#oh a wicket

[fazcinatingblog]

Aw man, there's a whole empty stadium and a group had to sit directly behind me and two of them knocked into me while walking behind. Why.

[elodieunderglass]

Oh I’ve THOUGHT about this for real, though!

But it depends on how much you view my decisions in stupidly overthought Weasel Heart in Defiance as logical and canon-compliant.

WHiD is about seven separate (affectionate) fights with Tolkien, tied together in a canvas bag and chucked into a river. WHiD is about burdening a 2D cartoon character with the full weight of the Silmarillion, and him stubbornly not learning from any of it. WHiD seeks to set up the tension of Chilchuck’s character by looking at the difference between what he says and does with regard to his “duty for others,” and building a whole tiny little world in the gap.

In WHiD, I posit that Chilchuck has a core sense of duty to others paired with resentment of being forced to do things. He is a leader of his people, but ferociously insists on his right to define “his people” as the people he chooses. Among a people who inherently value social cohesion, Chilchuck is positioned as a necessary challenger. He uses a framework of professional standards to obscure that he does actually sometimes make choices based on honour and courage. He is NOT your dad, he is NOT your Thain, and he will NOT be backed into a corner -

Upon which Bee, being a weasel heart of more than ordinary defiance, but also a hell of a heavy conscience for something that weighs as much as an egg, would be like, “…boss?”

“It’s his choice.”

“Informed choice, is it? One of those choices, eh?”

“It’ll teach him to read the fine print.”

“You really going to let him walk off not even knowing what he’s really doing?”

“Oh, give it a rest, Bee. Have some class consciousness! That’s an aristocrat. He’s - he’s - he’s bourgeois.”

“He’s just a young fool.”

“Yeah? So? Guy’s got a gardener. Name one half-foot who ever had a gardener - Dan! DANDAN, come on, we’re going.”

“Chil, listen, these guys don’t play wickets!”

“Hear that, Bee? They’re not even remotely the same species as us. Weird feet, elf ears, they don’t speak the tongue and they don’t even play wickets. That all sounds exactly like not our problem.”

To which Bee would respond, “Hast-u-val” - nevertheless.

But I do not think it would go much further than a conversation about the Facts of Life.

"Chilchuck would hate Frodo" bullshit, Chilchuck would be super fucking intensely protective of Frodo Baggins.

The ring you got for your inheritance turned out to be CURSED? And you VOLUNTEERED to WALK HUNDREDS of MILES to destroy it!? And when you got stabbed by a monster blade, the ELVES TOOK YOU AWAY FOR MONTHS and you THANKED THEM!?

No. No, I'm your father now, kid. You're joining a union, I'm negotiating your back pay for that trip. And your ongoing medical treatment, and I'm getting you EXTRA for mental anguish. Oh, the elves are offering to take you to some mysterious continent off in the West as recompense? Let's find out how many of these obscure cuss words they can decipher.

[delespresso]

WINNER TAKES IT ALL ━━ Fiyero x fem!reader

author's note; my only knowledge of wicked is from the movie, so that's what this is based on lol. i unfortunately do not live in a place where we have broadway/west end things (very sad coz i love musicals deeply) ps; not proofread!

prompt; “If I beat you, you have to kiss me” “That’s- wait, what?”

summary; weekend games were normal in shiz, but fiyero has a different idea of a game when it comes to the girl who caught his eye

━━ ☄. *. ⋆

Fiyero Tigelaar was used to charming the pants or skirt of anyone. He had people eating out the palm of his hand before he even said a word.

Imagine the slap in the face he received when she didn't even bat an eye at him. If anything, she always seemed annoyed whenever he was even mentioned or within proximity.

So he did what any other person would do — he kept pestering her. He was quick to become a thorn in her side and constantly shadowing her and showing up wherever she went. It came to a point where she was sure he was trying to be her extra limb.

During the weekend games, where everyone at Shiz gathered either in the courtyard, gardens or open fields depending on the game they wanted to play, he was even more incessant.

"Have you no one else to annoy?" she questioned as he stood beside her while they were playing a game of croquet.

Fiyero was leaning on his mallet, letting it rest on the grass as he gave her his typical nonchalant smile.

"None as entertaining as you, I find it stimulating," he replied.

She glanced up at him, the look on her face showing clear annoyance. Why was he choosing her to annoy, of all people? She was just a girl trying to surf through her university life, get good grades and have a bit of healthy fun on the side.

Without a certain winkie prince ruffling her feathers every other second.

"Its unbecoming of a fine lady to frown every moment of the day," he quipped.

She huffed out a chuckle, walking over with her own mallet in hand. She shifted to aim properly, before giving a gentle nudge to the ball that ended up right through a wicket.

Fiyero let out a low whistle, as if he was so impressed.

"Not bad," he hummed.

"You know, your praise isn't very stimulating," she quipped.

That made him smirk, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. She regretted her comment immediately but she didn't back down either.

"I'm sure we can find something that works," he retorted.

"You make me want to hurl," she replied.

"Ouch," Fiyero pouted, putting a hand to his heart. "You wound me, darling."

She imitated his pout, before turning away with a roll of her eyes. It felt like every little movement she made was being tailed by him. Their game only got more intense as it went on. Even the other players were a little concerned at how competitive they were.

The constant back and forth jabs, the heckling in hopes the other would miss their shots. It was a never ending loop.

It was the last round by now. Fiyero knew he was on the brink of losing — he was too easily distracted by her earlier. Now she was about to take the last shot, and if she made it then she'd most definitely come on top.

Now that couldn't happen. Not on his watch.

He walked around the field, going over to her side as she lined up her shot. He waited, watching the way her forehead creased slightly as she focused, the subtle pout on her lips.

Oh, her lips.

Then he had a cheeky little idea. With a finger rubbing his chin, he leaned in slightly closer just before she'd hit the ball.

"If I beat you, you have to kiss me."

His whisper right by her ear had warm breath fanning her skin. That was enough to send a random, odd shiver down her spine. Then his words registered just as she took the shot.

"That's— wait, what?"

She was knocked way off balance to the point her ball went completely south from the wicket. Nowhere close to how her shots had been so perfect before this.

Her jaw fell slack as she looked at the ball. Especially the distance between it and the wicket.

"Well, seems to me you're beat, darling," Fiyero mused.

She was still completely stunned by the fact. Especially considering she was always good at croquet — it was practically her game for crying out loud. In comes this stupid little prince charming knocking her off her game with a simple bet that wasn't even agreed upon.

Fiyero found it all completely amusing. Especially how flustered she was by a few simple words. He was definitely taking note of it.

"So?" he hummed, his body tilting to the side to be closer to her.

She turned her head, her eyes narrowed in a glare as she looked up at him. She wanted to smack that smug, cheeky look off his face with her mallet.

"No," she said simply.

She left the mallet in the provided space, trudging off the field and away from him. Hopefully for a really long time. He called out for her, unable to help the laugh that left him as she practically ran away at the mere idea of kissing him.

"Adorable," he mused to himself.

If Fiyero's life mission was to pester her, hers was to avoid him. She'd managed it for two solid days now. In and out of classes at the speed of light, no more lingering in the library unless she desperately needed a certain book and certainly no more courtyard homework.

Even her roommate was getting concerned by her behaviour, but she shrugged it off as her not wanting to be outside in public.

At some point it got stifling though, so she left the dorms at night. It was quite late and she wanted to go on a walk. So she went out to the gardens, past curfew. It was only for a few minutes anyway — she didn't see any harm done.

Until of course, someone else was already there. In her favourite spot. Playing with a stray puppy.

She couldn't avoid him for that long, clearly. As she attempted an escape, Fiyero looked up — their eyes meeting. And then came his cheeky little smile again. She was suddenly glad it was dark out, so he couldn't see her fully.

“And what's a good girl like you doing loitering past curfew?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, deciding to just go with it. She stepped a little closer — for the fresh air. Totally nothing to do with him.

“Can't sleep,” she shrugged, her arms folded as she looked down at the puppy.

Bending down, she reached her palms out. The little thing was quick to jump and put its paws on her hand, licking at her skin. A smile pulled on her lips as she entertained the puppy.

“You've been avoiding me.”

“You've been pestering me.”

Fiyero chuckled at her quick retort, shaking his head as he sat on the grass.

“Do you always have an answer for everything?” he questioned.

“Why do you think I read?” she quipped. “I understand the concept is foreign to you, seeing as you can't read.”

“Ah ah,” he clicked his tongue. “I can read perfectly well, princess. I simply choose not to tire my brain.”

“So you choose to tire your tongue by vexing me with every word that comes out of your smart mouth?”

He grinned — two days of nothing and now he was getting quite his fill of fun.

“You just called me smart,” he mused.

“Is that all you heard?” she scoffed.

“Selective hearing. I choose not to invite negativity and stress,” he shrugged with a cheeky smile.

The chuckle that left her was a welcomed one. He liked that, the way she laughed even if they were arguing.

“Why don't you like me?”

The question left him before he even thought about it. Then again, he wasn't really known for thinking, was he?

She paused from petting the puppy, turning her head to him instead. Her head tilted, before she moved to sit on the grass properly as well.

“I never really said that,” she said.

“You've implied it.”

“Oh, so you do pick up on context clues?”

He laughed then, unable to help the way her words amused him a little too much. He was always upbeat, sure, but she seemed to make him smile a little more than usual. Even now — their smiles were matching.

“I don't not like you,” she eventually corrected. “I just find my focus elsewhere.”

His brows raised as he leaned forward, his arms on his knees as he watched her. Not the way she was playing with the dog, or their surroundings. He was just looking at her face in the dim light.

“So you do like me?” he asked.

“I tolerate you.”

“Already an upgrade,” he hummed. “Just tolerate?”

“Don't push it,” she warned light-heartedly.

The sound of their chuckles were the only thing reverberating in the quiet garden, as well as the dog rolling around on the grass at her affections. They sat there for a long while, maybe an hour or so. Until eventually they both got up to get back to their dorms.

“You still owe me,” he said on their walk back.

Considering they'd both snuck out past curfew, they were rather casually strolling back to the dormitories. Her brows furrowed faintly as she looked up at him, still falling in step beside him.

“I beat you,” he reminded.

Her brows immediately relaxed as she shot him another look. Except this time it wasn't annoyed or exasperated, even if she tried. It was softer, maybe a little more amused.

He walked her to the stairs of her block, lingering for a moment. As she took a step upwards, she paused. Fiyero waited with a raised brow when she turned back.

Then she leaned down, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Now we're even.”

Safe to say, Fiyero had sweet dreams that night onwards — especially when the daily pestering started to receive warm welcomes.

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[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Fifteen Months

Din Djarin x Cam Girl Reader AU

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)  Summary: You've known and loved Din for Fifteen Months. Here's a glimpse into your life with him. Warnings: Smut, unprotected p in v sex , oral (m and f receiving), fingering, voyeurism, fucking on camera, cum eating, lap dance, sex work, din carries you, duck pond emotions, a spray painted mandalorian helmet, goats!, farm life. Words: 8,700

Fifteen Masterlist Masterlist

—-

“Morning,” a rumbly voice says against your forehead with a kiss. “We have two new kids.”

Your eyes open wide, your heart leaping with excitement as you jump out of bed quickly. Din hastily backs away with a grin on his face.

“She had them?!” you ask as you pull on a pair of pants and grab your robe.

“She did. She’s doing good,” he says, smiling at your excitement. “The babies are healthy and happy, already nursing and everything.”

You run down the steps, Grogu at your feet. Boba’s waiting at the front door, standing guard, his tail wagging in greeting when he sees you.

Din leans over and kisses you as you throw your jacket on and step into your boots.

“Oh, good morning, by the way,” you chuckle as you throw the door open and feel the early morning chill of spring in the air.

You wrap your jacket tighter around you, your boots squishing in the dewy grass as you follow Din to the little shelter on the side of the main goat pin.

Dorothy looks up at the sound of the gate creaking. Your favorite goat looks peaceful as her two new babies are cuddled close to her.

“Hi, sweet girl,” you coo, softly stepping towards her before kneeling down to pet her head. “Look at your babies. They’re perfect.”

“Were you up all night with her?” you turn and ask Din.

“Just about,” he yawns.

“You could have come and got me,” you say, rising and dusting the straw off your knees.

“I wanted you to get some sleep,” he replies, his eyes heavy with fatigue but a little brightness, too. “Besides, I wanted to surprise you.”

Din steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you back against him.

“They’re so perfect,” you muse, watching the little kids stand on wobbly legs and find their footing in the new world.

“They are,” he admires, tightening his hold. “Cobb’s on his way. He’s going to take care of everything since I was up all night.” 

—-

As the weeks turned to months together, the long-distance from Din almost became unbearable, it kept getting harder and harder to leave Din and his farm every time you’d visit him.

So, you sold the townhouse you had worked hard to pay for on your own and moved across the country to live with Din. The idea of being separated any longer had become too much to bear, so you left behind all that was familiar to be with him.

That was five months ago. Dorothy, your favorite goat, started showing signs of her pregnancy only a couple of weeks after you moved in.

Wicket the rooster's crow is now your alarm clock, waking you up every morning in Din's arms, his handsome face only inches away. It’s hard to pull yourself away from his warm arms and soft lips, but the farm chores are waiting for both of you.

Together, you tend to the herd, milking the nannies and bottle-feeding the playful kids who frolic in the pasture. Din's gentle patience for you and all of his animals never fails to fill your heart with love.

During the afternoons, while Din takes care of the farm repairs and building projects, you tend to the garden–your hands buried in the rich soil as you plant and nurture fruits and vegetables that will eventually grace your table.

Evenings are spent in cozy domesticity with Din and your dogs, curling up next to him on the porch swing to watch the sunset paint the sky as Din’s fingers caress your skin.

At night, after all the chores are done, you still do your webcam shows, but no longer for private customers–a decision you made on your own once you left Din’s home the first time.

Din always helps you set up the equipment and watches off-camera, his heated gaze watching your every move.

You’ve embraced Din, his farm, and his life—much like he embraced you and your choice of career. You could never imagine your life without him. This life, with its simplicity and authenticity, is everything you never knew you needed, a blissful escape from the hectic pace and superficial trappings of your old life.

And you couldn't be more grateful for it all.

—-

“Din,” you whisper in his ear and leave a kiss against his cheek. “Cobb just left. It’s almost time for my show.”

Big brown eyes blink open, a smile lights his tired face.

“Hey,” he yawns. “Can’t believe I slept that long.” His hand reaches out and grabs your hip, pulling you into bed with him. His stubble scrapes against your skin as he rolls you onto your back and kisses you. His hands run along your body, slipping under your shirt to caress your soft skin. You melt into his touch, fingers tangling in his messy curls, and you sigh against his lips.

He trails kisses along your jaw down to your neck, his tongue tracing lazy patterns on your skin. You can’t resist him, arching into him, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer. His broad body covers you like a warm blanket.

His hand slides lower, hooking into the waistband of your pants. Just as he starts to tug them down, you very reluctantly break the kiss.

“Hold up,” you pant, struggling to catch your breath. “Ugh, the show…”

He groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “I knooow,” he grumbles.

You laugh softly, soothingly running your fingers through his hair. “Want to help me tonight?”

He lifts his head, an eager and mischievous glint in his eyes. “I do.”

“You want to pick what I wear?”

