for everything you went through," you added.

"wanderer, is she your wife? ohh, she's just as pretty as in her statue. how did you two meet? tell me every--" durin started to bombard wanderer with questions.

"not another word. will you get out of here?" wanderer swatted at durin, who flew to hide behind you. "just don't go too far," he added in a softer tone that made you smile.

"well, i am waiting," wanderer crossed his arms, glaring at you. he wanted his greeting kiss, damn it. "and you, cover your eyes," he glanced at durin, his cheeks flushing.

putting your arms around him, you kissed him. the moment your lips connected with his, he put a hand on the back of your head, lingering his lips on yours. he missed you and your kisses. "now, explain yourself," he said once he pulled away, the blush darker on his cheeks.

"there isn't much to say, scara. durin didn't need me or anyone else in simulanka. he needed you. you were the only one who could help him escape his fate," you replied, resting your head on his chest and nuzzling your cheek against it.

wanderer's vision lit up on his chest. "whatever. you could've just asked me," he grumbled, he'd do absolutely anything in this world for you.

"wanderer! wanderer! is she really your wife? this is so cool!" durin exclaimed from his place hovering next you.

"i said not another word from you," he hissed, which again unfazed durin.

you looked up at wanderer and grinned. "you like helping," you teased.

wanderer grit his teeth. "you like being the hero," you didn't think the angry blush on his cheeks could get any redder. "you like saving people," you couldn't help but further tease him. "you like being the absolute best. the greatest."

well naturally the last part. please do go on, he knows how great he is.

wanderer scoffed, pulling his hat down over his face. "you like saving people and little creatures without hesitation," the relentless teasing was just so fun. "you are gonna keep your wooden toy sword, aren't you?"

"damn it, woman!" wanderer growled.

you gasped in overdramatic horror. "scara! not in front of the baby!" you covered durin's ears.

[robertpattersonsleftcoochieflap]

FTM!Wanderer x Reader

Unexpected treats are the best kind of treats~

Wanderer x Reader

Contents: ftm!wanderer, eating out, fingering, wanderers god complex comes out.

Summary: Reader and wanderer are getting frisky but reader realises that something is not quite right and investigates (with their mouth)

Authors note: I've been a trans scara truther since day 1 and cannot handle the lack of content for my boy. Like, damn. Can a bitch not eat any boy pussy around here.

It was often that Wanderer and (Y/n) would meet up like this, now. Whether it be in an old storage closet or an empty office - they'd always end up in the same position. (Y/n) kneeling on the floor between Wanderer's legs, worshipping him in his most intimate places.

They could still remember the first time it happened.

(Y/n) and the famed Wanderer had always had this thing going on between them. They'd bicker constantly. It was almost an unspoken competition on who could annoy the other first.

This time, they were stuck together in the empty academia library. Sticking the new order of books on the shelves. It was late on a Friday, and all the academia students were out for the weekend. Yet the library was anything but silent.

"Will you shut up and do your job, unsightly worm." Wanderer snarked, purposely hitting (Y/n) in the face with his long sleeves as he flew past to place the next stack of books.

(Y/n) snorted.

"Y'know, for someone so short you do have a large temper," (y/n) smirked - they knew the subject of height was touchy for her coworker, "It's truly impressive how you fit all of it in one body... along with your huge ego."

Wanderer flew past again, shoving into them once again.

"It's a wonder how you keep that ugly, fat head of yours on your shoulders." The temperament blue boy sniped back, this time staying next to (Y/n) to stack books on the shelf beside them.

"Wow is that really the best you've got." (Y/n) faced him, crossing their arms over their chest.

Wanderer's perfect lips curled into a scowl.

"I have nothing else to say to pathetic losers like you."

(Y/n)'s face soured, "HEY. Don't. Be. Such. An. Asshole." They poked at Wanderer's chest between every word.

The Wanderer bared his teeth at them, roughly slapping away their hand.

The pair stopped and stared each other down like a pair of feral dogs. The tension was thick.

(Y/n) struck again, poking Wanderer's hard chest with more force.

Wanderer repeated his previous action.

They repeat a few more times, each action getting rougher, until they eventually escalate to shoving each other around the library.

(Y/n) gasped as their back hit the shelve, their chest heaving. Their hands still gripping tightly at the front of her assailants' clothes.

Wanderer glared deeply into (Y/n)'s eyes. The tension thick enough to cut with a claymore.

(Y/n) once again made the first move, roughly pulling the shorter man in and kissing him. The response was immediate. Quickly becoming another battle for dominance between them.

All the months of built-up frustration between them finally being released.

(Y/n) bucked their hips into his. Their tongues and teeth clashing together. Neither of them seemed to care though. Wanderer's delicate hands gripped (Y/n)'s waist, matching the rhythm of their hips.

They continued like this for a while, their hands groping and fondling each other, until finally (Y/n)'s hand trailed down to his crotch.

Their hand fumbled around the front of his pants, feeling around for the expected hardness. Only to realise they couldn't find it. (Y/n)'s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, still not breaking the kiss.

Is he not into it? They stressed in their mind.

Wanderer broke the kiss, his lips moving down (Y/n)'s neck, where he nipped and sucked. The recipient moved their neck, giving him more room for him, moaning at his actions.

(Y/n)'s eyes fluttered at the feeling, their anxiety washing away. He wouldn't be this into it if he didn't want me, right? Maybe his pants are too thick. They resumed fumbling with his pants, their hands unbuttoning them and weaseling in, continuing to rub around.

The man groaned into their neck, humping the hand between his legs. He was not used to this feeling.

(Y/n)'s eyebrows furrowed in concentration, continuing to search his pants for something that was apparently not there.

He's gotta be into it? Maybe he's just small-- Their finger made contact with the wet patch in his underwear. Oh.

OHHH.

It finally clicked.

They knew what they had to do now.

(Y/n)'s free hand came up and pulled the blue haired man away from their neck and resumed their kissing. Carefully navigating him backwards until he hit a desk.

Wanderer grunted at the movement.

(Y/n) pulled their other hand out of his pants and worked on pulling them down. Once his pants were down they moved back to look Wanderer in the eyes. The mans eyes snapped open and his eyebrows furrowed.

"Is this alri-" (Y/n) was cut off.

