#like. errors that (to me) makes it harder to grasp what was actually done

[problemeule]

grammatical errors (multiple) in the abstract of a published paper. oof

[therantfairysblog]

Tighten your grasp, be brave.

"Your wrist are weak, your movement are slow, how even you past the final selection? Are you just joining to kill yourself?"

It was the usual training for him under the serpent hashira. And usual insult of course. Well, probably why Iguro didn't have many tsuguko. Him and his friend, who barely survive and on the verge of quitting.

...

"you really want to continue? Iguro sama is so merciless, i couldn't take it anymore, when we didn't had any mission, he will really tortured us for a whole day. I can't" his friend was whining non stop and it's actually understandable. The serpent hashira's regular training is harsh, even harsher than their previous water cultivator.

"I'm fine. I think i need to do what i need to do, even though It's hurt, even if in the end i couldn't be as skillful as him. Also, I'm not forcing you, we has been together since the final selection, I'm okay if this is where we part ways."

....

He was now the only tsuguko left. In front of him, the serpent hashira was cleaning his sword, beside him, his friend snake, Kaburamaru calmly sitting.

"How great. You are the only one. I'm surprise..."

That evening, the two just finished their training, and Iguro asked him to stay for a bit.

"To be fair, your sword skill has improved in accuracy. But there's a lot if thing you need to master. The demons aren't merciful. A bit mistake and it's fatal. First, grasp your swords as tightly but loosing up your wrist, make it flexible, get used to it. You always has an error in that and that was a basic. " Once he finished taking care of his sword. Iguro come and looking at him with his usual staring.

"you want to take avenge for your family didn't you? Do better. "

"and don't die"

he watch his master carefully. The serpent hashira was really strict in their training and the corp's code of conduct, his words are especially sharp. Of course, he is a hashira, he probably training much harder than himself.

" and don't forget your lunch. Fill your body with energy before the training. I don't want you to collapse mid training."

Ironically, he never saw his master's eat. When it was a break time, iguro was nowhere to be seen.

....

And one day, when he was off duty and there's no training, he went to visit the cemetery. Iguro was there, seems like he was having a little convo to one of the stone there, named as 'Iguro's family tombstone '. He want to leave, but some words that the serpent hashira said pulling his attention.

" Once everything done, please let go of me. All the sins i do, please forgive me. I'll dying fighting muzan and from there, i hope we'll never related, forgive me. Mother, sisters, may God forgive all the sins i committed against you. Rest well. "

It was an unusual prayer as if he was blaming himself. He just standing there for a bit before leaving to his family's grave. Iguro was always a mysterious person. Sometimes he can sense the sadness despite the serpent hashira's harshness. Thinking back of their training, iguro never forget to make time for them to rest, and bought them food despite he himself was never seen to eat in front of his tsuguko.

"iguro sama is a good person. I know. "

.....

The first sight of muzan desperately swinging his tentacles around to slash the hashiras. He was in the back, supporting others. He was terrified to be fair. Grasping his sword as tightly as he could, he run towards the battlefield. In front of him the hashiras, iguro, tomioka and kanroji was happened to be in a very dangerous position. There were too close to the demon king.

He didn't know how, but his body moved automatically, leading the charge, he yell.

"PROTECT THE HASHIRA!!! MOVED!!!"

"Grasp you sword's handle tightly, loosing up your wrist. Get used to it"

As tightly as he can, he grasp his sword, charging, in front of the serpent hashira, he try to slash the tentacle, it was too fast however, but he still grasping his sword tightly.

He was facing Iguro. Throwing his whole body, the last thing he could see was his master's eyes.

"you.."

"kill muzan for us, iguro sama"

[byanyan]

@apexulansis sent:ㅤ❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜ he’s preening byan, using his claws to untangle a knot with more finesse than a brush. maybe if he keeps talking, the kid won’t immediately squirm away... ❛ you know, i’ve done this before in my life as well. cutting my own fur. frequently. ❜ ardaka whistled. ❛ you look a lot better than i do in those circumstances, that’s for sure. ❜ (i added onto it :3)

assorted dialogue promptsㅤㅤ∘ ˚ ( accepting )

ㅤnormally, they find a certain amount of contentment in someone touching their hair, be it to fix it or simply play with it, but the circumstances here are anything but normal. cutting their own hair is one thing — that is actually quite normal; they've done it for years at this point, have even gotten rather good at it through a great deal of trial and error — but cutting their own hair in a moment of emotional distress where they aren't thinking straight and have an intense need for change is an entirely different beast. already too painfully aware of the mess they made, having ardaka's claws comb through the disaster, tugging at tangles and knots along the way, draws that much more of their attention to it, making it that much harder to sit still.

ㅤㅤ" tch. "ㅤa scoff, half-hearted. he's trying to placate them, they're sure of it, and the worst part is... it's working. a little bit, at least. it doesn't make them feel better about what they've done, about how much they cut off and how it now looks exactly like all those boyish cuts they'd been forced into growing up, but it does help them realize that things could be worse. ...the mental image of ardaka with choppy fur of all different lengths sticking up everywhere is pretty funny to think about, too.

ㅤㅤ" prob'ly just 'cause i only got one place to fuck things up, "ㅤthey mutter, squirming in place in what is perhaps a very subtle act of defiance. tempting as it is to worm their way out from under ardaka's hands completely, this is a hell of a lot easier than tackling the mess on their own.ㅤ" if i was covered in fur and did this everywhere, you'd be singin' a different tune. "

ㅤi hate it, they want to whine, i look like a boy. i hate looking like a boy. that's too open though, too honest. too real, too... vulnerable. easier to sulk and let him assume they're just upset because it didn't work out the way it envisioned it would than it is to admit to the truth of destroying something that was important to them in a fit of discomfort and despair.

ㅤㅤ" i do this all the time, haven't let anyone else near my hair in years, and usually it works out fine. s'just... i got a little wild this time, i guess, "ㅤthey continue despite themself, sinking lower into the seat without pulling the locks of hair from ardaka's grasp. lips purse and byan frowns, a heavy sigh escaping through their nose as they fold their arms tighter over their chest.ㅤ" ...s'pose this is a lot easier to hide than it is if you're covered in fur, though. i mean, i can just put on a hat 'n no one'll have any idea. "

wearing hats for the next six months or so while their hair grows back isn't exactly what they want to do, but once again they're realizing that things could be worse. it'll still be awful, looking in the mirror and seeing themself appearing more stereotypically masculine, the way everyone always wanted them to when they were growing up, but it could be worse. it could be shorter, it could be messier, they could have fucked up so much more...

falling quiet and somewhat more still for a few moments, byan's frown slowly lessens into more of a pout, and a thought occurs to them.

ㅤㅤ" ...you got any pictures of these fur cuts you gave yourself? "ㅤthe question sounds innocent enough, but the tug at the corner of their mouth is sly.ㅤ" it'd make me feel so much better to see an example, you know? to have somethin' to compare to and prove that you aren't just sayin' things to make me feel better. "

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 6)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

series summary:  bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 5.1k

warnings: smut (in the form of road head lmao) plus some more implied smut and teasing and stuff, use of 'y/n' which is perfectly fine but it still makes me anxious cause I've never done it before, other than that just fluff and celebrity/PR stuff

You tilted your head slightly as you watched Bucky emerge from the pool, slicking his wet hair back out of his face, body dripping with cool droplets that sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.

Yeah, you were never going to get tired of this view.

“See somethin’ you like?” he grinned as he grabbed a towel and rubbed it over his hair before lowering it to dab off his shoulders and torso, his dog tags jingling lightly when he bumped against them.

“Yeah, why don’t you come over here and put that body on me?” you purred. He chuckled and stepped closer, tossing the damp towel aside before leaning down to climb onto your pool chair and hover above you; the dog tags hung low and tickled your stomach, making you giggle a little.

“I don’t know that I should, I actually have a girlfriend…” he explained, feigning hesitance as you sat up slightly to nibble at his jaw.

“You know, a lot of couples have a ‘celebrity pass,’ and I just so happen to be a celebrity… do you two have one of those?”

“Maybe we do,” he replied nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow.

“Who’s yours?”

“This really hot girl I saw once, in this really crappy movie,” he winked.

“Hey!” you laughed, shoving him back. “Which one of my movies is crappy?”

“What makes you think you’re the hot girl I’m talking about?” he countered.

“Oh, you’re really trying to get yourself in trouble.”

“Just to be clear— we’re not going to have any celebrity passes, right?" he frowned. "Because you know a lot of famous people and I don’t like those odds.”

You scoffed. “Definitely not.”

“Good. I can only handle one famous woman at a time anyways,” he chuckled.

//

He, meanwhile, would never get tired of waking up beside you, holding you before you were even really aware of anything yet, feeling you stir in his arms and snuggle up close to his chest.

“Bucky…” you mumbled sleepily into his shoulder.

“Yeah?” he whispered, smiling a little as your eyes fluttered but didn’t really open.

You just hummed and shifted again, looking so peaceful that he couldn’t help but kiss your forehead. “Mornin’, beautiful,” he purred.

And there was the best part of every morning: when you opened your eyes and looked up at him for the first time, and you smiled— actually smiled at the sight of him. He couldn’t remember the last time somebody was this happy to see him. He couldn’t imagine what he’d ever done to deserve it.

“Hi,” you greeted coyly.

“Hey there,” he grinned back. His eyebrow raised when he felt your foot delicately trail up the back of his leg, your hips beginning to straddle his. “Got somethin’ on your mind, pretty girl?”

“Maaaaybe…”

He chuckled, always impressed (in the best possible way) by your insatiability. “Already?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “had a dream about you.”

“Care to enlighten me?” he prodded, rubbing your back with his metal hand.

“You had me bent over the bed…” you began, voice a bit lower than normal.

“Good start.”

“In my trailer," you finished.

“Oh, you’re filming in this dream?”

“Well, we weren’t filming right then," you grinned, and Bucky clenched his jaw just imagining the idea of filming you while he fucked you. Much too risky when celebrity sex tapes always seem to end up leaking, but a fun thought nonetheless. "But you made me promise to keep quiet in case somebody heard us. Said you didn’t want anybody else to know how I sound when I come.”

He smirked. “Seems like something I would say.”

“But really I liked the idea of everybody overhearing and knowing how good you make me feel… I want them all to know I’m yours.”

“Sounds like a nice dream,” he smirked, shivering slightly when you leaned in to start kissing his neck and jaw.

“Feel like making my dreams come true, stud?” you purred.

“Yes,” he admitted tensely, “but we don’t have time. You have a meeting at 9, remember?”

“No no no, we have time,” you assured. “We both know how fast you can make me come.”

“No point in doing something if you’re not gonna do it right,” he frowned, “and I don’t have time to do it right.”

“You really are just completely against quickies, aren’t you?”

“Morally and religiously, yes," he announced firmly as he puffed up his chest.

“Religiously?” you repeated with an eyeroll.

“Making you come at least three times is sacred,” he explained. “I worship your body. The shapes I make with my tongue on your clit? I’m spelling out my prayers.”

“You do spend a lot of time on your knees,” you remembered.

“Yeah, well, so do you,” he winked. “But you really do need to get up. And I need to shower before I go warm the car up.”

“Fine," you groaned, wrenching yourself out of his grasp and hopping out of bed.

"That's the spirit," he laughed, getting up with you and starting his own morning routine.

He had to keep you in check to make sure you were ready on time, but with a little encouragement he was able to get you in the car with even some time to spare. And since it was just the two of you and you weren't going to be seen getting out of the car, you could ride passenger and be closer to him.

"What's this meeting about again?" he asked as he took the car around the driveway and out of the front gate, starting the commute to the address you'd given him.

"Director wants me for a project, we're gonna talk about her vision and see if it's a good fit."

"Have you seen a script yet?" he asked, hoping that you'd let him take a look at it if you had.

"No, it's still being written, but the concept sounds amazing. I'll tell you all about it after the meeting," you promised.

He checked the estimated arrival time on the GPS screen and noticed it was even faster than he anticipated.

"Hey, we've got some room for error— do you wanna stop for breakfast?" he offered.

"I want breakfast, but I don't wanna stop," you decided.

"What, like drive-through?" he asked, but then you suddenly reached across the console and slid your hand over his thigh and right over his groin. "Oh, fuck."

You smirked as you leaned in a little bit, resting your head on his shoulder as he started to grow hard in your palm. "Keep your eyes on the road, okay?"

"O-okay," he nodded a little, shifting in his seat to make it easier for you to undo his belt and fly.

You reached into his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his shaft— even just that made him shiver and blink a few times to try to focus on driving. Your fingers were a little cold but it was welcome relief considering he was suddenly burning up.

A few strokes were enough to get him fully hard, and it took a deep breath to keep him together as you leaned your head down into his lap, giving a slow lick right over his tip. "Fuck," he whispered under his breath, but you definitely heard it because he could feel your smirk as you kissed up and down his length.

Just when he was about to beg for it, you wrapped your lips around him and sucked, gentle at first but slowly getting more aggressive as he fought the urge to buck up into your mouth.

"Oh god," he sighed, head falling back onto the headrest. Your tongue swiped over his slit where precum had gathered already, and it was just another reminder that you'd already found all his most sensitive places and planned to use them against him whenever you could.

A little hum echoing in your throat vibrated through his cock, making him hiss a little as you started to set your pace of bobbing up and down and stroking what you couldn't fit in your mouth. Little drops of your spit rolled down the shaft to his balls and if he wasn't trying to hard to look at the other cars on the road he would've let his eyes roll back in his head.

Finally, a red light gave him a chance to take his hands off the wheel and grab your hair, stroke your back, hold your face— he didn't really care what, he just needed to touch you.

"Baby," he groaned, "fuck, you're so good… keep sucking my cock, just like that, oh my god—"

A car horn tore him from the moment and made him realize the light had turned green. One hand quickly shot up to steer as he let his foot up off the brake, breathing through his teeth as you sucked him harder and deeper.

Just as he put his foot on the gas, you took him down your throat until your lips met with the very base of him, and the shock made his leg jerk and sent the car lurching forward.

You were laughing a little as you pulled off of him, still stroking his soaking wet length as you popped up to glance out the windshield and then up at him. "Drive much?"

"All the time," he defended breathlessly, "but, uh, not usually like this."

"You can handle it," you scoffed. "All you need to do is not hit any cars or poles or pedestrians. Just relax and let me get my breakfast…"

You went back down with a smirk as he exhaled sharply, silently promising himself that he was going to keep his cool and drive safely.

Instantly, the tip of your tongue just barely pushing into his slit sent that plan out the window, a loud moan echoing through the car and his eyes falling shut for only a moment.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groaned.

You let out a coy little giggle before getting back into it, returning to your reliable pattern of stroking and sucking with the occasional venture into the back of your throat— but this time gaining speed steadily, making his toes curl inside his boots and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

His metal hand had a death grip on the steering wheel while his other stroked your hair and held you down just a moment longer each time your throat wrapped around his head.

"Fuck, baby, I'm gonna— oh god—" he tried to warn you.

You moaned approvingly, stroking your hand and bobbing your head faster.

His turn was coming up and he needed to get two lanes over, but at this point he accepted that he was going to miss the turn because he just needed to come down your throat right fucking now; he didn't even hear the GPS announcing that it was recalculating the route, he didn't even care that he was driving way too slow, all he could perceive was the feeling of your lips around him as he throbbed with each pump of his load onto your tongue.

"Fuuuuckkkk," he gasped as he held you down at your neck, making sure you got every drop. But that backfired pretty quickly when he let go and you still didn't come back up, sucking as if he hadn't come at all. "Oh— oh fuck!" he yelped, and his fears that his eyes would fall shut were gone because they were wide fucking open now, his breathing coming fast and hot through his teeth as your tongue refused to let up.

Your little moans made it clear this was not an accident, but a deliberate attack on his senses that made his entire body jolt.

He tried to pull you off of him, and you resisted for just a moment before finally giving him a break, popping up from his lap to swallow what was in your mouth and lick your lips with a prideful smirk. He allowed himself a quick glance at your satisfied expression as he laughed exhaustedly, still trying to catch his breath as you leaned back in your seat.

"You are…" he began, but he didn't even know where to start. "That was dangerous," he decided to inform you instead.

"But it was fun," you grinned.

Another red light gave him a chance to tuck his softened cock back into his jeans. "We're just a few minutes away, so I don't have time to return the favor," he realized with a frown.

"Don't sweat it, I get the feeling you're gonna more than make it up to me tonight."

"What makes you so sure?" he smirked, even though you were completely right.

"Because I'm gonna take you out somewhere fancy, and you always put out after I buy you dinner," you explained with a chuckle.

"It's cause every time we go out, I have to act all professional and stuff, so when we get home I just can't wait to get my hands on you again."

He pulled in to the parking garage of the studio, finding a spot before turning off the car. You were about to grab your bag but he pulled you into a kiss; not so desperate since he'd just come two minutes ago, but still plenty passionate as his tongue slid over yours in search of the taste of himself to remember what you'd done even clearer.

Your lips moved against his with a quiet little moan, so precious that he couldn't stop himself from gripping your waist tightly.

"You're sure you can't be a few minutes late?" he mumbled, barely pulling back as he reached up and held your face in his hands. "We could get in the back and you could ride me real quick."

"Ah ah ah, we know there's no 'real quick' with you, you said it yourself," you reminded him. "You'll say it's just to take the edge off and then I'll end up folded like a pretzel while you rail me for an hour."

He laughed; he couldn't deny that. "Fair enough. Go to your stupid meeting."

"It won't even take that long," you promised. "And I'll be thinking of you the whole time… hard not to when sucking you off got me so wet."

"Fuck," he growled, "you'd better leave now before I change my mind and make you stay."

You smiled and gave him a peck on the nose before opening the door and getting out of the car. He took a moment to watch you walk away before grabbing his newest borrowed book from the glovebox: Tuck Everlasting. You promised this one wouldn't make him cry which was the only way he agreed to read it because he couldn't handle another sad ending again. And, because he was a little too in love to think straight, he actually believed you.

He hadn't told you yet, though; it was way, way too early for him to feel this way at all, let alone tell you about it. For now, the two of you had something great going, and he didn't want to rush it. Well, he did want to rush it, but he knew he shouldn't, so he kept his feelings to himself for the time being.

//

You were heating up some Vietnamese leftovers on the stove (you’d taught Bucky to stop using the microwave to reheat noodles and now he would never go back) while your boyfriend relaxed on the couch, attempting to find something decent to watch with your meal.

“Hey, one of your movies is on later,” he noticed as he scrolled through the channels. “We could watch that.”

Maybe it was weird that you watched your own movies pretty often— after all, plenty of actors preferred to avoid seeing their own performance— but it made perfect sense to you; you took roles in the kinds of movies that you enjoyed watching and wanted to see more of. It wasn’t that you sought out something you’d been in to watch, and it definitely wasn’t that you didn’t cringe a little watching yourself, but you just happened to like a lot of the things that you’d been in. Plus, they brought back sweet memories. “Oh, which one?” you asked, focusing mainly on stirring the food in the wok.

“After Midnight,” he informed you, and your smile dropped.

“Oh. Um, I don’t like that one,” you dismissed quickly, “what else could we watch?”

“Really?” he pressed, unfortunately not following your segue. “It’s pretty popular… I never saw it, sorry, but I figured I should. Is it not good?”

“No, it’s good, it just—”

“Then what don’t you like about it?”

“Do you not know that I did that movie with Sam Wilson?” you finally blurted out.

“Oh…” he deflated slightly. “You two dated, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, over a year,” you remembered, sounding more somber than you intended.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories,” he frowned, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“No, it’s okay, it’s not bad memories,” you soothed.

“Well, I didn’t mean to bring up any good memories either,” he smirked. “I guess you guys were pretty serious?”

“I thought so,” you answered, leaving the silent second half hanging in the air: He didn’t.

“Kinda sucks you can’t watch your own movie just ‘cause your ex is in it,” he realized.