Without a word, he rolls off you and strides over to the dresser, rifling through your collection of lingerie. After a moment of deliberation with his eyes studying two different bodysuits, he puts them away and grabs the same blush pink lingerie you wore the first night he and you slept together.

“Really?” you arch up an eyebrow. “That one?”

“Call me sentimental,” he smirks. Tossing you the soft, silk outfit. “Put it on pretty girl.”

“Sentimental, huh?” You grin as you shed your clothes, Din’s eyes darkening as he follows your every move.

The silk slides over your skin as you remember the first night you stayed with Din - the nerves, his declaration of love, the tenderness of his touch, and the realization that he meant everything to you.

You smooth your hands over the fabric, straightening the straps and admiring how it fits.

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

You heat under his intense gaze. “Come on, we need to set up,” you say, grabbing his hand and leading him to your studio.

—-

You’ve noticed a change in Din since you moved in with him. He’s no longer the solitary man—quiet, reserved, and focused solely on his work. As your love blossomed and you grew closer, he began smiling more readily and laughing more freely, his eyes always sparkling at the sight of you.

He used to be guarded—even a bit gruff—but soon, you saw beneath that exterior, sensing a tender heart. Now, you see that tender heart every day. The way he gently cradles a newborn kid in his strong hands. The way he kneels down on the floor to pet and hug his dogs every morning. The way he always makes your tea the exact way you like it every evening.

He’s actually playful, sometimes chasing you across the house before capturing you and ‘attacking you’ with his mouth, or dipping you for a kiss in the middle of the kitchen.

Sometimes he’ll surprise you while you’re outside hanging laundry, sneaking up and wrapping his arms around your waist before gently tackling you onto the grass. His strong arms enveloping you as he pins you beneath him, his eyes twinkling with love.

“Caught you,” he rumbles before pressing his lips to yours.

You love seeing him like this, happy and carefree. He was once your customer in a dark box, just a curious stranger, and now he’s everything to you.

—-

You check the lighting and adjust the camera tripod while Din settles into his usual spot just out of frame, putting on a pair of headphones, close enough to be heard but not seen.

You take your familiar position on the bed, knees bent to your side, with one hand supporting your weight as you lean back. As you pout your lips and adjust the strap on your top, you nod at Din, signaling that you're good to start.

“Ready?” he asks, his finger hovering over the button to start the stream.

Taking a deep breath, you slip into your online persona. “Ready.”

The red light blinks on and you smile at the camera. “Hi everyone, thanks for joining me tonight…”

As you interact with your audience, you can feel Din’s eyes on you. You steal glances at him between poses, noticing how his breathing quickens whenever you arch your back or run your hands along your thighs.

“What should I do next?” Your question is directed at your viewers and yet you know Din can tell you’re asking him.

He grins, lifting his hand into view, his finger curling in a beckoning motion.

“Yeah? You want me closer?” you purr. The chat explodes with messages of excitement.

You lean forward and crawl slowly towards the camera, risking a glance at Din, sitting in his chair shrouded in darkness, his brown eyes turning almost black when you wink at him.

Your hands trail sensually over the silk fabric of your tank top. “What should I take off first?” you ask temptingly.

“The top,” Din’s voice rumbles from off-camera. “Slowly.”

A shiver flows through your body at Din’s voice, this is the first time he’s ever spoken while you’re performing. You reach for the buttons on your shirt, teasingly undoing them one by one. The silk falling open to reveal your bare skin underneath.

The chat goes wild.

“Like this?” you ask, shrugging the garment off your shoulders and letting it fall to the mattress.

“Perfect,” he growls. You can see him palming himself through his sweatpants out of the corner of your eye.

You bite your lip, fighting every urge inside you to look directly at Din. The camera and your customers demand your attention, but you can only feel his eyes on you.

“What next?” you ask breathily.

Din’s voice husks through the air. “Touch yourself,” he commands in a low tone. “Slowly.”

Your hands slide down your body, tracing delicate patterns across your stomach before dipping lower. The silk of your shorts feels smooth against your hand as you tease and rub yourself through the fabric.

“Feels so good, when your hands are all over me,” you moan into the camera. “Feel how wet you make me? I’m so fucking soaked for you baby.”

Din grunts from the darkness as you arch your back and press your breasts together.

“Should I take these off?” you ask, pushing down the waistband of your shorts.

The chat dings with responses, but you wait for Din’s command.

“Yes,” breathes out from his lips.

You slide the shorts down inch by inch and toss them playfully towards Din’s direction before spreading your legs wide, your hand slipping between them, stroking yourself slowly. You moan as you work your fingers in small circles, your hips rocking against your hand.

You hear Din’s breathing grow heavier.

“Mm, it feels so good,” you purr. “But chat… do you think I should have some help?”

He leans forward, his brows rising in surprise. You’ve never asked Din to join in your cam sessions before, but seeing him in the background, watching you every time has become too much. You want him to be a part of it now.

Your audience sends a wave of thumbs ups and enthusiastic messages.

“Baby,” you say breathlessly, “come here.”

He hesitates for a moment before standing up and moving to the side of the bed, just out of frame. His brown eyes are wide with surprise and desire as he reaches his hand out towards you. The chat goes wild as his hand comes into view on camera, trailing up your leg.

His touch is warm and reverent as his fingertips finally brush against your wet folds. “That’s it, touch me,” you moan, relishing in the feel of Din as your customers watch.

His fingers explore you slowly, spreading your wetness and tracing lazy, soft circles around your clit. You lock eyes with him as he slips a finger inside you, momentarily forgetting about the hundreds of viewers on the monitor.

Din nods his head towards the screen, reminding you that you’re at work. You look back at the camera, as Din slowly fucks you with his thick finger.

“Fuck, you feel so good inside me,” you pant for your viewers, losing yourself in Din’s touch. His thumb finds your clit, brushing softly against it. “Just like that.”

He smirks as he watches you unravel beneath his touch. Your back arching as you push your breasts together and tug at your nipples.

“More,” you gasp between moans, your body beginning to tremble as the chat goes crazy watching you lose yourself under Din’s touch.

He responds immediately, adding another finger and stretching you. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he says, his voice thick with lust.

Your hips lift to meet his hand, seeking more pressure, grinding your pussy against his palm. "Talk to me baby, they want to hear you talk to me,” you beg.

His brows furrow in thought, his thumb brushing circles against your clit while his fingers fuck you deeper. “Let it go baby. You’re gorgeous, you like my fingers?”

“Yes, god yes,” you moan as his hand worships your cunt.

“Cum for me baby, show them how I can make you cum.”

“Oh god,” you cry out, your head falling back onto the mattress as you surrender to his touch, breathing hard as your hips cant against him. “I want you,” you beg, leaving the thoughts of your hundreds of viewers behind.

“I’ll give you what you want soon enough,” he promises. “Keep going for them.”

The pressure is building within you, your heart racing and when Din angles his fingers up, that familiar heat pools in your core, every nerve ending dancing and tingling across you.

“Gonna—” you whimper.

“Just a little longer,” he urges, his voice low. “I want them to see how much I love making you feel this way.”

You nod, breathless, your body set alight. You can hear the distant sound of notifications and gifts pinging from the chat, but all you can focus on is Din and his thick fingers.

"I'm so close," you gasp as his thumb presses firmly against your clit. He quickens his pace, fingers moving faster and deeper until your body can't take it anymore.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Cum. Cum for them.”

Din pilots you closer to your peak. Your thighs quaking around his hand, your cunt clenching his fingers as your body begins its ascent towards bliss.

“Oh god,” you moan.

“Cum for me baby,” he growls. “Let go.”

The world explodes around you, stars floating through your eyes as your entire body convulses. Your breath hitching, the world narrowing to just you and Din as you orgasm, gone are your viewers, gone are the dings from the speakers.

“That’s it baby,” he coos. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are. You’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum.”

Your body trembles in the aftershocks as he brings his soaked fingers to his lips, eagerly tasting you. Only you can see how his eyes close in pleasure as he licks his fingers clean.

“You did so good for me—and them,” he praises, his own breathing ragged as he pulls down his sweatpants.

"Thanks for tuning in chat, now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get fucked by my helper,” you say winking before clicking the DISCONNECT button.

Din pounces on you, pinning you to the bed with his muscular body. "Be careful!" you yell. “The equipment!”

Din grins widely as he kisses you. “Don’t worry about the equipment, I’ll set it back up later,” he growls against your lips. “Right now, I’m going to take care of you.”

With one smooth motion, he flips you over onto your stomach. You gasp in surprise as his strong hands grip your hips, pulling you up onto your hands and knees.

He kneels behind you, his hardness pressing against the cleft of your ass. You moan and push back against him, wanting to feel more of him. He chuckles at your eagerness and gives your ass a playful smack that makes you yelp.

“Guess you liked helping me?” you breathily ask.

“I did,” he runs his hand down your spine. “You want my help again?”

“Always,” you breathe, arching your back to present yourself to him.

He groans at the sight of your glistening pussy, swollen with desire for only him. He leans down, placing a tender kiss at the base of your spine. “Look at you, all ready for me, pretty girl.”

His strong thighs brush against yours as he lines himself up with your aching cunt. The broad head of his cock teases your folds as he coats himself in your slick. You moan and push your hips back as you try to take him in.

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as your pussy accepts him into your tight heat inch by inch.

He sheathes himself fully inside you, filling and completing you. A low groan rumbles from DIn’s chest as he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your ass. “You feel incredible,” he rasps, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips.

“I’m yours."

“Yeah? You’re mine? This tight, wet pussy is all for me?” He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he nuzzles into your neck. His stubble scrapes across the sensitive skin. “Mine,” he hisses possessively. “My beautiful girl.”

He fucks into you faster and harder, the bed you use to touch yourself for your customers now creaking and thudding against the wall from Din’s power. You fist your hands in the sheets, holding on as Din pounds into you. You feel another orgasm in your orbit, the stars beginning to show behind your eyes.

“I’m close,” you whimper. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” Din pants. “I’ll never stop loving you, taking care of you, making you feel this good…”

His words makes your orgasm rocket through you, your pussy clenching rhythmically around Din’s cock as you see a galaxy across your eyelids.

Din keeps thrusting, grunting with exertion as he fucks your soaked cunt, chasing his own release.

“Fill me with your cum,” you urge breathlessly.

“Fuck, I love you. I’m gonna—” his hips stutter and with a deep thrust, he buries himself inside you. A warrior’s moan tears from his throat as his cock pulses, painting your walls with his cum.

Your arms give out, and you collapse onto the bed, Din follows you, lying down next to you. The two of you lay together, panting for air, a tangle of sweaty and sated limbs. Din wraps his arms around you, pulling you close against his heaving chest. You nuzzle into his neck, planting soft kisses along his jaw.

"That was amazing," you murmur. "Having you with me on camera like that. God, it was so hot."

"Mm, it was," he agrees, his voice a low rumble.

"Maybe we should make it a regular thing. I'm sure my viewers would love it."

“As long as I don’t have to show my face, I’d love nothing more. I love watching you, but being able to touch you in front of your audience. I can’t believe I used to be one of your customers.”

You chuckle softly, snuggling closer against him. "And now look at us. I know way more about goats than I ever thought possible and you know way more about live streaming sex shows than you ever thought possible.”

He laughs and tilts his head down to leave a kiss against your forehead. “I never imagined I could be this happy. This farm feels like a real home now, with you here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

—-

As the warm, late spring weather rolls in, your days on the farm become even busier. The goat kids are growing bigger and braver, exploring more of their surroundings each day. Your nights are spent performing shows for your many viewers, the addition of Din’s hands and voice have driven you watcher views up. You both notice more gifts and chat messages from female viewers, it empowers the two of you to put on even more of a show for them. With a bit of ingenuity and a can of silver spray paint, you’ve come up with the perfect solution for him to not show his face.

Din sits in his office, going over invoices and the calendar as you saunter in wearing one of your favorite dresses.

"Din," you catch his attention.

He turns in his chair, an adoring smile lighting slowly spreads across his lips. "Yeah baby?"

“I thought of a solution for you to not show your face,” you say with a small smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, giving you a curious look before he obeys and shuts his eyes.

You quickly open the closet and pull out the surprise, placing it in his hands.

“Okay, open now.”

He opens his eyes to find a silver helmet in his hands.

“So, that one dude you like from that space movie? I ordered one of his helmets…”

He admires it, turning it in his hand.

“The bounty hunter “ he muses quietly. "My favorite."

“I was worried about copyright soooo I painted it silver instead. But this way… you can be on camera with me without anyone seeing your face.”

His dark brown eyes look up at you, a wicked smile spreading across his lips. 

“Put it on Din.”

His handsome face is slowly covered by the silver helmet.

“It even modulates your voice a bit…”

Din sits clad in his black sweat pants and black t shirt now with the silver helmet atop his head, making him look even larger and more intimidating. His shoulders sit higher, giving off an aura of power and dominance.

“How’s it feel?” you ask, staring at your bounty hunter disguised boyfriend.

“Good, just fine” his voice comes out different from the speaker. A little more tinny, crinkling with feedback—just like how you first heard him through your computer speakers. You’re ridiculously turned on by it. 

“You look… good," you admire. “Really good baby.”

His posture shifts as he leans back, resembling a king with the helmet on… like it was made for him.

"Then, come show me how good I look, pretty girl."

You saunter over and kneel down in front of him, placing your hands on his knees slowly sliding them up his strong thighs as you look up at the expressionless helmet. Your heart races, imagining his eyes watching you behind the visor.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, fingertips grazing the growing bulge in his sweatpants.

“You know exactly what I want,” Din’s modulated voice responds, sending goosebumps across your skin.

You lean forward, nuzzling your face and placing a kiss against the softness of his inner thigh. Your hands move to the waistband of his pants. “May I?,” you ask, tugging gently. He lifts his hips, helping you slide them down.

His cock springs free. Your hands wrap around the base before you give it a firm stroke as you look up at the helmet.

“I love how you look in this,” you muse, before leaning into give the tip of it a kiss. “My bounty hunter.”

The sound of Din’s breath hitching is distorted through the helmet’s speaker. Slowly, you take him into your mouth, savoring the familiar taste of him on your tongue.

You hum around his cock at his praise, taking him deeper into your mouth. You know exactly how he looks under the helmet now. No longer your black square mystery. You can picture his eyes squeezed shut, his bottom lip captured in his teeth, the middle of his eyebrows creased in pleasure.

“Fuck,” he grunts. The modulator gives his voice an extra edge, an extra growl.

Your tongue swirls around his sensitive head already leaking for you, imparting the bitter, salty taste of him against your lips.

“Look at me,” he softly commands.

Your gaze lifts to meet the dark visor of the helmet, imagining the deep brown eyes behind it.

“That’s my pretty girl,” you can hear the smile in his voice.

Your cheeks hollow as you suck him harder, his hips softly thrusting into your mouth.

“So good,” his voice crackles through the speaker. “Always so good to me.”

You take him deeper, choking on the length of him as you relax your throat. His breathing grows heavier, punctuated by grunts of pleasure and your name.

“Hold on, hold on,” Din says suddenly, gently pulling you off him. “Come here baby.”

He helps you rise to your feet, before pulling you onto his lap, your chest meets his. His strong arms wrap around you.

You straddle his lap, the heft of his hard cock presses against you through the thin fabric of your panties. His hands roam across your body, caressing you with reverence and adoration. The cool metal of his helmet brushes against your cheek as he leans in close to you.