"Did I say stop, worm." The blue haired brat snarked.

(Y/n) blinked. "I wanted to ask can I-" They were cut off again.

"Yes. Now hurry up." Wanderer gripped the back of (Y/n)'s hair and brought them back into an impatient kiss.

Damn bitch, okay. (Y/n) mentally rolled their eyes at his behaviour. What did they expect. They pull away from his soft lips and start kissing down his neck. Making their way down to the waistline of his breifs.

Wanderer looks down at (Y/n) kneeling between his legs and he swears his nonexistent heart started thumping. He felt like he was being worshipped. Like a god.

(Y/n) stared deeply into Wanderers eyes, their fingers curling into the waistband of his underwear, before pulling them down. Exposing him.

The mans eyes widened in surprise and a ferocious blush bled onto his cheeks. His mechanical pump working overtime to push blood around his body.

"Wh- what the hell are you-" Wanderer was cut off abruptly and gasped.

(Y/n)'s tongue delved deeply into the wet heat between his legs. Groaning loudly at the taste. Their nose buried in the neat tuft of blue hair above his slit.

Wanderer's legs almost give out, causing him to prop hiself onto the table. (Y/n) took the opportunity to hike one of his legs over their shoulder, spreading him wider.

(Y/n) ate him out like it was their last meal, savouring every flick of their tongue. Their hand gripping the leg on their shoulder. Their free hand trailing up and sliding into Wanderers weeping hole.

Wanderer's hand flew up and gripped (Y/n)'s hair, his head falling back. His thighs trembled around their head. He had definitely never felt anything like this before. He felt like his artificial nerves were on fire.

A broken noise came from his throat.

(Y/n) sped their fingers up, curling them and latched onto his clit, suckling on it. The thighs around their head shook violently ans the fingers against their scalp tightened.

Wanderer felt something inside him tighten, then break. He let out an almost primal noise as he gripped (Y/n)'s head with both hands, holding them tighter against him as he rode their face.

(Y/n) let him ride out his orgasm on their face, his juices dripping down their chin and hand. It had a slight buzz to it, tingling on their tongue. It was addictive. They pulled their fingers out of Wanderer and gave him one last lick before standing up and taking his head onto their shoulder.

Wanderer leant his weight onto (Y/n) as he came back to his senses. They stayed like that for a few minutes before he sat back up and stared deeply into (Y/n)'s eyes, a lazy smirk rising on his face.

"Again."

Extra:

"EH?! WHERE DID THIS STORM COME FROM?! HURRY UP AND GET MY KEYS OUT ALHAITHAM MY HAIR IS GONNA BE RUINED!"

Me trying to convince you all that wanderer is trans.

[searenbound]

I was writing something else but this thought popped up in my head and won’t leave me alone so here’s a short piece, maybe I’ll revisit it later if y’all enjoyed it.

Warnings: hybrid au, cheating/cucking, reader is unremorseful about it, afab reader with she/her pronouns, ends in a mmf threesome

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x reader (+ cuck boyfriend who I didn’t name but was totally thinking of Midoriya)

She thinks you’re supposed to feel ashamed. “I love you” means something, it’s like a promise to some. A promise you’ll stay faithful and committed. So she doesn’t think it should be so easy for her to go behind her boyfriend’s back in his own bed like this.

But fuck, did it feel good.

Maybe it makes her a bitch, but she really doesn’t care. He shouldn’t have gotten the large dog hybrid with consulting her and he should have done a better job of checking his temperament and attitude before bringing him home.

It’s really not her fault if Katsuki is a domineering type who made his desires known the minute they were alone together.

And he’s always out of town for business, leaving his poor girlfriend and her needy little pussy all alone with a big strong man who wanted her.

What was she supposed to do? Not let him fuck her until she was leaking cum?

Maybe she should be more mindful of the time though. Her boyfriend was meant to be home soon, they didn’t have time to fuck before he arrived. So she should have said no when Katsu started grabbing at her in that needy manner.

Should have told him they didn’t have time, but she didn’t.

She should have been ashamed to be caught by the man standing numbly in the doorway. Watching with a slack jaw as his hybrid fucked his girlfriend.

He should be furious, but he found himself curiously aroused by how well she took such rough treatment.

The blond’s hand holding her down by the back of her neck while the other snaked its way under her to play with her clit. He’s growling at her to take his knot and with that dazed and eager smile she has it’s certainly not the first time she’s felt buried in her cunt.

He swallows trying to find the words he wants to say.

‘How could you’?

‘How long’?

‘What the hell’?

“A-are you going to cum? Is he going to make you cum?” isn’t what he expected to come out, but he can’t seem to find it in him to wonder about why as he watches her squirm and squeal out a whiny yes as Katsuki finally pushed his knot in.

He should be devastated, but he finds it hard to be when his girlfriend happily takes him into her mouth and lets him watch round two

[doberbutts]

I have a question that I genuinely don't mean to be rude about, just curious a lot your thoughts

I've been reading your in-depth back and forth about dobermans and it's super fascinating, as it's a glimpse into a world I know little about.

But I guess the thing I keep mentally coming back to is like... Are the aesthetics really all that important?

I mean I understand pure-bred dogs existing for temperament reasons, and I understand that it's reasonable to want the animal to be a certain size and type of coat.

My gut reaction is "fuck aesthetics, you're inbreeding an animal to death because you want it to look nice" so the idea of preserving that possibly getting in the way of helping the poor animals live better lives kinda just makes me feel sick to my stomach.

You're a fan of the dog that seems to genuinely care about these issues in breeding, so I'm wondering about how you view aesthetics, or how you'd feel about thoughts similar to my gut reaction?

I also know my reaction could be purely emotional, my parents had two purebred dogs growing up that both suffered pain and passed away young due to inbreeding related defects, so that's really shaped my feelings on the matter.

well, that's the problem, is that many of these outcross projects want the aesthetic and nothing else. Sorry, but the aesthetic we know today isn't even the original doberman. I like the look, but that's not what they used to look like. Not anywhere close. Dobermans originally looked like this:

The aesthetic we have today was introduced after Dobermann died, and it was done very quickly in less than 5 generations. This is why I'm not too concerned about getting aesthetic back. Temperament, though, is much harder to nail down.

