#one like one cup of tea made with holy water he has to drink

[kyorru]

fuck you sebastian

[tenok]

.

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Love, Law and Laundry

A/N: Teaser from a new Bloodweave fic in the style of a romcom/drama where Astarion is a lawyer and Gale is a grad student who recently started working for him as a housekeeper and they eventually fall in love. Pics courtesy of @papercutstoday (who helped fuel a lot of this and listened to my rambling lol)

Love Law and Laundry

Gale stared at the address he’d written down on a scrap piece of paper then at the large highrise building in front of him. It would be an understatement to say that it didn’t appear daunting, nearly looming over him. He climbed the steps up to the doors and pulled it open, a rush of cold air from the AC slapping him in the face as he stepped inside and made his way towards the elevators. 

He pressed the button for the fifteenth floor and used the elevator’s mirrored walls to double check his appearance. He was trying not to be as nervous as felt and wasn’t exactly failing but he wasn’t exceeding either.  

Twenty six years old. Back home living with his mother. Starting back at square one with his master degree and working a part time job as a home cleaner. Was it his top choice for a part time job? Not in the slightest, but the client that Jaheira had assigned him to was willing to pay a lot for someone to come by a few days a week. 

Apparently this particular one, Astarion Ancunin, which try saying that five times fast, had a reputation among the Harper Cleaning Co. Worked weird hours. Had some weird dietary needs or something. Weird temperament, just weird all around. But for fifty dollars an hour Gale could overlook ‘weird’. 

The elevator doors dinged as they slid open and he stepped onto the floor counting the numbers as he walked past the apartments. 

1501. 

1503.

1505.

1507.

1509.

1511. 

He stopped in front of the door and double checked that it was the right place and pressed the doorbell listening as it rang out through the apartment. Condo? He rocked on his heels as he waited and heard the locks disengage before the door opened and a older man with a pale face, a shock of silver white curls and eyes that made Gale think of bloodstones regarded him coolly. 

“What happened to the other girl? Mayrina or something?” he asked. 

“She…is no longer with the company,” Gale answered. “Uh…sorry is your dad here by chance? I’m Gale. I’m supposed to be her replacement.” 

The man blinked at Gale and eyed him curiously. “My dad…? No he isn’t, he’s been dead a good fifteen years now.” 

Gale winced. Way to put your foot in your mouth Dekarios. “Sorry…I just sort of...ahem...From what Jaheira told me,” and what people said I assumed you were some grumpy 90 year old man… “You are Mr. Ancunin then?” 

“Yes, but Astarion’s fine,” he appeared more amused at Gale’s mistake more than anything. “A voicemail sounds vaguely familiar.” He opened the door wider and motioned Gale inside, shutting the door behind him. 

Gale followed him down the short entryway and holy hells how did this man find anything? There were clothes strewn about, leftover takeout containers, empty bottles of wine. Half drunk cups of coffee, papers and books and notepads strewn about. 

He glanced over and saw the man leaning against the island counter that separated the living room from the kitchen, cell phone to his ear. 

“So they did,” he nodded and set the phone down. “Well, you certainly look…heartier than the last few.” 

Seems like one has to be…Gale just gave a slight smile. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he offered. “Coffee? Water? Tea?” 

“Water’s fine,” Gale answered. “Your requests mentioned that you needed general housekeeping, bit of meal prepping and the like?” 

He watched Astarion fill two glasses with water and walked over handing Gale a cup. “Yes. Housekeeping, meal prepping, grocery shopping. There might be times when I need to go out of town on business so perhaps some apartment sitting from time to time…”

Gale nodded and drank some water. “Sounds reasonable enough.” 

“We haven’t gotten to the fun part yet,” Astarion cleared a space on one of the couches and motioned for Gale to have a seat and sat across from him. “My work as a lawyer has me keeping odd hours depending on the case I’m covering.” 

“What kind of law do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?” Gale asked. 

“Family law, though I have dipped my toe into business law and criminal law, environmental law from time to time,” Astarion answered. “But family law is my main coverage. There will be times when I’ll hold a client meeting in my home office. That and the bedroom are the two hours you don't really need to worry about. I'll leave the sheets and towels in the hamper in the hall and take care of the rest.” 

“Home office and bedroom, off limits, gotcha,” Gale made a mental note. 