“I want to feel you,” Din’s modulated voice rumbles through you.

You nod, lifting your hips as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down in a swift motion and tossing them aside.

A gasp leaves your lips as you sink down on him. You begin to move on him, rolling your hips in steady waves. Your hands grab his broad shoulders, relishing in the warmth of his body.

His voice comes low and husky through the helmet. “Take what you want pretty girl.”

“You feel so good,” you moan. “So big inside me. Just perfect baby.”

Din’s hips thrust up to meet you, his cock hitting deeper inside you.

“Din,” you moan, resting your forehead against the cool metal of his helmet. The rapid beat of his heart thuds against your hands when you place them on his chest. Pulling back, you look into the helmet, unable to see his face, but knowing the exact intense look of concentration he always has when he’s close.

He slides his hand between your bodies, and finds your clit, swirling it in sweet circles against it. A gasp escapes your lips and you smile at the pleasure coursing through you. Your hips instinctively buck against his hand, craving more of him. The pressure builds as his thick cock and skilled finger make you move more frantic. Your hands move up his neck to grip the base of his helmet.

“I…want to kiss you,” you whimper as you lift the helmet, exposing his handsome face.

The sweat across his dewy skin makes it glow even more golden. His plush lips are slightly parted as he looks at you with his big brown eyes. Leaning in to kiss him, the helmet slips from your hand and lands on the floor with a thud.

God, you’ve missed seeing him. Your fingers tangle into the soft, dark curls of his hair as you lean forward. “I love you,” you breathe out against his chin, kissing your way down to his neck, licking the slight salt of his sweat and tasting him.

Din's thumb increases its pressure on your clit as he thrusts up harder into you. "I love you, so much," he pants, his voice rumbling against you with desire and adoration.

Your core tightens, the familiar tingle that only Din can give you washes over your body. You trail your tongue up to his mouth and kiss him hungrily.

"Din," you gasp, breaking the kiss as your orgasm lights through your body. Shuddering in his arms, clenching around his thick cock. You lean back, letting him fuck into your slickness as your muscles grow loose.

With a guttural groan, he thrusts his hips against you, his movements stuttering as he follows you over the edge. His thick cock pulsing inside of your walls as he cums. You feel his warm breath on your neck as he buries his face in the crook of it.

For a moment, you both stay still, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms and trying to catching your breath. Din's hand runs soothingly up and down your back as you come down from your high.

"You're incredible," he murmurs, voice thick with reverence and awe. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"I'm the lucky one," you whisper back, reaching up to cup his jaw. "You've given me everything I never knew I needed.”

“Maybe I should wear the helmet—for your next show?” he asks, his eyebrow tilting up.

“I think you should,” you smile, guiding his face down to yours, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss. “I’ll let the fans know to expect something different.”

—-

As the weeks pass, you notice Din spending more evenings out in the old barn on the edge of the property. He always kisses you sweetly before heading out, promising he won't be long. But the hours stretch on, and on some nights, he’s out there long past bedtime.

Curiosity gnaws at you, but you respect his wishes to let his trips to the barn remain a mystery.

One night, as you’re sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea and splitting corn bread with Grogu, Din returns through the back door with Boba happily trotting behind him.

“Welcome home,” you wink, standing to pour him a cup of tea.

“Mm,” he hums happily.

“Am I ever going to find out what you’re doing out there?”

“You’ll see soon enough, pretty girl,” he assures with a dimple deepening grin.

He steps behind you wrapping his arms around your waist as you pour him a cup. He nuzzles into your neck peppering your skin with soft kisses.

“Be careful,” you order, “the tea is hot.”

“Mm,” he tugs on your shoulder, turning you to face him. “I no longer want the tea.”

He grabs your ass, lifting you up into his hold. Your surprised yelp echoes through the room as you quickly wrap your legs around his waist for support.

“Din! What are you doing?” you giggle breathlessly.

He strides to the kitchen island, carrying you in his arms like a prized bounty and places you atop the cool butcher block.

“I want a taste of you,” he grins roguishly. His large hands skim up your thighs, bunching up the fabric of your dress.

“Oh god,” you roll your eyes. “You’re ridic—”

Your breath hitches as his hand reaches the apex of your thighs.

“No panties, huh? Were you waiting for me, pretty girl?” he asks, his finger tracing lightly along your bare skin, finding you already wet for him.

“Always,” you breathe.

He sinks to his knees before you, spreading your thighs wide and hooking your legs over his broad shoulders. His stubble scratches against your inner thighs as he nuzzles closer to your core. The cool wood and his warm touch sends a shiver through your body.

You gasp at the first touch of his tongue against your sensitive clit. He works his way around it with slow, deliberate licks and kisses, gently sucking and pulsing his tongue.

You moan loudly, tangling your fingers into his dark hair. He hums with appreciation against your skin as you pull the soft waves, urging him on. He laps at your arousal, drinking down the wetness you spill for him.

You press yourself harder against his eager mouth, he devours you, his thick tongue delving in and out of your eager cunt.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Oh my god.”

Your muscles begin to tense, your thighs begin to quake. Din’s tongue works tirelessly again your cunt.

“Close,” you gasp, your hips rolling against his face.

He groans as his tongue journeys up to your clit before flicking it rapidly against you. Two of his fingers slide into you, the stretch of them and the slow drag in which he pulls them in and out of you transports your orgasm higher. The familiar galaxy of stars Din always brings you twinkle behind your eyelids as you pulse against his fingers and tongue.

You fall apart atop the cool wood, with Din’s hot mouth against you working you through your orgasm, lapping up every drop you give him.

Your fingers comb through his soft hair, massaging his scalp with affection as he places soft kisses along your thighs.

“My tea’s probably cold by now.” he says, rising from between your legs and giving you a kiss. “Guess we should just take this to bed, huh?”

You chuckle breathlessly. “It’ll be a hell of a lot softer on my back than the countertop I can vegetables on.”

A wide smile spreads across his face as he lifts you up into his arms and carries you upstairs.

—-

“Ready for this?” You ask, holding the helmet out to him.

“I am,” he nods.

“I love you.”

He leans in, giving you a kiss before raising the helmet up to his head. “I love you too.”

Din sits on the chair, clad in his new helmet and his black sweatpants, his muscular, golden chest on full display for you, and soon, your viewers.

You hit the link to your show’s room. Your mouth drops at the amount of viewers waiting.

“Holy shit,” you gasp. “We have over 2,000 viewers.”

A rumbling hmph leaves the helmet.

“It’s just you and me,” you remind him.

“Hit connect baby,” he says, sitting up straighter and folding his arms across his chest.

You do as he says and hit connect. Hiding your nervousness and shock behind a sultry smile.

“Hi everyone,” you purr. “I see a lot of new faces here tonight. I guess word got around about my new costar.”

You sway your hips slowly and teasingly, the messages of your viewers illuminating the contours of your body as you let the anticipation build. Din watches intently, his helmeted head tilted slightly.

“Tonight,” you say, before glancing back to Din, “you’re going to watch me fuck my boyfriend.”

The chat explodes, gifts and tips fill the sidebar. Turns out, there is a market for this.

You turn away, stepping closer to Din, each movement slow and sensual as you dance across the room. You can see his breath hitch behind the visor as he takes in every inch of your body and each roll of your hips.

His face is totally concealed by his helmet, and yet you feel his eyes stalking you as you dance for him and your viewers.

Bending over, you plant your hands atop his thick thighs, gripping them and staring into the visor as you give him a wink and mouth “I love you.” His body tenses as he keeps his arms folded across his chest.

You turn your back to him, giving him a full view of your ass barely covered in the silver fabric of the thong he picked out specifically for tonight. You begin to move in rhythm with the music softly playing in the background, gliding your hands along the soft skin of your thighs. You turn slightly to look over your shoulder at him as your hands travel up to your silver bra unclasping it and baring your chest to the camera.

The speaker on the headset amplifies his breathing, reminding you of the first night you talked to him. Deep, steady breaths, sometimes a small grunt, maybe a light whimper.

You dance along to the song, dipping low before popping up with a twist of your hips, your hands charting a path across your skin, pinching and pulling your nipples before dipping down to the shiny straps of your thong. The snap of the fabric against your hip stings when you give it a playful tug then let it go.

"I’m soaked for you,” you moan, running your hand across the wet seam of your thong.

Turning to face him, your lips curl into a teasing smirk at the sight of him. The silver helmet may conceal his face, but his body's response to your dance is evident. His chest rises and falls in sync with his deep breaths, his arms now uncrossed and resting on his thighs as his hands grip tightly.

Slowly, you slink over to him and straddle his lap., reveling in the power you holder over him with your movements. Your hands land on his broad shoulders as you grind against the hardness straining against his black sweatpants.

“You like what you see, baby?” you purr, loud enough for the mic to pick up.

“Always,” his modulated voice rumbles.

You rock your hips, rubbing yourself against his bulge. Soft gasps and moans spill from your lips, your head falling back in pleasure. 

“Do you want me to keep dancing for you?” you ask, swirling your hips.

“Yes,” he hisses.

“No touching,” you kiss the cool metal of his helmet. “Okay?”

The helmet tilts when he nods an affirmative.

Sliding off Din's lap, your fingers run along his chest as you rise. With a sultry smirk, you turn and sway your hips as you walk a few steps away from him. The beat of the music pulses through the room as you begin to dance.

Your hands glide over your body, fingers trailing across your skin as you arch your back and roll your hips.

Slowly, you turn to face him, his helmet is tilted as he watches intently.

When you reach him, you place your hands on his wide shoulders and lean in close. "Eyes on me, bounty hunter,” you whisper, your breath fans across the cool metal of his helmet.

Straddling his lap once more, you begin to grind against him in rhythm with the music. Your hips roll and swivel, creating delicious friction between you. Din's hands clench and unclench at his sides, fighting against the urge to touch you.

“Remember," you purr, "no touching."

A groan crackles through the helmet's speaker. You grin, knowing exactly how much he wants to touch you.

Rolling your body on top of him, your breasts graze against his chest before you lean back, your fingers tracing the curve of your breasts and down your stomach to the waistband of your thong.

Din's breathing grows heavier, the sound crackling through the helmet's speaker.

You rise off of him and turn to face the camera, your fingers hooking into the waistband of your thong, teasing at the thin silver fabric. You lock eyes with the camera as you slowly peel the garment down, revealing your soaked cunt to your viewers.

Facing Din again, you lower yourself to all fours and crawl to him. Your hands gliding up his thighs as you rise, nuzzling your face against the tent of his pants before pressing your body against his. You can feel the heat radiating off him and the tension in his muscles as he fights not to touch you. 

Turning around, you lower yourself onto his lap, your back to his chest. Your ass grinds against his hardness, feeling it strain against his sweatpants.

You’re aching and wet for him, each light whimper from his headset pools even more wetness between your legs.

“Go ahead and touch me baby,” you moan.

Din's hands immediately grasp your hips, pulling you firmly against him. His hands roam your body, one sliding up to cup your breast while the other dips between your thighs. You gasp as his fingers find your clit, circling it slowly.

“Feel how wet I am for you baby?” you moan.

A muffled groan escapes the helmet's speaker, Din’s fingers exploring your slick.

You roll your hips against his hand seeking more of his touch. 

“You want me to fuck him, chat?”

A splurge of thumbs ups and resounding yeses fill your screen.

You rise off Din's lap and turn to face him, hands gliding down his muscular chest to the waistband of his sweatpants. Slowly, teasingly, you tug them down, freeing his hard cock, his tip thick and glistening with precum. There’s something about sharing Din’s gorgeous cock with thousands of your viewers. One of the first glimpses you ever got of him was his golden toned cock, and now, here in the home you share, you’re sharing it with the world. 

"Look how hard you make him, chat," you purr, wrapping your hand around his length and giving it a slow stroke. Din's hips twitch at your touch, a hiss of breath crackling through the helmet's speaker. You smile at him, proud of his bravery and enthusiasm for your job.

You straddle his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance.

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you take all of him in when you settle on his cock. His hands slide around to grip your ass, as you begin to move on top of him.

The stinging stretch of him inside you feels so familiar, and yet everything is different now. Now, thousands of people are watching you take his cock as he stays concealed behind the shiny, silver mask.

You grin down at Din’s exposed chest under the helmet before leaning down and taking his nipple into your mouth, sucking on it hard. If you can’t kiss his lips, you’ll kiss his body.

Din’s hips jerk forward, his cock hitting deeper against your tightness.

You lick your way up his body and kiss the metal of his helmet. "This isn't fair," you breathe out against it, "you look so fucking hot."

Din growls into the speaker, his voice modulated and deep as his hands slide up your sides possessively.

“Face them, show them how you take my cock.”

You moan loudly, at his words, quickly turning in his hold and sinking back down on him, taking all of his thick cock.

Your back presses against his broad chest, his hands wrapping around to cup your breasts and pinch your nipples.

"Ride me just like that, pretty girl," he rumbles. "Take what you need."

Din’s hands roam over your body, strong and calloused against your soft skin. His fingers find your clit, rubbing and flicking it just the way he knows you love it.

Din growls again, his hips snapping up to meet yours with force. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you as you reach behind him and grip onto his thick thighs for support as you ride him.

You can see the comments flooding in on your screen, filled with praises.

"I'm close baby, so close," you whimper, arching your back against his broad chest. The cool metal of his helmet presses against your shoulder.

"Cum for me," Din commands. The rumble from his speaker transports you right back to the nights you used to spend together, thousands of miles away from each other. Now, you’re here in the home you both share, taking his cock for your audience.

Everything sends you over the edge. You want to shout Din’s name, but you also wish to respect his anonymity... so you decide on a compromise.

“Mando!” you scream as your orgasm bursts through you. His breathing grows more rapid as your walls clench around his thick cock. Your head thuds against the metal of his helmet, your eyes squeezing tight, your lip capturing between your teeth as you you cum for Din—and your audience.

He lets out a groan that crackles through the speakers as he spills himself deep inside you. You collapse back against him, your bodies slick with sweat and chests heaving.

For a moment, you forget about the camera, the viewers, the chat still going wild as you listen to the cadence of Din’s breathing through the helmet’s speakers.

Slowly, still quivering in the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, you rise up from Din's lap. His softening cock slips out of you as you stand on wobbly legs. Turning to face the camera, you give your viewers a sultry smile.

"Look what he did to me," you purr, reaching down to spread yourself open with two fingers. Din's cum begins to drip out of your well-fucked pussy, glistening on your inner thighs. You trail a finger through the slick mess, bringing it to your lips to taste the mixture of you and Din.

The chat explodes with comments and tips, everyone going wild at the sight before them. You can’t look away from the image of Din on the monitor, sitting back in the chair, his broad chest heaving as he catches his breath. He’s naked, his cock laying heavily between his legs, glistening with a mixture of your collective orgasms.

"Mmm, he always fills me up so good," you moan appreciatively, scooping up more of the creamy fluid leaking out of you. You slip your fingers into your mouth, making a show of licking them clean and savoring the taste of Din's release.

Behind you, Din stands. You watch in the monitor as he stalks forward.

The chat window is full of flames, hearts, and messages. Encouragement for the two of you flowing in by your viewers. You smile at the camera as Din comes up behind you, pulling you close against his body and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hope you enjoyed everybody! We’ll see you next week.” The silver of Din’s helmet glints in the light when he nods as you shut down the show.