For all the accusations that all purebred people care about is aesthetics, it's interesting to me that the outcross people are seeking to destroy what makes a doberman A DOBERMAN while still keeping the outer shell. I am not a fan of this idea.

[sidetongue]

Hey! On one of the posts about the new baby (love her btw), you mentioned you prefer boy dogs to girl dogs. I was wondering if there are huge differences between the two and whether that affects pack dynamics?

YESSS I LOVE QUESTIONS LIKE THIS

I am SO ready to talk about group dynamics at any given point. I love boys because they have more of a carefree, easygoing vibe to me. Have you heard the tiktok sound comparing girl dogs to boy dogs and the boy is like ‘today I saw a balloon!’

Because I 100% agree. With the breeds I tend to gravitate towards, with soft, biddable temperaments - boys are usually more affectionate, eager to please, and have lower expectations for life in general.

Girls in my experience are always just a touch more opinionated, are “busier”, and are harder to please. I also find them a bit more difficult to bond with off the bat than with boy dogs.

In my personal fam, miller was always the one wearing the pants. When she died, it got a little chaotic because everyone turned into hooligans. Like kids without a bedtime for the first time. After a couple of weeks Hen was like ‘is it me? Do I have the pants?’ And it wasn’t long before budgie was like ‘absolutely not, give those to me’.

The boys are so happy to be led and be told what to do. Making decisions is too much work for them. They’re a literal flock of sheep.

I initially wanted a boy Boston but the idea of 5 air headed himbos (and two being fully testosterone fuelled) started appealing less to me. Just a bit too much stupidity in one household.

I was worried Budge and a girl would have trouble bonding, but they are doing really well and I think having another “sensible” dog in the house has levelled things out nicely. Would I ever reverse roles and have predominantly females? Absolutely not. That’s too much sass and attitude for me.

In terms of qualms or bickering, I’ve actually found that my boys bond better with each other than boys and girls or girls and girls. Mine are like a silly little football team of buds. Hen has opinions about sprig at times, but has never been a confrontational type so usually just complains to me later in private.

As a disclaimer I am also very lucky that all of my dogs are very easygoing and easy to integrate. I recognise it’s not always as breezy!

[brainjvice]

What kind of crusty white dog would Kaiser have

[stares into the camera] a pomeran-- [gvnshot] mANY POMERANIA--- [several gvnshots]

Jokes aside (was it really a joke though?), given how much he loves stray dogs, he would probably either save one directly from the streets or adopt one from a rescue center. He would probably take home a reactive dog or one with a difficult attitude and would spend hours researching on how to train it, maybe even take a certificate in dog-training to properly take care of his pup.

The way he would read books and books on dog behaviours before taking one in... I know he'd be a good owner, given how determined he is.

Another dog I can see him adopt, other than a reactive one, would be an ex k9. Ex working dogs can be difficult to train and deal with, so you need to know what you get into before adopting one (esp since k9 may actually have gone through traumatic experiences and suffer from ptsd) [insert joke about pets resembing their owner here].

Now just for shits and giggles I'm gonna give my Two (2) cents about which dog breed(s) he'd like/consider to take in:

starting strong with the czech worlfdog. To me it'd be the ideal partner for Kaiser. It's stubborn, protective, hard to train. It has strong predatory instincts but still has a pack mentality - meaning that if you're part of the pack he'd die for you but if you don't then kys basically (sorry i suck at explaining). Fun fact: they were supposed to be a police dog breed but unfortunately they get extremely attached to their owner and wouldn't be able to go back to work in the unfortunate case of their owner dying.

So yeah. A bit feral, a bit wild, definitely a dog you end up having a "special bond" with. Lowkey Kaiser coded methinks, esp given his only desire to be loved unconditionally. Which brings us to a second breed that fits this type of requirement:

this bitch. The doberman. Wonderful breed, the ideal guard dog and a "one man dog" type of temperament. They stick to their owner and would protect them with their lives. They also are a handful when it comes to training and socialization and Kaiser would absolutely Adore to be the centre of this dog's world.

There's a third dog breed who methinks would fit Kaiser's personality:

The Ness. Look at him! Don't make these big round sweet eyes fool you, he'd absolutely make dark magic spells against anyone who looks at Kaiser in a funny way. Loyal at the core, he's easy to train if compared to the previous breeds and will stick to you no matter how bad you treat him. Perfect one man only type of dog. Nice, fluffy coat. He comes home already potty trained and with opposable thumbs!

Andddd that's it! :> hope you enjoyed reading!

[upontherisers]

in the cold spring

a/n: i'm in a writing mood recently! disclaimer: i haven't read mota or on a wing and a prayer yet so i do not know anything about jack kidd's life beside what is available on the 100th bomb group's website, so consider some details ~exaggerated for dramatic effect~. title is from ml burch's "i feel like giving you things" and this fic is about neither the cold or the spring, but it fits.

Goddamn Air Exec. 

Jack says goddamn Air Exec from the moment Bucky tells him that Hughlin recommended him, through two rounds of meetings with Harding—call me Chick—and Bowman—call me Red, through moving into the ops barracks, through shaking a thousand hands, and through getting a desk. Goddamn Air Exec. Goddamn Egan, goddamn Hughlin, and goddamn Air Exec.

His crew, his fort, and his dignity all because Bucky purposely flunked out of the tower. And Buck vouched for him! Goddamn Cleven and goddamn Air Exec. All of his training out the window for a desk in a corner office. He can’t even see the runway through the blinds, just the backroads of East Anglia and occasionally the Land Army girls and their cows. Five hundred hours of flight school for a desk in a corner office and a secretary.

“A secretary?” he asks as Harding points at a small station outside Jack’s newly-labeled office.

Chick nods. “Yes, Lieutenant Keene.” He looks around the busy floor, eventually settling on who he’s searching for. “There she is… Hazel!”

A head pops up from the mass of moving bodies and paper and a woman quickly makes her way across the room, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. As she approaches, she’s smiling with a brightness that goes all the way to her warm, round brown eyes, hand outstretched for another yet another handshake. Goddamn Air Exec, but he’s less bitter about it.

“Jack, I assume you’ve met Lieutenant Keene—”

“Hazel, I insist.” Her grip is firm and as warm as her eyes.