“Second, I tend to eat a high protein diet...I have a bit of an iron deficiency hence the interesting dietary needs,” Astarion continued. 

Gale tried not to frown. Why would they say that’s a weird dietary restriction? “I’d say I’m a pretty good cook, my mom taught me everything she knows, still teaches me actually, and that shouldn’t be a problem. Are there certain foods you prefer over others? Or things I should look for at the grocery store?” 

Astarion looked momentarily caught off guard by the question but quickly schooled his features. “I try to leave a list at the beginning of the week…I’m not overly picky in terms of food, but if you’re ever unsure you can send a picture of the item and I can let you know. I’m not expecting you to pay for the groceries with your own money, I have a card for that purpose. I just have money transferred over every week so there shouldn’t be any issues with it getting declined.” 

Gale nodded. ‘“Was there a particular number of days you’d like me to come over? I have morning classes on Tuesdays and Thursday’s, but on Mondays and Wednesdays I have evening classes and my Fridays are pretty much open.” 

“You’re in school?” Astarion asked. 

“I just started the master program at Blackstaff Academy,” Gale nodded. “Anthropology but uh…not exactly sure after that...needed some extra money so here I am.” He winced. Was that an okay thing to say?

“Every little bit helps right?” Astarion replied. “Why don’t we start with Sunday’s, Wednesday morning’s and Thursday afternoon’s?” 

“I can do that,” Gale nodded. “When would you like me to start?” 

“When can you start?” Astarion asked. 

“I could come by this Sunday?” Gale offered.

Continue Reading...

[mega-punani]

For your Pirate AU, what are all the boys favourite food/dishes/treats/fruits/veggies and drinks(alcoholic and non alcoholic)? I don’t think anyone has asked this, but I was curious, for all of them? Sans, Papyrus, Blue, Stretch, Red, Edge, Razz, Cash, Bear and Cinnamon?

Also are people allowed to use your vers of AUs or even your AUs in stories with different twists?? Like say pirate AU(since I already mentioned them), and like doing the dragged from they’re universe of one piece to a total new that’s kinda modern time? Dealing with an MC that’s trying to keep them outta trouble as well as hide they’re secret but also it���s where a true pacifist route happened??

And of course give you credit but can they use your make, vers, variant, au, whatever you wish to call it in this case, in stories and other works?

Yaw! People can use the pirate stuff for whatever honestly. The au is kinda my idea but not really cause I'm just smashin 2 things together lol. I don't mind. Of course, designs are made by @the-skeleton-in-ur-closet so if you end up drawing or using the designs you GOTS to credit them (or I will hunt you down /hj) Also, the dragging the pirate au to a modern Y/N would be so FUCKING FUN. I loooove those tropes saur much.

FAVORITE FOOD AND DRINKS:

Sans: Anything greasy and bready. Bro loves his carbs. Is a big fan of Ketchup too! Favorite drink is a hot mug of cocoa.

Papyrus: SPAGHETTI! And a wide range of pastas. He is also a huge fan of anything tomato. Looooves drinking iced teas, refreshing and sweet!

Blue: Huge fan of sugary and carbonated sodas but hates sparkling water. Blue is also a great enjoyer of greasy foods loaded with meat (like tacos). Likes fruits that are sweet and tropical.

Stretch: A refreshing jug of beer and potato based foods. He also has a deep love for spicy foods, even if he can't handle them well.

Red: MEAT. Bro loves him some bbq, steaks, and grilled goodies. He doesn't really have a favorite drink, but he'll enjoy a cup of coffee in the morning. 2 cubes of sugar and a dash of cream.

Edge: The stronger Edge's morning coffee, the less he will yell at the crew. This man needs his caffeine NEOW. Pasta is his guilty pleasure but he tries to suppress the fact that he wants to eat it constantly. He must set a good example by eating healthy...

Razz: Tea, wine, and cheese. Razz's holy trinity. Will nibble on a block of cheese in the middle of the night (scaring tf out of Bear)

Cash: A lover of alcohol. Every to all, especially the strong ones. He's a little embarrassed about this, but chocolate. Just cause he didn't get much as a kid,,,

Bear: Spicy foods and dairy. Spicy foods cause he can feel a strong kick from the food and it makes him all warm on the inside. He likes his dairy because it is still pretty new to him. (unfortunately, he is mildly lactose intolerant-)

Cinnamon: Desserts of all varieties. He loves him some sweet pastries, and he loves him some fudgy brownies. Cupcakes, muffins, cakes, donuts. Cinnamon got quite the sweet tooth. All of it can be paired with a hot cup of coffee that is 4 times more cream than coffee.