“Yeah, that one’s especially hard since that’s how we met and all… and I was basically the only person on the planet who didn’t watch Code Gray while it was on,” you remembered. “I mean, everyone was talking about it and I just had to smile and nod and try to ignore the big-ass billboards in LA with his face on them. You get used to that last part, though.”

“Maybe you get used to it, but I don’t think I will,” he admitted.

“I guess it’s easier when you’ve already seen your own face on a billboard,” you shrugged, turning off the stove and distributing the food into two bowls.

"That reminds me, I saw your perfume ad on the side of a skyscraper yesterday," he told you proudly.

"Oh yeah? How's it look?" you asked as you stuck some chopsticks into the food and brought it with you to the living room.

"Looks good, I guess, but it doesn't really look like you to me. You're so airbrushed I couldn't see all my favorite little details of your face," he admitted as you set the bowls on the coffee table.

"That's the nature of the game," you shrugged, joining him on the couch and relaxing against his chest as he embraced you.

“Dating in the public eye must be tough…” he mumbled. You twiddled your thumbs and wondered if that meant he didn’t want to go public with you. He must have sensed your discomfort; he always did. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

"Would you ever want to… you know… go public? I wouldn't blame you if you'd rather stay this way as long as possible—"

"What?!" he scoffed. "Baby… I don't care about the spotlight, for better or for worse, I just care about you. And I want to shout it from the fucking rooftops if you'll let me."

You grinned and snuggled up into his arms. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he hummed.

“We could, you know… start that process, if you wanted.”

“What about what you want?” he pressed instead.

“I want everybody to know,” you decided with a smile that you tried (and failed) to fight. “I want to be able to go out with you and not worry about who sees or how you touch me.”

He grinned and kissed you, gentle but a little bit less than innocent. "I want that too," he whispered.

"Then let's do it," you announced giddily. "But, let's have dinner first."

//

He was reading as he waited for you in bed, starting to pick up on the fact that you'd duped him into another heartbreaking read. He was about to confront you about it when you returned from the hallway, but you spoke first.

"I just got off the phone with my publicist," you informed him, "she thinks we should get papped together before I post about it on Instagram."

"'Get papped'?" he repeated incredulously as he slipped a bookmark between the pages and set the novel aside. "Is that some sort of hip slang for getting a pap smear because, I'll warn you now, I’m pretty sure anatomy dictates that we can't do that together."

"Paparazzi," you clarified unamusedly as you got in bed next to him. "She wants us to go to lunch or something and tip off a few photographers; it'll be in the gossip rags by tomorrow."

"God, being famous sounds weird as fuck," he shivered.

"You'll find out for yourself soon," you warned, half ominous and half humorous, as you laid your head on his chest. "You're gonna have your own following once this hits."

He grimaced a little, afraid of becoming slightly famous in his own rite just for dating you when he didn't actually have any talent worthy of attention or praise. “Oh god, I’m not gonna have to make an Instagram, am I?”

"No, but you might want to consider a tinted moisturizer," you pondered aloud as you suddenly examined his face closely.

He gently batted your hand away as you reached up to poke his cheek. "Okay, I get it, I'm old. Makeup ain't gonna fix that."

"You're not old," you laughed, "and it's not that there's anything wrong with your face, it's just that everybody looks washed out on camera and the magazines and their readers are fucking ruthless. If I go out without mascara they'll start running shit about how I'm turning into a crypt keeper. God forbid I wear a tight shirt after eating a massive burrito; they'll pick out baby names for me."

"Christ," he groaned.

"You still wanna do this right?" you asked quietly, shifting from joking to concerned so quickly.

"Of course," he assured, clutching your hand where it had been absent-mindedly rubbing over his chest hair. "Do you?"

"Yeah," you smiled, relaxing again. "I can't wait, honestly."

"Then let's do the lunch thing tomorrow. You have to help me pick what to wear, though." Your arms wrapped around his torso and hugged him tight. "Ooh, don't squeeze me so hard, I ate a lot of Vietnamese food," he frowned.

"Sorry," you giggled, still holding him close but applying less pressure. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, instinctively stroking your arm with his thumb for a moment before leaning over to turn off the lamp on his bedside table.

Yes, his bedside table, with a drawer full of his stuff. Next to your bed. It was like his wildest (yet most domestic) fantasies coming true and he was beside himself about it.

"G'night," you whispered, cuddling up closer to him.

"Goodnight," he whispered back, planting a kiss on the top of your head. He stayed awake just long enough to hear your breathing and feel your heartbeat as they slowed down, only then allowed himself to fall asleep as well.

//

You'd convinced him to stick to his usual style of 90% leather and denim, while you opted for the classic "I'm famous but I'm pretending I'm normal but I'm definitely not" look of jeans and a t-shirt that looked casual but actually cost nearly a grand combined. It was the ideal look for allegedly-candid pap pics, in your mind; unfortunately, the ribs were wanted to order were not part of that look, and you frowned a little as you ordered your salad and gave the menu back to your waitress.

"I'll have the same," Bucky mumbled quickly and handed his menu over as well, the waitress nodding before she stepped away.

"Salad? Really?" you questioned, fixing your hair for a moment since the breeze had messed it up slightly; you had to sit outside for visibility reasons, and thankfully the weather was gorgeous, but you could do without the wind.

"I'm not stupid, I know better than to unhinge my jaw to eat a burger when I'm going to be photographed," he chuckled. "I'm not hungry anyways, I'm too nervous."

"Don't be nervous," you dismissed, "all you have to do is sit here and not suppress the instinct to act like my boyfriend."

He reached forward and rested his hand on top of yours on the table, stroking your wrist with his thumb. "How about this?"

You smiled a little, feeling your face warm; sometimes he made you feel all shy and giddy like that, just from the simplest things.

“So, when are the paparazzi getting here?” he asked, breaking the silence that you hadn't even really noticed before, too lost in your thoughts.

“They’re already here. Across the street, behind those bushes.”

“Wha— oh my god,” Bucky gasped as he craned his head to see there were, in fact, cameras obscured behind the foliage, “they’re good!”

“Yeah, it’s too bad they use their powers for evil most of the time,” you frowned. “Spent a lot of time and money trying to keep less flattering pictures out of the papers.”

“How ‘less flattering’ are we talking here?” he pressed with a raised eyebrow.

“Unfortunate angles while getting out of a car… maybe a rendezvous on a balcony that we thought was totally private…”

“Do I want to know who the ‘we’ was?”

“Nope,” you grinned. "That's all in the past now… and right now I'm here with you." For emphasis, you slipped one of your shoes off and playfully trailed your foot up his leg.

"Careful there, honey, or you're gonna end up with some more dirty pictures to bribe some sleaze into deleting," he warned with a smirk.

"Just gotta make sure these pictures make it clear we're not just friends," you explained, shrugging a little but wiggling your toes as you moved just past his knee before going back down and slipping your shoe on.

"Maybe we're just really, really good friends."

"Ever gotten this personal at lunch with a really, really good friend?" you asked playfully.

"No, I don't think so…"

"Ever had sex in the bathroom of a really fancy restaurant?" you added, voice dropping as you grinned.

"No, and I never will," he laughed, "because the chances of getting caught are astronomically too high. We literally came here for the express purpose of getting caught."

"Yeah, fair enough," you deflated slightly, taking another bite of your salad.

It was easy after that: just talking with him as naturally as you always did. He glanced over at the hidden photographers occasionally but you'd all but forgotten they were there.

"Well, I think our job here is done," you decided after a half hour had passed. You stood up from your chair and he followed suit, but he stopped you before you turned away.

"Not quite yet," he smirked as he pulled you closer and into a kiss— one that just barely pushed into 'a little too steamy for out in public' territory. Even so, he was the one that had to pull away first because you quickly got so lost in it that you would've let him go on forever. "Now we're done."

"Yep, that'll do it!" you laughed, hugging him quickly before dropping a fifty on the table (it was a 40% tip but who cares) and leading him back to the car.

//

His phone was already set to give him news updates about you, and he smirked when he checked it after dinner only to see your plan already in motion so easily.

New photos spark Y/N Y/L/N dating rumors

Is Y/N Y/L/N dating again after highly-publicized romance with ‘Code Gray’ star Sam Wilson?

‘Touch of Blood,’ ‘After Midnight’ Star Spotted At More-Than-Friendly Lunch with Her Bodyguard

Y/N Y/L/N and Mystery Guy Get Frisky Over Salads at Lazan Bistro In The Lower East Side

“Now we just have to wait until tomorrow,” you smirked. “Is it weird that I’m all jittery about it? I mean, it doesn’t really matter, cause we’re the only thing that matters, but—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m excited too,” he agreed, setting his phone down and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Although I am enjoying my last day of anonymity.”

“Soak it in, Bucky-boy, most of us don’t get the chance to really appreciate it before it’s gone,” you giggled. “You should go out and celebrate— go grocery shopping, see a movie, something I can’t do anymore.”

“If you can’t do it anymore, does that mean you’re not coming with me?”

“That’s sort of the point.”

“But I’ll miss you…”

“You’re so needy,” you rolled your eyes. “But I like it,” you added with a peck to his cheek.

“Need anything from the grocery store? Or the movie theater?”

“All I need is a kiss before you go,” you decided.

He purred and pulled you a little closer, ghosting his lips over your cheek. “Do I get to pick where it is?”

“Above the belt,” you scolded playfully.

“That still gives me plenty of options,” he smiled as he leaned down to lift your shirt up, deciding to place his slow, gentle kiss onto your nipple. He wrapped his lips around it carefully, circling his tongue around the bud as it hardened.

“Oh fuck,” you sighed, weaving your fingers into his hair.

He grinned and looked up at you, pulling away just a little too soon to hear your pretty whines. Who’s the needy one now? “Can I give you one more kiss, on the other one?”

“Only in the interest of symmetry,” you smirked, moaning when he moved to the other nipple and sucked it a little harder than the last. He let his teeth just barely graze the sensitive skin, your body jolting in his arms at the sensation.

“Oh, I bit this one but not the first one,” he realized, “so I’m gonna have to go back. For symmetry.”

He kissed his way back and gave a rough lap over it before sucking it between his lips and using his teeth just like he’d promised. “God, just fuck me.”

“Really? I thought you wanted me to go out without you,” he remembered.

“Later,” you sighed, “need you now.”

A prideful grin stretched over his face as he stood back up and held you tight, tapping your back to instruct you to jump into his arms and wrap your legs around his hips— which you did instinctively, much to his delight. “Okay, pretty girl, let’s get you to bed.”

[matthewbeilschmidts]

It’s been a long while since I’ve posted but I’m so glad that I am :’)

This is for Day 1: of @prucanweek - Ordinary

Apologies for spelling errors, it’s a little short but I hope you enjoy 😭💞

-

Matthew doesn’t mind that he’s living an ordinary life. Really.

He grows up near the coast, two parents, a fraternal twin brother, and their gangly hairless cat, Tony (picked curtesy of Alfred). Their parents take them everywhere they can during their childhood, the beach, museums, sports game. They focus on their interests, figuring out what the two like and dislike, as they encourage them both to be themselves and do what they love no matter what. Alfred debates between whether he likes wrestling or football more, while Matthew settles into hockey. In between family get togethers, community festivals, and endless sports training, they somehow have time for homework. (The two share answers a lot.)

He and Alfred each have their own rooms when they enter their teen years, a space to decorate and fill with their own mementos and awards. The sports continue, but later their parents find themselves a little bit busier than before. They do though, give them as much time as they can during the school year, never wanting them to go without someone by their side.

Matthew fades into the background a little bit as they get older, while Alfred puts himself front and center. Matthew watches once with a hand over his eyes as Alfred auditions for the school musical, and surprisingly he read and sings the lines well. “It’s always the rowdy ones!” their theater teachers says after he’s finished performing, a mix of anticipation from planning on putting Alfred on stage and dread at the thought of having to manage him.

Matthew silently supports him, after all he has his own things to do.

He’s the co-caption of the hockey team, the coach giving him the position to give him a little more of a voice, and his teammates verbally agree, considering on the ice Matthew has a lot more to show than he does in person. He accepts, albeit hesitantly.

By the time graduation comes by, Matthew can barely believe how the time has passed. His team even wins a championship under his watch. Some of his fellow classmates look so ready to go out and experience the world, and it’s scary to him because weren’t they all going at the same pace?

His parents talk him through picking his college of choice, and he decides to go. He needs to do what everyone does and experience the world.

And if he decides he wants to come home, that’s okay because at least he tries.

-

He’s in his first art class during his third year at university. The time has been going well, he’s got pretty decent grades and has managed to join a few clubs. But he’s not done yet. Extra curriculars, can’t finish without them. He prioritizes his general education first, and even slips himself into a few major classes early on, but humanities is on record now and has to be completed no matter what one’s studying.

He can get through one semester, he hopes.

Next to him, a student is snickering and the professor doesn’t look amused.

“Gilbert.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you’re done, I can introduce myself now.”

The professor goes in with complete, in-depth introductory slides with her name and credentials, and a briefing of all they will overcome this semester.

He’s never been an artist, at least not one that picks up a pencil and creates a realistic masterpiece with nothing but that and a pad of paper. Maybe some poetry contests in high school, if that counts. The written word has its own impact, its own set of colors to breathe out for the world to see.

There’s another snicker, interrupting his internal monologue.

He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know the student, and it’s not his place to control others. But, if it starts to hinder the class, maybe he’ll tell him something. He’s paying to be there, too.

The man catches him staring.

“Yes?” he asks Matthew without being spoken to in the first place.

“Oh,” Matthew flushes at being caught, not that he was trying to hide it anyway. “Well, she didn’t say anything funny?”

The guys waves a hand, making a “psssh” noise as he does.

“I’m just laughing because of how formal this all is. She won’t be this dignified later in the semester that’s for sure. She’ll be ripping her hair out.”

Matthew glances back, he doesn’t want to say anyone looks mean but, he would believe it if she was.

“You look scared,” the guy laughs, which is rude because isn’t he the one that just put the thought in Matthew’s mind? “She’s not too mean just a sticker to the rules. Will get real pissy if something doesn’t go right.”

“And you still set her off knowing that?”

The man laughs again, but this time around he’s actually trying to contain it behind the thin art easel. He’s not very hidden.

“She’s my cousin’s wife.”

Ah, that makes sense then? Messing with family is normal, but also he shouldn’t be bothering her at work.

“It’s no wonder you seemed casual.”

“She taught both of the lower division figure drawing classes, too. This is my third semester in her class. She’s the only one teaching this specific class I didn’t have too much of a choice.”

“Art major?”

“Yep! And you?”

“Psychology major. I have to get in some cultural classes.”

“Ever taken art?”

“Actually no, not even in high school. I got through that stuff by working backstage in the theater department.”

“Well not to worry my friend, because you picked the best one.”

“Is it easy to pass?”

“Nope. Well, maybe if she likes your work,” Matthew deflates at the blunt response, “but don’t worry because I’m here to be your guide.”

Matthew perks up, but it takes him a moment. This guy’s gonna help him?

“Are you any good?”

“Am I good?” He looks perplexed Matthew would even ask. Matthew has to cover his own amusement. “I may not look it but charcoal and I go way back. I’ll show you my work later as proof.”

“Deal.”

“Gilbert, since you’re adamant on talking, you can be the first to introduce yourself.”

Even if his name wasn’t said, Matthew feels just as guilty. Caught, for talking on the first day of all things.

“Gilbert Beilshcmidt. Fourth year. I’m an art major and my favorite breakfast food is pancakes.”

Matthew looks surprised that he was paying attention, even to the last addition of their introduction. Matthew’s not sure he would have known considering he was distracted.

-

And so their friendship starts.

-

Gilbert sits next to him again. And again.

Where ever Matthew sits in the art room, Gilbert follows not too long after.

Some days they take the sitting desks, some they stand and lean against the stools.

And despite not even talking much, Gilbert treats him like a friend.

-

“Do you have any plans this afternoon?”

“Nope, this was my last class.”

“Do you want to get some coffee and work on our sketch books.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

-

Matthew finds himself meeting Gilbert in his downtime. Every Thursday after drawing for three hours becomes the day they meet. At first, all they do is draw, little more.

Gilbert is animated in all moments, but he has short spurts where he focuses exceptionally on his work. Matthew is no art critic, but he thinks Gilbert expresses himself quite well on paper. Graphite, charcoal, and pastels, all the utensils glide easily without a single stroke missing its mark.

Watercolor though, could use some work, which actually happens to be Matthew’s favorite. Even if the intention is to guide the colors with a brush, it’s okay for them to take a life of their own spreading across the thick paper.

They share snacks, art supplies, and their time.

Gilbert proves himself very useful as he promised. Matthew though never planning to be the next Van Gogh, has to pass this class. And it would be nice to pass it with flying colors, but some concepts are harder to grasp than others.

It’s obvious to tell he’s a beginner, while Gilbert excels. Matthew finds out he only now needs the intro class since it’s the first semester it became a requirement.

Gilbert helps him find the shapes he’s comfortable with, explains the processing for hatching and how it relates to shading. And while he’s no expert, he sees a subtle improvement over the next few weeks that makes some pride swell within himself.

-

“Do you want to come with me and my friends to this cool bar for dinner on Friday?” Gilbert asks about a month into the semester.

It’s the first time Gilbert and him will have spent time off campus.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

-

Gilbert’s friends are just as animated as he, it’s almost hard to keep up. Overwhelming as they are, they’re extremely welcoming. Matthew eases into the atmosphere, joining in when he can but mostly pleased to be out and doing something different.

He’s made friends during his time, but like him they’re a little more reserved and pick quieter places on the town.

It’s fun. And he wants to go out again.

Matthew invites Gilbert and his friends to watch his next hockey game.

After their shock in finding out he plays such a violent sport, they’re all agreeing and planning to find the best seats in the arena.

-

“Are you serious. Are you hiding muscles under that red sweater?”

Gilbert pokes at him, it tickles when he gets closer to his biceps, but he knows he’s only teasing.

“You think I’m playing but I’m serious! You should have been there, well you were there. On the stands, I mean. We all screamed after you sent that player flying against the wall.”

Gilbert recreates the motions, but only slams himself into the wall and whines after he bounces back. He then plays it off like it doesn’t hurt. Gilbert’s not a very good actor.

People tell him it’s so much different watching him on the ice, but it’s still him. He’s always wondered how much different, he feels like himself. He just knows he goes into the zone when he’s in his gear. He just wants to win. And he will.

“It’s like night day,” Gilbert continues. “You were ready to kill a man down there.”

“You’re not the first to say that. I guess maybe, I could be a little more out there in real life, huh?”

Gilbert stops walking.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“You’re perfectly fine the way you are. I like the way you are, so don’t go change. I don’t want to be at risk of dying during art class.”

And as silly as it sounds, he’s pleased. He likes Gilbert a whole lot, too. Just the way he is.

-

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” Matthew takes the initiative.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, just you and me. I want to take you out.”

“Like you did to that guy on the court,” Gilbert laughs nervously.

“On a date. Gilbert, would you like go out with me?”

He says yes.

Later that evening when he’s heading home, Gilbert starts running through the courtyard cheering that “I have a date with the cutest guy I’ve ever met!”

Matthew’s window is open, he’s face is bright red and he slams head first into his pillow. He needs to plan the best first date ever.

-

Three months into dating, he’s finally heading home again for a school break. He wants to take Gilbert with him, who is waiting for the next major holiday to go back home. But isn’t it too soon? They haven’t been dating that long, after all.

But Gilbert surprises him, and jokingly says he wants to go with him because he’ll miss him too much while he’s gone. And then, Matthew asks if he seriously wants to go.

“I do.”

So they ride the 3 hours train down to Matthew’s childhood home. He’s a little bit nervous, because he’s had dates to school dances, and brought friends over, but this is entirely different. This is someone he wants to take a serious step with, even if the time hasn’t been that long. They’ll never get anywhere if they don’t, so they’ll both take the leap and pray it works out.

“Mom, dad, Alfred, this is Gilbert.”

It’s the most timid Matthew’s ever seen him.