They met the few times when he had to go to Bucky’s office—his office now—and she was waiting at her station outside. He remembers her as polite but busy, inoffensively curt. Not one of the staff who blathers away, overly chipper and overly interested in the reason for his visit, but also not one of the ones who snaps at him to sit and wait and then ignores him like he’s the reason they’re losing the war. Hazel’s friendly and effective, a good temperament for a C.O. He wonders why she’s in here and not up in the air.

“Good to see you again.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Jack, I insist.”

Her smile widens just so, and he has a feeling that they’re going to work well together.

She turns to Chick and nods to where she came from. “Last of the after actions for the 418th—” Jack pretends that doesn't hurt to hear. He should’ve been up there with his boys. Goddamn Air Exec. “—I’ll have ‘em to Sheila in fifteen, and I’ll be at my desk after that, in case you need anythin’.”

It takes him a moment to realize she’s speaking to him, and he mumbles an ‘of course’ at his shoes. He’s a man who gets waited on now; it would take some time to get used to. She departs with another smile and heads back into the fray.

As Chick leads Jack around the rest of the space, showing him charts and maps and a million other semi-familiar faces, he remains acutely aware of Hazel. She’s speaking to a WAC as they go over some maps, marking here and there, her encouraging smile no doubt prompting stellar work from the younger girl. He’s reminded of Ev, the way his friend’s genial countenance can turn a boring day kicking around the hard stand into a respite and a rough flight home from a mission into a night at a comedy club.

Then he misses his friends—Ev, Dougie, Crosby and the man the navigator has become since getting kicked off of the Crash Wagon. He misses hearing DeMarco and Cleven bicker as they climb into their fort, that damn dog never far behind as Lemmons likes to sneak him out onto the hard stand. He misses the feeling of sitting in his seat and the controls roaring to life under his fingers as he hears his crew get ready at their guns. He misses looking out the window to see Ginny settling into her cockpit to his right, grinning like it’s Christmas morning and popping her gum into her headset receiver to set off Knick Knack at her navigator’s seat.

He even misses Bucky and his plane-to-plane chatter, always vigilant, always watching out for his squadron, his group, and the rest of the wing. He misses the man Bucky can be in the air as opposed to the faux-apologetic fast-talker that landed Jack at a desk in the first place. Goddamn Air Exec.

But then he comes back to Hazel and the scrunch of her nose as she stretches her arms above her head with a yawn. She slumps back onto the desk she’s sitting on, looking around the room curiously before meeting Jack’s eyes and nodding. He nods back before Chick drags him off to some new wonder.

She’s at her desk in fifteen minutes like she told him she would be and sticks her head into his office with a smile. She smiles a lot. “I’m back. Holler if you need anything.”

By the time he can look up from the file he’s puzzling over, she breezes back to her desk and immediately busies herself at her typewriter.

He doesn’t know what to do with her. The other C.O.’s have their secretaries do the standard—take memos, keep their schedules, make coffees—but that seems insulting. She’s here to win a war; he wasn’t going to send her scrambling for sugar. On the other hand, it’s insulting not to utilize her, as sharp and reliable as she is. His father would find her a task and a ring, which he had with his last three secretaries. Jack had no intention of using his rank like that. He’ll find something for Hazel to do. It just has to be the right thing.

And he searches for too long, it seems, because after three days of greeting her when he arrives in the morning and occasionally asking her where certain stationery was stored, she steps into his office post-lunch and plops down in the chair in front of his desk with a sigh. Her eyebrows raise and she wears a bemused smile as she folds her hands in her lap. She reminds him of Bucky for a moment.

“Was it something I said?”

He shakes his head. He’d been hoping she wouldn’t notice his lack of engagement, or perhaps would lean into not having much on her plate. “I’ve never had a secretary before.”

“Most men haven’t.” She leans forward and starts picking at a chip in the wood of his desk. “Your job is my job, too.”

“You seem busy enough.” She does. Every time he looks out into the hall, she’s up to something, whether it’s at her desk, in the filing cabinets along the walls behind her, or somewhere on the ops floor. She knows what she’s doing; he’s the one who’s lost.

Her mouth purses. “Not for long. I’ll be done with the backlog Bucky left by EOD.”

“I’m sorry he left so much—”

Her exaggerated eye roll surprises him. “That’s the point, Jack. It’s too much work for any one man.”

Goddamn Air Exec.

“But that’s why you got me. We’re a team… so,” she raps his desk twice, “put me in, Coach.”

He wants to say something, to have an important Air Exec order or some example for her to follow, but as he looks into her expectant face, he comes up short. He hasn’t eaten yet today, but he’d shoot himself in the foot before he ever made her go to the mess for him. She reads him like a book, which only further rankles his sense of command.

“Well, what’s all this?” She spreads her hands over the papers in front of her.

“Interrogation logs, new crew files—” He points at a pile Chick’s aide had delivered that morning. “I need to get those back to Harding as soon as I sign them.”

“Sign ‘em now and I’ll run ‘em over.”

“No.” This is exactly what he’s been avoiding, assigning her utter tedium. 

She pushes the papers toward him. “C’mon.”

He blinks at her before opening the file. It’s some report or inventory request, or both or neither, which he has no idea why he has to sign, but he’ll do it because that’s job along with waiting around and going to briefings and briefings about briefings. Not even a week in and he was ready to crawl out of his skin or at least out the window. Chick denied both his requests to fly so he’s truly stuck in this office for who knows how long. Goddamn Air Exec.

Two signatures, three, four, five—Hazel points to hidden dotted lines, flipping through the pages without a second glance, and Jack can’t help but feel like she’s tying his shoes. That probably flew with Bucky, but it wouldn’t with him. They gave him the promotion because they knew he could do the job well and he agreed. This is something he could be good at. A team of subordinates was a perk of the job, expected for a man of such a station, and he’s grateful that folks were will to help out, but he’d grown up watching secretaries turn from aides to mother-wives and he doesn’t want that for anyone, especially a gal as nice as Hazel. He’ll find something for her to do.

He signs the last page and closes the file as Hazel stands, hand outstretched. Pausing for a moment, he doesn’t pass it over quite yet. “I don’t want you being my errand girl.”