[rain-dom]

Touhou: The Origins of Reimu Hakurei. [MtF]

Splash! A wave of water fell over Ethan, as a car went by.

“Ugh! Shit!” he groaned. “Of course, the universe just has to remind me how much my life sucks today, of all days.”

He wiped the water from his eyes and continued to drag himself home. Ethan, a young Japanese-American man aged twenty-one, found work at an automotive company, but due to a global recession, he was let go. Born in the States, he wanted to reside in Japan for a time to get in touch with his culture, and to jump start his career in marketing and sales. He had dreams of being on top of the world - living in lavish luxury, on top of the world in tall, gleaming skyscrapers, and being among the richest suits-and-ties.

But now, like his dreams, his black suit, black vest and gray tie were all soaking wet, and had nowhere to go. He couldn’t stay here - he didn’t have much of a family to connect to, after his parents had cut ties with them a few decades earlier - and he couldn’t go back to the U.S., even if he wanted to, due to being flat broke. And he would feel ashamed if he had to move in with his folks again, so he was pretty much all alone.

As he walked home, however, he remembered there was a place in a nearby forest he liked to visit. There was an old, abandoned shrine, which sat in the center of some beautiful cherry blossom trees. He decided he should go there and let his stresses melt away, at least for a little while.

He turned left and crossed the street, making sure there were no more annoying cars greeting home with puddles of water. He took a nice, long stroll through the forest, until he finally reached the shrine. It was old and worn down, the cracks in the wood showing its age. Though luckily, it still stood well enough. Ethan dropped his suitcase and sat down on its steps and let out a heavy sigh, as he looked up to the sky. It was covered by dark, gray clouds, reminders or the rainstorm that had just passed by earlier that day. The clouds were darker now, signaling that the end of the day was at hand. Ethan then dozed off to sleep, allowing himself let go of the stresses of his dull, gray life.

The next morning, Ethan awoke to something warm that danced on his face, as if a ray of light that beamed down on him. He blinked himself awake and got up, and yawned. He looked up once again, noticing the sky had changed significantly this time. Unlike yesterday, in which a storm had rolled in, bringing with it dark, stormy clouds and heavy rain, today the clouds had receded into light puffs of smoke painted across the light blue sky. As a matter of fact, as he looked around, the was something different about the entire area - the shrine itself seemed to have had been fully restored to its former glory, its wooden exterior and roof was fully intact, with no dings of damage. The stone path leading to it no longer was covered in bushes and twigs - it now was fully restored as well, with there now being a clear stone path. Ethan’s eyes widened as he observed his new surroundings.

“Holy shit…did someone just renovate this place overnight? This must be a dream, right?” He toured the updated shrine; the rooms - once desolate and barren - now looked as if they were occupied just this morning - a bed was made, with a white cup of warm tea next two it, complete with steam brewing off it. He took a sip. “Mmm…this is great! God, I needed this…” He sat the tea down and went back outside and stepped onto the porch, and took a breath of the fresh air. He smiled. He like that this old, forgotten place somehow returned to its glory.

Then he remembered - he had to go home.

“Goddammit! It’s a shame I’ll have to leave here and go back to my house, and deal with…god, everything. What I would give to just relax and drink tea at this beautiful shrine. Sigh I wish I could stay at this place forever…”

Then, almost as soon as he said those words, he started to feel hot as he felt his body shake and tremble beyond his control. He could hear his bones begin to crack under the pressure, though he didn’t feel any pain, just discomfort and heat. His shoulders began to push in, as his height decreased with them. He saw as the world around him seemed to be growing around him, but in reality, *he* was the one who was shrinking.

“Nngh…ugh…wh-what the fuck is- gah!” Ethan exclaimed, as he felt his hips push out, and his waist starting to curve inwards. His hands shrunk and became daintier, his arms and legs shrunk in length and muscle (not that he had much of that, anyway). It felt like his entire body - inside and out - were being massaged, itched, broken, and remolded into something almost foreign to him.

But, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Huffing and puffing, he ripped off his suit, vest, and tie, and stripped himself down to his boxers. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Coated in sweat, his body had gone through some significant changes - he was smaller for one, his shoulders and waist had narrowed, and his arms and legs were shorter and more petite, too.