“Holy fuck!” you scream when you see the money from tonight’s show in your account, more than you’ve ever dreamed of earning. You turn around in his hold, lifting the helmet up and giving him a kiss. “Din, the audience loves you.”

—-

The wooden bench with its chipping paint and indentations from years of use overlooking the little pond the ducks gather in is your favorite spot on this earth. Better than the clubhouse in the woods behind your childhood home that you used to call yours as a curious child, better than the sanctuary of a townhome you used to call yours with all of your belongings, better than the bedroom you now share with your boyfriend who you love with all of your heart.

The sun has long gone down, the little lantern hanging on the wooden post swings in the night breeze as the moon sits high and full in the sky. 

A warm jacket is placed around your shoulders. It smells of Din. 

“Hi,” you turn and smile at him.

He gives you a shy smile and joins you on the bench, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer. 

You breathe in the familiar smell of him along with the wet dirt and the dew left on the grass. It smells of home. 

He sighs, his fingers against your shoulder tap nervously.

“You alright?” you ask.

He looks at you, deep brown eyes meeting yours and nods with a soft smile.

“I still can’t believe you’re here with me sometimes.” 

“I know, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He hums in agreement. 

“I think we were destined to be together, like it was somehow written in the stars,” he says, his voice deep and introspective as he gazes up at the twinkling stars above. “I used to dream of being in space and looking down on earth, like I never belonged down here. But now, with you, I feel like… I belong.”

You lean your head against his shoulder and look up to the dark sky painted with stars.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you smile, tracing a constellation with your finger. “These can be our stars.”

Din’s hand gently covers yours, his thick fingers lingers on your ring finger.

“I like those,” he says with a nervous breath. “They’re ours now.”

He pulls away, turning to look you in your eyes, a shy smile deepening his dimple. “Would you stay here with me forever as… my wife?”

Your eyes widen in surprise and tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” you breathlessly say.

Your breath hitches in your throat and your heart races as he reaches into his jacket, pulling out a beautiful golden ring with delicate stars etched onto it.

“This is what I’ve been working on in the barn all those nights. I made it myself.”

Tears fall down your face as Din takes your left hand and slides the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly, as if it was meant to be there all along.

You stare at the golden band, captivated by how beautiful it looks on your finger. This is where you are meant to be, with him.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice full of emotion.

“I love you too,” Din replies. “We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all.”

—-

Fifteen Years Later...

Two quiet giggles awaken you from your sleep.

"It's Christmas! Can we go downstairs?" Bo asks excitedly, bouncing on her feet, her face lit with an excited smile. "I think I heard Santa last night!"

“No you didn’t,” Greef responds, rolling his eyes. “The chimney’s on the other side of the house.”

“Greef, ” Din sternly commands as he rises out of bed. “Be nice.”

“Sorry dad,” Greef apologizes.

You smile sleepily at your children's excitement, stretching as you climb out of bed.

“Come on!” Bo yells as she runs out the door.

"Alright, alright, we're coming," you yawn, quickly pulling on your robe and slippers.

Din wraps his arm around your waist as you make your way downstairs, following the pitter-patter of little feet racing ahead of you.

It was around this time ten years ago that Din sat you down and told you about Greef and Bo, the twin foundlings in need of a family. As a former foundling himself, Din couldn't bear the thought of the twins not having a safe and nurturing home. With tears in your eyes and love in your heart, you both made the decision to become the parents of Greef and Bo. The call to Cobb was made, and what used to be your livestream studio, turned into a nursery.

That first Christmas as a family of four, Din had planted Christmas trees on your farm. Now, one of those trees is sitting proudly in the corner of your living room, covered in twinkling lights and handmade ornaments.

"Look! Santa came!" Bo squeals, pointing at the cookie crumbs.

"Can we open presents now? Please?" Greef asks, barely containing his excitement.

“Hold on, let me get the coffee going,” Din chuckles, heading to the kitchen to turn the coffee maker on.

The kids vibrate with wonderment, taking in all of the brightly wrapped presents underneath the tree.

“Okay, have at them,” Din says, settling onto the couch next to you and pulling you close.

The kids don’t hesitate, diving for the presents. Bo chooses a soft, squishy package while Greef grabs a rectangular box, tearing into the wrapping paper.

"A new stuffed animal!" Bo exclaims, hugging a plush bear to her chest. "I'm gonna name her Chewie."

"Awesome, the new flying game I wanted!" Greef grins, examining the box. “Can we play it later, Dad?”

“We can,” Din nods with a warm smile. "I'm a pretty good pilot if I do say so myself."

You spend the next hour watching the kids open gift after gift, their faces lighting up with each reveal. There are new books, art supplies, clothes, and toys scattered across the floor. Fifteen minutes has turned into fifteen years. A black box of mystery has turned into a house full of love.

—-

A/N: Thank you *SO* much for reading. I loved writing Din and his cam girl, and I hope you love the glimpse of their future life together.

[navluvr]

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 [e.williams]

pairing ellie williams x fem!reader (exes to lovers)

synopsis when you father hires your ex to be his farmhand, you're left with less and less self control as the days pass, always keeping an eye on the aurburn-haired girl that had stolen your heart years ago

warnings kinda shitty pacing bc i was rushing to get this out, ooc!ellie (maybe idk), not edited very well, heavy kissing, mentions of alcohol

wc 2.7k

note i've had this in the works for over a year now and was originally supposed to publish this on my old blog but oh well...anyway alexa play 'save a horse (ride a cowboy)' by big & rich

the weather was unforgiving.

scorching sun rays beat down on the farm, baking the golden dead grass and drying out the small creek on the outskirts of the perimeter. it was rather unusual for a jackson summer. and it did nothing but inflate your attraction toward the woman who currently hauled large hay bales into the barn.

dressed in a pair of low-rise jorts, her typical high-top converse, and a cream wife-beater, ellie wiped sweat from her forehead with a scowl, face twisted in the bright light. the rise of her arm lifted her shirt, exposing a sliver of the toned abdomen she hid most days. as she caught your eye, spotting you peeking at her from behind the book you were trying to busy yourself with, she sent a cheeky smile, enjoying the way you scurried to cover your face with the novel.

you preoccupied yourself on the back porch, trying and failing to focus on the words that swam on the page of your book. the wicket lounge chair was stiff and the towel under you itched your back, rubbing against the skin that wasn’t covered by the skimpy bikini you had chosen to wear in favor of the hot weather. yet it wasn’t the weather that made you flush and squirm restlessly, your focus settled elsewhere.

“what’re you readin’?”

brows shooting to your hairline, you glanced up at ellie, who had approached without you realizing.

she licked her chapped lips in anticipation, silhouette blocking out the sun.

shaking your head, you sat up straight. “nothing good, to be honest,” you said, avoiding her heavy gaze by flipping the novel over and pretending to look over the back.

she nodded, peeling off the carhartt gloves she wore. reaching for the iced lemonade on the small table next to you, she said before drinking, “so then it’s not one of the smutty books that you enjoy. got it.”

you coughed at her words, choking on your own saliva with widened eyes. perhaps i misheard her, you thought immediately, swallowing down more sputters and croaking out a rough, “what?”

ellie peered at you with a look of amusement. she was certain she had been clear, but that didn’t stop her from repeating her point. “the books you like to read. they’re all just smut. is this one not?”

heart thumping against your ribcage, you gulped. “no.”

even to you it sounded like a shitty lie.

“‘no’…?” she drawled, eyebrows raising with skepticism.

“they’re not all smut, ellie,” you told her defensively, face scrunching as you stiffened on the chair.

the woman in front of you looked mildly unconvinced, but she shrugged regardless. “whatever you say, babe.” 

growing uninterested in the novel you were reading thanks to ellie, you set it on the small table beside the chair and watched the woman as she chugged the rest of her drink. “don’t you think it’s a little…inappropriate to call me that?”

ellie set down her glass, fisting her gloves in a hand before crossing her arms above her chest. for a split second you could see a glimpse of the woman you used to call your girlfriend. that is until she fucked you over and confessed that she thought she had feelings to dina. now look at her—single and working as a farmhand on your father’s farm. call it karma or fate, you didn’t know, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like her reappearance in your life.

“no,” she started, her eyes gleaming with defiance, “i don’t think it’s inappropriate. i call everyone that.”

there was no hiding the clear confusion on your face as you sat up and said, “no, you definitely don’t. pet names were never really your thing, els.”

“well, maybe i’ve changed. we haven’t seen each other in awhile, you know. a lot can happen.” her words sounded indolent, showing no effort to be convincing.

scoffing, you rolled your eyes and swung your legs over the edge of the chair. “whatever. i’m going inside, it’s too hot out here.”

“you going to the party tonight?” ellie asked abruptly, her indifferent facade shedding like old skin. “the one being held in the dancehall?”

you gripped the edge of the furniture, angling your head to look up at her. she wants me to go, you realized quickly. that desperate expression of hers made it quite obvious. “of course i’m going.”

it wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the truth. you hadn’t intended on going until she said something.

at your response, she nodded, beginning to put her gloves back on. “i guess i’ll see you there then.”

“i suppose so.”

she arrived at your door at 7 p.m. sharp.

and, hell, she looked sharp.

the way her brown button up-flannel molded perfectly with her lean figure, faded jeans accentuating the acute curve of her hips, the stressed ends brushing against the dark brown of her cowboy boots. you were practically drooling at her exposed forearms, long sleeves rolled to her elbows. and, of course, the cherry on top had to be the black cowboy hat decorating the crown of her head, shading her face from the sinking sun behind her.

you mentally cursed your father for hiring ellie williams. 

“what’re you doing here?” you asked keenly, adjusting your stance in the doorway.

she looked at you as if you had said something in another language, trying (and failing) to not look down at the small top and pajama shorts you wore . “i’m here to pick you up. figured you wouldn’t want to go to the party alone.”

you stared at her for a moment. she was right, of course. parties had never really been your idea of fun. the only time you ever went was when one of your friends could talk you into going. “come in, then. i need to finish getting dressed; shouldn’t take too long.”

ellie stepped inside cautiously, gingerly removing her hat and placing it on a nearby hook, like she was waiting for you to change your mind about the whole thing. but you didn’t, only shutting the door behind her and gesturing for her to follow you up the steps and into your bedroom. somewhere she had been oh-so-many times before the breakup.

the arid air was filled with tension, so thick that a knife would have to roughly saw its way through just to slice it.

you played off your uncomfort by sitting at your vanity calmly (definitely not forgetting that ellie had built this piece of furniture for you as a present for a past birthday), and grabbed the already-open tinted lip balm. the tin was cool in your palm as you dipped your finger in and then applied the sweet salve to your puckered mouth.

ellie watched from afar, unsure of where she should be as she waited, not wanting to break a boundary. if there even were boundaries to be broken.

she watched you diligently, eyes never leaving your mouth. she couldn’t help but gulp when you turned to her expectantly, asking her, “do i look fine?”

“you look as party-ready as you’ll ever be.” what she really wanted to say was, you look better than ‘fine.’ you always have, though she held her tongue reluctantly.

you gave her a curt nod, somewhat disappointed by her dry-ass remark. whatever. you’d mess with her later, after you’ve had a few drinks perhaps.

so, dropping the lip product into a drawer, you stood, pushing the stool back under the vanity before walking over to your wardrobe. the faded red wood had once gleamed when golden hour would come around, but with time its shine had dulled and the cabinet doors squeaked.

with a heavy breath, you sighed and pulled the round handles, exposing a plethora of clothes. as your eyes scanned your dresses, an idea sparked in your mind. you looked over your shoulder, finding ellie’s neutral gaze. “come pick out something for me to wear.”

her eyebrows flickered upward, slightly startled by your request. “but wouldn’t that be-”

“be what?” you interrupted, feigning a confused expression. “i’m just asking you to pick out a dress for me.”

the corners of ellie’s mouth turned south, and you ignored her when she muttered, “you didn’t ask, you demanded.”

you stepped out of her way, giving her the space to go through her options. however you didn’t miss the way she licked her lips, once again glancing at your pajama-clad figure before turning her attention to the open wardrobe.

the room was quiet, energy shifting ever so slightly from awkward to familiar. tension changing into something a little more…enticing as you waited for her decision regarding your outfit.

there was no hiding your smile when she pulled out a plain black mini dress with thin spaghetti straps, its neckline low. ellie had fucked you in that dress way too many times to count; it aroused something low in your stomach.

“good choice,” you teased, grabbing the article of clothing from her.

her expression heeded no hint as to what she was feeling, but with many years spent by her side, you had some idea of her internal gay panic. she could only hide it so well around the people who knew her best.

you placed the dress on your bed before dropping your pajama shorts to the floor, provoking a sharp inhale from the auburn-haired woman behind you.

“what the hell?!” ellie immediately seethed, her eyes averting your body as she spun to face your wardrobe.

you scoffed before ridding yourself of your shirt as well, suddenly feeling even more pleased with yourself for not wearing a bralette. “oh please, you’ve seen my body too many times to count.” rolling your eyes, you grabbed the dress and slipped it on, thankful for the absent zipper that was often prominent in similar pieces.

ellie eventually gave in and turned around, vaguely relieved to see that you now had something covering your body. she was unsure of what she would have done had you stayed undressed for an extended amount of time, her hands itching to run their familiar course on your bare figure.

“are you done staring?” you asked her ardently, adjusting the fabric of the dress as you narrowed your gaze at her.

“yes.” her answer was clipped, yet you didn’t say anything further. she was determined to avoid your jarring gaze.

you raised your chin slightly, observing her for a split second. her hands fisted and flexed by her sides, although she was definitely trying to hide it. she was dying for makeup sex just as you were. however there was no way you were going to let her know that, at least not right now. you wanted to manage to get out of the house first: wanted to see if her nerves would die out and be replaced with the cockiness she sported like armor.

“let’s go then,” you finally said, “don’t want to keep people waiting.”

ellie nodded curtly, making no fuss as she followed you out of the room and down the flight of stairs, her boots clacking with each step.

when you reached the bottom, you reached for your own set of boots by the door, their cream color worn with each wear. you pulled them on as ellie grabbed her hat, opened the door for you, and dramatically held her arm out.

unable to hide an amused grin, you linked your elbow with hers, letting her guide you out of the house and to shimmer, who grazed on a plot of grass by the front porch. as ellie untied the reins and pulled herself up, you watched the way her body moved fluidly and adjusted her person on the western-style saddle.

she offered her hand, lips pulling into a charming smile. “come on, sweet girl.”

trying to suppress your grin, you grabbed her hand and placed your foot in a stirrup, a little too eager for the feel of ellie’s strong back against your front.

“just sit and look pretty, i’ll be right back.”

ellie had left to go grab drinks from the bar almost the second the two of you had entered the dancehall. and you were thankful, unsure that you’d be able to keep up your teasing facade without a little bit of something in your system.

when you spotted her, two red cups in hand, you exhaled heavily, muttering a ‘thanks’ and taking your drink. you didn’t waste any time before downing the brown liquid that burned all the way down your throat.

“hey, take it easy, baby,” ellie remarked, concern etching her features. she eased the cup from your hands, her eyebrows furrowed with faint worry. “there’s plenty of time to get drunk; no need to rush.”

as you swallowed the last bit of booze-flavored saliva on your tongue, you shifted ineptly. there went your attempt to spur your courage. great.

“ellie,” you said cautiously, eyes glued to the cluster of bodies on the dance floor and trying to ignore the way your breath was growing uneven. you toyed with the locket around your neck, mustering what bravery you had hidden.