She reaches across the desk and plucks the file from him. “It’s my job.”

She turns on a graceful heel and heads out across the floor, making it to Harding’s office and back before he could find it in him to stop staring at her confident, unaffronted gait. Bright laughter—the brightest he’s ever heard—bubbles out of her as she tucks her skirt under her thighs and takes a seat at her desk.

“You could’ve signed three more reports in the time that took me. Now I’m gonna have to wait for you.” She tsked. “Wastin’ both our time.”

She’s tying his shoes again and that lights a fire under his ass for the rest of the day. He clears the files that had accumulated on his desk plus two rounds of parts inventory from the hard stand and he gets a memo off to London requesting more birds. He feels satisfied by the time he flicks off the light and gathers his jacket and coat. It sure wasn’t flying, but it felt like making a difference all the time. He didn’t know he could do that from behind a desk.

It takes some soul-searching, but he manages to light his own fire for the rest of the week. He maintains his composure through the worst of it, a long fog delay that had half his pilots climbing into the tower to beg him for clearance, a ‘misplaced’ delivery of Mae Wests that somehow ended up with the 418th before they came to ops, and another declined request to fly from Harding. Goddamn Air Exec. 

The job gets easier each day, especially with Hazel right outside the door. It does feel more like a team than subordination as they move around each other, trading reports and memos without having to speak. Still, she’s a few steps ahead of him—coming through the door before he can call her to pick up a file, finding this or that form before he can realize he’s misplaced it—but he’s determined to catch up. He comes in early on Saturday and has the summarized after action reports in Chick’s office before Hazel’s arrived for the day. It’s a good feeling when her eyes go wide in surprise and her cheery mouth finds its usual smile.

“Well, I suppose we’re even now.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “not even close.”

If they’re really going to be a team, he’s going to even the playing field. No more having her play governess. Neither of them are here to clean up after someone else.

That evening, Hazel is leaning into Chick’s doorway as Jack leaves for the day, chatting with Sheila. 

He mumbles a ‘pardon me’ as he passes and her face lifts at the sight of him. “Major Kidd! We were just talkin’ about you.”

“You were?” he asks as they fall into lockstep on their way out. 

“We were sayin’ how nice it is to have an Air Exec who knows what he’s doin’.”

“Bucky tried his best.” He’s lying.

She knows it and she snorts. “He was fun to have around, certainly.”

It’s quiet as they walk. The flights have stopped for the day and if he strains his ears he’d be able to hear the crews working away on the hard stand, but there’s no need for that now. That’s another thing he’s learning—when he’s doing the job and when he’s not. With the warm evening air and the blazing sunset in front of them, he’s grateful for the time off the clock.

He looks at Hazel and is struck by the sight. The light washes her dark cherrywood skin in a velvet glow, sending shadows of her lashes and her nose across her face. He’s suddenly jealous of Bucky and he doesn't know why. She catches his eye and smiles. Blanching, he clears his throat and stares at the ground. His boots are the cleanest they’ve been since he’s been in England now that he’s out of the grease and dust of the planes. Goddamn Air Exec.

They’re nearly at the ops barracks when he realizes that he doesn’t know where she’s going. Does she live in the barracks? Is she one of the girls who’s at a billet in town? Why doesn’t he know? Shouldn’t he know? She’s never in the mess and is so rarely at the Silver Wings. He wonders what she does with her time. He realizes he doesn’t know much about her at all, not her hometown, her family, where she was before the Air Force. The Oberlin pennant on the wall in his office had prompted her to ask into his life, but that’s because she’s always where he is, but he’s never where she is. He wants to be.

“Where’re you headed?”

She comes to a stop. “Home.”

“Where’s that?”

Her wry smile makes his heart skip a beat as she turns down the path leading toward the enlisted barracks. “Good evening, Major.” She never calls him that.

“Some of us’ll be at the pub tonight—Chick, Red, Bucky… it’d be good to see you.” He takes a half-step toward her so as not to yell the offer, maybe she’ll take it if he’s gentle. Part of him hopes she’ll say yes. He wants time with her outside of keeping the group on its feet, just an hour to hear her laugh, to ask her where she gets that charming accent from, to ask her for a dance. Part of him hopes she’ll give him one more good smile and walk away, that she’ll remind him there are rules, lines to be maintained. He’s not going to become his father.

“Good evening,” she repeats and he watches her go. He doesn’t have time to dwell on the ache in his chest as Cros yells at him from across the way. He’ll have his night and she’ll have hers.

He’s not sure if he should apologize for being out of turn when he sees her next, clear the air and make it clear that he’s not… he isn’t going to be that man. He reasons to himself that wants to know her as a teammate, in the same way he’d come to know the members of his crew. It’s what any good leader does. There’s a short speech ready to go when he enters HQ Monday morning after seeing the forts off.

She greets him as politely as she always has, but he gets the feeling he probably wouldn’t be able to tell if she’s upset. Her cards are meticulously close to her chest while she learns about the people around her. It’d be a good quality in a C.O. He thinks of all the women he’d just sent to Norway—Ginny, Vera, Amelie, Suzanne. Hazel would fit right in.

There’s a small box on his desk, no sender address upon investigation. “Hazel?”

“Yeah?” she asks as she gets up from her desk.

“Do you know who this is from?” He’s popping open one end with his letter opener.

“Oh, well,” she starts, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe, “it’s from my momma” Her inflection is that of an embarrassed and entertained daughter. 

A swath of white silk flutters to the floor and he picks it up. It’s a scarf decorated with rows of small and large flowers. From… from her mother?

“I—I, uh, I wrote her about you and she insisted on sending it. Bucky got one, too, when he started.”

He couldn’t recall Bucky ever wearing a scarf. “What’d he do with it?”

She scoffs. “God knows. I don’t think he remembers getting it. It was one of his… one of his mornings.”

“Hungover?”

“Still drunk.”

Closing distance, she takes the scarf from him gently and tosses it around his shoulders. She’s so near now as she starts tying it and he can look at her while she concentrates, her eyes glittering with that hope that never seems to fade. Does her mother have the same eyes? The same round apples of her cheeks, the lovely point of her chin? And her perfume, the faint hint of roses he occasionally gets during the day now in full force as she works. He feels flush and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands or where to put his eyes or what to say. A woman who’d only heard about him in letters sent her daughter to war and is sending him beautiful scarves. That’s the kind of woman who would raise Hazel.