“Huff, hah What…what is this? What’s hah hah h-happening to me?!” He barely noticed that by now that his skin was softer to the touch, his body hair had all but evaporated, his voice had jumped at few octaves higher, his short brown hair had grown slightly longer, and that his face had become more androgynous. In between deep breaths, it was starting to become obvious to him now - he could no her deny it. He was becoming-

“…a girl? Hah hah I’m…I’m turning into a girl?!How is this even possible—AH!”

His conclusion, which was coated with fear and confusion on one hand, and curiosity and excitement on the other, was interrupted by an alien sensation residing in his chest.

Then, it started again.

Power, heat and energy ripped through his increasingly feminine body, begging it to change even further. Two lumps of fat began to push out of his chest, creating sensations Ethan has never felt before. He fell to his knees, moaning, letting his new girls blossom forth, as they replaced his flat chest, expanding into small A cups.

“Oh, god this feels…ah …sooo, good!” Ethan exclaimed as he let his hands massage his new assets in circular motions, feeling how sensitive they were becoming, helping them grow to modest B cups.

“Agh! Ewgh! Gah!”Ethan groaned as brought his hands to his face, clenching his teeth together as his face crunched and contorted, as his body worked to give him a less defined jaw line, a smaller nose, and bigger eyes, erasing the last major marks of his masculine face. This also had consequences for his neck; becoming thinner, while his voice finally completely gave way, becoming high pitched and undeniably feminine, as his Adam’s apple disappeared without a trace.

“Hah, hah…ngh…what’s that feeling i-in my — AHH!!” Falling now on all fours, he moaned as his ass started to grow, his thighs becoming softer and thicker, and becoming slightly more plump.

”Mmn…yess…” Ethan said as his messy brown hair grew longer darker, and softer over his face, his shoulders, and finally his back, becoming a dark brown. He rolled over on his back, pushing his new, soft silky hair out of his eyes.

The final changes were being finalized — his thighs and ass grew to their final size, his waist narrowed in one last time, adding slight but noticeable abs to his belly.

Ethan looked down at his body, still overflowing with this essence, this power. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing or feeling, but he couldn’t deny that it felt so good, so rejuvenating.

Now, there was one last thing that need to change. And although he knew what change was coming, he didn’t know what feelings would come with it, nor how intense those feelings would be.

Ethan quickly pushed off his boxers - which barely even hugged his feminine frame at this point - already panting and moaning as he spread his legs wide open, already anticipating the arrival of his womanhood. His dick and balls - which were noticeably smaller than before the changes started - started to shrink. Ethan almost absentmindedly wrapped his now-feminine hand around his cock, and stroke his shrinking member, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, as the new, strong, unapologetic feelings burst from his crotch. His penis - erect and hard from the changes her that had taken place before - twitched and morphed, as if trying to salvage itself form the inevitable, but to no avail. As a new slit formed underneath his ballsack, his balls shrunk one last time, then went inside, becoming his new ovaries. His penis pathetically came one last time, then gurgled as it, too, was pushed inside by his body, becoming a tiny but sensitive clit instead. Ethan opened his eyes and looked at where his dick and balls once were, although now there was only a slit, with a clit at the top of it, just barely sticking out. His fingers on his right hand were coated in both his old cum - sticky and white- and his new cum - slimy and clear.

He was wet.

And he wanted more.

Something was stirring between his legs, the remaining heat and tension from the transformation rushed to his new equipment. It felt as if his vagina was emanating, pulsing with life, begging him to give in to his new body.

And he couldn’t resist the blossoming flower between his legs.

With trembling hands, Ethan touched his slit - he felt his entire body shudder and shiver. He immediately succumbed to the waves of pleasure that glowed in his crotch. At thing point, he started to slowly finger himself, pushing his fingers in and out of his vagina. This action slowly accelerated, his desire, his heat, rose all throughout his body the faster he went, wanting, no, needing to get that last bit of heat out of his system.

Ahh…ahhh!! Yess!!” He moaned, as he fingered himself faster and faster, enjoying the waves of pleasure coming over him.

Then, his eyes widened, and he let out a gasp.

He was almost there.