“Nice to meet ya, I’m Matthew’s boyfriend.”

After he shakes all their hands, he takes his hand back to link pinkies with Matthew.

There’s not an once of regret in his mind as the long weekend passes.

-

Gilbert graduates the next year, and the year after it’s his turn. They’re going to move in with each other. Gilbert really has no irresistible urge to go back to his home town, satisfied with just visiting a few times a year. And Matthew thinks he would like to go back closer, just to figure out his next move. So, they go together.

It’s only a one bedroom, but is more than enough space for them both. Gilbert finds work as a docent while Matthew works for a second degree in education.

He still plays hockey for a local league, Gilbert becoming their number one fan. They find their own rhythm, a pace that works for them both, where they can settle down or speed up when they agree with each other. Dewey mornings, warm summers, chilly evenings they spend them altogether.

They decide move up North closer to Gilbert’s hometown. Matthew’s more nervous meeting his grandparents than he was introducing Gilbert to his own family, but Gilbert assures him again and again they’re just a stuffy old family who actually really care about each other a lot more than they let off.

Gilbert’s grandfather towers over him, despite being a hair above 6 feet. He’s silent, eyes boring into Matthew as he introduces himself. And to end all of Matthew’s worries, the elder man pulls Matthew into a hug and tells him he’s glad him and Gilbert are home. Gilbert, just as perplexed as he, stares, but he melts into a pleased laugh.

Yeah, this is his and Gilbert’s home now.

-

They stay, for a long while, contemplate moving a few times, but they’re satisfied for now.

Gilbert and him always make time for each other, continue their own respective interests with complete support of the other. They’re never afraid to complain, because they always work through it rather then let it simmer.

Gilbert’s vivacious spirit keep them going, and Matthew’s heart keeps them grounded.

His life at first seem a little bit ordinary, but how can he complain when the pieces of the puzzle fit themselves in and stayed locked in tight.

[junk-b-rat]

So I found the start of a fic...

I haven’t posted anything on here in a really long time. I do still really enjoy these two and I actually today came across this old attempt at fanfiction I had started years ago. (Please be warned I am not a writer, there are likely TONS of spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. Dyslexia and the English language do not go well together.) 

Anyway, here’s the first chapter. Please let me know if anyone would be interested in me continuing it. 

Chapter 1: Teeth and Tusks

There was no way in hell this was going to work. It had barely been 2 days and already Roadhog was ready to snap the scrawny man’s neck and leave him spurting and gasping to die alone in the wasteland, just as he had done with so many others before him. Treasure be damned. As it was now, his hands were twitching with the desire to put an end to the relentless prattling and high pitched giggling that spewed from his new partner’s ever flapping mouth. Finally he reached his braking point when the man made his 90th pig related pun that day. In an instant Roadhog had his massive hands around his neck and was squeezing, not hard enough to snap his neck but hard enough to choke the little twerp. “Will you shut up already?!” he bellowed out in more of visceral snarl than in words. And for a brief moment his new partner was finally silent, and then in an instant sunk his teeth deep into Roadhog’s hand with such ferocity that Hog, taken aback, instantly released his grasp on the man’s throat, and violently shook his hand in an attempt to remove the feral creature, but his partner only bit down harder and clung to him with his claw-like fingernails, really digging in to the surprisingly tender part of Hog’s hand. After much trepidation and prying Hog managed to shake the little bastard to the ground. And there he sat quite proud of himself grinning up at the mountain of a man whose blood currently stained his lips and teeth. To say Roadhog was beyond pissed was putting it lightly. “What the fuck!?” Roadhog roared. His partner simply shrugged

“I don’t like being touched mate, thought I told ya that on day one. Hands off means hands off.” He said quite matter of fact.

“You fucking bit me!” Hog growled

“Yeah, and you choked me. The way I see it that makes us right even yeah?”

“It sure as fuck doesn’t you little”

“Rat? I’ve heard that one lots mate!” Junkrat interjected with a giggle.

Roadhog stared blankly at the man, Junkrat, Junkrat was his new partner’s name wasn’t it? He had honestly forgotten. Now a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was the man’s vicious bite that had earned him the moniker.    

“Names have to come from somewhere mate, and you don’t see me galavantin’ around in a rat mask do ya? We can’t all be as subtle as you ya know?” Junkrat chortled as if reading Hog’s current train of thought.

Yes Rat certainly seemed to fit the whelp to a tee. But Hog’s perplexment at the bizarre exchange had run out, and his anger had resurfaced from the painful throb in his hand where Junkrat had so kindly shown him how he got his name. Hog shook his bleeding hand as if to will the pain away by sheer force then gathered himself up to his full height to loom over his still sitting, and still quite pleased with himself, partner.

“Listen here you little shit.” He snarled.

“It’s Junkrat mate. Thought we just covered that one.” Junkrat interrupted again with a cocky smile on his lips.

“I don’t give a fuck what you call yourself.” Hog ground his teeth in an attempt to restrain himself from grabbing the little shit again. Anyone else would be pissing themselves in fear from simply being so close to him. Junkrat could probably see the dried blood and entrails that clung to his armor and rings, and yet, Junkrat just sat there staring up at him, interrupting him and giggling that obnoxious high pitched trill of his. The little turd lacked the basic self-preservation to know when to shut up and listen, how the fuck he was even still alive was honestly far beyond Roadhog.

“Rat.” Roadhog growled

“Yeah wot already? Ya’ve got me attention mate, I’m staring roight at ya. Can ya not tell wot with that pig thing on ya face an all?”

“For fucksake. Just shut up already.”

“Hmm I’m thinkin’ it’s a firm “No” on that one.”

“What.” Hog was completely dumbfounded by the sheer audacity of the statement. Nobody talked to him like that. Nobody talked to him period. Any that tried were dead before the pleads for mercy left their lips.

“Yer hearin fucked up like yer vision or sumthin’? Yer really are an ol’ bastard ain’t ya?” Junkrat chuckled as he pulled himself up and brushed the dust from his shorts.

“I’ll tell you once mate. I’m the one callin’ the shots here. You don’t tell me wot to do. I’m the one with the payout. I’m the one with grand scheme of how we’re gonna get outta this shithole an blow this whole damned world apart, takin’ wot we want from who we want!  And, I’m the one strapped head to toe in explosives who’s more than ready to blow meself and the whole outback, Yer well-fed-ass included mind you, straight back to hell again.” Junkrat sneered as he straightened up to his full height. Compared to Roadhog he only came up to his shoulders. But that fact didn’t seem to matter to Roadhog at all in the moment everything from his stance to the insane look in his sparking golden eyes was completely unsettling. Roadhog even found himself slightly unnerved at the steadfast way Junkrat held his ground. He reminded him of a cornered feral animal just hungry and desperate enough to strike and strike hard at the slightest provocation. At that moment Rat’s threat seemed very plausible, Roadhog had no doubt that the crazy son of a bitch would blow up half the outback if he felt threatened. Hell Roadhog had seen that look before in his own eyes just before he and his friends had done exactly that.

“So.” Junkrat interrupted his thoughts just as they began to venture into dark territory “We have an understanding then?”

Roadhog starred for several minutes in silence, then reluctantly lowered his fists to his side, uncurled his fingers and grunted in frustration. “Give my ears a rest, and Keep your rat teeth offa me and yeah.”

“Well there ya go mate, that’s a much better way to go about gettin’ wot you wanted. All ya had to do was ask all nice like, and I’m happy to try me best to oblige we’re partners after all. Not to good at keepin’ quite though, can’t stand the quite ya know. I can try a bit harder though on yer account mate.” Junkrat chirped as if he hadn’t moments ago been sincerely threatening to blow up himself and everything in a 200 mile radius 15 seconds prior. “As fer the teeth thing though mate.” His tone instantly dropped back to that dark feral tone “That was just a warning. You won’t get another.”

And with that Junkrat promptly turned around adjusted the straps on his shabby backpack and trotted off in the direction they had been walking before, humming brightly to himself as he proceeded like nothing had happened at all. Roadhog starred after him for a moment completely at a loss. His mind churned trying to remember the specifics of the job he’d been given that landed him in this mess. Roadhog hadn’t paid attention at all to the details, didn’t even remember his name, and really just knew he was being payed to collect a man with a bounty, what he looked like, and that what the gang that hired him was paying him would easily set Roadhog up quite comfortably for the rest of his life. He cursed himself for not paying more attention to the specific details about his mark.

He had underestimated his quarry and was paying the price. What should have been a simple grab and go had turned into something much more complicated and dangerous than he had agreed to. Then again he probably should have questioned why the gang would come to him over such a simple mark. The outpost that he was to turn Rat into was still 5 days travel on foot. And the longer Roadhog watched Rat amble on ahead of him the more he began to question himself. Junkrat was proving to be a lot more formidable than the half-starved radiation-addled toothpick he’d been shown a photo of. Roadhog groaned as he tried to shake the memory of those fierce golden eyes and that dark feral tone from his thoughts. Ahead of him Junkrat paused and turned back to face him, again it was as if he was sensing his train of thought. Rat was a rabid dingo staring down a battle-hardened razorback. Roadhog snorted loudly and began to lumber after him. Five days. There was no way in hell this was going to work.

Chapter 2

[uponrightful]

Hi! I’ve just finished Welcome Company-it was so good, your writing is amazing! I have a question about one of the last scenes if that’s OK? Partly about Pups point of view, because a lot of what happened to her post Order 66 is clearly in her mind, but seems to read differently emotionally later if that makes sense? I’d also like to know why you decided to include the scene of Pup having to fight one last time. -RebelMedic99

“Wolffe! Please!” She sobbed through the pain and fear, whimpering when the kid pulled her own arm around her throat, locking in a chokehold she was unable to break from. He laughed dryly in her ear, yanking on her broken wrist to elicit another scream.

“He’s not coming back you little slut.” He fell into another fit of laughter, “And even if he did you’ll be so used he won’t even want to look at you.” His evil words cut right through her. She was already broken, and yet another piece was about to be taken, and smashed on the floor right in front of her. She felt the pain of his remarks, feeling just as useless as he’d appraised.

She wanted to fight anyways.

The pain in her wrist didn’t subside, but it wasn’t going to stop until she got his filthy hands off her. And without that blaster, she really didn’t have a chance at getting off the ship, or keeping the ship safe until Wolffe got back. She struggled to keep her breath even, fighting to pull her broken wrist out of his grasp so she could get free.

Think fast…

Get him off guard…

“You really want me?” She choked out, wincing from the abrasive words cutting at her tongue. If he was that young, there was a chance he’d fall for it and drop the -hopefully- act long enough for her to grab the upper hand.

“You’re a fucking slut! Already turning towards the closest man you can get in your pants!” He snarled, yanking her wrist again. The girl held back her cry, again repeating the question for him, praying it would make a bigger impact this time.

“I’ll behave. I promise.” She faked convincingly enough through her tears. The kid’s grip faltered just for a second before retaining its unflinching need to inflict pain again. Yet, by miracle, he released her wrist and stepped back with the blaster dropped down at his side. Miraculously, his anger suddenly disappeared, and a look of disbelief came over him.

“Pick me.” He ordered harshly, as she turned to face him.

Everything moved so quickly.

Commentary Track for Welcome Company

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I’ll give my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character’s- when I wrote it!

*send one in here*

This one is challenging, but we'll see if I can explain it without sounding like a complete dumbass... 😅

***

We'll start with addressing her emotional shift towards Order 66 first, and that will help set up the reasoning why she had this "last stand" at the end. (This won't be from her POV, it'll make things a little simpler.)

Pup's true knowledge of what Order 66 is comes in small bits and pieces after she flees Coruscant. It's obvious right away that something changed, but it's not for a really long time that she finds out that there might be something "unwilling" about the whole situation. In this time frame -of a couple years- she's actually left to her own devices and thought-process to make sense of it all. And a couple of years can really take a toll on someone's perception of what is really going on.

There is talk of manipulation, and how 'robotic' the clones are. All of it culminating in a bunch of half-assed theories as to why they suddenly have this unbending will for the Empire when they fought for the Republic for so long. (The bar fight Wolffe was in, is where I tried to explore this a little bit with the Cerean.) But Pup only hears rumors, and those weak excuses aren't enough to dissuade her fear of seeing troopers again. Because ultimatley, there are hundreds of them who'd been to her home, and in her mind, it's possible that they could come after her and punish her for that. It's not a realistic fear, but if you combine it with her last experience with a clone, it's one that would easily create a serious emotional trigger.

I meant for it to be a tad bit confusing when reading her emotions. Pup wants to love the clones -and she still does- but seeing one of them in real life would be fucking terrifying. Their sweet memories are always there, and she does her best to only think of those. However it's easy to be reminded of why she can't still see them, when she's living on a backwater planet to try and reassure herself that she'll never have to risk seeing a clone again. Because all of the love that they'd given her -in her mind- is completely gone the second she's shot by one.

And her entire being is damaged assuming that Wolffe is no different than the rest of them. Pup knows all the clones are acting this way, and Wolffe is really no exception. So even though she loves him dearly it's really scary when she sees him for the first time after all these years. Is he safe? Is there something still wrong with him? Does he want to take her with him, back to the Empire? These are all questions she has, because she's never seen a clone after Order 66 without a functioning chip.

The reason her change of heart is so sudden, is because Pup didn't let go of the good memories she had of her troopers. That integral part of her character is to forgive and be patient -even if she's been damaged by something or someone. Yes, she keeps it bottled up. But that was because she couldn't get rid of her base traits. You can't wholly change your personality very easily, and Pup never really wanted to in the first place. She was just forced to create this harder persona so she could survive. Then after Wolffe comes back, and he's painstakingly careful in trying to prove that he's not under influence any longer, it makes that desire to care for him -like she's always had- come back much smoother.

(It's a continuity error that I never gave a proper scene dedication to it; But I did have a draft that included an Order 66 conversation with Rex and Pup during that scene in Chapter 14.)

I chose not to include it because I wanted someone to focus on Pup's traumas faced during the transition period of planet-hopping. It might sound cruel of me to not include his struggles, but they've been covered so many times in other fics, that I gave the assumption my "Initial Implementation" scene and "Chip Removal Scene" would be emotionally sympathetic and exploratory enough of how Wolffe felt during and after, without needing to express it to you directly. Not to mention, after Pup and Wolffe are reunited, she's not stupid enough to not infer that it was against his will. She quite frequently notes throughout that his guilty looks and hesitancy to make physical contact with her are very noticeable and telling of how he feels about his time with the Empire.

All of this said, now her fight scene:

Right before they leave the cabin, she's feeling a little loss of home. But really, Pup never had too much of an attachment to her house on Takodana in the first place. What's really getting her emotional at this point is the realization that she finally has Wolffe back. It's security she's wanted this whole time, and although the boys aren't letting her help with the bounty, she's willing to do whatever they want because she understands that they've got the experience here. Plus, she's really not physically able to do a whole lot after her slight hypothermia exposure.

I wanted her weak for this: Emotionally, physically, mentally. It had to be that way for a reason.

Until this point, Pup hasn't ever shown a real motivation to fight for anything, other than making the trip to the outpost to save her friend. BUT. That's risking herself to save someone else. Pup has never done anything for her own benefit, without it being equally helpful for someone else. Even when she got Wolf, it wasn't just for herself. Iahcen was getting something out of it as well.

I know it's cliche, but her last moments alone on that ship waiting was where her character development needed to reach and end. Because I made the overarching plot of fighting for love, but I needed that same lesson to be learned in-story, as well to round it out. It had to be Pup, because she's been running this whole time. Wolffe can't learn it, because he's been fighting the entire time.

The kid is a symbol of kindness not being returned. This is key, because Pup has always been nice -even when she didn't need to be. And he attacks her for that. He comes in as the tool to show her that being kind doesn't always work; And sometimes you have to stand against something, instead of running or letting someone run over her. I also made certain to have the kid attack Wolffe's character. This was essential, because Pup has nothing else she wants to fight for. Wolffe has always been her one essential thing, and he was what made her realize that being a little selfish and desiring something isn't a bad thing. This kid is a product of her sympathetic nature, and he's willingly insulting and threatening her chance at having the one thing Pup has always wanted.

Pup needed fight or flight, and the only time her 'fight mode' kicks in, is when she realizes there's something she wants. On Coruscant, she had nothing, so she ran. Pup wanted to live for Wolffe, in the hopes that he might still be alive, and that was the first time her fight response kicked in. Then her friend was in danger of dying, that was the second time she chose to fight.

Her love and security in Wolffe was being threatened, and that was Pup's final character development, and why she needed this fight scene without Wolffe -or anyone else's assistance- in the matter.

***

I hope this wasn't garbage 😅 and I explained it decently... If not, please let me know. I'll do anything I can to answer your questions!

Much Love, Rightful 🤍

[tk-writer]

Annoying. [Haikyuu!! - IwaOi]

Oikawa is being extra annoying during practice one night, and Iwaizumi finally realizes why.

Word count: 1702

------------------

“...Ow!”

Iwaizumi rubbed his forehead where the volleyball had just smacked him, hoping the stinging would pass soon. His skin felt raw and hot under his palm, increasing his frustration to a colossal level. He glared across the court at his practice mate, Oikawa, whose cheeky grin only aggravated him further. 

“Sorry, Iwa-chan! I guess my aim is a little off today!”

It was a typical shitty excuse for typical Shittykawa. One that he might’ve accepted... if this hadn’t been the twenty-seventh fucking time that day that he had served the ball directly into Iwaizumi’s face. It was beyond human error at this point; for someone like Oikawa, who prided himself on his precision, multiple mistakes in a row just didn’t happen. He was instigating him on purpose.

What he didn’t understand was why. 

Was he trying to provoke him so that he’d get more amped up about practice? Oikawa was known for petty tricks like that. Their other teammates had left long ago, leaving the two of them alone to practice together in preparation for their upcoming game. Maybe he thought Iwaizumi wasn’t taking it seriously enough without other people around to watch.

Most likely, he was probably just annoying him for shits and giggles. 

Iwaizumi wasn’t known for his patience or tact, although he prided himself on his ability to tolerate Oikawa for long periods of time. From the nauseating pet names to the childish teasing, Aoba Johsai’s setter wasn’t exactly easy for him to work with. Yet somehow he had found a way to cope all these years.

It was days like this, though, that made him question why he put himself through so much for the sake of playing volleyball.

The spiker advanced towards his childhood friend, radiating as much ominous energy as he could in hopes of frightening the plucky third year. 

“Oikawa...”

“Waaaaah! I’m sooorryyyyyy! Don’t hurt me Iwa-chan!!”

Not a chance, Iwaizumi thought to himself. Smacking him wouldn’t do much. There was only one way to shut him up, a method Iwaizumi had discovered years ago. As unorthodox as it was, it was usually pretty effective.

Funny enough, although he must have known what was coming, Oikawa didn’t run away or try to escape. (That was strange, Iwaizumi thought, but he didn’t dwell on it for long.) Instead, he backed up until he was against the gym wall and babbled out pleas for mercy as Iwaizumi got closer and closer. 

When the spiker was within arms reach, he stretched out his hands…

...and poked two stiff fingers into the sides of Oikawa’s waist.

“Ahahaha-AHAHAAHAHA! IWA NOOOOO!”

His over the top reaction was just as amusing as ever. Even though he was still pissed about getting hit, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but crack a small smile as his fingers jumped up and down his teammate’s sides. Seeing him squeeze his eyes shut, scrunch up his nose, and throw back his head as he giggled uncontrollably almost made getting hit in the face worth it. Almost.

Oikawa batted his hands weakly against his chest, but otherwise didn’t put up much of a fight. It wasn’t long before he crumpled up and began slowly sliding down to the floor. 

Good. That made things much easier.

He added the rest of his fingers and started kneading Oikawa’s lower ribs, making sure to get that sweet spot in the back that always made him scream. The guy sounded like he was being skewered with hot irons, the way he was wailing through sputtered laughter. Iwaizumi had barely even begun to touch him yet he was already losing his mind.