“I always tell her that this is unnecessary, that y’all have mommas of your own to fuss over ya,” she says as she adjusts the knot at his neck and smoothes her hands over his shoulders.

“I—I don’t,” he stammers out. 

Her eyes widen and he hates the kick in his chest. “Oh, I’m—I’m so sorry, Jack, I had no idea.”

He waves her off but can’t quite find the words. There’s a yearning suddenly, one he left in the dark years ago, and he doesn’t know what’ll come out if he tries to name it. Hazel puts a comforting hand on his arm and looks at him sympathetically. “Well, I’ll tell my momma to keep sending scarves… only if—if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I could use a few more of these,” he says, glancing down at the knot at his neck. He probably looks ridiculous wearing it without the rest of his flight gear, but the accomplished smile on Hazel’s face is worth it. He’ll bear all the stares in the world if it keeps her smiling. 

She gives him one more once over before returning to her desk. “It’s a good color on you.”

“Matches my eyes?”

“Something like that.” She winks. 

His stomach flips; he thinks of his father and three weddings. 

“Oh,” she calls, “you can keep it on.”

He raises an interested eyebrow.

“The Telergma mission, you’re going. Chick sent authorization this morning.”

Three days later, Ev’s the only one who comments on Jack’s new gear after they finally get the all-clear for engine start.

“That from Franny?” his co-pilot asks. It’s a good guess; his sister would send something like it. 

“Lieutenant Keene’s mother sent it.”

Ev scoffs with a shake of his head. “Your secretary’s mother is sending you scarves? Goddamn Air Exec.”

Yeah, Jack thinks, smirking out the window and sitting a little taller. Goddamn Air Exec.

[a-libra-writes]

hello friend, is it alright if i request short headcanons about childhood friends to lovers with margaery and/or sansa? I need more sansa and margaery content, their tags are dead silent 😭😭😔. I hope this is okay and hope you have a good day/night.

Sapphic friends to lovers ................ my weakness ........ okay you didnt specify if it was so I assumed, LOL. This is more childhood crushes n' friendships cause its cute, damn it.

(((also im including my favorite dornish ladies bc i can)))

🐺Sansa Stark🐺

You, Sansa and Jeyne become "the little ladies" of Winterfell, a close trio of friends who are often together. While Sansa seems to be the leader, she very much looks to you for guidance, even if you're younger. She's often hung on your opinion and thoughts, and if you did the same for her, you both would be talking in circles about what to do before Jeyne would interrupt and suggest a third thing, lest you two talk all day.

Sansa starts to admire things you fancy, even if she doesn't always understand why you like them - say for example, swords or bugs. She admires you, too, though that's obvious, and she's childishly delighted when you agree with her thoughts. When old nan tells stories about knights and princesses, in Sansa's mind, the knights always seem to have eyes like your's.

And while Sansa often daydreams about being a married Lady, just like her mother, sometimes a worry interrupts her thoughts. Won't you need to be married too? Doesn't that mean you'll have to go away? No, no, it's fine, you'll just visit and write to her. Sansa makes you promise to do so several times.

If you're of a much lesser rank than her, she's heartened by the thought of you being her handmaiden instead. Proper ladies need proper handmaidens, after all. Then you two wouldn't have to part at all! Whenever she's expressed these worries to her mother, Catlyn gently tells Sansa that it's just the way of things, and she'll find new companions and friends in her future husband's house. Sansa retorts she doesn't want new ones, she wants you.

Sansa likes to fuss about with your clothes and hair, just like her mother fusses with her's. If you aren't a girly type or appreciate touching, this can be exhausting. More than once you two have bickered because she wants to keep trying different hairstyles and you want to do something else. Jeyne or even Arya are the ones who interrupt it.

Speaking of Arya, if you're the type of little lady whose closer in personality and temperament, she's quite fond of you. Sansa can't help but feel jealous, even if she knows it's silly. And when she scolds Arya for something unladylike, and Arya retorts "but YN does it!", Sansa just huffs. "That's different!" "How is it different?" "It - it just is!"

Sansa would also pout if you play with the boys instead of her, especially if you're a little older. She very carefully walk through the mud in the sword yard or brave the high parts of Winterfell's walls where you're hanging about with Robb, Jon and Theon. She wants to remind you it isn't proper, but then you might send her away, so she just huffs and deals with it. If she's feeling clever, she'll claim she needs you for something right this minute and drag you off.

(The boys notice this behavior and think it's pretty funny. Robb knows all he has to do is tease you and Sansa will RUSH over to your defense)

Naturally, you're going with Sansa when she has to leave for King's Landing. It'll be so wonderful! She has so many fancies of being a Queen and you her handmaiden, and that means you can always stay by her side. And apart from that, there will be so many amazing things to see and do. She can hardly keep still at the thought, and spills it all you to, hoping you'll agree. Arya thinks her sister will be too preoccupied with you to care about princes or knights, but she's just fine with that. Better you than that awful prince and his dog.

🏵Margaery Tyrell🏵

She knew you were different from the start. Margaery has always had an endless stream of companions, from her cousins to the daughters of her mother's handmaidens. There was something so different about you though, and she just couldn't put her finger on it.

Being a charming little girl, it wasn't hard for Margaery to find out about you from the servants and other cousins. What you liked, where you were from, what your parents are like, and so on. Maybe if she shows an interest in these things, you'll be more inclined to play with her.

(You both being children, it really doesn't take much for you to want to play with her. Margaery forgets about using her gathered facts and just has fun).

Hanging out with her means playing with allll her cousins and companions too. Huge games of chase in the gardens, elaborate and dramatic plays, big tea parties with over-dressed dolls. The consistent thing is you're always Margaery's "pick" - you sit next to her, you play the knight if she's the princess, your doll is the sister of her doll so they can't be separated. Even in competitive games, she's more likely to team up with you than play against you. There's been more than a few girls who complained of you being the favorite, which Margaery doesn't deny.