Faster and faster he went, his mind being completely overtaken by the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling. Sweat reigned supreme over his skin, as warm, panting breaths of a girl in heat escaped Ethan’s lips. This heat, this power, it kept rising, higher and higher, faster and faster, until-

AAAaaahnn!!!” Ethan finally let out on last series of loud, unapologetic moans as his new body arched upwards, squirting cum all over the wooden porch, and his inner thighs. He took his hand and tasted his new cum in his mouth, savoring the taste of his new equipment.

Afterwards, he settled down and closed his eyes. Satisfied, he wore a smile on his face, letting himself rest once again after his hard work was done. He ran his hands all over his new body; him feminine face, and his soft boobs and skin. He sighed and chuckled at his new form, overflowing with relief.

Until he fully realized what had just transpired.

“Wait - h-holy shit! I’m a girl?? H-how…why- what the fuck? He said as he jumped to his feet. He looked around at not only his body, but also at the mess he had made on the porch. “Did…did I actually enjoy this? Oh…oh god…”

“Oh, my…seems like you had a lot of fun, hm?” An unfamiliar voice said behind him.

“A-ah!” Ethan yelped. He covered his mouth, still not used to the voice he was carrying. Then, he covered up his chest and crotch with his clothes, and looked up to the woman that appeared before him.

“Oh, shit! I-I wasn’t doing anything! I’m not here to cause any trouble-“

“Oh, you’re certainly not here to cause trouble, shrine maiden. Quite the opposite, in fact.” The lady smiled smugly and giggled. She wore a long flowing pink and purple dress, and had long blonde hair that flowed under her pink mob cap.

“Shrine maiden? What…what are you talking about? I’m not-“

“Ah, but you are! Ever since you stumbled into this shrine and wished to reside here forever, you were destined to become the shrine maiden - the girl that keeps the peace between all beings, human, youkai, or otherwise, in the land of gensokyo.”

“But I’m not a girl *or* the shrine maiden!”

“Says the one who was just pleasuring herself without a care in the world just a few moments ago.”

Ethan blushed, twirling a lock of his hair with his finger. “L-look, can you just get me out of here? Send me back to the outside world with my old body?”

“Oh, but that’s not how this works, I’m afraid. Although I could teleport you back to your world…no, that would be too boring. And I can’t turn you back into your former self - you wished for this to happen, deep down, after all.”

Speaking of which, your old stuffy clothes don’t fit you anymore, so I ll be taking those.”

She took Ethan’s suit and tie out of her hands and took them with her into her portal, as if they never even existed.

“H-hey! Those are my clothes!” Ethan stammered as he covered up his chest and crotch with his hands.

“I have some clothes that suit you far better. Try them on, I’m sure you’ll like them.” She said smugly.

The strange woman disappeared as she opened a new portal, and Ethan’s apparent new clothes appeared.

“This lady, I swear-“, he muttered under his breath.

Having nothing else on hand to wear, he begrudgingly put them on, which included: a sarashi that covered up his breasts, a red skirt, a red bow, and a sleeveless red top that showed off his midriff and armpits.

After putting everything on, he looked down at the clothes that hugged his body.

His heart skipped a beat, his face turning red.

“O-oh wow…you know, I…I don’t look so bad, I guess.” He said as he tugged at the edges of his skirt, and got a closer look as to how his new clothes fit with his new assets. “As a matter of fact, I do look kinda…cute.”

“See?” The strange lady said as she reappeared behind her again. “Isn’t this so much better than before?”

Ethan nodded, still in awe of the fact that he even took a liking to this new form.

“Now…do you still want to go back to your old, miserable life, in desperate search of fulfillment? Or, would you like to stay here and complete your true task - the task of the shrine maiden, as Reimu Hakurei?”

“I…I…”

“You will make so many friends and so many wonderful memories here, resolving incidents of all kinds - and living in color rather than living in eternal gray. And, of course, you will be paid with donations at the shrine - you will no longer have to worry about running out of those silly human currencies ever again. And when you’re not solving incidents, you would be able to drink tea and relax as much as you please. Now - how does that sound?”

Ethan thought for a moment - he don’t have have in the way of friends, his career wasn’t going anywhere, and he would rather be homeless than return to his parent’s place again. He wanted to start all over again, and in this weird place, he could do just that, as Reimu Hakerei. Not only that, he was really starting to come around to living his life as a girl, especially since the transformation let him - now her - see a side of herself she never gave much thought about before.