It was just a warning, though. After a few short seconds he pulled away, donning his usual stony expression. Oikawa opened his eyes and looked strangely disappointed, but only for a split second. He started whining as soon as his giggles died down.

“You’re so mean!”

“And you’re a pain in the ass.”

“I said I was sorry!! Jeez...”

“If you’re really sorry, then stop sending me shitty serves. Or else I’ll get you even worse.”

He saw Oikawa visibly gulp at the threat, which gave him a great sense of satisfaction. He rushed over to the other side of the net once again, waiting to receive the serve. Oikawa waved at him cheerfully, which made him roll his eyes. Then he took a deep breath, eyes glossing over as his focus turned to serving completely.

He saw him throw it in the air, get a running jump…

… and soon got another faceful of volleyball. Extra sweaty.

This one actually hurt more than the others. It came at him like a missle seeking out a target. Iwaizumi rubbed his cheek where it made impact, hoping it wouldn’t leave a bruise the next day. His piercing eyes fixated on Oikawa, who actually looked scared for once.

He practically sprinted to the other side, grabbing Oikawa right as he turned on his heel. He held him firmly in an unbreakable grasp, arms wrapped around his torso from the back to pin him to his chest. The guy was giggling before he even touched him. 

“Wahahahait… Iwa-chan!! Ehehee, that really was a mistake! I didn’t mean to-”

“So you’re saying the other thirty times weren’t mistakes?” he hissed in his ear, causing him to scrunch his shoulders and giggle nervously in response.

“I… you… I didn’t… I mean-eheehehehe! Please, not thehehe-EHEHERE!!”

The panicked plea came right after Iwaizumi started clawing under his arms, having wormed their way there after grabbing the setter. Oikawa slammed his arms down a second too late, trapping them there as they mercilessly dug into one of his worst spots. Again, he wasn’t really fighting much, just wiggling in place and howling like a wild animal. His high pitched shrieks bounced off the gym walls, filling the room with joyful laughter.

“You’re being extra annoying today and it’s pissing me off,” Iwaizumi grumbled as he tickled even harder. 

“Aheeheehee, bahahaha, Iwa-AHAAHAHAHA!”

Oikawa was really having trouble speaking, so Iwaizumi slowed down a bit, going back to the random pinches and squeezes around his ribcage. It still had an effect; Oikawa’s bubbly giggles were quite loud, although a bit more contained.

“Iwa, I’m sorrehehehe, have mercy pleeheheheehease!!”

“Nope,” said Iwaizumi, shifting his hands downwards to scribble all over his sides. That earned him another round of tittered giggles.

While Oikawa was busy squirming around, the spiker snuck his hands under his shirt, and started tracing little circles on his back at a slow and maddening pace. Oikawa let out a long squeal and arched forward, only to spring back when Iwaizumi abruptly switched to spidering his stomach. His skin quivered under his hands like jello. It felt soft and warm; Iwaizumi felt himself getting a little flustered for some reason.

“Iwahahaha!! It tihihihihickles!”

“Good.”

“Come ahahahaan!”

Iwa paused again, resting his palms against Oikawa’s waist. He drummed his fingers on his sides, his grin growing bigger every time his friend flinched in return. Once again, he felt very little resistance from the Aoba setter. Even though he had the opportunity to break away in this moment, he just stood there passively  as Iwa held him. 

Iwa spun him around so he could get a better look at his face. This seemed to take him aback; Oikawa had no time to hide his expression or fake any emotions. He saw a flush of pink creeping up his neck all the way to his ears, matching perfectly with the twisted grimace he donned on his round and youthful face.

Suddenly, something dawned on him, and he wanted to smack himself for not realizing it sooner.

Oikawa wanted him to do this.

How could he have been so oblivious? He knew Oikawa better than anyone, and although he didn’t have his talent for reading people, he was pretty good at putting two and two together. Like his shy, nervous blush whenever Iwaizumi approached him in a menacing manner. Or the way he never really tried to get away while it was happening. And the fact that he never once said stop, even when things got intense.

Oikawa liked being tickled.

And what made it even better was knowing he wanted Iwaizumi to tickle him.

A devious smirk crept across his face once he put all the pieces together. His expression left Oikawa unsettled, although there was more than a glint of excitement in his eyes.

“Iwa…? I don’t like that look you’re giving me…”

“If you wanted my attention or something, you could’ve just said so,” he stated, poking into his waist again.

“Ehehee…! I told you, it was an -ahaHAHA! - an accident!!”

“You’re a lousy liar.”

He drilled into one spot between his stomach and his hips, knowing it was a death spot for the setter, and relished the maniacal shrieks that grew in pitch the longer it went on.

“Iwaaahahahahaahahaha! EEEK - dohohon’t!! It’s really bad!”

“You think you’re real slick, don’t you?”

“Huh?! Whahahat?!”

Iwaizumi wanted to laugh out loud as his friend feigned ignorance. He finally let him go, releasing him from his iron grip so that he could catch his breath. Oikawa took more than a couple minutes to return to normal, collapsing on the floor with all his energy depleted, leaving Iwa to clean up the gym mostly on his own. When he was done, he walked over and extended a peaceful hand to help his friend back to his feet.

“That’s enough for tonight. Let’s go home.”

“Huh… but…” Oikawa blinked, looking a bit dumbfounded while Iwa struggled to keep a straight face.

God, he hated to admit it, but it was pretty damn cute seeing Oikawa so desperate for more. His thoughts were written all over his face, longing for that head-spinning sensation Iwaizumi had just given him. He knew he’d never fess up about his little quirk, at least not without some interrogation, since he was a prideful person and had a reputation to uphold after all. But it meant a lot that he trusted Iwa with such an intimate secret.

Perhaps in the future he’d tease him about it more. But for now, he was happy to indulge his friend… and also get some revenge.

[puttingfingerstokeys]

A little something I whipped up for @heamatic​ with her Shinnok in mind.

No timeline alignment stuff here, just pure gift work based on a thread we’ve got on my RP account @bastardsunlight. Ft. Shinnok being creepy because that’s kind of his thing. Shinlao, because we haven’t come up with a ship name and I am appalled at our laxity. 

Also like, I can’t believe I’m saying this but neither writer is in any way under some fucked up impression that this is a good, safe, or non-toxic ship. We use the term to describe people who are involved IN SOME WAY. That way is not necessarily healthy. 

This story features no NSFW instances.

The dimly lit corridors of the Bone Temple are familiar passageways to Kung Lao as he moves effortlessly toward the audience chamber where he will soon be needed. Shinnok does not often offer his time, but today, he evidently feels generous. It is therefore his favorite creature’s duty to attend as well. Lao has long since stopped thinking of himself as a monk or even a former one, though his spiritual power is still formidable. That life is behind him. Netherrealm is—if not his home—his territory.

Emerging from a massive double door at one side of the infernal hall, he surveys the emptiness of it, the cavernous opulence of the mad god’s particular tastes. Deeper, under vents in the floor—Shinnok appreciates the screams of his captives—is the dungeon proper, though the audience hall very much resembles it. The high pillars are of dark reds, shining obsidian, and shot through with veins of other colors difficult to distinguish in the Stygian light of the realm of dishonored dead. Everything is bone and sinew and suffering here, fire and brimstone and ugly deception.

“You have kept me waiting, little one,” purrs the Elder God of Chaos from his throne. It is, naturally, constructed of bones—not all humanoid. He leans to one side and regards Kung Lao with those inscrutable eyes characteristic of his kind. “Do you wish to bring punishment down on yourself?”

“No, master,” responds Kung Lao, approaching the dais and then ascending to within reach of the massive entity’s long arms. If Shinnok wishes to pull his guts out and toss him back down like a used doll, he may do so from anywhere; why inconvenience him?

“Yet you offer no explanation…” The Elder God’s finger came out and lifted Kung Lao’s chin before sliding down his neck, over the pretty young man’s Adam’s apple, and down to collar bone and chest. He has left this one alive, appreciating the responsive heat and goose flesh of living skin. It bruises so prettily.

“I offer no excuse, my lord.” Kung Lao meets his eyes with an impertinence he loves and hates and oh he has made the right choice in this one. He had known the moment they met upon the field of kombat that Kung Lao would, indeed, make an excellent addition to his collection.

“You are wise beyond your years, it seems, if a bit pert.” Shinnok retracts his hand and waves it about. “Well, get on with it. I’ve better things to do.”

Quan-Chi materializes presently, late as well, though his arrival receives no acknowledgement whatsoever. His dark lord spares not a glance, instead watching the retreating back of the foolish monk who exchanged his own freedom for the life of his friend. Sentiment is worthless in Netherrealm and soon, the arrogant boy will learn this, if the old soul sorcerer must show him the way with his own two hands. His fists clench with the thought, imagining themselves about Kung Lao’s throat, squeezing until something breaks. The pleasure that arises from the thought sends a shudder down his spine.

Meanwhile, Kung Lao, unaware of this contemplation—or if he is aware, he cares so little, he doesn’t bother sparing the man, if a thing like Quan-Chi can be called a man, a single glance—turns to descend the dais. An oversized bone arm which has sprouted from the stone and bone floor of the mad god’s receiving hall offers itself, open-palmed, to the fallen monk. Kung Lao accepts it gracefully, laying his hand in the much larger one, knowing he has not displeased his lord on this day. The dry, brittle-feeling digits wrap gently about the young man’s hand as he makes his graceful retreat to discharge his duties.

Quan-Chi scowls at Kung Lao’s back until Shinnok actually turns his attention on his favored sorcerer—really the only sorcerer who will competently serve him with true, deep loyalty. It really is pathetic to watch, but sometimes a whipped dog is better than no dog. Shinnok has not even had to whip this one. He’s done it of his own accord. 

A strange Netherrealm native (as native as anyone can be in a realm of dishonored souls and demonic constructs born of the mad god’s fits of rage), it had been he who had approached the Elder God of rot and chaos to serve him. If Lord Shinnok could be said to be grateful for anything, he might have chosen that moment when Quan-Chi’s power had drawn him to his lord and master’s prison and set about events which would eventually free and embody him. Of course they have greater plans, but for the time being, this will do. 

This will do very nicely indeed, he considers, regarding his little pet’s taut backside as Kung Lao makes his way through the hall, the bone arm now sliding along with him, digging a furrow in the ground which seems to knit itself together just a few feet behind the abomination which now has its hand on the curve of Kung Lao’s lower back. Every sensation the bone arm feels, he also feels and the warmth of living flesh is delightful; he wants to grasp it hard, make the boy squeal with pain, make him bleed a little. Just a little.

Perhaps later.

“You have some… news?” Quan-Chi has been scheming—he is always scheming—to manifest his dark, mad god in Earthrealm and he clearly believes he has hit upon something. Shinnok can see it in the sparkle of the man’s eyes. Oh how he loves me, contemplates the Elder God with absolutely no reciprocity of that feeling.

“I do, my lord,” responds the sorcerer, bowing to one knee and standing to deliver his findings. Shinnok listens patiently, mind elsewhere as it must always be. He is chaos incarnate. There is little order to be had in Netherrealm beyond his absolute rule. Not much can hold the attention of an Elder God, in general, but Shinnok in particular has always allowed his mind to wander where it will. Aside from grand machinations of upset and overthrow which delight him endlessly, there is almost nothing of such magnitude in all of existence—no single object or concept which can so fascinate him. What could possibly be of such import that he, a deity, might need to focus his energies on it for any length of time? The boy, some part of his thoughts remind him sweetly. You’re quite captivated with your new toy, aren’t you? Ah but toys come and go. He will tire of this one… eventually.

That boy is now crossing the threshold of the temple’s audience hall, the doors gliding open before him. The dry heat of Netherrealm has ceased to move him and he walks out into it, ushering in the first petitioner, wondering if his lord and master will listen to this one, or slay it on sight. Any creature, demon, or lost soul who is bold enough to approach the Bone Temple and beg favors of the lord of the Realm is desperate, addled, or too cocksure for their own good. An obliteration by the death god is permanent, it is nothingness, non-existence. Somehow, that void is more terrifying by far than the screaming, burning, howling dimness of Netherrealm.

The first demon in line—he is first by virtue of having killed his way up the queue; the corpses of those before him are littered in pieces here and there as a testament to this, all still twitching and flailing as the death he grants is only pain—is a truly imposing figure, easily ten feet in height, with massive, twisted horns like a ram and a maw full of jagged teeth. His eyes ablaze with contempt. This expression does not soften when it lays its burning gaze (with all four eyes) upon the pretty, behatted monk—Kung Lao may not think of himself as a monk, but they do—but rather hardens to something bordering on obscene. The thing licks slavering lips with an exaggerated motion, clearly aiming to upset the small, soft-looking mortal, who does not respond, only gestures to the hall.

“The master will see you now,” he says in a neutral tone that betrays nothing. “Please, follow me.”

As they enter, the beast’s three-toed feet hit the ground much harder with each step than might actually be necessary, as if to emphasize his weight. Shinnok leans back upon his throne and assumes a semi-attentive posture. There is no real reason for him to pretend he cares; even the pretense is worthless, but for now, it entertains him. Some of the denizens of his realm wait the Netherrealm equivalent of months, even years, if Shinnok is indisposed and simply does not care. Lately, he has been taking more audiences, but then he has only lately had a… secretary. Kung Lao moves swiftly ahead of the demon, braid swinging tantalizingly behind his shapely back. The boy is an hourglass, upon close inspection, broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and thick of hip and rear-end. The demon is inspecting.

“This is far enough,” instructs Kung Lao. “What are you called?”

The demon splutters with indignation. How could they not know him, the greatest general of the northern armies of Khadul, the god-king of the demons, the true creatures of Netherrealm! He has severely overestimated his importance, a grave error in the Bone Temple. The silent hall rings with its silence. An audience chamber ought necessarily to have an audience, but Shinnok prefers the cavernous immensity. It reiterates just how small his petitioners truly are. He eyes the demon, but has yet to speak. A bone arm sprouts near Kung Lao and it makes a twirling motion with its forefinger.

“Lord Shinnok bids you speak,” says the shapely boy through plump lips that look like they ought to be bruised and bloodied and used, in the creature’s foul opinion.

“I will speak,” he snarls, reaching out toward Kung Lao with the intent to brush past, “but with the lord of this Realm, he in whose temple we stand, not you, little slut. There are things I would do with you, yes, but speaking… it is not one of them.” The demon’s laughter rings out boldly into the hall, bouncing off the skulls and femurs and ribs and myriad other bones which make the walls, floor, and ceiling. Quan-Chi flinches minutely, though more at the brazenness of it than the sound. Shinnok is a statue. The bone arm has dissipated, crumbling like ash and ruin, leaving Lao alone. His lord is watching.

“No,” says Kung Lao, the syllable sharp and clear as a pretty bell rung in a mausoleum—and equally as incongruous next to the obscene, guttural speech of the demon. “No,” he repeats, “you do not speak. You bark like a mangy cur begging for scraps. Heel.”

He rushes the demon with lightning speed as it swings for him. There is a brief moment when it seems he might make a try for the beast’s sizeable testes, which swing visibly behind the scant loincloth one might say he is “wearing”. The idea occurs to him and a strange flash of melancholic amusement jolts Kung Lao’s spine before he disappears beneath his hat in a flash of red light and lotus petals. The creature, having never encountered this particular mortal, looks baffled and squats to examine the hat. Quan-Chi’s mouth opens to warn the beast of its insolence in his master’s presence, but a sharp gesture from said master silences him. His face heats with rage. How dare the boy show off this way? He will be punished—perhaps disemboweled or flayed. How delicious that would be!

As the as yet unnamed demon reaches toward the object to pick it up, the flash occurs once more and the deadly piece of headwear flips upward, turning vertically, its far edge held by the owner, the only man in any realm able to master such a strange weapon. The creature barely has time to cry out as Kung Lao draws the hat up its entirety, bisecting the thing and spilling its steaming insides along the floor. Midair, Kung Lao flings the hat, hard, toward Shinnok. Once more, Quan-Chi blanches, but the mad god catches it easily and holds it, bottom facing downward, toward his knees where he sits. This, he thinks, is the most fun I have had in millennia.

Kung Lao’s form plummets toward the gory mess he has made and for a brief, shining moment, Quan-Chi thinks perhaps he will fall and snap his neck and that will be that, one last escape attempt with the final spark of the monk’s spirit left to him. Lord Shinnok has no need of a broken doll. Of course this is a flight of pure fancy. Shinnok will find a use for that beautiful body, even broken.

Alas, rather than crashing to his death—or maiming, at least—Kung Lao’s body dives into a circle of blood, red light, once more accompanied by a flash and flurry of lotus petals. It takes only half a moment for him to repeat the trick, falling out of the hat and into his lord and master’s waiting lap. Shinnok allows the hat to settle upon Kung Lao’s head and once more tilts his chin upward so that their eyes meet.

“Far too impertinent,” he scolds, shaking his head, running his thumb over his little doll’s full, perfect, soft lower lip. Kung Lao is flushed with the pleasure of his accomplishment and hasn’t a spot of blood on his person. “Who are you to decide who I do and do not address, hmm? Is this not my domain?”

“His master would pretend it is not. One cannot serve two lords and you rule this Realm.” This is not a question, nor is it simpering. Kung Lao speaks cold, hard facts. “I merely saved you the trouble of hearing a dog bark.”

So bold, Shinnok thinks. I must curb this. But he does not punish his little favorite. The unpredictability delights him. Quan-Chi senses this misplaced delight and recedes from the receiving hall unseen, glowering over his shoulder and now hellbent on perfecting his machinations to bring his master to Earthrealm.

[sunkissedspider]

Just Kiss Me | Peter Parker

MASTERLIST

***taglist is open!!! just send an ask or message me and i’ll add you :)***

pairing: Peter Parker x reader

summary: you and Peter sneak out and finally admit your feelings

warnings: smut (first time), unprotected sex (pleasepleaseplease wrap it before you tap it), fluff, making out, language, etc.

listen to: Golden - Harry Styles

word count: 1.8k+

a/n: i- fuck... sorry for any spelling and/or grammar errors!!

    It was around 3 am when Peter woke up to you tapping on his window. You, being his crazy best friend, did stuff like this all the time. You saw him sit up from his bed with a worried look on his face before he realized that it was you, causing him to roll his eyes and laugh.

    "What, Y/N? It's, like, four in the morning." He says quietly after opening his window, you crawling through it.

    "Actually," You pull out your phone, checking the time. "It's 3:17." You laugh, causing Peter to roll his eyes again.

    "So, what do you want at 3:17 in the morning?" He asks, laughing under his breath.

    "Have you seen the moon tonight? It's fucking huge! I figured we could go up to the roof and look at it like we used to a few years ago. I know it's kinda silly, and I can leave so you can sleep, bu-" You start, rambling before Peter stops you.

    "No, no. That- that sounds good. Just let me get some clothes on." He motions for you to sit down before going to his closet to get dressed.

    You take a seat on his bed, pulling your phone out, trying desperately not to look at him. You had liked him for years, you just never thought about him liking you back.

    "Okay, let's go." He laughs when he looks over at you curled up in the blankets on his bed, phone in hand. To be honest, he know he would do the same thing if he was at your house. That's just how comfortable you two were with each other.

    He opens the window again, you going first up the fire escape to the roof, Peter following close behind. A few minutes later you two are up on the roof together, snuggled up underneath a blanket, looking up at the moon and the stars.

    After a while, Peter's the first to talk;

    "Do you ever find it sad that we've never dated anybody?" He asks, still looking up at the stars.

    It takes a while for you to answer, so long that Peter's not even sure if you heard him until you answer. "Sometimes. Other times I'm just glad that I'm not a whore. If I were to date someone, it'd probably be a guy like you."

"L-like me?" Peter stutters, his eyes blown wide, both of you still looking up at the stars.

    "You're the nicest person I know, Pete. You're also cute, and funny, and smart..." You let your own words fade out, turning to look at Peter.