If you're the sort of girl who prefers playing swords and being outside, Margaery adapts to that. She'll drag Loras along (he'll never turn down a mock sword fight), and sometimes he sneaks training swords out of the armory. Sometimes you're the villain who steals Margaery away, and Loras is the knight getting her back. Sometimes she demands you two switch roles 'so YN can keep me this time!'. You end up close to Loras, too.

She's used to being made much of by servants and companions alike, but no praise holds as much weight as your's, except maybe her mother's. She can become quite prideful if you're always praising her virtues and admiring her. Margaery is much the same with you, and she's always been physically affectionate. She likes holding hands, doing your hair, hugging and sharing a bed (though that's usually joined by a baby cousin or two). Highgarden is positively charmed by its little Lady Tyrell and her companion.

(Lady Olenna has notes you two are remarkably close, and that could probe useful in the future. She'd invite you two to her little private parties, often posing unusual riddles and questions to you.)

Being accomodating and considerate, Margaery is easy to get along with regardless if you're more social or more introverted. Being the former makes it easier to attend parties with her, and the latter means she'll be more understanding than most if you don't want to attend the endless feasts and social gatherings. She'll miss you, but she's delighted to be the exception - you may be sick of everyone else, but you'll let her stay (quietly) while you decompress. She'd be disappointed to be sent away, though she perks right up once you want to talk again.

Margaery figures she has some kind of crush as she gets older. Her other companions talk about boys in the same way she thinks about you. Margaery isn't opposed to boys, but she finds girls just as interesting, and you're the most interesting of all. She'd be a little hurt if you were chasing after some boy cousin of her's, or picked another girl over her. It takes her some time to formulate these thoughts and feelings. She has a gut feeling these aren't things you normally think if someone is just a friend. When she hears a wonderful love song one evening - one she's heard many times before, yet just now has it struck her - she begins to understand her feelings.

As she grows older, she underatands you can't truly be with her forever and ever. ... or could you? Important married ladies still get to have handmaidens. Would it trouble you to stay at her side? Would you rather have your own husband and family? These thoughts often bother Margaery. She goes to her grandmother with her troubles, and Lady Olenna is certainly inclined to help her favorite ...

⭐️Ashara Dayne⭐️

Though the Daynes were well-liked amongst the nobility of down, House Starfall was a quiet place. Ashara was a quiet girl, content to observe her more outgoing brother and parents visit with guests. Her parents felt a female companion might do her well, and Ashara was open to the idea. She liked playing with the many noble girls when they visited Sunspear, and there wasn't much in the way of playmates in Starfall. Most of the servant's children were too young or too old, or boys, which her father forbade.

Her big, purple eyes took you in when you arrived. She was a little distant at first, wanting to observe you first, but she was never impolite or cold. Regardless if your personality was more on her wavelength or a total opposite, she's amused by your habits and interests.

Sometimes you two will play long and imaginative games, sometimes you read something together in silence. Ashara likes it when you talk about something you're very passionate about, and you can draw similar conversation out of her. While she was never a shy child, her parents are pleased she's becoming more willing to talk to others. Sometimes she just gazes at you, and when you ask her what she's thinking of, she only shrugs. "Only you." Ashara often says odd things like that.

Being friends with Ashara means you're around Arthur a lot, in spite of the age gap. He's always kind and gracious to you, very "knightly" even. Many servants think you two will be trouble later on, but Arthur just sees you as a second sister. Many times he's thanked you for being Ashara's friend, and asks you to look after her safety.

She's not very affectionate, even with her brother, but she enjoys holding your hand and brushing your hair in the evening. During loud feasts and parties, she likes to take your arm and keep close so you don't lose each other.

Going to Sunspear is already exciting, and Ashara is the one introducing you to all the Martell cousins and other children, both highborn and lowborn. The both of you quickly make a trio with Princess Elia. You're either of similar temperment to the steady girls, or you're encouraging them to run about and play more. The three of you like to go off to your own games and little world, and this bond only strengthens each time you visit.

It might be Elia who helps Ashara put words to her feelings, once she's older and seriously thinking of them. Arthur has his two cents as well; gently warning his sister that you may not be with her forever. She hates to think of that, though she knows it's true. She's content to keep these feelings to herself. It would almost be worse if you felt the same, because then you'd both have to deal with the separation. Ashara hopes you don't think ill of her for wanting to stay quiet.

Reprieve comes in the form of the newly married Elia. As the future queen, she's expected to have handmaidens, and of course she'll want her childhood friends to accompany her. Her brothers Doran and Oberyn make it clear they only trust you and Ashara, anyway. Now you can have many precious years with Ashara, and not have to worry about marriages. For a while, anyway.

☀️Arianne Martell☀️

It's like you were meant to be her dearest friend. Your father was good friends with Doran Martell, so it only seemed natural that their daughters should be each other's companions. Arianne almost can't remember you not being there. You've always been a constant in her life, and you were different from her other companions or the Sand Snakes she considered sisters.

You two are notorious in Sunspear for your mischief, wether it's Arianne dragging you into it or you're just as bad. Prince Doran takes it in stride, as it's never truly malicious, and Uncle Oberyn only encourages it. Several times Doran has scolded you girls for being so mischevious to guests you dislike. Arianne gets most of the scolding - she's the eldest, and his heir, she ought to know better ... she never turns the blame on you, just teases that you owe her for covering for you.

There's always companions and cousins to play with, but you're second to none. Arianne makes this clear with her words and actions. You're to sit by her and hold her hand and are chosen first for her games. If you're competing with another child, Arianne is rooting for you and maybe helping you cheat.

She was your first kiss, too. It's when you were playing hide and seek around the vast orchards. Arianne found you, and gave you a quick kiss rather than saying "you're it!". Later she claimed it was to confuse you so she'd have more time to run, but maybe that wasn't the whole reason. When you bring it up years later as adults, she's both embarrassed at her childishness and a bit proud.

The downside to being her favorite is the jealousy. Not from the others - that's easy to deal with - it's if you're playing with someone else, especially a girl. More than once you and Arianne have gotten into arguments because she felt ignored. The little fight only lasts a few hours before you both make up, and Arianne is better about it once she's older.

Much of the jealousy stems from her being aware of her feelings early on. She knows they aren't feelings one has for a friend. Arianne is open about how she finds you the loveliest and the best, and she loves receiving the same praise in kind, but she wonders if you have the same feelings. She isn't ashamed of them, she knows girls can feel that way about girls - but she also knows only boys and girls can marry. It gives her much to think about.