“Wait, then…if I’m going to stay here, what am I going to say when I introduce myself - I don’t want people to know who I am - er, used to be.

“We’ll just say that you’re were an orphan, for now, unless you so choose to talk about your past.”

“Hm…I guess we can work out those details later, huh?” Ethan said.

The lady chuckled. “I suppose”, she said as she opened her portal. “There seems to be an incident currently taking place at a certain Scarlet Devil Mansion. To find it, follow the red mist.” Before she left, she stopped and added, “Oh, and before I forget, my name is Yukari Yakumo.” She then disappeared without a trace.

A bewildered Reimu was about to pester this “Yukari” lady some more, until she looked up at the sky. Dark red mist was slowly enveloping the blue sky that she adored, coming form some place she couldn’t see.

“An incident already?? Well, I better get on it, than.” Ethan, now the soon-to-be legendary shrine maiden Reimu Hakurei, accepted her new role in this strange new world. She took out her purification rod, and, after a few attempts of trial and error, she started to fly towards the red mist, looking forward to solving her first incident.

[jimmys-brewcuppia-shit]

rambling about Chamomile Cookie bcs I want to lol

also tagging @paidexp, oc rambel tiem!!1!1!1!

~~~~~~~~~

RANDOM FACTS ABOUT HER:

she is also pretty good at playing the violin and guitar! before her sibling Roselle ran away from home, they used to play the piano. hmmmm a violinist and a piano being siblings, I wonder what this could be referencing-

she has a pet cat named Little Mister Purrfect! he’s pretty friendly towards others, but not towards Lemon Kombucha and Sour Choco because of their semiavian cambion origins. you probably know how cats are with birds lol

she’s allergic to tap water. no seriously, if she were to drink a single cup of it she’d probably collapse on the floor and pass out

she likes to wear both feminine-presenting and masculine-presenting outfits! i drew her in a tuxedo once :)

she smells like chamomile tea, which is kind of obvious!

she has a British accent (well, she’s made of tea so yea)

before Roselle ran away, they and Chamomile used to play a lot of 2010s flash games together. this includes the CR equivalent to club penguin

she’s pretty good with animals, especially cats!

she snores like this

ACTUALLY IMPORTANT FACTS ABOUT HER:

also there will be some mentions of death here so uhhhhh,,,,

she’s a people-pleaser. this doesn’t really help her much,,

the coat on her back once belonged to her dad! she wears it often so she can remember him :’)

the same goes for her teaspoon staff, but it was actually passed down from generation to generation! it’s somehow still not rusty :D

she has been friends with Lemongrass since kindergarten, and Chocolate Meringue has been friends with her and Lemongrass since the 5th grade! they are very close with each other :)

she’s been dating Lemon Kombucha since they were 15 (which means they’ve been dating for 2 years), and they’re doing pretty well! she’s also pretty good friends with Sour Choco, and has taught him a lot of things.

wizard cookie is her cousin! they get along pretty well, but talking is kinda hard since Chamomile’s basically 5’8” in Cookie height and Wizard is a short motherfucker-

before he kicked the bucket, her dad Amber Mountain taught her a lot about tea magic! he’s gone now, but she’s been learning more from the books at the Arcane Bookstore in Brewcuppia (her hometown and the town she lives in).

speaking of Brewcuppia, her mom Rosehip is actually the mayor! though, it’s a really big city, so she unfortunately doesn’t have much time for her daughter. Chamomile does like spending time with her adoptive brother Cassava Werehound though!

she isn’t allowed outside the city. Rosehip’s kind of overprotective (since Amber Mountain is dead and Roselle is considered “missing”), so that’s why she can’t really leave :(

being made of chamomile tea, she is often relaxed (and might fall asleep at random intervals). though at other times, she is either the most awkward bitch you will ever meet or a very tired smart person

as the desc of her Spotify playlist says, she is autistic, and so is her girlfriend!

OTHER SHIT:

noelle holiday from Deltarune is actually one of the main basis for her character, both personality-wise and design-wise! she also takes some inspo from Twilight Sparkle lol

i have never drank chamomile tea once in my entire life

she has a LOT of similarities to the song “Sweet Hibiscus Tea” by Penelope Scott, but I actually listened to it after I made her and went “holy fucking shit this is CHAMOMILE’S SONG”

anyways yea!!

[ultramaga]

Not to mention...

I used to love the vending machine chicken sandwich I would have at Sydney uni. I think Macquarie had one too.

As a kid, the concept of the vending machine amazed me. Put in money, instant cold food or hot drink. Try explaining that to the people before capitalism.

I don't think it exists anymore but there was an Asian shop next to Hornsby station across the road that sold hot chicken rolls with gravy.