    "T-thanks," He chuckled, trying not to freak out at the fact that you just called him cute. The way he was feeling reminded him of when someone would say that they liked him back in elementary school. "I'd want to date someone like you too. You're beautiful, you have a such a dark sense of humor, and you're a genius." He breathed out, causing you both to laugh.

    "You ever kiss anyone?" You questioned, causing Peter to look at you, both of you making eye contact.

    "No. Never really had anyone that would want to kiss me. What about you?" You were both blushing like crazy, and if it were any lighter outside, you two would look sick.

    "Almost, back when Aaron La Salle and I really liked each other in eighth grade. Nothing ever happened though, he was never even officially my boyfriend." You were still looking at him, seeing how his dark brown curls fell across his forehead, how his eyes were blown wide.

    "I have to tell you something." Peter says, sitting up, grabbing your hands to have you sit up with him. "I, uhm... I like you. A lot. I've actually liked you ever since we were kid. And my feelings for you have grown so much stronger lately and I've never felt this way about anyone before and I don't know what to do." He breathed out, finally looking relaxed, right before he tensed up again, realizing what he had just told you.

    "Kiss me," You said simply, your eyes blown wide in surprise and want.

    "W-what?" He asked, shocked at your reaction.

    "Just kiss me, Peter." You said again. And that was all Peter needed.

    He leaned forward, his lips connecting to yours. His were soft and tasted like Coke. You leaned forward more, deepening the kiss, wanting more. You disconnected your lips for just a second, moving to lay down, Peter moving to lay in between your legs. When your lips connected again, you allowed yourself to relax and enjoy what was happening, both of you moaning into the kiss when you began to feel Peter grind his hips against yours. You two took the time to explore each other's bodies. Your hands smoothing over his shoulder one minute, then grasping at his chest another.

    You both pulled away again to lift Peter's shirt off of him. He kneeled between your legs when the top half of his body was bare, watching you as you stared at him in awe. Obviously you've seen him shirtless before, but this was different. A slightly pink tint covered all of his body, his chest muscular and smooth. Without thinking, you reached out and grazed the soft skin that was hot to the touch, a sharp contrast to your cold hands, causing goosebumps to form on his chest.

    But when you looked back up at him with the most innocent eyes ever, he lost it. He lifted your Midtown hoodie (technically his that you stole forever ago) before he connected your lips together again, trailing kisses to your neck before starting to suck lightly at the sensitive skin, causing you to moan quietly.

    He just smirked against your skin, helping you to unclasp your bra and pull the straps down your arms. You shivered when the cold air fully met your bare skin, Peter chuckling at how sweet and innocent you look, being a complete contrast to your actions. You needily pull him down to you, pressing your lips together, the kiss eventually turning into another heated makeup session.

    "You're so beautiful." He breathes out, smiling against your lips, his body pressed firmly against yours.

    Peter moves away again to pull his sweatpants and boxers up, you lifting your hips up for him to take your bottoms and underwear off too. He stands above you, his chest littered with hickeys, his hard cock in his hand, his lips red and swollen, matching yours.

    He leans down again to connect your lips, his tongue licking a long stripe on your neck, nipping lightly at the already purple skin.

    "Peter," You said breathlessly, pulling away only for a second. "I've... I've never done anything like this. I wasn't lying earlier."

    "I-I haven't ever done anything like this either. We don't have to though! I-I can just go back to my apartment and we can pretend that this never happened. And-" He was visibly nervous, breathing a little harder than you were until you interrupted him, stopping him from rambling on and on.

    "Peter, stop. Calm down. I want to." He almost blacked out when you said the last part, making sure that you were as clear as possible.

    "J-just tell me if I'm hurting you. Okay?" He says, a little calmer than before, but still nervous.

    "Never have." You laugh slightly, tears falling from your eyes when you looked up at him.

    You weren't sad. You were the opposite, actually. You couldn't believe that you were about to have sex with the guy that you had been in love with for years, and that had been in love with you for longer. And before you knew it, you felt tears falling onto your cheeks from above. Peter knew exactly how you were feeling, and he loved you more than anything.

    He leaned down to kiss the tears away on your right cheek, then your left, and then his lips connected with yours again as he slid into you slowly, allowing you to try your best and adjust to the size of him. He let out a groan as bottomed out inside of you, trying his best not to completely collapse on top of you. Your eyes squeezed shut tightly at the feeling, a sharp pain in your lower belly.

    "F-fuck!" He groaned out, trying his best not to move. If it hadn't been for the self control that his Spidey powers came with, he wouldn't have been able to control himself.

    After a few moments of making out to distract Peter, you finally spoke up;

    "You can move now, Peter." You said quietly, a little nervous.

    Peter continued kissing you before he pulled his hips back for the first time, slowly snapping them forward, causing you both to let out moans, glad that no one was around you two. He slowly built up a faster pace, pounding in and out of you softly, his head in the crook of your neck, your hands tangled in his loose curls. A small layer of sweat covered your bodies, causing your hair to stick to your forehead, and Peter's to stick to his. You moaned loudly when his lower stomach grazed your clit, the pain slowly turning into pleasure.

    Peter noticed how you reacted when he repeated the same movement, so he reached a hand down in between your bodies, finding the spot almost immediately, causing a choked out sob of pleasure to leave your throat. Peter was close, he knew that. Hell, he's jerked off to the thought of you every night for months, he's more than familiar with how it feels to get close. But he was determined to make you cum first, so he doubled his efforts, doubling the speed and pressure he was putting on your clit, pounding into you a little harder and a little faster with each thrust.

    "P-Peter!" You quietly screamed out, the sound slightly muffled by the crook of Peter's neck. "I'm gonna cum, Pete!"

    "M-me too. Just," He paused to groan loudly into your neck. "Just let go."

    And with his words of encouragement, the feeling of him inside of you, and his face when he looked down at you, you let go, Peter cumming shortly after you, both of you moaning loudly at the feeling of Peter coating your walls. He thrusted into you a few more times to work you both through your orgasms before finally collapsing on top of you.

    You both laid like that for a while, panting, Peter's head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his slightly damp hair to help calm him down. After a few minutes, he slid out of you, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over you both. You immediately snuggled up into his embrace, your head on his chest, his arms around your body.

    "God," He breathed out against your head, smiling at the smell of your shampoo. "I am so in love with you."

    "I'm so in love with you too, Peter." You both giggled slightly, Peter kissing your forehead, both of you looking up at the stars.

[ask-the-riders]

Making Amends

Some time has passed since the blow-up between Death and War, and when it's clear that neither of them have really gotten past it, Death decides that it's time to talk some things out

Even if War doesn't wanna talk, the conversation is happening, one way or another

The temperature of the air dropped several degrees, and War curled in on herself a bit, still seated on the end cushion of the couch. As Death crossed into the room, the glitch arranged her expression into something blank; By doing this, it'd be harder to read her than normal, should the reaper manage to get close enough to her. Pausing behind the couch and watching her in silence for a moment, Death let out a sigh, "Come on, War... We need to talk." She ignored him, not even so much as glancing in his direction. Understanding that she likely wouldn't say anything, he hesitated for a moment, "We need to talk about what happened. That argument in the kitchen."

The vivid memories of their 'argument' flashed through War's mind, and she clenched her hands into fists. She recalled the way he'd looked at her with such contempt, and the way his words were noticably laced with hostility, biting into her in such a way that made her feel as though her heart had been put through a shredder; "Come on, War. Don't tell me you haven't realized it yet. You see those colors on your hands? Those are the hands of a destroyer. The hands of what, deep down inside, you know you are. You've always been a destroyer, War, and it's what you'll always be. Try as you may, you can't change that. You're a glitch, and glitches never change."

Feeling a familiar pang of hurt, the glitch stood, her back still to Death as she stormed away, making a beeline for the nearest exit. She'd succeeded in circling the couch and putting a small amount of distance between them before his hand closed around one of her wrists, stopping her in her tracks. Acting on impulse, she spun, the palm of her hand connecting with Death's face and producing an audible thwack. For a moment, both riders were stunned, the reaper's face already beginning to slowly change color. War's hand stung but she ignored it, scowling as harshly as she could manage at Death, "What in the hell do you think you're doing, Death? Let go of me!"

He shook his head, his brow bones knit as he donned a clear look of determination, "Not until we talk." The glitch let out a low growl in irritation, "Like hell we are. Now let go of me, before I hit you again." Death frowned, "You can hit me as much as you want, but I'm still not gonna let you go." War hissed, her figure beginning to glitch harder, "You're really sure you wanna do that?" She paused, her eye lights becoming hazy as a wide, manic grin stretched across her face, "That's not a good idea. After all, what if I lost control and did what glitches do best? What if I destroyed you?" Death held his ground, sighing softly, "War, please. You don't need to talk like that, and you don't need to behave like this." He gestured to her face and the expression she wore, "Even if you're still mad... Even if you hate me now, we still need to talk about what happened."

War's twisted smile fell and she fizzled, glaring at him again, "What is there to talk about? You were an asshole and you said what you believed was true about me, and that's that." The reaper's frown deepened and he shook his head again, "Yeah, I fucked up, I KNOW that. I KNOW how bad I hurt you, and I just want you to know how sorry I am." The female rider began trying to free herself of his grasp, "Oh, do you now? Well guess what, Death. It's too late. You screwed up and there's no way to take it back." Death stared at her with wide eyes, his grip firm yet gentle as he took hold of her other arm, "War, please... I'm sorry, ok? I'm so, so sorry, and if I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat. I should've never said those things in the first place, and I hate that I did. I should've just kept my mouth shut."

The glitch continued scowling and attempting to free herself as she hissed, "I don't care anymore. Everything you say means jack shit to me, and every time you open your mouth, it just pisses me off even more." Desperation bled into his words as he implored, "I'm begging you, please, just talk to me! I can't deal with the silence anymore!" Upon hearing his words, War's body glitched and she suddenly roared, "YOU CAN'T DEAL WITH THE SILENCE? WELL Y'KNOW WHAT? I CAN'T DEAL WITH YOU!" Death flinched back, his grip on her loosening the smallest bit. Taking the opportunity, she slipped out of his hold, turning to fully face him and lifting a hand, jabbing at him with a single finger and accusing, "THIS WHOLE THING HAS BEEN ALL ABOUT YOU, HASN'T IT? DID YOU EVER STOP TO THINK ABOUT ME, EVEN ONCE? WHAT ABOUT GENO AND ERROR? I BET YOU'RE ONLY APOLOGIZING TO MAKE YOURSELF FEEL BETTER. YOU DON'T REALLY MEAN IT, DO YOU?!"

The reaper stared at her with wide eyes, and as he opened his mouth to respond, War cut him off, her tone turning cold and bitter, "...I can't believe I let myself grow to care about you. You're a selfish prick... A disappointment, just like everyone else." Death struggled with his words for a moment, and when he couldn't find the right thing to say, he met her gaze, noticing the way that blue tinted tears began to prick at her sockets. He slowly lifted a hand, intending to wipe away the tears as he murmured, "...I never meant to hurt you, War. Honest..." The female rider was quick to slap his hand away, snapping, "Don't you fucking touch me." He withdrew his hand, a tear slowly rolling down his face as he whispered, "Please..."

Tears began to roll down her face as well, quickly shifting into threads. She curled her hands into fists, her chest heaving, "Do you have ANY IDEA how bad you hurt me, Death? Any idea whatsoever?... Let me put it into perspective for you." Her soul materialized before his eyes, floating just outside her chest, and his sockets widened as he noticed a small, yet deep crack running down it's side. Gently holding her soul, she frowned, her body fizzling as she cried, "I was raised in the anti-void, and as a kid, all I knew was how to kill and destroy. I started working for Nightmare after a while, and everything I went through... It broke me. Everyone there expected me to be some bloodthirsty freak, and because I was scared, I took on that role. When I found my family and they showed me what it felt like to be loved and accepted, I decided that I didn't wanna be bad anymore."

She paused, her crying rapidly becoming broken sobbing as her glitching grew worse, "I gave everything I had, trying to be better. It's hard, and sometimes I struggle with it, but it makes me feel a lot less shitty when I know I'm with people who actually care about me and accept me as I am, despite everything that's wrong with me. When you popped into my life, I wasn't sure what to think of you at first, but the more you came around, the more I started to like you. You became like family to me, and even after I died, you were still there. You took me in and trained me, and you made me feel secure, and like I actually belonged somewhere." Death continued staring at her with wide eyes, frozen in place. War fell silent, pushing her soul back into her chest and hiding her face with her hands as she continued sobbing.

He reached out to gently touch her arm after a moment, and she snapped again, "I did EVERYTHING I could to be something other than 'just another bad guy'! Did all of that mean nothing to you, Death?! Did you even notice it AT ALL?!" He immediately nodded, his voice soft, "Yeah, of course I noticed." The glitch cursed as her threads began to tangle, her own voice becoming weaker, "Then why... WHY would you say those things to me if you KNEW what it would do to me?... Were you trying to hurt me on purpose or something?" The reaper, now wracked by guilt and shame at what he'd done, gave a small, hesitant nod, "At the time, yeah, I was, but I didn't actually mean those things, War. I said what I knew would provoke a reaction, and that wasn't ok... We're family, and we own up to our mistakes, which is what I'm trying to do right now. I might not be able to undo it and take away all the pain I've caused you, but please... Please let me prove to you that I can be better." War attempted to blink back more tears, stealing a glance at him, and when she met his gaze, she trembled.

Death seemed to hesitate a brief moment before wrapping his arms around her. To his surprise, she didn't shove him away; Instead, she clung to his robes, her grip tight as she hid her face in the fabric, her voice muffled, "You're the fucking worst... I can't believe you." He gently shushed her, one hand rubbing soft circles over one of her shoulder blades as he began to send out pulses of his magic in an effort to help soothe her. In response, War sniffled, "I hate you... I hate you so fucking much." Death sighed softly, holding her close and gently resting his head atop hers, "I know, I know... I hate me too, kiddo."

The glitch sniffled, pulling away from him just enough to lightly hit his chest, her voice muffled and weaker than normal as she hid her face again, "Shut up, Dad." Hearing the female rider's tone very briefly attempt to turn sarcastic and understanding what she was doing, he couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face in relief.

[morgandria]

Centering and Grounding, Pt. 2 - Grounding

This is the 2nd of 2 articles - Part 1 focuses on centering, and can be found here. (If you haven’t read Part One, it’s an important step. Don’t skip it!)

Grounding

So, once you’re feeling nice and centered. It’s time to move on to grounding. Grounding is pretty much what it sounds like – you’re making sure you have something solid, energetically speaking, underneath you for support and strength. I make a point of teaching people interested in energy work of any kind how to this before we do anything else. Sure, we’re all our own little pool of energy, but we’re also a somewhat finite resource. If you drain yourself while trying to work, it’s going to take you some time to recharge, and this can leave you vulnerable to stress and illness. Also, if you’re doing some kind of work that needs an ongoing source of energy, if you link it just to yourself it’s going to continually draw on you. So grounding is not only useful, it’s pretty important for your well-being if you’re going to practice any kind of witchcraft or magic.

I always start grounding by centering (as covered in Part One). If you’re all over the place, it’s much harder to ground, so take the time to gather yourself up. And, as before, we’re looking to be in a comfortable position and some safe place you won’t be disturbed.

I call the method of grounding I’m about to talk about here the “Earth and Sky” method. You will, in effect be visualizing the process of grounding like growing a tree. The tree as a living being are just so stable and strong, but they’re flexible enough to take a lot of force without breaking. Trees also have the benefit of a foot in both realms – deep Below and high Above, It might seem complicated, but I think it’s a method easy enough for most people to learn even if you’re a bit iffy on your skills. Don’t be discouraged if it feels more difficult or takes longer to accomplish than centering – you’re learning to move metaphysical muscles in ways you’ve not done before.

To start grounding, we are looking to shift the direction of our focus from our center, down into the earth beneath us. It helps immensely to be in contact with the ground or floor, when you’re starting out. Some people like to feel the root of their spine directly on the earth, and others do better standing with both feet firmly planted. Having bare feet can also help a lot.

To reach the Earth power, you are looking to set down roots. Start in your center and imagine it like a seed. That seed needs to grow a taproot – you’re looking to push a little energy downwards towards your feet/base of your spine, out of your own energetic body and into the earth’s. This may involve some trial and error, since you’re not trying to move your entire center – you’re just trying to reshape it and reach out with part of it. You should feel, at this step, as if you are fixed firmly in place. If you feel drifty or wobbly, re-center yourself and try putting down another taproot.

Once you think you’ve gotten a good root started, let that taproot keep growing downward, getting stronger as you go deeper. Feel it sink into the dark, rich soil beneath you, going deeper, getting darker, connecting you to the body of the earth. Your root can spread out into more roots, getting wider as it gets deeper, giving you more security if you need it.

Deep beneath you the Earth energy flows like water, a cool refreshing stream of power. Push your root(s) down until it finds that deep flow of energy. By making this connection, you are tapping into a vast pool of external energy you can both draw from, and flow into. It’s a little like poking a straw into a juice box – a little bit of tension and resistance as you push down, until you feel a kind of “pop”, and you’re suddenly through to a different sensation. The Earth energy you tap into should feel different than your own, but not in a bad way. I experience this connection as a little bit of frisson, a chill up the spine, but YMMV.

Once you’ve made the connection, it’s time to start drawing the Earth energy up into your center. It’s not replacing your personal energy – rather, it’s supplementing it. Let your roots draw it up, feeling it rise up into your core and infusing you with strength and vitality. Draw up as much or as little as you need. Rest with it until you feel ready to move on.

That’s the entire Earth half of this grounding method. You’ve planted yourself down into a good stable source of energy and can use it to fuel your work. Some people leave it here, and that’s fine. You can practice doing just the Earth half until you feel you’ve gotten the knack. You can even decide you don’t need the Sky half, and that’s ok, too. But I think the second half of this grounding method makes the whole thing more balanced and supportive, and I urge you to try it a few times before making up your mind.

The Sky half of the grounding starts by reaching upwards. Push out from your center, but up this time. Let it flow straight along your spine – it may literally feel like something is straightening your back, or stiffening it. Keep pushing upwards until you have pushed the energy all the way through the crown of your head, and into the air above you. Again, like reaching the Earth energy, you may feel a distinct difference once you’ve reached the Sky energy – it can feel like holding your breath until you reach the surface, or like moving from deep shadow into light.

Now is the time to grow the branches of your tree. Let the energy spread out wider once you reach past your crown – you have rooted into the Earth and drawn its’ power up, and now you must reach into the Sky, and draw its’ power down. Like the roots beneath you, let your branches spread, leaves unfurling to absorb the light above, from the Sun, and the Moon, and the stars. You can reach as high as you need, because your roots are spread wide and deep, supporting you. Again, draw down as much or as little of that energy as you need. Let that Sky power flow down into your center, freely, and join with the Earth power. You are now balanced between them, flowing freely with the powers of Earth and Sky, and able to access the energies of both as needed. If you feel spacy or unanchored, draw up a little more Earth. If you feel like you’re missing a sense of inspiration or wonder, or feel constrained rather than free to act, draw down a little more from the Sky.

And that’s it, when all is said and done. As I said before, don’t be discouraged if centering seemed really easy, and grounding seems harder to grasp. It is going to take some effort, and you will have to practice. If it seems really tough, though, there’s a few things you can try that might help.

Bare feet/base of spine on the literal ground. You may have to actually touch the Earth outside, instead of being inside.

If foot/butt contact alone isn’t doing it, put your hands on the earth as well. When you move on to the Sky energy, raise them hands up from the ground and up to the sky - make your body into the shape of a tree.

Grab an actual tree. Holding a physical tree is a really good way to feel your way through the process. Most of them are happy to lend a little aid.

Don’t have access to a tree? Hold onto a staff, or a broomstick with its’ base firmly planted on the floor/ground.

There are some gemstones that are very useful for grounding purposes, and it may help you to hold or wear one when trying: I like black or green tourmaline, obsidian, jet, red tiger’s eye, and black onyx. Hematite, most forms of agate, jasper, and smokey quartz also work well for grounding.