“yes?”

“i think coming here, together, was a bad idea.”

your words had struck something in the woman next to you, and you watched from your peripheral as she tried to understand your statement. ellie looked wounded. a simple ‘why?’ was all she could manage to convene, the cups in her hands crinkling ever so slightly.

gaze finally sliding to meet hers, you said, “because all i’ve wanted to do since you showed up at my doorstep was kiss you.”

there was no telling where you had gotten the balls to say something so blunt, but boy did it feel good. you had missed ellie a lot, and you somehow managed to miss her even more the day your father had hired her as his farmhand. maybe it was because, while she had appeared in your life once more (after nearly a year of her staying in jackson), she wasn’t in your life; you were lucky if a conversation flowed between your awkward persons, still trying to make out what you were to one another. 

“fuck,” ellie drawled, turning her back to the crowd. she shoved the drinks onto a nearby table, her stature tense. “you can’t just say things like that.”

you bit the inside of your cheek, moving closer to her. “why not?” your voice was unintentionally low.

ellie’s eyes, blazing like green fire, found yours. she turned to face you, hot breath mingling with yours as you exhaled in anticipation of her words.

“because it makes me want to do more than just kiss you.”

without thinking, you grabbed the front two belt loops of her jeans, not wasting a moment to second guess anything, and pulled her front against yours, lips instantly crashing with hers. as you fervently kissed ellie, her hands settling on your love handles, you hummed in satisfaction. this is exactly what you wanted—and you had wanted it from the moment she started working on your family’s farm.

ellie’s mouth moved against yours, just as desperate as you felt. when she pulled away, her breath heavy, she muttered, “let��s take this somewhere else.”

you nodded, dazedly staring at her lips before she grabbed your hand and turned, leading you both through the maze of people. your thoughts were muddled in your mind, too entranced by the situation to notice that she had led you, hurriedly at that, to the bathroom. she pushed open the door, ushering you inside, with a hand on the curve of your spine.

before you could even utter a word, some chippy remark you’d already forgotten, ellie was on you.

“was this your plan all along?” she asked, her breath fanning over the skin of your jawline, body caging you against the counter of the sink. “to mess with me until i snapped and gave in?”

swallowing thickly, consumed by the feeling of ellie’s hands and mouth, you let out a strained whine. your fingers found the strands of hair at her nape, tugging as if to answer her question. yes, obviously.

a guttural sound left her throat at your wordless response, her fingers trailing down, searching for the place she knew you wanted her most. but just as she dipped her hand under the hem of your panties, your skin hot under her touch, she leaned in, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“you’re going to have to earn whatever it is you want.”

© navluvr 2024 | do not repost, republish, steal, or translate !!

[madridfangirl]

Cricket with the Bellinghams

(Jude & Jobe Bellingham blurb)

'Should we ask her to play as well?’

Jobe asked Jude while nodding in Ananya’s direction. Jude finished setting up the wickets, then turned around to look at his girlfriend who was currently pacing around the living room while on a serious work call. On a Sunday afternoon.

‘She might go all can’t you see I’m dying out here and what makes you think I have time to spare for playing?’

Jobe nodded in support of his brother.

‘Yeah she shooed me away 10 mins ago for breathing too loudly around her.’

‘Exactly. On the other hand, she might go all feminist if we don’t ask her and be like so you assumed I can’t / won’t play just coz I’m a girl?’

Jobe nodded again.

‘Yup, can see that too. What do we do then?’

‘You ask her. She’s sweeter to you.’

‘Oh bollocks. You scared of your girlfriend bro?’

‘Talking about me?’

Both brothers jumped to find her standing right behind them. How did they not hear her come in to the yard at all?

Jude was a little tongue-tied wondering how much she had heard so Jobe decided to take the reins.

‘Just wanted to ask if you’d like to play cricket with us. If your work is done I mean.’

‘Oh it’s not done. It’s never going to be done till I burn that place down. Might as well play a bit.’

Jude scanned her closely - it didn’t look like she had heard much at all. He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

‘Wanna bat first?’

‘Sure. Gonna beat your sorry ass with it.’

Jude’s arm dropped from around her, as did his smile, while Jobe giggled behind the stumps. He could already tell this was going to go places.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me.’

‘You know Jobe and I used to play cricket in school right?’

‘And I’ve grown up watching it. What’s your point?’

While Jude was always fiercely competitive, he knew she was a demonic warrior when she wanted to be. This clearly seemed like that day. He still ranked himself far higher in skill, so he knew it would end the way he wanted it to.

‘Game on then.’

‘Yup.’

‘Not gonna go easy on you dove.’

‘Didn’t ask you to.’

Jobe looked between the two of them, wondering how a light fun-filled afternoon had completely turned on its head. What he didn’t know was that the couple had been arguing over small small things all weekend. The kind of fights where you won’t even know half way in what it really was about or where it started from. So what was happening right now didn’t just originate out of nowhere.

Jude counted the steps of his lineup and got in position. Though he had said no mercy, he still decided to bowl slow, just short of out and out underarm. Even with that he was sure he’d beat her. But at least it would look like a contest then.

He bowled the first delivery. She had all the time in the world to step out of her crease, catch the ball mid -air and hit it into the outfield.

It took Jude two seconds to process what he just saw, after which he chased the ball. By then she had taken two runs. Jobe hooted from behind the stumps, patting her on the back.

All mercy went out of the window then. Jude took a proper run and swung his arm fully for the next delivery. The pace of the ball and short length of this make-shift pitch made the ball go over her head for a bouncer.

She gaped and looked at him in horror.

‘That could have hit me.’

‘Please, that would have gone over Jobe as well.’

‘Tryna show off? Or intimidate me?’

‘Just taking the game seriously.’

He shrugged nonchalantly, which annoyed her even more.

‘Good to know there are a few things you still take seriously.’

‘Wait what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just go back and bowl.’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

Jobe wondered if he should leave them alone and let them sort out whatever the hell was going on here. But both would have given him dirty looks if he even mentioned that. So he stayed shut.

The next ball whipped past her shoulder. Jude just looked her up and down, before walking back for his run-up. The unabashed cockiness pissing her off. He had done that consistently last few days - just setting her off with this air about him.

Next ball came. Straight on her legs. She swung the bat with all her might but couldn’t connect it properly and the ball grazed her front leg.

‘OUT. That’s an LBW.’

‘Nope. That was a no ball.’

‘No it wasn’t. I was way behind my line.’

‘Rubbish. I could see from here it was a no ball.’

‘Jobe?’

Jobe looked between the piercing eyes of both.

‘Yeah I’m not touching that with a barge pole.’

‘Coward.’

They said together, then looked at each other to acknowledge their telepathic connection, corners of their lips threatening to twitch with a smile. But the game was still on and neither was ready to give in.

However, Jobe decided to call it quits and said his goodbye after making some lame excuse. He would rather vegetate in bed than be the go between for this sparring hot headed pair.

‘One final ball. If I get you out I win. If you score even 1 run you win. Else it’s a draw. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

Jude weighed his options. Anything above her torso would be risky, she wasn’t good with ducking or swaying in time. But blocking she was quite adept at, from what he had seen just now, so a clean bowled or LBW targeting the stumps would be the way to go.

He stood on his mark. Before starting his run-up, he gave her a final look, almost giving her the window to back out. But she was a woman on a mission today. To humble his sorry ass. No matter what it took.

He bowled the final delivery. It was on target. Right on her front leg. She tried to block well, just like he had predicted. But it was a straight LBW. Clear as day.

However, celebrating was the last thing on Jude’s mind because in her rapid attempt to block, the ball deflected off the edge and hit her on her index finger.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t make any sound. But the bat dropped from her hand immediately and she turned around, holding her finger tightly.

Jude ran to her and was in front of her in a few seconds.

‘Show me.’

It wasn’t a request. He didn’t leave any room for her to be a sore loser & act out. Instead, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her other hand away to take a good look at the finger.

Then, he moved it a little bit and on one particular angle she cried out in pain.

‘Sorry, had to check for a fracture. But it’s just a sprain. Wait here.’

Again, it wasn’t a request. Jude came back in record time with a first aid kit and a pack of ice. He applied a quick ointment to soothe the nerves, then covered her finger with an ice pack, keeping it there for 2 mins sharp.

‘Try moving it now.’

She did. And just like that the pain was gone.

She looked up at his concerned face with a half-smile.

‘All good.’

Jude stood there motionless for two seconds. She wondered if he had even heard her.

But then he grabbed her arms and pulled her in for a crushing hug, kissing her head and face all over.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry baby.’

‘It’s fine it was just a sprain and it’s not your fault.’

‘Ofcourse it’s my fault. I hurt you.’

‘Jude, it was an accident.’

‘You got hurt because of me.’

‘Jude, it’s fin…’

He grabbed her face, tilted it up and kissed her like his life depended on it. Her hands came up to his biceps for support.

‘Are you mad at me? And I’m not talking about just now.’

‘No. I mean, I don’t know.’

‘I don’t like us snapping at each other like this. It sucks.’

‘I know baby. It’s just…I don’t know….maybe it’s work…it’s just been super crazy and…..’

‘And sometimes I can be a lot to deal with yeah?’

He looked at her so earnestly that she couldn’t keep herself from giving him a genuine smile.

‘Sometimes. But I know I can be difficult too and it’s just……’

‘Shhhhh it’s ok, it’s fine.’

He pulled her close again, peppering kisses over the top of her head.

‘I know just the thing to let out some frustration.’

‘If you’re talking about sex you can stop talking. I’m still irritated.’

‘Actually that’s an even better idea. But what I had in mind was more like a punching bag. Have one in the gym.'

'That....is a surprisingly brilliant idea.'

He shrugged cockily, and she rolled her eyes at him.

'Wanna give it a go, then? Can show you some punches.'

'Yes pls. Maybe we can make it a thing. I sure might.'

'So long as you don't imagine my face while punching the bag it's cool.'

'We gotta do what we gotta do.'

With that, she turned around and walked back into the house. While Jude stood there a bit, staring after her. She was full of surprises, never a dull moment with her. And Jude loved it all.

...............................................................

Was missing my babies so literally wrote this in 30 mins. Hope you like it :)

[srbachchan]

DAY 6226

Jalsa, Mumbai Mar 4, 2025/Mar 5 Tue/Wed 1:42 am

कुछ समाप्त होता है नयी शुरुआत के लिए !!

Matters end at times for a new beginning !!

The Match .. cricket .. to decide the FINALS .. and all kinds or permutations and connotations begin to invade the mind and body ..

Should I see the game .. at times when the game is seen we lose .. but defied that today .. so .. where to sit, how to sit .. one leg upon the other .. which leg which upon .. bending or stretched straight .. shoes on or off .. change the leg curl or not .. oh dear a wicket just fell .. no no no .. get back to the first leg over leg position ..

HOLD ..

Get up to go .. walk a bit when the ads., begin or stay put .. the variations kep tempting the mind and system , until the final victory .. and the victory was made in great style .. restrained controlled , no fear , no anxiety .. just the confidence of the team to WIN .. to hold on thill the last few balls , and have the will and skill that the ball shall fly over the barrier and announce the WIN ..

In the finals now ..

it's past midnight so it shall happen TODAY and the routine shall begin again of where to sit et al ..

Even the greatest thinkers and philosophers profess ignorance on the mind matters for results, but never have been too strict on the final outcome ..

HomoSapiens we be .. and we are different .. we have the largest brains and have the ability to absorb in intelligence all around us and about ..

Particularly when we play cricket ..

🤣

🤣

alright enough of this .. back to the grind and work and the finishing touches to a break on KBC for sometime to come back as soon as possible , and be among the audience - the essence of all in the profession ..

.. an effort to shape the growth on face .. the specialists given a brief and they do .. they do for many and many more .. and I wonder if it shall be of any suitability ..

Shall expect some suggestions .. but in time ..

I need indulgence ..

My prayers and love .. 🌺

Amitabh Bachchan

[dollfairy]

I didn't used to have beef with ANYBODY but now there's this little boys club clique of finance douches and two of them have now had issues with me for "tone"

and it's obviously bc I'm a woman bc they get the same tone/level of being corrected from the other person with years of experience but they never have an issue with him bc uhhh yeah he's a guy

there's a difference between a finance bro and someone who majored in finance (esp considering they make you choose your major at like 18-19 and finance can be appealing if you have no affinity for much in particular but want a stable career)

and let me tell you, the workplace culture here went to total shit the minute the majority of people working here shifted from people (mostly women) who happened to have majored in finance to being mostly finance bros

especially on the teller line it's like....bro from where do you get this attitude, you haven't done shit to earn the swagger you walk around with

[wordsofwilderness]

Pleasure to meet you

Day 7: Masked Sex - Stranger Sex - Jegulus Kinktober - @jeguluskinktoberr - 654 words - Mature

From the moment James had stepped into the sparkling ballroom, he’d been intrigued by the man with a slender frame and a midnight blue mask speckled with silvery gems as if he wore the stars themselves. The annual masked balls were one of the few traditional pure-blood events the Potters still bothered attending. The anonymity of the enchanted masks gave the usually so uptight pure-bloods a much-needed opportunity to let loose without consequences. The dancing was wilder and the expensive wines flowed freely. There were even a few couples that had gone as far as to kiss in public—their identities sure to be the topic of the rumour mill for several weeks.

But where James usually entertained himself by watching the boundaries of formality slowly fall apart into an astonishing display of hypocritical behaviour, he was otherwise occupied tonight. They had spent the better part of the evening staring at each other across the dance floor, even as they both danced with other people. Inevitable, it had led to here, locked away safely in a small study far from the other partygoers.

Legs were hooked around James’ waist and locked behind his back as he sat the mysterious man down on the expensive-looking office desk. James grinned into his shoulder at the moans already escaping between them at the administration his tongue was doing there.

They pulled at each other clothes in a frenzy. “What can I call you, love?” James murmured as he rid himself of his shirt, “I need something to moan.”

His lover seemed to chew on it for a minute, shrugging out his trousers before providing, “Reg.” Something in the back of James’ mind tugged at him, but the magic of the mask smoothed it over.

“Perfect,” James groaned, catching Reg’s lips with his.

It wasn’t long before James was deep within him, moans ringing out too loudly, considering they really didn’t want to get caught. James’ hands griped the milky skin of Reg’s thighs, holding them up as he slammed into him again and again. The silvery eyes behind that mask swirled with sin, so close now, and James was all the more lost in them. Even as Reg came, and he followed, he couldn’t look away. It was truly cruel that the mask robbed him of the complete expression on Reg’s face as he reached his peak.

Skin sticky with sweat, James held them close together as they each came down from their high, catching their breath. “Can I see you? Please?” James asked, his fingers tracing the edge of Reg’s mask, “I’ll take mine off too.”

“You first,” Reg countered. The apprehension was fair enough, it wasn’t exactly acceptable to be queer within pure-blood circles.

James shrugged, before taking his mask off, a maroon thing with antler-like protrusions framing his eyes.

The man before him titled his head, lips pulled together in an annoyed line, probably at the lack of recognition. He kept his side of the deal, though, pulling his mask off too. The resemblance hit James like a brick wall, because he’d seen that face before in photos Sirius had shown him, off his brother. Older now, he’d grown into those sharp cheekbones, his eyes piercing instead of soft.