Very messy, but delicious on a cold winter's day.

Communists want you to forget that small business is also a part of capitalism. It's hardly homogeneous.

If I want a chicken and pineapple sandwich, toasted, I can have that with my cappuccino at the local cafe, and sit listening to music or writing Tumblr posts, and the staff will try to make me happy. Because capitalism.

They don't do that in communist countries, because the State owns the business and pays you the same regardless of how good you are at your job. Why bother making customers happy? If there were none, you would still be paid!

Tales from behind the old iron curtain are consistent. Everyone was miserable and mean. Nobody struggles for excellence. Anything you do will be taken by the State. What is the point of being creative?

But under capitalism, the business competes, and the ones that make customers happy have the advantage.

They will work at the combination of price and presentation, and the more money you can spend, the better everything gets. Colours, seating, music, lighting over food, everything is thought about and maximised. If someone makes a better coffee machine for an affordable price, they will buy it.

Year after year, we have more variety of foods and drinks. And if you have more money to spend, that explodes. Not to mention...

Innovation like home or office delivery! Holy cow, has that taken off! I loathe the Uber eats sound at the café but there's no denying it has worked well, and I expect drone delivery will be standard soon.

Imagine popping back in time to the 1950s, and telling them all the weird and wild types of coffee and tea, not to mention delicious freshly made rolls, they can have delivered to an office from just an ordinary cafe.

Heck, the cappuccino in Australia exists because of Italian immigration. Incredibly popular.

It pretty much came in from being exotic and rare to being the standard beverage. Growing up, everyone pretty much had tea, two sugars, milk. Now I would not be surprised to drive into some remote location and still get a decent cappuccino.

I remember the coffee we had as a kid. The sugar was there to mask the taste, and you drank it because the alternative was falling asleep, possibly while driving.

If you were well off, you could grind up and brew better than the foul instant coffee, but the common folk at work popped open their giant cans, put a teaspoon of the horrid sticky stuff in a cup, poured in literally boiling water (I have had so many mild burns over the years from the office boiler), and drank with nose pinched.

Capitalism is awesome. The free market, the competition, the rewards for innovation and good customer service, these are things those in communist countries can only dream of.

Yeltsin knew communism was doomed when he went to an American supermarket. We are surrounded by quality and quantity that they can never have.

But the Leftists never want you to compare like with like, to compare capitalism and communism.

Instead, they are frauds, comparing reality to the fantasy, free stuff in exchange for doing nothing, a state that has never seen occurred except for the infants and the elderly.

Leftists are forever trying to claw backwards, to being a baby, not even having to wipe their own arses, Mommy State just giving them everything, no work, no demands, no mind.

Meanwhile, the same Leftists say babies aren't really alive. Oh, sweet irony!

Cause you know darn that Capitalism and their…

*checks notes*

VARIETY OF FAST FOOD CHICKEN SANDWICHES

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

[valewright67]

Okay so, we know not all demons are immune to alcohol (Beer, Ale, etc) but most of them problably have a fast metabolism, so my take is What about caffeine? Can demons become hyped up because of It, If yes, Has meliodas ever had a cup of coffee?

Like, would Meliodas be strong against alcohol but weak against caffeine, and problably sugary things (like he can eat Sweets but not to much).

Did coffee even exist at the time NNT is set?

How would the Sins react to a Hyped Up Meliodas?

I did some research on this actually! I apologize in advance, im likely to be a bit all over the place and rambly. If you'd like to skip all the technical stuff and theories, I have three sections labeled as "History" "Effects" and "Story Potential." Just scroll down to the last bit.

History and potential lore:

We don't know the exact year that NNT took place, but we do have King Arthur as a character, meaning it was during the Arthurian Era. That's 5th to 6th century CE. The Holy War would have taken place about 2500 BCE, about the time the great pyramids of Giza were built, but we're just going to stick in the Arthurian era.

Tea was a thing in China as early as about the 1st century CE, and though it did spread to other parts of Asia, it didn't reach Europe until the 16th century. However, we see Cusack preparing and serving tea to Zeldris, so we can assume one of two things.