So there! Centering and grounding, in two parts. I hope I haven’t made any of that too complicated or confusing, and as always you’re welcome to drop me a line if you have questions about what I’ve written here.

Thanks for reading, and good luck!

[tendousthoughts]

Our Plan

Y/N or Ship(s): Ship (KuroKen & BokuAka)

Genre: Fluff/slight angst

Warnings: Mention of not eating/weight, foul language (cursing)

Summary: Does he really love me? I hope so. I love him so much, it hurts. Even though everyone seems to be telling me the same thing... how can I trust them when I don’t see it myself. I won’t confess until I know for sure.

A/N: Heyo! I’m sorry I didn’t post any stories for like a week. I have been really lazy.. I won’t be doing a longer version for this. I am writing this for all the people who got hurt from my last KuroKen fanfic (My Petals). If you can go check out my last fanfic (Mine forever). I might be doing some more headcanons later today/tomorrow. Please go ahead and request/comment/chat me. As always sorry for the grammatical and spelling errors!

Goodbye

There he goes like he was never there. God Kuroo I wish you wouldn’t leave me alone. I am going to miss you so much. ~ Kenma

There was Kuroo sitting on the bench waiting for the train. Holding back his tears. He wished he could believe that Kenma liked him. But he couldn’t, no matter how many people told him otherwise.

Kenma wished he could just confess. But he couldn’t come to agree with the statement that Kuroo liked him.

“Kenma?” Kuroo whispered.

“Mhm?” Kenma mumbled.

“Will you miss me?” He choked out as tears began to flood his eyes.

“Of course, Kuroo” tears began to fall.

Kuroo slowly opened up his arms as kenma slowly entered his grasp. Holding him tight. “Kenma, I’m going to miss you so much,” Kuroo whispered.

“Promise to visit me?” Kenma mumbled hiding his face into his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Kuroo whispered as he closed his eyes. The tear’s wouldn’t stop rolling down his face.

Screeeech

Stop

Gone

Where are you?

Kuroo sat in his new dorm. It’s been one week yet nobody could tell him where Kenma was. Not only that, Kenma wasn’t answering anyone. He couldn’t help but think it was his fault. This was only the first week. The next break he had was about a month from then.

Kenma sat in his bed. He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t eaten for like a day. He wished Kuroo didn’t leave.

Ring..

Ring..

Ring..

Kenma slowly looked at his phone. Akaashi was calling him.

“Hey..” he grumbled softly as he picked up.

“where the hell have you been?” Akaashi screamed.

“Why?” Kenma didn’t want anything other than to have this phone call over.

“WHY? ARE YOU SERIOUS?” Akaashi screamed.

Fuck. Can everyone leave me alone? ~ Kenma

“Akaashi I am Okay you don’t have to worry nobody does. Can you ask everyone to just leave me the hell alone? I’m not a lost puppy that needs help. I am tired. I know I have to fucking move on okay so don’t go telling me that. I just miss him. Everyone tells me he likes me. Then when we are talking he only talks about a girl he likes. I need people to stop trying to help. They aren’t helping.” Kenma was already crying.

Fuck I’m sorry Kenma. ~ Akaashi

“Kenma.. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry about Kuroo. Please can I just come to check up on you?” Akaashi started. “I won’t- ”

“My House...” Kenma whispered.

“Huh?”

“I’m at my house, You can come check up on me. I want only two people max though. So go ahead and choose someone. I don’t want Kuroo knowing anything about how I’m doing. So choose someone trustworthy.” Kenma mumbled and hung up.

He Doesn’t

Knock..

Knock..

Knock..

Kenma slowly opened the door. There stood Akaashi.

“Hey kenma..” Akaashi smiled as he walked in. The house was a mess.

I’m so sorry Kenma. I don’t know if I have done anything to cause this but if I have I am so fucking sorry. You look so sick. How long have you not brushed your hair? When was the last time you ate something, you’re so pale? When was the last time you slept.. You have really bad eye bags. ~ Akaashi

What the actual hell. Why is nobody concerned about you? Akaashi your eyes are so red. You look almost as tired as me. What the hell are you doing here? Huh? ~ Kenma

“What happened to you?” Kenma laughed. “You look almost as bad as me.”

“What do you mean?” Akaashi smiled softly.

“Why were you crying huh?” Kenma blurted out

“Oh uh, I just miss Bokuto. You?” Akaashi whispered

“Oh that Owl? I miss Kuroo” Kenma tried to lighten the mood

“I know you didn’t just come for Bokuto when Kuroo looks like a rooster” Akaashi laughed.

“He does not!”

“Does too!”

Kenma giggled a bit. “You hungry?”

“Sure,” Akaashi smiled.

“Okay I’ll go make some food, you go take a shower. You look like a mess.”

“I know you didn’t call me a mess!”

“Did too! I’ll take one after you can borrow some of my clothes.” Kenma smiled as he began to make some food.

In about fifteen minutes. Akaashi walked out.

“You and Bokuto are not together?” Kenma took a bite out of his food.

“Um no.. he doesn’t like me.”

“Are you sure? I think he does. All he does is talk about his Akaashi when he comes over.” Kenma smiled.

“H-His?” Akaashi’s heart fluttered.

“Mhm! But he doesn’t think you like him..”

“I do! But then again he might just be calling me his. As a friendly way. Anyway how about you and Kuroo?”

“He said he likes this girl.”

“Oh weird.”

“What do you mean weird?”

“He told me he is gay.” Akaashi looked seriously confused.

“I think it was as a joke ‘Kaashi” Kenma smiled softly. “Bokuto and you would be cute.”

“I wish he would just confess..”

“Why don’t you?”

“Unsure.. I just want to make sure he likes me and just doesn’t feel bad. Dating me out of pity and shit, you know?”

“Ya.. You know we could fake dating. It would help speed up the process of this sappy shit.” Kenma said jokingly.

“I guess... Oh and it will help us find out about you and Kuroo!”

“Oh um okay.. I bet you have been ignoring everyone too?”

“Mhm..”

“ ‘Kay just text everyone ‘Sorry I was busy lately Kenma just confessed to me and we have been going on dates.’ I’ll say the same thing.

Akaashi sent the messages and so did Kenma.

“In like three weeks we will fake a breakup. Just in time for Bokuto and Kuroo to come back!” Akaashi smiled

“Well okay, baby~” Kenma winked and smiled

He did what?

Kuroo stood there looking at the message for a good ten minutes. Trying to see how to respond.

“Oh um.. Congrats.” Kuroo sent as tears rolled down his face.

Bokuto called up Kuroo.

“Hey?” Bokuto shouted.

“Yes?”

“Tell Kenma to back off ! I really really really like ‘Kaashi!”

“I know Bokuto. I wish they weren’t dating..”

“Do you think ‘Kaashi is not good enough for Kenma! Huh? ‘Cause Kenma doesn’t deserve him! ‘Kaashi is the most calm, best, kindest person out there!”

“No Bokuto. I don’t think that, it is just I like him.”

“Oh. Umm well I think when we visit we need to make them fall for us instead!” Bokuto smiled proudly.

“I guess Bokuto but they love each other and we shouldn’t hurt them by doing that.”

Even though I wish you liked me Kenma. I thought you liked me too. Was I not clear enough? Did telling you that I like a girl really confuses you? Or did you really never like me?~ Kuroo

Breakup

Kenma smiled softly. They never kissed. Akaashi wanting to have his first with Bokuto, and Kenma wanting to have it with whoever actually would like him. It being Kuroo or not.

“Ready for part two to be in place?” Kenma smiled softly.

“Yep! So let’s just post on our twitter that we broke up and it was mutual. As well as we realized we both liked other boys so there are no hard feelings. We will still be friends and all.” Akaashi whispered.

“Okay you wanna post it first and in twenty minutes I’ll post mine?”

“Okay.”

I really hope this works.. I don’t know why it would. I really love you though Kuroo. Please if there is any fighting chance... please love me. ~ Kenma

Bokuto-san, I know this might not work. But, I won’t give up. Am I not making it clear enough? I tried to tell you I love you. But you took it as if it was a friend type thing, how many friends tell you that? How do I make it clearer? Do you like me or do you not Bokuto-san? Because, I really like you. ~ Akaashi

Once they were both posted, Kenma and Akaashi just got ready for sleep, not thinking much about it.

My Shot

Kuroo woke up to the sound of his phone. He slowly rubbed his eyes slowly.

“Hey Bokuto you needed something” he whispered softly as he yawned, half asleep.

“ ‘Kaashi and Kenma broke up! So now I can be with ‘Kaashi!” He giggled softly. “I am going to ask him out next week when I see him!”

“What?” Kuroo woke up with that sentence. “They broke up? Do you know how Kenma is?” Kuroo blurted out.

“I don’t know.. But I can be with ‘Kaashi now!” He smiled softly thinking of being with his ‘Kaashi he couldn’t wait.

“Uh okay well talk to you later imma call Kenma.”

“Okayyy~”

Kuroo hung up. Taking a deep breath. Closing his eyes. Not now. Not fucking now. Not when all he is doing is trying to avoid this feeling.

Confession

There you are Bokuto-San. I love you so much. I wonder if you knew that. I love your eyes. They are so fucking pretty. I love your smile.. I love your everything. I. Love. You. ~ Akaashi

My ‘Kaashi is so beautiful.. I wonder if Akaashi will like me back. He is the best looking person. He is so calm, kind, and gentle. I love him so much. I. Love. You. My. Lover boy. ~ Bokuto

Bokuto ran up and picked up Akaashi. “MY ‘KAASHI!” He giggled as he placed a kiss on his head.

“Hello Bokuto-San,” he blushed from the name and the kiss.

“I like you. Like really really really like you!” He smiled as he carried him. Swinging him around. “Can you be my boyfriend?”

“What?” Akaashi blushed harder.

“Can you be mine forever ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto stopped spinning, looking Akaashi dead in the eyes. With his stupidly cheerful, happy grin. One that could brighten anyone’s day.

“Uh..” Akaashi was shocked. But soon reconnected to reality. “I will. I will!” He smiled tears rolling down his cheeks as he slowly looked at bokuto with his eyes that could melt anyone’s heart.

“Can I kiss you?” Bokuto asked.

“Um.. Ya I would love that,” He whispered.

A soft pair of lips pressed against his. The lips of the only boy he had ever loved and will ever love.

Convincing

There he is. The boy I will forever love. The boy I wish was mine. The boy who might not love me. The boy who might not even like boys. The boy who is my everything, Kuroo.” ~ Kenma

I love you Kenma. I hope by the end of tonight I will be yours and you will be mine. Can we make this happen? I hope so Kenma because I can’t see you go find another lover. I love you too much for that. I hope you love me that much too. ~ Kuroo

Kuroo walked up and smiled softly, “Miss me?” He asked softly.

“Mhm,” he smiled as he jumped up. Kuroo instinctively reached up and began to carry him.

“I missed you too, I missed you a lot,” he whispered as he held on to Kenma tightly.

Kenma smiled and nuzzled into Kuroo’s warm neck.

“Hey Kenma, I’m gay. You know that right?” Kuroo whispered.

“Uh... no..?” He mumbled. “I thought you liked that girl. The one you talk about all the time. You know, the girl with the great personality and is all warm towards you?”

“Kenma am I that convincing?” Kuroo chuckled.

“I guess. You like someone though?”

“Mhm.. you” Kuroo chuckled. His anxiety was extremely high, wondering how kenma would respond to the sudden confession.

“What?” Kenma moved from his spot, his face red.

“I like you Kenma, I like how cute you are. I like how calm you are. I like how you can be super observant. I like how when you want to do something really bad you won’t stop till you have done it. So Kenma, will you be my boyfriend?” Kuroo was pink looking into his eyes. Those eyes were going to be the death of him.

“I-I like you too.. so yes,” Kenma giggled.

“Kiss?” Kuroo looked away, embarrassed as he said so.

Kenma shook his head slightly as his lips hit Kuroo’s. His smile was wide. His heart pounding fast. He was happy. Happy forever.

[rigelmejo]

gonna be honest i think a huge weak point of immersion based learning methods (specifically ones like massive immersion approach/Refold and AJATT) is learning good production skills. In general these study approaches say explicit grammar instruction is unneeded (though you might choose to seek it out). So in general, you’re learning grammar through exposure. And word use through exposure. I think these study methods work well for comprehension skills, and that the study methods they use to learn grammar implicitly enough to understand it (srs flashcards, looking things up, etc).

But for a few reasons I think they aren’t super great for learning good production skills (and some of these reasons just apply to general self-studying languages in general):

A lot of people who DO these study approaches, and record their experiences, are beginners/intermediate. And since these approaches say do NOT focus on production until you have a high comprehension level, there’s just not much documentation of what to even DO during the production skills learning process. In general it is doable to find examples of individuals who have successfully done methods like Massive Immersion Approach enough to comprehend X material in a language, and who have explained what they did and their comprehension milestones. So it is feasible to copy their study plan and expect a similar result. 

But for production skills, there are less examples of people who’ve successfully learned to produce to the level of fluency they are satisfied with, and to find examples of them explaining specifically HOW they worked on those production skills.  I can think of only 2 examples of people I’ve seen who did mia and then ‘somewhat’ worked on production skills - Khalifa who studied Spanish (he did frequent tutoring sessions with lots of speaking practice to improve his production skills - https://youtu.be/lqxWYAGDQy0), Luke Truman (he produced language and did language exchange from the beginning of his learning and throughout - https://youtu.be/dDZgec6uzMs). In both of these examples - the people learned production skills by producing language with a language partner often (sometimes a tutor) to smooth out production skills. This does not particularly tell us if they could pass a language fluency test with their production skills, use their production skills professionally or in classes in that language, or if they’re still working on production skills (if so how much longer did they take tutoring sessions, how did they structure the sessions, and did they do any Other exercises to improve production skills?)

Since its hard to find what people even do during this production phase of learning in such approaches, its hard to see if it’s successful and by how much. Hard to see what pitfalls they have to work on addressing, hard to see what methods people do AT the production stage to improve and solidify their production skills. In general it is just HARD to see what steps people are even meant to take during this production stage if using these language learning approaches. In the examples I mentioned above, I’ve seen people practice production by simply TRYING once they reach a certain level of comprehension skill, and trying often. But that doesn’t address improving mistakes/issues with production. 

For accent - Shadowing has been mentioned in mia as an activity to do to improve production accent (which is a practical activity to improve that skill). For grammar mistakes and correction, mia’s Matt has mentioned making srs anki cards for grammar points he notices he can’t produce or think of and then drilling/studying them. This indicates looking up correct grammar points explicitly at some point - or does he just look at example sentences? Also this indicates still using anki cards, so is the solution to just continue drilling sentence examples even for production skills? 

-

From what I can tell, the methods for working on production seem to be:

Get a tutor. Start practicing speaking at least weekly. Also do language exchanges if possible. (only a tutor might explicitly address helping you notice and improve errors)

Start shadowing (improves accent, and I do think this is a free study method that would help)

Make more srs anki cards to drill any sentence patterns you don’t seem to know how to say well/notice you’ve made errors on (so continue the srs anki approach that you used in comprehension learning stage - what I dislike here is this is still potentially implicit study of grammar, so for example if you made the mistake to/too/two in english it would be studying example sentences instead of reading an explanation of when to use which to/two/too which seems more confusing/harder to quickly grasp for the kind of learner I am).

I am guessing here - but if planning to take a language test (like the JLPT, HSK, CEFR) get a test-prep textbook/guide/site/worksheets/practice-tests and work through it. I can’t remember if I’ve seen anyone do AJATT or MIA and then take the JLPT test, but most youtubers I’ve seen who have taken the test in general got a prep-textbook or course ahead of time to study and prepare. 

So. If I were going to apply developing production study skills to myself, what might that look like? Since I don’t like using srs flashcards much, and I hate learning from examples when there’s quicker ways to get a correction. 

What I might try to do in future for production skills:

*Shadowing - pretty self explanatory. Improve listening skills, improve accent. (And maybe if I’m lucky it will help with active vocab a little? Although I’ve seen no specific studies on that).

*Write more often in language - easy ways to do this include journaling (journaly is a thing?), so I have time to look up words I want to use (might help active vocab expansion) and think about my grammar. Strategies that might help grammar here could include looking at language sentence patterns (grammar/sentence pattern book/website), and practicing substitution (using other words relevant to me, while practicing a sentence pattern as a journal entry). This could help me practice from generally ‘correct’ grammar form, while also helping my active vocab and learning how to say what I generally think of saying.

*Use a test-related textbook/site and work through it doing the exercises. (Like the HSK books I have). While not super fun, I think this is the closest way to get classroom-like benefit of doing correct grammar patterns with aids to refer back to.

Language exchange - aiming to talk/write more. This would be free, and simply production practice (would help with active vocabulary, might only be practice for other skills). 

Paid: see a tutor weekly. Would help like language exchange, likely be more targeted since less time spent in english, and more likely to receive feedback on mistakes.

*Paid: test-related courses (like the coursera courses, or Chinese Zero To Hero* courses: https://chinesezerotohero.teachable.com/). Benefit would be more videos, possibly more support, and exercises specifically with direction and aids to refer back to. (I’ve had Chinese Zero to Hero courses recommended to me)

* starred ideas I think would be most likely to help. 

---

For me:

For free things, I think journaling based on sentence-pattern sentence examples would work very well. So read a grammar textbook/sentence-pattern guide/site/textbook then do a journal entry emulating that point with words I want to put into active vocab. I think that activity would put my already-owned study books to good use, and allow me to practice production/active vocab/correct grammar.

I also think working through a test-oriented site/book would help - I have pdfs of some so this is something I could do for free, and it would be something I could combine with journaling like the idea above. This would also be more progressive/organized more according to difficulty (which could bore me or alternatively help me build good habits from the bottom up). 

Shadowing and language exchanges I already do a little, and plan to do more once I start focusing on production more. I think for paid options - the test-oriented courses may actually help the most with the concern I have for ‘improving overall grammar.’ Tutors can help with production practice, more focused than some language exchanges, so tutors may help eventually too but not in that ‘explicit grammar improvement’ way I want to be able to mostly study and fix myself. 

-

So I think, ultimately, what my study plan is going to look like for production skills:

1. Continue improving comprehension skills. Add shadowing more, over time. (language exchange if desired)

2a. Once comprehension is in a good place, pick a book I have (sentence patterns if I have one, or HSK oriented textbook) and go through it doing practice journal entries for each example. Try to use words in the example book, and words in general I think I’d want to use. (Continue shadowing, and immersion in general for comprehension skills).

2b. If I can stick to doing this, work through a book/site. If I cannot stick to this (boredom, badly organized book, etc?) then look at paid course options at that point (Chinese Zero to Hero?) in case a class-style organization/commitment will push me to complete it better. (Continue shadowing, and immersion in general for comprehension skills).

Then After all that, practice away lol.  

[tact-and-impulse]

Holiday fic for @shepherds-of-haven! Thanks for the deadline extension. I hope I’m not too late! More under the cut or on AO3.

midwinter depths

It all started with an innocent conversation, Lavinet asking what they were planning to wear for the Wintersun Gala. The confused, collective answer was: what gala? After some back-and-forth, it became apparent that the Diminished-majority members of the newest government agency had not been invited to the illustrious holiday celebration. The reactions were varied, but they eventually came to one conclusion. Couldn’t they host a competing, more inclusive, and most importantly, better party? Certainly not as fancy, but in terms of community outreach, it would be far superior.

Responsibilities were dealt, and by dawn, the Shepherds set out to prepare.

***

The bus was late. Croelle adjusted his hat and clenched his teeth. Another inconvenience, just the latest obstacle to his work. The shelter’s glass panes looked very fragile and tempting at the moment, but ultimately, he didn’t move from his current seat on the metal bench.

A tall woman approached the bus stop, ashen hair pulled into a high ponytail to reveal slightly pointed ears. Her hazel eyes glinted with the iladrin, and one hand carried a bag of groceries. She checked her wristwatch, which sparkled with miniscule gems, and stopped at the other end of the bench. A strong wintry gust blew past, rattling the shelter. Heavy silence descended upon them.