His voice coming out thinner than he’d have liked, James asked, “‘Reg’ doesn't happen to be short for ‘Regulus’, does it?”

“Why,” he bit with narrowed eyes. Oh, and still, James was attracted to him, he couldn’t deny it.

Deciding to make light of the situation, James stepped back. “James Potter,” he said, with a little mock bow, “Pleasure to finally meet you, Regulus.”

Regulus’ eyes went wide in realisation before a smirk grew on his lips. Eyes roaming over James’ still naked body, Regulus hummed, “I believe the pleasure is all mine.” By the wicket grin spread across Regulus’ face, James knew this would be far from the last time they saw each other.

[fazcinatingblog]

Back to your kingdom, Babar

[thealogie]

Thea important breaking news have you seen the video where Ben Shapiro, yes that one, go off on a full tumblr theater kid rant about Wicket and the relative strengths and weaknesses to the musical? Truly unsure what's happening here. https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTYx5oPe8/

NO NO I KNOW! I wanted to run on here and talk about it but I’ve been busy. I don’t agree with him in parts but the way he’s just like going full Kristin Chenoweth stan and correctly identifying the problem with Jon Chu messing up the rhythm of defying gravity? Oh his closeted side jumped out

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hi Kavi! I was hoping I could request prompts 24 an 81 with desi!reader and Oscar Piastri where like both of them are cricket fans and have like a playful rivalry?

Feel free to incorporate it as u want (IK it's a bit of a weird request) .

Take ur time and i hope u have a great day:)))

Pub Rivalry ☽｡⋆

Prompts: 24. “I could pick you out from a room full of thousands of people.” + 81. subtle protection

₊˚ෆ op x desi!reader ᯓ★

₊˚ෆ fluff ᯓ★

masterlist ☾☼

The pub was buzzing with energy, full of excited chatter and clinking glasses. A bunch of cricket fans had all gathered to watch the super-hyped match between India and Australia. You and Oscar had managed to score a table near the front, the best seats in the house—well, for those who actually cared about cricket.

Oscar was already in his Australian jersey, scanning the crowd as he spoke with a half-smirk on his face. "I can't believe we're doing this," he said, his tone amused, though his eyes remained glued to the screen. "You're gonna lose today, I just know it."

You laughed. "Oh, please. India's got this in the bag. You guys are just pretending to be competitive.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Pretending? You do know that Australia has one of the world's best cricket teams, don't you?"

You leaned in, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Well, someone has to support the underdogs."

Oscar laughed softly, clearly not fazed by your banter. "You're lucky I love you. Or else I'd be taking this way too seriously."

"Oh, I know. I could pick you out from a room full of thousands of people because you'd be the one sulking when India wins."

Oscar shot you a look. "You know that doesn't work on me anymore."

The match started, and the pub fell into a hushed silence as everyone focused on the screen. You and Oscar sat side by side, as was your wont, exchanging light jabs between sips of beer.

Australia's first over was quick and aggressive, and Oscar couldn't help but beam every time one of the Australian players made a good play. You, on the other hand, were practically bouncing in your seat every time India made a run. It was a sight to behold—your intense concentration and exaggerated cheers for every boundary.

This is it! This is the over!" you yelled, practically standing on your seat when an Indian player took a powerful swing. Oscar rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his smile as he glanced at you.

"You're impossible," he muttered, chuckling to himself.

And finally, after a few tense overs, you excused yourself to the bathroom. "Be right back! Don't get too cocky while I'm gone," you warned Oscar.

Oscar just waved you off, grinning. "Of course, of course. Hurry along; you don't want to be missed during the inevitable collapse of your own side!"

You flipped him off behind your back, and smiled when you heard his laughter.

The moment you vanished from view, Oscar turned back to the game, completely focused on the match. However, after a few minutes, he began to notice something: the crowd seemed different. People were shifting around, voices getting louder, but no sign of you. He looked around. No sign of your bright, beaming smile, no sign of your dramatic, loud cheers.

His eyes narrowed.

You had been away for merely a few minutes, yet Oscar didn't like that. There was a mild knot in his stomach as he pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes scanning to find you.

Meanwhile, you'd become sidetracked by a scene of some Australians celebrating the wicket of an Australian when you didn't even notice it until you'd meandered over there joining in on the celebration. You were pushing through the crowd when your foot caught onto something-a stray chair leg-and suddenly, everything was tipping to one side.

"Oh, no—" you mumbled to yourself as you went tumbling forward, your arms flailing wildly as your drink went flying out of your hand.

Before you could hit the ground, you felt a pair of strong arms catch you, pulling you back up with a swiftness that made you blink in surprise.

"Careful there," Oscar's voice was low, full of both amusement and concern as he steadied you, his hands on your shoulders.

You looked up at him, your heart racing a little from the sudden stumble. "I—uh—I might've gotten distracted, just a little," you stammered, your face flushing in embarrassment. "And now my drink is definitely gone."

Oscar let out a small laugh, a playful glint in his eyes. "I see. Distracted by the crowd, were you?

You groaned, smoothing your clothes. "Totally. I was just trying to enjoy the match, and then—well, here we are."

Oscar shook his head fondly, his expression softening. "Well, I could have told you that the pub floor isn't a good place to practice your cricket swings." He gave you a little nudge, making sure you were steady on your feet.

"Hey!" you shot him a playful glare. "I didn't need you to be my personal bodyguard, okay? I'm perfectly capable of not falling flat on my face."

Oscar's smile softened. His voice dropped a little lower, filled with an affectionate warmth. "I'm just looking out for you," he said, his hand brushing your cheek as if reassuring you that he wasn't letting you out of his sight. "You're clumsy, but I've got you, always."

It made your heart skip a beat to listen to him speak, always making you feel safe even when you were being the clumsy self that you mostly were.

"Well, I wasn't planning on a somersault. But thanks for catching me," you said, a little softer now.

"No problem," Oscar said, and his grin was back on his face. "Just keeping my beautiful girlfriend from public humiliation." His words were laced with that teasing tone, but behind it was something protective. It warmed your heart.

You rolled your eyes, but secretly you were grateful. "I swear, you're the only person who's actually prepared for my clumsiness."

"Well, it's not a bad thing," he said with a sly smile, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "Keeps life interesting."

Before you could react, a deafening cheer went through the crowd—India hit a six, and you couldn't help but spring to your feet, forgetting all about the embarrassing fall you had made some minutes ago. Oscar retreated, but his hand reached up to the small of your back, urging you along as you leapt around with excitement, not letting you fall again. It was such a simple, protective gesture, but it made your heart flutter.

The match was nearing its end, and the banter between you two was endless. Even if you were supporting different teams, there was something playful about the competition that just made everything a little funnier.

"Well, at least you're not completely useless when it comes to cricket," Oscar teased, as you cheered another Indian run in. "But I still don't think they are going to win. Australia's just better.

You shot him a teasing grin, tapping your fingers on the table. "We'll see, Piastri. We'll see. Just remember, even if India loses, I'll still be able to claim victory in this pub rivalry."

Oscar smiled, his eyes softening as he watched you, the warmth between you two undeniable. "You really think that's how this works, don't you?

"I know you think you can win everything, but sometimes, it's not about who wins the match," you said, grinning. "It's about who can outlast the other in teasing and banter."

Oscar gave you a sidelong glance, his tone more playful than ever, but his voice dropped lower, his gaze softening. "Well, lucky for you, I'm good at both. But when you trip again, I'll be right here—ready to protect you from another graceful tumble." His fingers intertwined with yours, reminding you that he was always there.

You grinned back at him, shaking your head. "Let's just hope my cricket team doesn't disappoint before I do."

Oscar's eyes softened, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry. You'll always be the winner to me—clumsy or not."

The match ended, with Australia securing the victory, but it didn't matter to you. The real prize was how comfortable and loved you felt next to Oscar.

As you both stood up to leave, the crowd still celebrating the match's conclusion, you turned to Oscar with a grin.

"Alright, Piastri. You won this round," you said with mock reluctance, knowing full well that your playful rivalry wasn't ending here.

Oscar pulled you into a quick, warm hug; his arms wrapped around you protectively. "Don't worry, I'll let you win next time. But only if you promise not to fall over in public again."

You smiled, wrapping your arms around him, your voice soft as you replied, "Only if you promise to be there to catch me.

Oscar’s smile softened, and he kissed the top of your head. “I’ll always be here. To catch you. and to win the next round of cricket, obviously.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “You’ve got a deal, Piastri.”

The playful banter and rivalry were still alive but, in this moment, it was clear—there was nothing you'd rather do than share these little, perfect moments with him. And as long as he was by your side, even if you tripped and fell a hundred more times, you'd always feel like a winner.

𓇼🐚☾☼🦪

i'm shit at cricket, whether its knowing about the sport or playing it, but let me know if y'all like this one! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04

[clangenrising]

Month 18 - Greenleaf

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Ghost was struggling today. His right ear hurt like a motherfucker, deep inside his head, and it was taking half his mental capacity to refrain from pawing at it which was making him a miserable hunter, on top of any aches and pains that normally slowed him down. He thanked the Folk for Jagg who was managing to keep the hunting party on task and in control for him.

“Leave that one,” he heard her call over to Mulch, startling the bird that he had been stalking. Mulch spat in irritation, tail bristling as he turned back towards them.

“Why’d ya do that?” he grumbled, “I almost had it!”

“We’ve caught enough robins in this area,” she said. “Remember, we have to be careful or we won’t have any prey come next year.” 

“I still don’t buy that shit,” he huffed, slinking back over to them. “There’s no way we could kill all the birds forever. They’ll just come in from other places.” 

“You may not like it, but that’s the rule,” Ghost said firmly. “We’re looking out for the future and making sure everyone stays fed long term.” 

“Is that why we don’t hunt over the road anymore either?” Mulch raised a brow skeptically. 

“That is so no one gets killed by wild cats,” Ghost scowled. Mulch didn’t seem convinced and Ghost wished quietly that the half truth was more convincing. Flick bounded back over to the three of them and dropped a shrew at their paws. 

“I thought you liked the wild cats,” he said. 

Ghost huffed, guilt exploding in his throat, and said, “I think they should mind their own business and we should mind ours. Everyone should leave everyone else alone.” Then he winced as his ear throbbed painfully. 

“Okay, old man,” Mulch rolled his eyes. “I’m sure those kit-stealers will just ‘mind their own business’ if we leave them alone.” 

“I dunno,” Flick shrugged and then said something that Ghost couldn’t quite pick up even though he wasn’t speaking particularly softly. 

Whatever it was, Mulch rolled his eyes and swatted his brother over the head. “Would you shut up, Flick?”

“Hey,” Jagg stepped in sharply. “He’s allowed to speak his mind just like the rest of us. Why don’t you go grab Lizzie and Wicket and start collecting today’s catch, huh?” Mulch shuffled a bit and mumbled something before padding off towards where the other two hunters had gone. Ghost frowned as he once again failed to hear what was said, a common occurrence these days that only served to make him feel even more like an out of touch old man. 

Flick flashed Jagg an awkward smile and said, “Thanks, Jagg.” 

“Don’t mention it,” she said with a breathy, nervous laugh. Flick bobbed his head a few times, chewing his bottom lip, then cast a brief glance at Ghost before bounding after Mulch. 

Ghost sighed. “Thank you, Jagg. You handled that well.” 

“Did I?” she said, blushing shyly and he nodded. She smiled under the praise, seeming to glow, which managed to coax a bit of a smile out of Ghost as well. The evening was warm and muggy but she was like a breath of fresh air in the summer heat. What, he thought, would I do without her?

There was a pleasant, peaceful moment, before Ghost voiced the thought, “What did Flick say just then?”

“Thank you,” Jagg answered.

Ghost shook his head, ear throbbing, “No, before that.” 

“Oh,” Jagg’s ears twitched backwards a bit but she still repeated the words clearly and precisely so he could hear them. “He said the wild cats they met seemed pretty alright.” Ghost’s stomach tightened miserably. 

“Ah,” he nodded slowly. “Thank you.” Jagg simply laid her paw over his own. Despite the grief the words had given him, he was grateful that she understood he would rather hear them than be left in the dark. He knew that she would never lie to him which was a relief. He deserved to hear every terrible thing that was said to him anyways. 

Jagg glanced over her shoulder after a moment and said, “I think they should be pretty occupied now. Are you ready to go meet with Goldenstar?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said. He took a step towards the road but stopped with a hiss as his ear pounded again. “Fuck! This damn earache…” 

“It’s pretty bad, huh?” Jagg winced sympathetically. 

“Worse than last time,” he grunted through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, dear,” she fretted. “Do you need to go home? I can handle the meeting on my own if you need to-”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I’ll be fine.” What sort of man let a woman do his work for him just because he had an earache? He wasn’t a perfect man by any means but he at least still considered himself a gentleman in some regards -- or, he wanted to consider himself one. 

The two of them made their way towards the road without much trouble or conversation. Soon enough, they were dashing across the empty asphalt, Ghost’s old bones aching in protest. They pressed onward to the little tree they had set as their meeting place and settled down to wait for Goldenstar to arrive. Ghost closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing to block out the pain in his ear. 

After a while, Jagg nudged him gently and said, “They’re here.” Why did she sound guilty? Ghost grunted in affirmation and opened his eyes only for the answer to smack him directly in the face. Goldenstar had Scorch with her, of course, but he hadn’t been expecting to see the two adolescent cats walking beside them, one a speckled grey and the other a distinctive white tabby. 

He was dumbstruck. 

“Evening Ghost,” Goldenstar said, clearly picking up on the uncomfortable tension in the air. “I’m sorry to surprise you like this but Fogpaw and Slatepaw were very eager to meet you so I agreed to let them come along. I hope that’s alright.” 

“No, yeah, that’s fine,” he said, stumbling over the words. He sat up straight and looked the girls over, unsure what a father was supposed to say when meeting his already half-grown children for the first time. 

Goldenstar hadn’t been lying before, they were the spitting image of him and Smokyrose. Slatepaw, the one that looked exactly like her late mother, was smiling shyly, her ears pressed backward, while Fogpaw, his own doppelganger, stared blankfaced at him with her speckled eyes.

Then she spoke. “I’m Fogpaw,” she said. “You’re Ghost?” 

“That’s right,” he said thickly. 

“This is Slatepaw,” Fogpaw said, twining her tail with her sister’s.  

Slatepaw mumbled something that Ghost was pretty sure was, “Hi,” and batted her lashes at him. Ghost couldn’t read their expressions right and it was all he could think about. What did they want from him? What did daughters expect of their father? Did they hate him yet or were they too young to know they should? Was he supposed to try and change their minds if they did?

Jagg interrupted his spiraling thoughts by saying, “Hi girls, it’s nice to meet you. My name’s Jagg.” 

“Are you Ghost’s new mate?” Fogpaw asked flatly and Ghost felt like his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. 

Jagg flushed bright red and shook her head. “Um, no, no, we just work together.” Not for lack of trying, Ghost thought and then quickly squashed that little bitterness. Jagg was smart, it was no wonder she had told him she wasn’t interested, even if she’d been kind enough to pretend he might have a chance sometime down the line. 

“Is he trying to court you then?” asked Fogpaw. 

“Not currently, no,” Jagg answered, shuffling her paws. 

“Well, you don’t have to let him if you don’t want to,” Fogpaw said. “You can say no.” 

“Fogpaw,” Scorch said softly and the girl looked at her with a furrowed brow. 