She doesn't think about it long. Once she's Princess of Dorne, you can always stay by her side! Problem solved. She pitches the idea throughout your childhood. You'll never have to worry about a thing, she'll make sure of it. You both will always have the best gowns and go to the best parties and never have to part. It'll be like a dream.

Prince Doran is more than happy you and Arianne get along so well - you end up being like another daughter to him - he does often worry about her attachment. She can't expect you to always be there, and she doesn't want to listen to any talk of you leaving. Well, he figures she might see reason once she's grown ...

[cleoselene]

Shelter pro-tip: definitely check out the dog they have at the front desk to greet people. Chances are it's a dog with a really great personality because they won't bring out a dog who will be nasty to greet people at the front desk

source: me, I got the front desk dog at the Humane Society

she really is sweet sweet sweet. Just a wonderful, lovely, submissive temperament. Ernie was kind of an alpha dog bastard lol, I loved him for it, but we're going to teach Sylvie some better manners, or try to at least!

Housebreaking is going okay. She's not entirely sure why we go outside and mostly thinks we should go back inside because!! It's nice in there!! People and other dogs and food!!! And blankets and pillows and sofas!!! And then if i can convince her to stay outside and walk, she'll try to find whatever stick she can find and will lie down with it to start gnawing on it. Or she'll pick up a comically large stick and start running away from me with it in her mouth when I try to take it, lol. Like imagine every image you've seen of a little dog with a stick 2x longer than itself, you've got it.

She's pretty good at running herself exhausted. She's passed out with her chin on my roommate's foot now, it's been a big busy day!

[senditcolton]

Drunk & In Love

Your lover taking a sip of your drink... and then another... and then another... and... you might as well let them keep it.

part of my Valentine's Day prompts requested by @barzysunflower | word count: 0.9k | warnings: none!

There were certain words that people used to describe your boyfriend Matt Martin: big, intimating, tough, enforcer. But those adjectives were truly only tied to his on-ice reputation. Off the ice… he was the biggest softie you had ever met. He did occasionally use his tough guy persona to stand up and defend the people he loved but truly, he was a sweetheart.

You started to affectionately call him your rottweiler boyfriend. His personality was basically the same as his rottie Jax’s was: the look of a guard dog but temperament of a teddy bear.

But it didn’t hurt to sometimes lean into that guard dog persona. You always felt safe around him, you knew he would protect you, and you know you could trust him completely. It was helpful, it was convenient, especially on nights like tonight.

A packed bar, a rock song blasting over the speakers, and a drink in your hand. And, unfortunately, a full bladder. You look around the bar, easily spotting the towering stature of your boyfriend. You weave through the crowd, a hand over your tequila sunrise, moving towards Matt. When you reach him, you gently nudge his side, calling his attention to you.

“Hey babe,” he says, leaning down to press a quick kiss on your lips.

“Hey.” You return his kiss before stepping back and smiling up at him. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Absolutely.”

“Could you hold my drink for me? I need to go to the bathroom,” you request, holding out the glass to him.

“Of course,” he immediately replies. He takes the final few swigs of his beer before placing the can on the table closest to him. You give him your drink and one of his hands falls over the open top, the straw sticking out from between his fingers.

“Thanks babe.” You reach up to press another small kiss onto his cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

You depart with a small rub of your hand on his bicep. Weaving your way through the crowd, you finally reach the wooden door to the small bathroom, pushing it open.

It’s a quick trip and a diligent wash of your hands before you grabbing the metal handle, the music increasing in volume as you step back out into the main bar. It is easy to spy Matt. He is still talking to a few of the boys and you lean against the closest wall, content to watch him for a moment.

It takes you by surprise when you see him lift your drink to his lips, taking a sip through the straw before returning to the conversation happening between him, Casey, and Anders. You intently keep your eyes on him, wondering if that was an accident – drinking whatever was in your hands seemed like a natural action. But when you watch him take another hearty drink of your tequila sunrise, you can’t help but laugh.

You give a small shake of your head, playfully rolling your eyes as you push yourself off from the wall. Instead of going directly back to Matt like originally planned, you make a quick detour to the bar, flagging down the bartender.

“Hey, could I have two more tequila sunrises?”

“Sure,” the bartender replies, quickly preparing the drinks before pushing them across the wooden bar top. “On a tab or closing it out?”

“Could you put it on the tab under the last name Martin? Thanks.”

You grab the glasses and turn, walking back towards your boyfriend. Once again, it’s a nudge with your shoulder that pulls his attention to you and you cannot stop the snort of laughter that falls when he turns to you, the straw from your previous drink firmly in his mouth.

“Keeping my drink safe for me?” you tease, one of your eyebrows quirking up.

“Yep,” he replies, straw falling from between his lips. He extends the now empty glass, shaking it lightly, the ice clinking around in the bottom. “Totally safe. No one touched it.”

“Except for you.”

“Well… your fault for leaving it,” he defends, his tone playful and light. Your reply is another shake of your head, your grin infectious. Matt places the cup down before turning back to you, a more serious look in his eyes.  “I’ll buy you another.”

“No need. I got one,” you reply, lifting one of the drinks to your lips. You watch Matt’s eyes dance over your face and frame, eventually landing on the other tequila sunrise in your opposite hand.

“You got two.”

“This one’s for you,” you explain, holding it out towards him. “So you can stop stealing mine.”

If the bar was lit a little brighter, you would be able to see the reddening of his cheeks at your chirp. He gently takes the – well, his – tequila sunrise from your hand.

“Thanks babe.”

“Don’t thank me too much.”  Your words cause Matt’s brow to furrow, situating you with a curious look. A look that you reply to with a laugh. “They’re on your tab.”

A chuckle falls from Matt’s chest, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“I guess deserve that.”

“You think?” you tease, a giggle of your own falling from your lips. Matt smiles down at you before leaning down to press his lips against yours. You happily deepen the kiss, tasting the tequila and orange on his tongue.

It is a combination of the alcohol and the passion flowing between you two that has electricity buzzing down your body; drunk and in love with your rottweiler boyfriend.