“If you’re waiting for the bus, you might as well walk to your destination.” He intoned.

“Excuse me?” Her polished voice was more amused than affronted.

“It’s been twenty minutes. I hope you don’t have anywhere urgent to be.”

“And why are you still here?” She retorted.

He lifted the brim of his hat, to look at her again. Pale brows, an aquiline nose, a thin mouth colored by dark mauve lipstick. Handsome, he supposed. “Are you a Shepherd?” He had dragged his line of sight away from her face to the embroidered hound on her coat.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Dragged into it, really. Speaking of which...” She handed him a blue and silver flyer, detailing games, raffles, and a potluck dinner. “We’re hosting a party tonight at our headquarters. Ten danars admission, though I’m not sure whether it’ll be enforced. It’s mostly for the rest of the Shepherds, and their friends and families.”

“Is that what your bag is for?” He turned his attention to her purchased items.

“Oh, I don’t cook for groups. But I was assigned to buy ingredients for punch and I’m very good at making vytas.” She rummaged through a variety of fruits, before removing a jar of honey and admiring the color in the weak morning light. “I’m picky about my ingredients. No alcohol though, to be palatable for Mages like us.”

“I’m not a Mage. And I don’t eat fruit.”

She tilted her head, stepping in his direction. He flinched, as her gaze ran over him in obvious scrutiny. “How are you still alive?”

This close, he was able to see her hair clip. Three birds in flight, carved out of lacquered wood. He evaded her question. “For the same reasons anyone else is.”

She didn’t respond to that, still analyzing and trying to puzzle him out. Definitely, this Mage was a strange one. He hadn’t heard of any such figure in the Shepherds, but he could always use his resources to find out. She pivoted away from him, putting her jar back. “So, are you going to attend?”

“I have work. Why? I’m not your friend or family. Are you desperate for my company?”

“No.” She easily replied. He refused to feel a twinge of disappointment. “I only want to make sure that my effort pays off.”

“You hate holidays, don’t you?”

Her slight smile became brittle. “Do you only ask questions and never answer them?”

A short, derisive laugh escaped him. “Part of the job.” Wait, what was he doing? Conversing, letting down his guard, still sitting here instead of headed to his next assignment. He might have suspected she was an Enchanter if it weren’t for the wristwatch. The pearly face bore the symbol of the Shifters, the points and curls in fine etching.

“And what is your job?”

“You’re a nosy woman.”

“I prefer ‘curious’.”

“There’s such a thing as being too curious for your own good.”

“I’m not particularly interested in being good.”

He grabbed her slender hand, and she emitted a startled noise as he pulled her towards him. He lowered his voice, speaking into one tapered ear. “Interested in being bad then?”

She was perfectly still for a moment, her pulse rapid under his fingertips, and then, she roughly pulled away. Her eyes locked him in a deadpan stare. “That’s another question, and for this one, I’ll follow your example and decline to answer.”

“Hmph.” Determinedly looking past her form, he spotted a van turning the corner, the Shepherds’ emblem on the hood to mark its status as a government vehicle. “There’s your ride.”

She followed his line of sight and blinked. “Oh. So it is. Would you like to come along? The driver’s my kin, and he won’t mind.”

“I’d rather not.” He scowled, standing and brushing himself off. “Goodbye.”

“Well, if your work allows it, feel free to stop by tonight’s dinner. I don’t have to remind you to try the vytas.” She pointedly lifted her bag and then laid a hand upon her lapels. “You can ask for me, Zoegea. And you are…?”

He grunted. “Croelle.” And with that, he walked away before the van arrived. Minutes later, he wondered how he could be so foolish to tell her his name. Just for that, he had to pry more information out of her. He crumpled the flyer in his pocket but it stayed there.

***

The smell of baking bread was one of the best things in the world. Trouble knelt down, to peer into the oven. The rolls were puffy and golden-brown, nearly ready to eat. There was something nostalgic about waiting and watching, like he was five again and his mother was cooking in their tiny kitchen.

A rustle of movement caught his attention and he met bright amber eyes as his partner mirrored his position. “Hey, so the mashed potatoes should be done soon. What’s next?”

“We should be good for now. Thanks, Senna.” He grinned.

“No problem! So, what’re you doing?”

“Just checking on the rolls. Best part of being on the team in charge of side dishes.” It was always enjoyable to mold the balls of dough in his floured hands. He splayed his fingers over the warm glass. “It takes me back to when I was a kid. My mum made her own bread.” Right now, the yeasty aroma of the dinner rolls was just like the one that permeated the cozy apartment of his childhood.

“So did mine!” She eagerly shared the similarity. “Not that the Westwood bakery’s was bad, but I always liked hers best.”

“Yeah, that’s how I feel!”

She rocked back on her heels, her tanned face flushed. “I actually remember my mom’s recipe, so I bake now and then. It’s not exactly the same though.”

“But it’s something. I couldn’t read before my own died.” His memory of her was vague. She had pinned her hair when washing other people’s clothes, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair had been blond like his, but her eyes were a warm brown. Her voice was sweet though it was harder to recall now. Her scent was the easiest: clean linen and a touch of spiced apples. Other than that, he didn’t even have a photograph. “Wish I knew how she did it.”

“Maybe, we can figure it out. Or at least, get pretty close.” She suggested. “We can bake multiple batches and narrow it down from there, based on what you tell me.”

“Trial and error, huh?” He chuckled. “I like the sound of that! When should we start?”

“Probably sometime in the new year. When are you available?”

“Don’t worry about me; I’ll find the time. Just text me and I’ll be there. Do you have my number?”

“Yup, I saved it when you recruited me.” She flashed a thumbs-up. “I’ve just never had to text you before, because I keep running into you.”

“Hey now, you’re the Diviner.” He joked. “You’re not using magic to find out which bar I go to?”

“Trouble, you always go to The Burning Crown.”

“It’s the free drink Nessa gives me every time. Actually, I think I should probably switch it up. Too many fights break out in there, and uh, I’m trying to follow your advice.” If she hadn’t stopped him, his old gang would have been too glad to bring him down to their level. That wasn’t what a Shepherd did, and having her near was a good reminder.

“That’s great!” Her smile was wide and honest. “I know it’s hard, but I’m really happy you’re trying. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can do it, I believe in you.”

He coughed, as an excuse to stop staring. “Well, you’ve shown me that talking out of a brawl is an option.” Then, he winced. “Ah, shit, I gotta stand up again. My legs are killing me.” He stood, his thighs burning, and offered a hand to her. She grasped it, and as soon as she was upright again, she quickly squeezed.

“I don’t think I’ve had a Wintersun like this before. Today’s been so much fun.”

“Me too. It’s always fun spending time with you.”

She looked at him through her dark lashes, and he felt suspended in place. Then, with a sudden draft, Riel stepped in, carrying a clipboard.

“Are we on schedule?”

Trouble noticed she had let go, and he crossed his arms, pressing his empty hand against his body. “For sure, we are. Even though we won’t be serving until six tonight, we’ll be ready by then.”

“Parties usually start late, anyway.” Senna added, with a sparkle in her eyes.

Riel pinched the bridge of his nose. “And guests arrive early. Regardless, if you need anything from the supply team, tell me before five so I can accommodate you accordingly.”

“Understood!” A whistling ringtone began to play, and she removed her phone from her apron pocket. “Oh, good. I was waiting for them to call back. Sorry, this will be just a few minutes. But if not, I’ll see you later. And I’ll text you about our meeting, Trouble!”

“Looking forward to it!” He replied as she sprinted out.

Riel’s cool gaze shifted between Trouble and the swinging door. “A meeting?”

“Yeah, we’re going to bake bread together. Isn’t that nice? She’s a great friend.” In response, he gave such a long sigh, that Trouble demanded. “What’s eatin’ you?”

“Never mind.” He was already walking away.

“Oi! Just tell me!”

***

The knife moved easily in his grasp, as he sliced the parsnips. If the rest of his family could witness what he was doing, they’d be delivering the full brunt of their disapproval. Before today, he also thought he was better suited to security detail, but he had been convinced to join the rest of his friends. His squad insisted they’d be fine, Trouble had extolled the benefits, and a particular pair of deep brown eyes had been disappointed as the owner asked. “Are you not going to cook with us?”

Thus, here he was, preparing roasted vegetables for an impromptu party.

His partner for this task had her own tray, and she carefully sprinkled garlic salt over the halves of looked like miniature cabbages. When he brought over the parsnips, she glanced up at him. “Oh, you’re already done? Thank you, Blade!”

He stiffly nodded. “Do you need any assistance?”

“No, I’m okay. These are ready, so I’ll put them in the oven. You can get a drink.” A quick smile, and she was off to the adjacent kitchen. The storage room wasn’t as warm, and soundlessly, he crept out. He returned before she did, with two water bottles retrieved from the cooler in the hallway.

Wintersun was just another day, or at least, that was what he believed before. Now, far from the place of his upbringing, he was often out of his comfort zone. However, he didn’t mind learning more about the world, outside of the family business. And today had been very pleasant.

When Captain Enris walked past, he held out the extra bottle, nudging it against her hand.

She blinked. “Is this for me?”

“Yes.” He raised his brows. “Take it. You haven’t been hydrating.”

“It slipped my mind.” She admitted but accepted the water. From under her sleeve, her tattoo peeked out, the inky scrawl of Kettish script unconventional but poetic. She removed the lid and drank deeply; her mouth was red and gleaming.

He abruptly dropped his gaze. “You have the tendency to put yourself last. It’s not sustainable, so you should remember to look after yourself as well.”

Her laughter rang out, clear and crisp. “Ultan said something like that, a long time ago.”

She had never mentioned the name before. He tensed, the plastic bottle crackling in his grip. “Who’s Ultan?”

“He owned a little bookshop in Courtshore. I worked for him, after Drummond’s Point was…wiped out. It was my longest job, about two years, and I really enjoyed it. He, um, found some old magic books for me; that’s how I started learning magic.”

“He must have liked you.”

She hummed, considering the possibility. “I think so. He was a Norm but his late wife was a hedgewitch, so he always kept me safe. If anyone was suspicious, he said I was his granddaughter sent to live with him. I’m not sure if they really bought it though…”

He was a tiny bit happier that the connection was familial, although he was unsure how to feel, being compared to someone who was like her grandfather. He decided on tentative compliance. “Would you have stayed with him?”

“I don’t know. He fired me, you see.”

“What? Why would he? You’re…a good worker.” Damn, that sounded utterly inadequate. As if two words could describe how important her presence had become to the Shepherds.

“Well, I’m glad you think so.” She smiled. “But what he thought is still a mystery. He just gave me the week’s wages and told me I wasn’t welcome anymore. So, I just kept moving, and I never heard from him again.”

His anger on her behalf lingered but he kept his response neutral. “It’s his loss and our gain. I’m glad you’re here in Haven. It would not be the same without you.”

He was certainly not as eloquent as she was, but he hoped the Enchanter was more at ease. Her shoulders lowered a fraction, and she rested her back against the wall. “That’s kind of you to say.” Fondness colored her expression.

“Does it surprise you?”

She laughed again, and he welcomed the sound. “No, not at all! You’ve always been kind. Strict, but you truly care. You’ve never led us astray, despite how you’re not a big fan of Wintersun.”

“Was I obvious?”

“Compared to everyone else, just a little bit.” She pinched her fingers together. “But I noticed you’re not frowning as much. Are you having fun?”

“I’ll take the quiet now, before the crowds arrive.” He wryly answered.

“It’s close enough!” She set her half-empty bottle down and clapped. “Let’s finish seasoning the rest. I was thinking of having lunch afterwards; how about you?”

He deliberately paused. “That sounds agreeable. Do you have anywhere in mind?”

“Tallys mentioned a sandwich shop the other day. I can call ahead for pick-up.” She was already pivoting.

“Linaria.”

At the rare use of her given name, she immediately turned, lips parted.

“Let me see the menu first.” He grumbled.

With another giggle, she offered her phone. “The next thing we should work on is your pickiness.”

***

The free chair was inviting, and Chase took it, sliding over to the other person at the raffle table. “Hey, sunshine. How’s the sprain?”

“Better today, but not enough.” The newly incapacitated Battle-Mage scowled reproachfully at her left foot. “So I’m still stuck here.”

“You wanted to cook?”

“Even if I could, that’d be better than tearing up tickets.” She snorted. Her fingers pulled at the paper chain, twisting at the perforated end and depositing a fresh one in his open hand. She kept the other half, flicking it into a large glass jar. Valeriana had let her hair down, which was a first. Wine red and pin straight, it framed her face and grazed her elbows. She seemed more vulnerable, her features relaxed and youthful. He idly wondered who else had seen her like this. She must have sensed his regard, because her gaze shifted to him. “Did you need something else?”

“Nope, just hanging here and watching the rest of the hospitality team. Mostly, it’s Lavinet though.” The heiress had taken charge over the decorating business and she was ordering some of the newbies around to meet her standards. Embroidered white tablecloths, silver streamers, tea lights, and authentic pine trees for ambience. It all sounded magnificently meticulous, and he was trying to avoid her, just in case. “My side’s done with the party games.”

“Yeah? What have you got?”

“Elements, dreadnoughts, pin the tail on the ahfuri for the kids. We dug up some sui boards for the older folk. Anyone with spare change can play intrigue or Angels and Devils. And darts. Bet you’d like that.” As strong as she was, he knew she valued precision most of all. It was also what he liked about her, that she could run rampant on their missions given half a chance but opted for control.

He was interested in what she was like, if she lost it.

She leaned back in her seat, the motion steering him to the present again, and cracked a smile. “That depends on what prizes you have.”

“Ah, and like with all games, your prize is based on your stakes. Anything from chocolate truffles to plushy Shepherd hound toys to gift cards. Or I can always surprise you.”

“The bar is high.” She raised her brows but her eyes glittered at the prospect. Good.

“I’ll do my best, gorgeous. So...what has our dear organization obtained for the raffle prize?”

“You’ll have to win and find out for yourself.”

“Fair enough. Let’s hope this is a lucky one.” With a flourish, he brought the ticket to his lips in a light kiss and pocketed it. Then, he gestured towards the fall of her hair. “No bun or braids today?”

One hand tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “I want less tension for now, I’ll tie it back later.”

“Gotcha.” In the meantime, he’d appreciate the view.

“Caine asked me the same thing too.” The kid was eager to help out, and at the other end of the hall, he was stringing icy blue lights on one of the smaller trees. “He said it was nice.”

“He’s right, it suits you. You look lovely.” And he meant it, not even winking.

She held his gaze, about to bite back, but she paused. The moment stretched, before she quietly replied. “Thanks.”

His skin itched and he rubbed the back of his neck. Huh. She was attractive, it was hard not to notice since the day they met. It was only that she was a lot more so, because of how intimate her appearance was. It was lust, he decided, and he could deal with lust. Yeah.

“Well,” Chase cleared his throat and ruffled her hair. To his pleasant surprise, it was very soft. “I’m off to check on my people. Keep getting stronger, sunshine.”

“Uh…right.” Her dark eyes were wide, and he couldn’t look away.

“I’ll bring you a plate of food at dinner, and then, we can swing by the darts. Sound good?”

“Sure, I guess, mm.” She didn’t blush easily, but she was clearly flustered, blinking rapidly and tripping over her words. Cute. Her long eyelashes fluttered and he was transfixed.

Then, there was a clatter, and they both whipped towards the sound. Caine had dropped a third of his lights. Wincing, he called out. “Sorry!”

“Are you hurt?” Valeriana asked.

“No, I’m okay! How’re you?” He was giving them a trepidatious expression.

Oh. Chase was still touching her head. Slowly, he let go and forced a two-fingered salute. “We’re fine here! You’re doing good, little man!”

“I’ll see if I can help him out.” She muttered.

“You don’t have to, I’ll send a couple of my guys to check on him. Get some rest before tonight, alright?”

She didn’t seem fully appeased but she grabbed her ticket chain and reluctantly nodded, echoing. “See you tonight.”

“It’s a date. Later, Valia.”

If she protested at her shortened name, he didn’t hear it. He strolled along, starting to whistle. After making sure no one else was around, he glanced down at his hand and grinned.

***

The pressure cooker must have disappeared into an adjacent plane of existence. Red sighed as he closed the latest cupboard. “Nope, not here either.”

“Seriously?!” Alcea popped her head up, from behind the counter. Her golden curls bounced, her gray eyes brimming with dismay. “Damn it, where else could it possibly be?”

“At this point, I’m wondering if we should go to the nearest mall and buy another one.”

“Yeah, but we just bought this last week! Riel would throw a fit if we went back. Anyway, it should still be in the box!” She dove again and he smiled, leaning over the granite.

“Or we could always just do it the old-fashioned way. There are plenty of pots that no one else is using.”

“I guess we can.” She grouched. “It’d just be easier to make vegetable curry when we don’t have to be watching the stove the entire time.” She pulled away from the clutter of miscellaneous cooking utensils, and agonizingly rose to her feet. “Augh, my back!”

“Are you alright?” He rushed around to help, but she shook her head.

“Only out of shape, but I’m alive.”

“Good, because I still need you.” He grinned, hiding his relief. “Who else is going to taste test?”

“Uh, nobody, because that’s my job for today? A privilege of being on the entrée team.”

“Just one?”

“One of many.” She smirked. “But I’m not giving up on our missing item! I’ll send a text to the group chat.” She dug out her phone and her thumbs flew across the screen, her charm bracelet jangling with its trio of silver birds. As they walked through the corridors, he kept a close eye, ensuring she wasn’t bumping into anything.

Their allotted kitchen space was looking rather colorful. Onions, garlic, ginger, cauliflower, peas, cans of coconut milk. Jars of spices were lined up on one end, their labels in large print. And in the midst of the ingredients, an open book waited, displaying the pages of the recipe.

He rolled up his sleeves. “So, we’re making two batches: mild and spicy.”

“Yup. Oh! Should we ask Mimir for input on the latter?”

“If she ever shows, and doesn’t she have a high tolerance? Like, she inhales what would kill everyone else?”

“Right…maybe not.”

“It was a nice thought.” He squeezed her shoulder. Years ago in Capra, he wouldn’t have imagined this scenario.

They hadn’t been close then; they shared mutual friends, but he was only aware of her as ‘the other Conjurer who was always in the stacks late at night’. Conversely, she knew him as ‘the guy who tried to descend the university into Hael itself’, but mercifully, she didn’t blame him at all. In fact, the first thing she asked upon their formal introduction was how he did it. The rest was history. The Shepherds had inherited a massive library from a Mage, and on their coinciding off days, the two of them claimed a study room and filled a whiteboard with spell runes and equations. She was bright and vivacious and daring; his younger self had made ignorant mistakes, and now, he could add overlooking her to the list.

After plenty of scrambling and bitten-off curses, some of which were Elvish, their main dish was bubbling. She ladled a spoonful, blew, and sampled. Her eyes shut as she broadly smiled.

“That good, huh?”

“Don’t take my word for it. Come on, try for yourself!” She grabbed a new spoon, taking from the top. Holding the steaming mixture to his mouth, she ordered. “Open wide!”

He chuckled. “Sharing a privilege?” However, he accepted. It was delicious, fragrant with coconut and bold with delayed heat. He ran his tongue across his lips to catch any left.

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Nope, it’s a second to see you eat something I helped make.”

“I hope your expectations were met.”

“Exceeded, for the entire morning actually. I love working with you.” She was incredibly close, her cheeks rosy. He tilted his head-

“Hello?” A timid voice called, and they both spun around to see Shery, standing at the threshold. Her hands shook as she lifted a large, familiar box. “Um…I saw your text to the group. Were you looking for this?”

“That’s it! Thank you sooo much, Shery!” Alcea bounded forward, relieving the other blond of the pressure cooker. “Where did you find it?”

“On our side.” She pushed the nose bridge of her glasses. “It was behind one of the trash cans.”