“I’m aware,” Jagg laughed nervously, “but, uh, thank you.” Ghost shut his eyes and tried to focus, earache pounding. What a strange child. This, he thought, is why I don’t stick around for the kittens. I don’t understand children at all.

“You’re welcome,” nodded Fogpaw, seeming satisfied. Slatepaw, who had been side eyeing her sister, looked back at him with big, round eyes and his resistance wavered. What a sweet little girl -- his little girl. Despite himself, he smiled a bit and Slatepaw smiled back. 

Predictably, Scorch scowled. “Right,” she said, “Now that we’ve done introductions, can we get to business?” 

“Yes, of course,” he cleared his throat and gave his head a hard shake in a futile attempt to do something about the itching pain in his ear. It was time to shift his brain into a more professional mindset. 

“How is the new hunting program going?” Goldenstar asked with a pretty smile.

“I think it’s going well,” Jagg said with a glance back at Ghost. “I mean, there’s definitely some resistance but I think for the most part people are adapting to the changes smoothly.” 

“The worst of it is coming from the Exalted and the cats who really worship them,” he nodded. “They think we should be hunting over the road specifically to starve you out. Some of them even think that’s all the more reason to overhunt the area. I’ve been trying to play it off as a safety issue but there’s only so much I can do.” 

“Well, we appreciate whatever you can do,” Goldenstar said. 

“What about the fight for Speaker?” Scorch said sharply, ever the mood killer. “Have you and Schmidt made any progress there?” 

Ghost huffed a bitter laugh. “No, not really.” Scorch glared at him.

“There’s been a… development,” Jagg said carefully. “Bella Swan, do you know her?” 

“Yes,” nodded Scorch. 

“She got Portia to back her claim for Speaker.” 

Scorch opened her mouth but no words came out. After a moment she shut it and looked down at the space between them, eyes flitting over the grass as her mind went into overdrive. Goldenstar glanced at her with a slight look of concern then over at Ghost. 

“Portia is the Interpreter,” he explained. “She supposedly understands the will of the Folk so her saying Bella is supposed to be the next Speaker has a lot of weight to it.” 

“Oh!” Fogpaw said, surprising Ghost. “Like a sign from StarClan!” 

“Shh!” hissed Slatepaw quietly. 

“Yes,” Scorchplume said, laying her tail against Fogpaw’s leg to quiet her. “Like a sign from StarClan.” Ghost heard the undertone of ‘and exactly as fake’ in her voice and felt a fleeting moment of connection there. When it left, it left him aching. How he had enjoyed being a skeptic with her when they’d met. Now they were both still skeptics but they were lonely ones. 

Fogpaw didn’t seem to notice though and nodded in serious understanding. 

Goldenstar shifted forward as she said, “So, how does this change things?” 

“Well, she’s got a big leg up on Sardine now,” Ghost said. “His claim was basically ‘I was here first’ but since we’ve never had a Speaker besides Razor, it’s kind of anyone's guess as to how we’re supposed to choose the next one and if Portia says it’s Bella then she’s gonna have the hard nosed spiritualists in her crowd whether she’s a woman or not.” 

Fogpaw scrunched up her face in confusion. “Why does it matter if-” 

“Shh!” Slatepaw whispered harder. Ghost winced.

“Fogpaw, save your questions please,” Scorchplume said firmly. “I’ll answer them when we’re done but right now we need to focus on staying on topic, okay?” 

“Okay,” Fogpaw frowned but fell quiet. Slatepaw had puffed up in indignation and set about smoothing down her hackles with her tongue. Ghost groaned softly. Of all the days to have a terrible earache, it had to be the one where he really needed to be patient with children. 

“Okay, so she has a leg up on Sardine,” Goldenstar said, bringing them back to the conversation. “What does that mean, practically?” 

“I’d say that within…” Ghost paused to think, “a few weeks -- maybe a month? -- she’ll have enough support to fully cement herself as leader. Sardine’s a good thinker but he’s just not a big enough personality to get the support that he needs.” 

“What about Rudy?” Scorch asked. 

“Eh, it’s hard to say,” Ghost frowned, pawing at his ear. Jagg gently swatted his paw and he quickly put it down, chastened. Clearing his throat in a way that only served to make his inner ear itchier, he continued, “Sardine and Oreo have been doing a lot of damage to Rudy’s gang lately. A lot more of his supporters are Chaff than Bella so Sardine has more license to do whatever he wants. They killed a good six or seven cats just last week, them and a group of Exalted purists.”

“Uh, is-” Jagg nervously cut in, glancing between Goldenstar and the two adolescents, “is this appropriate to discuss around children?”

“Oh,” Goldenstar blinked as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

“It’s fine,” said Fogpaw with a confident grin. “We’re warrior apprentices, we already know about that kind of stuff. Let’s stay on topic.” Scorch sighed a little through her nose but Ghost swore he caught a glimpse of a smile on her face. 

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Goldenstar said when Jagg didn’t look convinced. “Please, continue.” 

“Right, uh…” Ghost couldn’t help but give Fogpaw a bit of a concerned stare. She smiled back at him. He decided to just ignore it and move on. “Rudy. Right. Basically, he’s got more support but the other two have more power and with Bella closing in on Sardine, pretty soon it’ll just be her versus Rudy and that will either be a bloodbath or an immediate victory.” 

“But, wait,” Goldenstar frowned, “what about Schmidt? Is he not in the race?” 

“Not really,” Jagg shook her head apologetically. 

“He had me in talks for a few days,” Ghost sighed, “talked about all the changes he wanted to make and asked me how to make them work. But that’s just the thing: cats like things the way they are, for the most part. Rudy’s gang want to let Chaff hold positions among the Exalted, but otherwise they’re not radical at all. Most everyone still hates wild cats and wants them dead, even if they disagree about whether we should stay in the city or not. Most cats don’t like ideas like food shares and kitten care programs and it’s not even like Schmidt and his reformer friends can agree on their own ideas anyway!” 

He huffed loudly and took a deep breath to calm himself from the little rant he had gone on. Things like this always got him so worked up, it was honestly annoying. Fogpaw was squinting at him while Slatepaw stared wide eyed. Once again, he wished he could understand what they were thinking behind their expressions. 

Jagg laid her tail gently over his and said, “That’s all to say that Schmidtt’s platform is a lot less popular and a lot less clear cut than the others. It’s extremely unlikely that he’ll be able to make a run for Speaker himself with any success. Right now, he and his base are talking about trying to get in with Rudy but it’s a… controversial idea.” 

“They’ll spend all their energy fighting each other and get nothing to show for it,” Scorch scoffed disdainfully. Fogpaw opened her mouth and then shut it again. 

Goldenstar glanced briefly at Scorch, worry tugging at her features and said, “Well, is there anything we can do to help them?” 

“You?” Jagg asked with a nervous wince. “Um, not likely. If you got involved with them, that would only make them more unpopular, unfortunately.” 

“What if we kill Bellaswan or somebody?” Fogpaw offered.

“Fogpaw,” Scorch said curtly.

“What?!” Fogpaw bristled. “It’s not off topic!” 

“Something like that would be incredibly dangerous,” Scorch said, “and very complicated. It’s not just a simple thing to-” 

“Why not?” pressed Fogpaw. “We killed Razor for you!” 

It was Scorch’s turn to bristle. Ghost raised a brow at her. The Clans had killed Razor for Scorch? That was news to him. 

“Fogpaw, stop it,” whispered Slatepaw, ears pressed flat against her head. 

“I’m not-” Fogpaw started then gave a frustrated shout through her teeth. “I just don’t get it! If these cats are a problem then we should do something about it, right? That’s what warriors do!”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Jagg tried, “but Scorch is right. These things are really complicated. This whole power struggle started because Razor died. We don’t know how much more complicated things will get if Sardine or Bella or Rudy are killed.” It seemed to be working, to Ghost’s surprise. Fogpaw’s hackles had started to lie back down and Jagg had her full, undivided attention. 

Jagg continued, emboldened. “And besides, a lot of city cats see you all as bloodthirsty savages. If you came in and killed another one of their leaders, it would only make them scared and angry and then they’d try to come for you.” 

“If we want to avoid more cats dying, cats who don’t need to die, then we need to let the city handle this through politics,” Scorch said, having managed to pull herself together again. “Bloody solutions usually return bloody results.” 

“Oh,” Fogpaw nodded slowly. “Right…” 

“Slatepaw, are you alright, sweetheart?” Goldenstar asked. “Do you need to step away?” 

Slatepaw opened her mouth, glanced at Fogpaw and then Ghost and then shut it again, shaking her head mutely. 

“Okay,” said Goldenstar, “just let me know if you do, alright?” 

Slatepaw nodded. 

Goldenstar turned back to Ghost and said, “If there is anything we can do, just let us know.” 

“We will,” said Jagg and Ghost was grateful. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to say anything. 

“Is there anything else we should know?” Scorch asked. 

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ghost shrugged. He went through the list of things in his head. He’d already told them about the kit stealing rumors last time. He didn’t think they needed to hear every detail of who thinks they should do what and who (namely Jo) thinks that’s all stupid. As far as he could remember, that was everything relevant to the conversation. 

“Great,” Goldenstar said. “In that case, the girls wanted to talk with you, is that alright?” Ghost glanced at Jagg and felt guilty when she caught his eye and gave him an encouraging nod. Tooth and claw, he was pathetic. 

“Sure,” he said weakly, pawing at his ear before Jagg stopped him again. 

“Go on, girls,” Goldenstar smiled. 

“Okay, but are you guys gonna get mad at me about it?” Fogpaw asked, glancing between Scorch and Slatepaw. 

“No, go ahead,” Scorch said evenly. 

Slatepaw mumbled something Ghost couldn’t hear, looking at her paws, and Fogpaw frowned. 

“No,” she answered her sister, “why would it be embarrassing?” Slatepaw’s response was too quiet for him to hear again. 

“How about this:” Goldenstar cut in, “Slatepaw, why don’t you and I go on a little walk and let Fogpaw talk with Ghost and then when we get back it can be your turn. Does that sound alright?” 

Slatepaw pouted up at him with her mothers big, golden eyes, and then nodded. Standing, she slank over to Goldenstar’s side, casting him another glance, and then they walked off together, Goldenstar giving words of encouragement that Ghost couldn’t hear. Damn these ears of mine, he thought and his earache throbbed in response.  

“Alright,” Scorch said to Fogpaw. “Go ahead and say what you wanted to say.” 

Fogpaw tore her eyes away from Slatepaw’s diminishing form and nodded seriously. “Okay… Okay.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, staring at him like she was about to chew him out. He braced himself with a slight wince. 

“Did you really love my mom?” Fogpaw asked. Not what he had been expecting. 

“Um,” he tried to think of how he was supposed to answer that. “I… I think so.”

“What do you mean, you ‘think so’?” Fogpaw said with the same determined expression. “Shouldn’t you know?” 

“It’s not always that simple, Fogpaw,” Scorch interjected smoothly. “Sometimes cats don’t understand their own feelings well enough to say.” For once, Ghost was grateful that Scorch had spoken for him. Her response was much more eloquent than the one he would have likely stumbled through.

Fogpaw’s brow furrowed upward a touch but she wouldn’t be stopped. Turning back to Ghost she asked, “Okay, but then why didn’t you come back? Why did you make her think you didn’t love her?�� 

Ghost felt like an icicle had fallen straight through his throat. Had he made her feel that way? Of course he had! What girl wouldn’t feel unwanted if a tom just abandoned her without a word?! He swallowed thickly and tried to find words. Jagg pressed against his side and he took a deep breath. He wasn’t brave enough to risk a glance at her face. 

He did look at Scorch’s, though, and he was met with an intensity he hadn’t been expecting. Despite her placid expression, her eyes were burning holes through him. Those eyes clearly wanted something from him and it was silence. 

“I didn’t want to put her at risk,” he said and it wasn’t a total lie. “If I kept coming back to visit, cats would notice I was missing and come looking and she wouldn’t have been safe.” He cleared his throat and added, “You wouldn’t have been safe.” 

“But we weren’t safe,” Fogpaw said. “They still found us and she died.” 

He swallowed, saliva feeling sickly sweet. “Yeah…” was all he could say. 

“You leave all of your mates, don’t you?” Fogpaw was relentless. “Did you love all of them too?” 

“I-” Ghost floundered. “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?” Fogpaw asked again, more incredulous this time. “Did you like them or not?” 

“Sweetheart,” Jagg said gently, “Ghost has, uh, courted a lot of different women. I’m sure every situation was unique, it’s not that easy to say yes or no to a question like that.” 

“Why not?” Fogpaw scowled. “Why would you be someone’s mate if you didn’t love them?” 

“Fogpaw,” now Scorch interrupted, “we discussed this.” 

“Ugh, fine!” Fogpaw lashed her tail and stood up straight again. “Did you know that Scorch didn’t like you back?” Scorchplume bit her lip to keep herself from interjecting again. 

Ghost couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “No,” he said, a bit of ire creeping into his voice, “she sure had me fooled.” 

“Like it was hard,” Scorch rolled her eyes. 

“Hey,” Jagg said uneasily. 

“Well, she didn’t,” Fogpaw said firmly. “But you wouldn’t have kept her safe if you knew the truth so she lied and that’s foxdung.” Ghost raised a brow at the odd curse -- at least, he assumed it was a curse. 

Fogpaw kept going. “You should take care of cats even if they don’t want to have sex with you, you know that right? Isn’t that your whole job, taking care of cats?” 

Ghost shifted. “It is.” 

“Well, you’re bad at it,” Fogpaw said. “If you were better at it, people wouldn’t have to lie to you about how they feel. You wouldn’t hurt them like that.” 

He’d hurt Scorch? The thought was ridiculous! Laughable, even! She had taken advantage of him and then left him the second she had a chance to trade up! He found his hackles rising. The absolute gall of this child to lecture him on his job -- on his love life. He looked at Scorch, expecting her to shut the child up or maybe even be smiling smugly at him for his troubles.

He did not expect her to be looking anywhere but at him with her paws tucked close together, her throat laboring. 

Wait -- had he hurt her? No, he thought, surely she was acting now, pretending like she had as long as he had known her. Still, he couldn’t deny that she seemed genuinely withdrawn. Stupidly, he glanced at Jagg and the absolute sorrow and pity on her face was like a punch to the gut. 

Fogpaw hadn’t stopped talking, only growing louder. “You keep hurting cats -- cats I love! Slatepaw thinks you hate us! Mom thought you didn’t love her! How many other cats have you hurt and left behind, huh? All because you’re too selfish to help them when they need you! Are you even sorry?!” 

There was a long, quiet moment and Ghost felt like he was in freefall. What could he say to all that? What could he say that wouldn’t get Jagg to finally throw him away? What could he say that would make his daughter feel any better? 

His voice was hoarse and sluggish as he mustered up the courage to say, “I’m… trying to be.” Scorch scoffed. 

“He is,” Jagg said, her voice too angelic to bear. “He’s really trying to be better.” She swallowed and met Scorch’s gaze. “I know it might be hard to believe but he is trying.” 

“Good for him,” Scorch growled coldly. 

Ghost watched Fogpaw’s face. She was studying him, staring hard as if she could look straight into his mind. After a long, very tense silence, she sighed a little, seeming to deflate, and looked away. Ghost didn’t know if he was grateful or distraught. 

“Come on, Fogpaw,” Scorch said. “I told you it wouldn’t make you feel any better.” 