“We really appreciate it.” Red smiled. “We’ll save a bowl for you later. Mild, of course.”

She seemed very reassured. “I’ll look forward to it, and I’ll hold some fairy bread for you two. See you soon.” Just as silently as she arrived, she hurried off.

He peered at the box. “I’ve never used a pressure cooker before. Have you?”

“Not for curry.” She conceded, lowering it to the floor for unpacking. “But here, let me show you the basics!”

Settling in for the explanation, he watched her animated face with pleasure. This was a privilege he would claim for himself.

***

The van slowed to a stop for the red light, so Ayla propped her feet up on the dashboard. “Think a lot of people are going to show up?” They’d been traversing Haven for a second round, buying additional supplies and plastering the last of the flyers.

“It’s cheap food and entertainment. So, probably a fair amount.” Her companion answered, sliding his hands around the steering wheel. His green gaze didn’t move from the road. “Are you inviting anyone?”

“Who would I invite? You’ve been in Haven longer than I have.”

He huffed. “Sure, I have a head start of six months, but I’ve been away on missions. Some of them were with you.”

“As if I could forget.” The light changed, and the van continued on its path.

She had hoarded every piece of information she learned about him. He was an Elementalist like her, but his skillset was well-rounded, with a preference for ice. The tattoo under his collarbone was of three birds, belonging to a species with a distinctive call, which his clan had taken for their own name as well. That song had not been heard in decades though, and he always shut down when it came to the fate of Vale. He couldn’t join the military because he was Diminished, so he had been a mercenary for a number of years. He liked his khav strong and bitter, and his toast just this side of burnt. Alright, the last bit was extraneous, but it wasn’t like she wanted to make him breakfast or anything.

“Hey, E.”

“Yeah?” He responded in kind.

“What’s eggnog taste like?”

“Did they not have any in the desert?”

“It has raw eggs, right?” She glanced behind her, to the milk jugs and egg cartons they had purchased. The other bags had remained stationary, teeming with chocolate, peppermint sticks, and whipped cream cans. “It would spoil in the heat.”

The corner of his mouth pulled into a half-smile. “True. Did you ever have custard?”

“Something like that, a milk and rice pudding my parents gave me once.” She remembered the little bowl in her hands, how she licked the spoon clean. Her mother and father, grinning as they watched her try the dessert for the first time.

“It’s similar, but more drinkable. You add cinnamon or nutmeg, and sometimes, alcohol. If you don’t like it, you can just stick to the cocoa.”

“I’ll try both.” She countered. “Do you add spices to the cocoa too?”

“Some people do. I like mine with cinnamon and a pinch of chili powder.” Interesting. Another thing she learned.

The car in front suddenly braked, and she swore. The van lurched, Erigeron’s solid arm bracing over her front. As they halted, way too close to be comfortable, his other fist slammed the horn. Up ahead, a couple scurried across the road. Noticeably, there was no pedestrian crossing.

“Tourists.” She scoffed.

“Too busy looking around them to care about anyone else.” He was still touching her, and he slowly pulled away, studying her face. “You okay?”

“I’m good.” Her pulse was elevated from the near hit. The intensity of his stare made her shift in her seat. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He twisted around to examine the back, grimacing. “Hope nothing’s broken.”

“That would really suck.”

They started moving again, and she glanced at the speedometer. He must have caught her wary expression, because his rough baritone added. “Don’t worry. I’ll take it slow.”

Damn, that was really smooth. She fixed her gaze out the window, trying to think of icicles and snowstorms.

It was a matter of minutes before they parked at headquarters. As soon as he removed the key from ignition, a familiar figure entered the garage.

“Oh, wonderful. I was just about to call you, darlings.” Lavinet tossed her hair and marched out to meet them. “Have you procured what’s left on our list?”

“Sure did.” He grunted and removed his seatbelt. “Check for yourself before we bring them in.”

“No need, I trust you two.”

Unloading was going to take longer than expected; they would need multiple trips. Fortunately, nothing seemed to be leaking. Ayla took a few bags, but he stopped her from grabbing the next.

“You can go inside first.”

“I can take more.”

He firmly clasped her shoulder. “Nah, just come back. Everything will be here, and you must be cold.”

She was, but she nudged his side. “Hurry up, won’t you? Elementalists can still get sick.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nevertheless, he smirked. Stupid, sexy, silver-haired Mage.

Lavinet held the door and joined her for a short distance, eyes glittering. “How was your outing?”

“O-outing?” She spluttered. “We were running an errand, that’s it.”

A lofty laugh escaped the other woman, shielded by a fur-lined glove. “You aren’t fooling me at all. I noticed those little touches. I expect every detail over appetizers, dear.” With a wink and wiggle of her fingers, the heiress glided off to her next task.

“Hey!” Her protest went ignored. Burrowing her face in her scarf, she redirected an air current to cool down. It wasn’t enough.

***

The door opened, and Halek glanced towards the direction of the noise. “You’re late-” He stopped, noticing that while the newcomer also had violet eyes, she wasn’t who he was expecting. Black hair was styled in a braided crown, with a finger’s width of white weaving down the left side. One hand gently closed the door, as she hastily ducked her head.

“Sorry, I’m not Briony. We switched last minute. I’ll be helping you instead.” She went to the sink, quickly scrubbing her hands.

“Well, I’ll take any help right now. What’s your name?”

“Kalmia.” She even pronounced it the way a Hunter would, the first syllable in the back of her throat. But she was a Mage, apparent enough from her eyes, and her hair color automatically disqualified her from being a pure-blooded Hunter.

“Are you a Battle-Mage too?”

“No, I’m a Healer.”

“That’s better. Briony means well, but she tends to break things and I need the stove today.”

The corner of her mouth lifted, as she turned off the faucet. “I read the menu. It does seem like a lot…”

“It’s why we’re the first ones in the kitchen.” The pot roast was going to take most of the day to cook, and the glazed ham was a new addition to his repertoire. But he was excited to try.

She joined him in peeling the carrots and potatoes, introducing herself. She had been adopted by Hunters in Maj; he vaguely recognized the town as a former refugee campsite. After they passed, she slowly made her way to Haven. Meanwhile, this was the first year he spent beyond the largest Hunter city, The Reach. She didn’t fawn over who he was, and perhaps, that could be chalked up to how distant Maj had been. Either way, he was secretly happy.

By five, the pot roast was keeping warm in the slow cooker, and he closed the oven door on the ham. “This will be ready in a couple hours.”

“And what’s next?”

“Next, I’m going to take a nap. You can do what you want in the meantime. I’ll be in the back.”

“Oh. Alright.” She looked around, hesitant. “Um, sleep well?”

His attempt at a nod was more of a head droop. “Later.” The nearest break room had a decent couch and when he stirred awake, he felt a little better.

And the kitchen hadn’t burned down. Kalmia was taking a kettle off the stove and acknowledged his return with a little wave. Her braid had been undone, her hair falling in waves past her shoulders. “I made tea. Would you like some?”

“Sure.” He yawned. When he sat down, a steaming cup was waiting for him. The liquid was a dark gold color, still spinning gently. Used to the blends their quartermaster liked to offer, he expected sugary sweetness. Instead, this herbal tea was surprisingly mellow, like chamomile at first, before giving way to a deeper bittersweet flavor. Complex and refreshing. “This is just what I needed.”

She beamed, hands wrapped around her own cup. “It’s one of my favorites from when I was living in Leore.”

He stared at her for a few moments, before remembering to look away. “You have good taste.” His phone suddenly vibrated and he scowled at the caller ID. He let it ring, watching as the inevitable voicemail notification appeared.

“Is it a spam call?”

“Worse. My fiancé. You know, Hunters and their arranged marriages.”

“You don’t like her.”

“No, I don’t. But the other choice is to condemn everyone at home, depending on more new Hunters.”

Her expression was melancholy, and barely above a whisper, she said. “If you’re trapped, it’s not a choice at all.”

The sentiment warmed him as much as the tea did. But there was also the ring of truth in her words and the strength of memory in her distant gaze. He wondered what had happened to her, who could have hurt her. If he wanted to, he could reach across the table and pat her shoulder. Pushing the thought aside, he refilled their cups. “I have a recipe for almond cookies. It’d go well with this, next time.”

“I’d really like that. Thank you.”

The implicit promise cut through the tension, and he exhaled. “I’m free whenever. In the past, I always liked Wintersun, because I have the time to cook, eat, and sleep. Or because it has ‘sun’ in the name.” Halek dryly noted.

“Oh, that’s right. I like Wintersun too. The hanging laurel especially.” She sounded wistful. “Probably because Kalmia means laurel. But you already know that.” She added, self-conscious.

“Mm. Did your parents want you to fly?”

She laughed, for the first time that day. She seemed almost surprised by it, and tried to answer him but her giggles kept breaking through. “Me, flying? As a baby?”

Happiness suited her better than sorrow, and he started to shake with repressed laughter too, at the mental imagery of a pair frantically running after a dark-haired infant drifting away from a farmhouse. He didn’t have to think of other traditions involving laurel.

***

The icing smeared in a runny white trail, drawing a groan from Briony.

“Come on!” She glared at the sugar cookie she was currently decorating, and then at the rest of the tray she had wreaked havoc on. She thought switching to the dessert team would be more fitting to her skillset and it was, until the baking was done. Somehow, all of her miniature Shepherds appeared awkwardly proportioned at best and hideous at worst.

“Everything okay?” The kind voice meant to comfort but she only felt more ashamed. Gentian’s recreation of Tangriel’s Tower was the most impressive cake she’d ever seen, with its fudgy center and raisin-lined battlements. Also...he was really cute in an apron, with his blue-black hair gathered into a bun for convenience. Really cute, even if she was kind of jealous.

“Oh, it’s just fantastic.” She grumbled. “How do you make everything look so tasty?”

“I don’t know?” He sheepishly shrugged. “How are your-oh. Well...they’re definitely original.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Yeah, her creations stood out, compared to the cake, Tallys’s individual servings of Elvish trifles, and Shery’s traditional fairy bread. “But they should taste okay! I think...”

Gentian reached for one of the smaller cookies, intended to be one of the few replicas of herself and topped with light pink frosting and violet sprinkles for her eyes. He took a bite; she held her breath. She tried not to stare at his throat as he swallowed.

“This was your first time making them?”

“Technically, yeah. Shery read the recipe I was using and said it seemed alright. I just followed the instructions and hoped for the best. I mean, I don’t remember baking anything before.” Briony nervously laughed. Beyond the past few months, she only knew her name and the password to her phone, which had been wiped clean. The Shepherds had found her in an underground fighting ring, where he slipped inside to recruit her. The glaring lights had targeted his figure when he stepped forward as her next challenger. Unassuming at first glance, but she immediately recognized he was a skilled fighter, just by how he moved. “Anyway, what do you think?”

He smiled. “I think if the rest of the tray is just like this one, you won’t have any left at the end of tonight. It’s delicious.”

“Really?!”

“Try one for yourself.”

She chose another doughy Shepherd, a navy-colored mess, and chomped it down before he could notice. It was slightly warm, the edges crispy. Vanilla and sweet icing filled her mouth. “Ah, it’s good! I need to save that recipe…it should be in my phone’s history.”

“If you need help tracking it down, I can help.”

“That’d be great! But didn’t you only see it during this morning’s meeting?”

“It was enough.”

Now, she was certainly confused. “You memorized it in less than a minute?”

Hesitantly, he replied. “I have an eidetic memory.”

“Eidetic?” The word was unfamiliar.

“Photographic is another word. I don’t forget anything I’ve seen or experienced once.”

“Wow, that’s amazing! That’s like the opposite of my problem.” That earned her a laugh, which was encouraging. She paused. “But if you don’t forget anything, that includes things you don’t want to remember, right?”

“Yes, that’s true.” He became quiet, his thoughts obviously far away. She’d seen him like this on occasion, especially around the Ket members.

She strode around the table and as his blue gaze drifted to her, she hugged him.

“Briony?” His soft voice had dipped low, and the vibration against her cheek made her heart flutter.

“You look like you needed a hug. And Wintersun is exactly the time for hugs. Well, so is Lovelace Day, but that’s not right now!” Lovelace Day was also a long ways off, and she imagined it would be nice to spend it with him. If he agreed. “Is this okay?”

“It is.” His hand touched between her shoulder blades, with the lightest pressure. She was about to hold him tighter when there was the distinct sound of a throat clearing. Immediately, they let go of each other. Tallys stood at the door, appearing spotless despite the day’s work.

“I was about to ask if you two had finished.” She gave them a very pointed look. “But it looks like you just started. See you around.” As she spun on her heel, she was definitely smirking.

“Oops.” Briony grinned at him. He was even cuter when he blushed. “She crept up on us.”

“I should have noticed though.” He sighed but smiled when he finally met her gaze again. His expression was gentle, without a trace of sadness. “Thank you.”

“No problem. If you’d like any more hugs, just let me know.” She spread her arms in offering.

“I’ll remember.” His tattooed wrist lifted, and he quickly tugged a lock of her pink hair, his fingertips brushing her cheek. While she was still processing that, he cited a need for more powdered sugar and headed out.

Alone, she pressed her hands to her burning face. Maybe, she could pass by him under the hanging laurel later…

***

The party lasted into the late hours of the night, and by the end of it, the Shepherds were exhausted and trudging during the cleanup. The leftover prizes were fought over, though most somehow ended up in Caine’s arms, and there was enough cake remaining to bring home, so no one was going to leave unsatisfied. The laurel branches had been plucked clean, petals stuck to sleeves and clinging to mussed hair. The unanimous consensus was that it had been a success, one final fun celebration together before they began anew. And really, that was what Wintersun was all about.

[madeofsplinters]

for the symbols ask, would you mind all of them that you havent yet done for vader? you have very good opinions on him and i would like to hear them

Aw, thank you! Although man that is A LOT of Vader headcanons left to do :D But I like writing random stuff about him, soooo... Sad:

Vader still remembers all the Jedi younglings' names.

Angry/Violent:

I mean, what in Darth Vader's life *isn't* angry/violent? Lol. The particular way that he uses the Dark Side produces a really fucked up feedback loop: he's angry and in various forms of pain all the time, which produces an energy he can channel into violence, which produces self-hate and further pain, which produces more energy. Lather, rinse, repeat.

A lot of Palpatine's work with Vader is simply about managing this loop and adjusting as necessary. Giving him enough outlets for his rage that he doesn't just combust where he stands and start breaking things he isn't supposed to; tormenting him enough, and giving him the tools to self-torment, so that it never quite subsides into peace.

This isn't the only way of using the Dark Side, but it's a common one for Sith warriors; both Maul and Kylo Ren use something similar.

Sex:

Disabled people can, too have sex - it just takes a little more creativity. Vader has plenty of creativity, as well as magic super powers. If he doesn't indulge in such things - which, honestly, in canon he probably doesn't - then it's due to psychological factors: a conservative upbringing and ascetic lifestyle, unresolved grief for his wife, self-hate, depression, not wanting to let anyone in that close, etc.

Anyways if I see one more "BuT hIs DiCk DoEsN't WoRk" post here on Tumblr dot com, as if that body part is all that sex boils down to, I may actually scream.

Living Quarters:

When he's meditating in his stupid lava fortress, Vader senses the Dark Side nexus underneath him as if it's a living being, a kind of elemental lava spirit. Sometimes he talks to it in his head. (Is it "really talking" back to him? Is he just carrying out a strange symbolic drama in his own head? Don't ask - if you don't intuitively understand how a spiritual experience can be both these things at once, then you're not on Darth Vader's level.)

His favorite thing about the lava river is that it isn't Palpatine. Vader of all people knows how destructive lava is, but lava is direct and straightforward. It doesn't lie to him. It doesn't play games on purpose just to jerk him around. It just flows on and burns what's in its path, and there are days when Vader finds that both relatable and soothing.

Romantic:

Vader has a weakness for partners who are older than him, brave, smart, outwardly stable (the insides may vary), have a cute accent and strong negotiation and leadership skills, feed him attention in measured amounts, and are convinced they know better than him about everything. Padmé and Tarkin (and Obi-Wan, for that matter) all fit this type...

Friendship:

I mean, Vader doesn't really have friends, though. He is capable of forming really intense attachments to a few specific people, and tolerating others because of their competence, but anything in between those ends of the spectrum? Doesn't really compute. Vader does not chill or hang out or make pleasant conversation, not a lot of room for friends here.

Even as Anakin, he was a little like this. It was harder to tell, because his social circle was a lot bigger then - there were way more people in the "would die for them" circle, and way more who he went out of his way to be nice to, even if they weren't exactly close. But all of these social relationships involve some kind of power relation. Anakin has masters and fellow generals and an apprentice; he has favorite loyal troops and a favorite droid; he has a Supreme Chancellor who is being very nice to him for some reason. These are all people he works with, or who want something from him; he doesn't really have anyone he hangs out with just for the sake of hanging out with them. Padmé is the closest he gets to that, and even with her, he’s acting out a romantic role in the way that he thinks is expected of him so that he’ll deserve her love. (And doing a bad job of it, because Anakin is awkward, but never mind.)

Anakin has a huge heart and many attachments, don't get me wrong. But I don't think he's ever fully grasped the idea of a social connection that doesn't revolve around one of the people involved being useful to the other.

Quirks/Hobbies:

(I already did a “workshop/tinkering” one, so here’s a “flying” one...)

Vader's special experimental prototype TIE fighter is in constant need of repairs because of how recklessly he flies. It's not even that he crashes into things - it's just wear and tear because you're not actually supposed to yank the throttle that hard every damn time you turn the ship, Lord Vader, seriously how are you not passing out from those g-forces.

Vader is genuinely confused why the techs keep complaining. Podracers are used to having to rebuild their entire pod after every race. By that standard, he's doing great.

Childhood:

Tiny little bb Anakin wasn't actually any angrier than normal, at least by the standards of traumatized child slaves. Like, he was about at par. There were plenty of angrier ones. You couldn't have looked at him, in comparison to the other child slaves doing similar jobs in Mos Espa, and said "oh yeah that one in particular is gonna have anger and attachment issues."

He did stand out from the other kids, though, on account of just being a weird little nerd. He built a whole droid and a racing pod by himself and his master didn't even make him do it! He keeps talking about how he's going to be a Jedi and fly all around the galaxy and save the planet and marry a queen, when everybody knows there are at least three good reasons why that's wrong. He thinks random customers who come into his shop are his new friends! Anakin is just... weird. Off in his own little world. The other local slave kids know not to be too mean to him because he will always help you out in a pinch, and he is really good with machines, but other than that, I dunno, would you wanna hang out with Mr. I’m Gonna Be A Special Jedi?

Shmi sees this dynamic happening, but there's not much she can do, except to give Anakin all the love and reassurance that she wishes he was getting from his peers.

Cooking/Food:

Idk the Wookieepedia says that Vader can eat nutrient paste out of a straw in his mask if he wants to, but he doesn't want to because it tastes awful. So my questions here are (a) considering everything else they have to do, how can the suit's recesses possibly fit enough nutrient paste inside them for Vader's needs, and (b) seriously we're how many years in the future and we can't even make a nutrient paste that tastes good? We haven't even hit on "bland"? For the Emperor's chief enforcer, whose personal care budget is virtually unlimited? Yeah no, I'm calling canon error on this one. He can't eat, or it's too much trouble to get food into him with the other life support, so he's tube-fed. That's my headcanon.

Appearance:

Vader is very muscular. (This isn't really a "head"canon? He's literally played by a bodybuilder? But some fans disagree, so, eh.) He was already tall and strong when he was Anakin, but the suit adds height and it adds a LOT of extra weight that he has to be able to carry around with him literally every time he moves.

His recovery process after Revenge of the Sith involved having to learn how to move again, with new prosthetic limbs and horrifying new chronic injuries, basically from the ground up, and having to do it well enough that he could sword-fight Jedi Masters to the death, and he had to put on a ton of muscle in order to do that.

Palpatine was very strict in the nutrition and exercise regimes he imposed for this purpose. I have a sneaking suspicion that steroids were also involved.