“No,” Fogpaw said. “I wanna wait until Slatepaw is done.” 

“Alright,” sighed Scorch. “Slatepaw is going to want to talk with him on her own though. We should give them some privacy.” 

“Fine…” Fogpaw said slowly, glaring at Ghost. Scorch cast her gaze over the grass to where Goldenstar and Slatepaw were walking nearby and waved her tail to get their attention before laying it over Fogpaw’s shoulders and shepherding her off to the side. 

As Goldenstar and Slatepaw approached, Jagg leaned into him and said, “Ghost, try not to be too hard on yourself. She’s clearly got a very black and white way of seeing things. I’m sure she means well.” 

“She’s right,” he shrugged in defeat. “I mean, tell me I didn’t do all of those things.” 

“You’re working on it,” Jagg said. “That’s what matters.” 

“Not to them,” he said, thinking back to Tadpole’s bitterness. How many cats despised him like Fogpaw did and just didn’t say it to his face? The thought was soul crushing. 

“You can’t control how they feel,” Jagg said firmly. “You’re trying to be better and that’s all you can do.” 

And when it’s not enough? He thought but Slatepaw was already approaching and he didn’t have the heart to say it in front of her. 

“Alright, Slatepaw,” Goldenstar said. “This is your time. Say whatever you want to.” 

Slatepaw shuffled her paws, glancing over to where Fogpaw was scowling at them. She mumbled something to the ground and Ghost squinted as if that would improve his hearing. 

“What was that?” he asked. 

“Ghost can’t hear very well,” Jagg said clearly, “You’ll have to speak up for him.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Slatepaw said, trying to mimic Jagg’s volume and diction. “I said ‘I’m sorry Fogpaw yelled at you.’” 

Ghost sighed. “That’s alright, uh…” He struggled for what to call her -- her name was too formal but he didn’t think she would buy something like ‘sweetheart’ coming from him -- and settled on, “kiddo.” Regretting his choice, he glanced away and said, “I deserved it.” 

“Really?” Slatepaw said on the bottom edge of his hearing.

“Yeah,” he nodded, trying to think of what a good father would say. “Apparently, I’ve made you think I hate you and that’s…” he paused, then finished with, “Well, I’m sorry.” Jagg’s tail brushed comfortingly against his. 

Slatepaw’s big golden eyes shone like she was about to cry. “Th-that’s okay! You don’t have to be sorry!” 

“Well, I am,” he committed. Goldenstar wore a sentimental if sympathetic smile. Slatepaw sniffled and moved like she was about to rush him before holding herself back. 

“Um, okay,” she said, smiling despite her tears. “Maybe, um, you could come back with us and we could share tongues or something?” 

“Share… tongues?” Ghost glanced at Goldenstar in concern.

“Groom each other and share gossip,” Goldenstar laughed. “We’d be happy to have you.” 

“That’s… that’s alright,” Ghost said. “I should probably be getting back to the city.”

“Oh,” Slatepaw’s smile faltered and faded. Great going, dumbass, he thought. 

“It’s not that we don’t want to,” Jagg said. “We’re just very busy. And Ghost has an ear infection, so he really should go get some rest.” Ghost groaned as her reminder seemed to redouble the pain in his head. 

“Wait, really?” Slatepaw’s eyes got big and wide. “Then you should come back with us and get it seen too! Oddstripe will make it feel much better, I promise!” 

“I… I don’t know,” Ghost said, feeling very old and tired. 

“If left untreated, an ear infection can be very dangerous,” Goldenstar said with a serious expression. “Please, you don’t have to stay long but I’d really appreciate you letting our healers take a look at it.” 

“Please,” Slatepaw said in the most adorable pout he had ever seen. Fuck, she looked just like her mother. How could he say no to a face like that? 

“Alright, alright,” he laughed a little, “if you insist.” 

“Yay!” Slatepaw cheered a little, her tail unfurling over her back. “Thank you, papa!” Ghost blinked. No one had ever called him that before. 

He nodded stiffly and said to Goldenstar, “Are you sure this is a good idea? Scorch and Fogpaw seem pretty mad at me.” 

“It’ll be okay,” Goldenstar said, glancing over at them with a sympathetic frown. “They just need their space, I think.” 

“If you say so,” Ghost said, not sure how this was ‘giving them their space’. 

“Come on,” Slatepaw said, “it’s this way!” She reached out and wrapped her tail around his foreleg to guide him and he held his breath. 

The first step was the most difficult. After that, his body took over, trudging after his daughter as she led him deeper into wild territory. Goldenstar explained the situation to Scorch and Fogpaw who didn’t seem pleased but neither complained enough to stop it from happening. 

When they reached the camp, Ghost was suddenly overwhelmed with memories from the last time he had been there before. It had been almost a year, hadn’t it? And still, the smells were the same, the shape of the place the perfect background of a picture that Smokyrose was missing from. He took another deep breath, hoping no one noticed the way his chest trembled, and let himself be guided into a burrow that smelled strongly of herbs where a molly nearly as old as he was insulted his appearance while a confusingly androgynous cat rubbed chewed up garlic inside his aching ear.

After that, Slatepaw dragged him to pick an animal from the prey pile and then shared it with him on the big flat stone he had sat with her mother on all that time ago. Fogpaw made sure to share a piece of prey with Jagg and watched him the entire night which was unsettling to say the least. She wasn’t the only one either. A big ginger tabby in particular scowled at him from across the camp throughout the entire meal. Still, he tried to make the best of things and listened to whatever Slatepaw said and tried to respond in the way a father should. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it right but Slatepaw seemed happy and that eased his aching heart. 

By the end of the night, his aching ear had eased too. Slatepaw made him promise to come back if it ever started hurting again. Fogpaw made a point to tell him that this was what it looked like when cats took care of each other. He couldn’t look either of them in the eye. 

When they finally let him go and he and Jagg set off for the city again, he gave a heavy sigh of relief. He’d known being a father was hard work but he’d never thought about how much hard work there was in just sharing a meal with his kittens. 

Jagg leaned against him, purring reassuringly, and said, “That was very sweet of you.” 

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbled. 

“No, it wasn’t,” she shook her head. “You did something difficult, Ghost. You should celebrate that.” 

“I just want to go to sleep,” he groaned, glad that his earache had numbed enough that he might actually be able to. 

“A perfectly fine way to celebrate,” she chuckled and Ghost wished he could make her laugh all the time. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Shit,” he frowned. “We’ve been gone so long… people are going to assume…” He glanced at her but didn’t have the energy to finish the thought. He just hoped her reputation didn’t suffer too much on his account.

Jagg shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “There are worse things,” she said simply. He sighed with a little smile. What did I do to deserve your patience? he thought but let the thought go. No use in stewing now. Purring softly, he leaned his head over hers and let himself enjoy her company on the moonlit walk back to the city.

[221beloved]

Heirloom

(Link to ao3)

"John? Have you got some change?" Sherlock called from the kitchen.

"Err..." John frowned. "You need more patches?"

Sherlock appeared in the doorway.

"No? I would tell you if I needed some. I need change."

"Not for cigarettes though, right?"

Sherlock grimaced.

"No. I don't smoke. Because of you, by the way.

“Lestrade has a suspect sitting at the yard who claims to have destroyed the evidence with hydrochloric acid. But since noble metals are often resistant to this acid, he asked me to test it for him."

"Don't you know which metals are vulnerable to which acid?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I do. But Lestrade won't take my word, he wants to see the results. Do you have change now or not?"

John waved his hand, turning back towards the papers.

"Yeah, just take my wallet."

Secretly, he was just a little impressed that Sherlock had actually asked before going through his wallet and trying to destroy the change he found in it.

He listened to Sherlock picking up John's wallet and rummaging around the coin pocket, then, silence.

"What's that?" he heard Sherlock's confused and slightly shocked voice.

"What?"John folded the paper and got up to see what Sherlock had found.

"Err..." John stopped in the doorway to the kitchen when he saw what it was that Sherlock had found in his wallet.

He lifted a hand to rub his neck a little sheepishly.

"It's ugly, isn't it?"

Sherlock turned the brooch over in his hands, looked up at John, frowning.

"Well, yes. It’s something from your past, something with great meaning for you, obviously. But what is it?"

John stepped up to Sherlock and took the jewellery from his hands, looking at it thoughtfully.

"You remember what I told you about my grandma? The one that always went to the markets with Harry and me?"

"Obviously. I even went to a market with you after you told me. She was important to you, an important part of your childhood."

"Yeah," John nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the memory of her.

"She was a wicket old lady, full of mirth..."

"She gave it to you," Sherlock said softly, nodding towards the brooch in John's hands.

John nodded.

"Yes, when I was... fairly young. She must've felt that--" He paused, swallowed. "She must've felt that she was nearing the end. She died not long after."

Sherlock reached out and gently opened the fist that John hadn't even realised was cleched around the brooch painfully. He looked at him intently as he intertwined their fingers, enclosing the jewellery between their palms, his thumb gently stroking the back of John's hand.

"It's a family heirloom," John continued. "And she gave it to me when I was just a little boy. She trusted me with this, instead of giving it to her own daughter."

Sherlock stepped closer and pulled John against his chest.

"She loved you. And she knew that you loved her. She trusted you."

John sighed and sank deeper into Sherlock's arms, inhaling the scent that was so clearly Sherlock. "Yeah, maybe. My mum told me to put it somewhere I couldn't lose it, the bedside table or something like that. Later, when I wasn't at home that much any more, I put it in my wallet. And it just stayed there. It reminds me of her. She was… lovely."

He pulled away and looked at Sherlock, who was watching him with a smile so soft that John could cry. It wasn't pity, it was just... so soft.

"Sometimes Mrs Hudson reminds me of her. She has the same energy, and she definitely doesn't take shit."

Sherlock chuckles. "No she doesn't."

John grins at him. "She handles you just fine, and if that doesn't mean something."

Sherlock swatted him playfully, pouting.

"I don't need to be handled!"

"Oh?" John pulled his head back, looking at the taller man in mock surprise.

"So you don't want me to... handle you...?"

He lifted his eyebrows, a grin slowly spreading over his face.

Sherlock frowned at him for a moment, then his eyes went wide.

"Oh for-- This is terrible, John!"

John broke into laughter, almost doubling over.

"I do admit," he panted, "This was a bad one.”

Sherlock pulled a face, but the smile returned mere seconds later.

"I'll let you kiss me despite that disgrace."

"Ohh," John feigned surprise.

"What a noble gesture of you."

"Oh well," Sherlock shrugged.

"Come here you..." John smiled, pulling Sherlock closer by the lapels of his jacket.

The experiment with John's change was postponed, but neither of them could care less.

--

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[bluedesignwall]

I have been working on a postage stamp quilt for a while now. I have kept it on my design wall and have been adding to it every now and then. I wander into my sewing room and take a look but it is just not doing it for me. I like the wee blocks but I don't like them all together. I was pondering the postage stamp quilts future as I tidied my sewing room and hung my new 2025 quilt calendar. Mum has a birthday in January. She will be 91 years old at the end of the month. I took the postage stamp quilt down off the design wall and started making Mum a birthday quilt. The quilt top went together pretty quickly and as I looked at it on the design wall I had an idea for the postage stamp quilt. Stars could work! Now I have to go pull some fabric for borders for Mum's quilt and find some low volume fabric for the stars oh and I need to go for a run and the cricket is on. Better move. Oh wicket? Yes!

[satureja13]

A campsite at Tartosa, just before the crack of dawn. Jack, whispering loudly: "Vlad! Sai! Wake up!" They quickly scrambled out of their sleeping bags and out of the tent. Sai: "Jack! Kiyoshi! What happened? Is something with Jeb?" Vlad's heart clenched: "Or Ji Ho?" Jack: "What? No. No, no, no. Not something like this."

Jack: "I just saw this on Grim's Social Bunny feed. He's worried about his Job ö.Ö' We need to help him!"

Jack: "Do you happen to know something about Ambrosia?" Vlad: "Argh! No, I don't! If we only had a computer to research it!" Sai: "Oh wait! We actually do have a laptop here! I think it's somewhere in Jeb and Ji Ho's tent."

Jack: "My good mate Kiyoshi and I are going to fetch it!" Vlad: "But don't you wake Ji Ho! It's going to be an exhausting day for him!" Sai to Vlad: "Don't you think their sleepwear is a bit inappropriate for mates, just mates?" Vlad: "Jack's choker is a bit much? But it was a christmas present from Kiyoshi... and together with the pyjama..." (TMI: Jack wore this pyjama when we made the fake porn bot profiles for them ;) We had so much fun!)

Jeb and Ji Ho's tent, at the crack of dawn. Jack, whispering loudly: "Jeb! Wake up! But don't you wake Ji Ho! It's going to be an exhausting day for him!"

But of course Ji Ho woke up. And so they went over to the patio while Jeb was searching for that laptop. Jack and Ji Ho were checking Grim's Social Bunny again, closely this time. They are so excited! Ji Ho: "Oh! We are even going to get rewards!" Vlad and Sai couldn't help but laugh at their antics and find them adoreable.

Jack: "Look at that cute Freezer Boney! The perfect friend for Logan and Wicket (their plushies)!" Skully: "And me!"

(A guide to the Reaper's Rewards event is -> here at the Sims Community.)

Jeb finally found the laptop and brought it over. First, Sai ordered the requested pack with flower seeds. They were delivered immediately, wow. Then he began his research about the Ambrosia. Jack: "So, Grim also needs us to plant some of these flowers. Jeb and I will go over to the garden and start with this." (Jeb and Jack are in charge for their garden and greenhouse in Tomarang.)

And while Kiyoshi started to make breakfast and Ji Ho fed the goats, Vlad stopped in his tracks and took the scene in. He wasn't able to recall when they last had such a carefree morning together. He's so happy - and he knows it.

Meanwhile Jeb and Jack set up a little bed and planted and watered the requested flowers for Grim.

Now they need to research a plant. But only fully grown plants can be researched. And they don't have time to wait since they have to leave soon to meet Ms Coombes and athena... Jeb: "Just you wait and see, Jack. I have an idea." And then Jeb cast a spell. Jack: "Wow, Jeb. You really look so hot when you do your magic!" Even the Little Bunny hobbled over to watch him in awe. And really, the lily plant grew in an instant!

Jack started his research: "So, what do we have here... this is obviously *he scribbled* ... a lily plant. With lots of ... long ... leaves. No blossoms yet... What else?" Jeb: "It's poisonous, so don't eat it, Little Bunny." Little Bunny: 'Ach! Why do you plant it then, when I can't eat it?' Jack added 'poisonous' on his pad: "... poi-so-nous..." After Jack finished his essay, he tapped the pen loudly on the pad - to make a point.

Then it was finally time for breakfast. Skully and the Little Goats couldn't wait and already unboxed the Grimophone, one of their rewards. Skully: "Sounds a bit tinny, but I like it!" Little Goat: 'Which song shall we listen to first?' They pondered for a while... Little Goat: 'Don't fear the Reaper!' Little Goat: 'Awesome!' They started the song and Skully sang along:

'All our times have come Here but now they're gone Seasons don't fear the reaper Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain We can be like they are

Come on, baby (don't fear the reaper) Baby, take my hand (don't fear the reaper) We'll be able to fly (don't fear the reaper) Baby, I'm your man

La, la, la, la, la La, la, la, la, la'

Don't fear the Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult

to be continued

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