1) The demons have their own form of tea in the underworld.

2) The demons found about this strange "tea" that humans not from Brittania would create by boiling specific plants in water, and decided to try it.

If we're going with the second option, that opens up some things. Demons can fly, and we know they have stamina as well, so who's to say they DIDNT explore outside of Brittania? Who's to say they didn't have settlements farther south, away from the goddesses flying around north? (Winged warriors in the north? Sounds a lot like Valkyries to me...)

Now, coffee is made when you take the seed of a berry native to Africa, roast it, grind it, and brew it. But the first place it was known to have been drunk was the Arabic regions in the 15th century, where it spread up through the Ottoman empire (Turkey ish area) and up to Europe by the 17th century, where it quickly became popular.

Obviously, the 5th ish century is not remotely the same time zone as the 17th ish century, that's a 12 hundred year gap.

BUT if we assume that demons traveled vast lands and interacted with various cultures, we can assume they made it down to Africa as well. Making this lore, we can say the reason they traveled so far south was because these strange dark skinned humans had entirely new kinds of magic, and they were fascinated by it all, wanting to learn more about it.

Legend has it that on the Ethiopian Platue, there was a goat herder by the name of Kaldi, who discovered that when his goats ate the berries from a certain bush, they became incredibly energetic. He reported his finds to the abbot of a local monastery, who made a drink of the berries and discovered the effects of caffeine. I couldn't find a definitive year on this, but I did find that it could be as early as the 9th century. A 500 year gap is a bit more manageable than a 1200 year gap.

It is also important to note some other foods. For example, potatoes? Originated in South America, and did not make it to Europe until the mid 14th century. BUT there are potatoes shown in the show;

Those scraps look an awful lot like mashed potatoes, Hawk, you history twisting monster. So, obviously, since this is a fictional universe, we can take some liberties.

For the sake of the story, we can assume that demons, such as the demon Gowther, took various plants back to the Underworld with them to experiment, and figure out their effects and uses. It's entirely possible the Demon Clan made a drink or potion for alertness using this plant long before humans did. It is, after all, made quite clear that humans have much shorter lifespans, and therefore, other clans have more time to afford experimenting.

Effects:

Please be warned, as I'm writing this, it's early, I only got like, 2½ hours of sleep last night, I'm not that great at math to begin with. Feel free to do your own math, or correct mine. Also, again, I'm likely to be a bit all over the place.

So we have established that, for plot convenience, coffee did in fact exist in the NNT universe, now comes the challenge of figuring out the effects.

In humans, caffeine is a stimulant, which means it increases activity in your brain and nervous system. It also increases the circulation of chemicals such as cortisol and adrenaline in the body. If we assume it affects them like a normal person, then there is the possibility of Demons becoming hyperactive. But if we assume it affects them like someone with ADHD, then it would either make them drowsy, or would focus them.

For humans, a healthy amount of caffiene is about 400mg or less per day. That amount would, in theory, be higher for demons since they have much faster metabolisms. We can see that in this picture here. Granted, Zaratras is a light weight, but it still goes to show that Meliodas is several barrels in and only, like, tipsy, and Zaratras is drunk off his ass.

I do not understand how all the liquid fits inside of him, it doesn't seem physically possible, but whatever, we'll just say it's demon biology. Ooh, maybe their metabolisms have it so some of the waste is excreted through the skin! Humans do that to a certain extent, though not nearly as much as through urination and bowel movements. Perhaps they convert it into heat and pheromones? That would tie into a previous headcanon of mine that demons run warmer than other races. Perhaps their core body tempature is closer to... 103°, rather than the human 98°. (Fahrenheit.)

There's a third way caffeine could affect them as well. A lot of people compare demonic tendencies to that of a cat like predator. For cats, caffeine is toxic, and a higher dose than 250mg is fatal. That's a house cat, however, coming in at, for simplicity, about ten pounds.

So which big cat then? We know demons tend to form groups. (Ten Commandments, Six Knights of Black, Meliodas formed the Seven Deadly Sins, there's undoubtedly more) so we're gonna go with Lions.

So if 250mg is fatal for 10lbs, and 600lbs is 60x that weight, then 60 x 250 is 15,000. We adjust that for Meliodas weight, 110, but well round down to 100 for, again, simplicities sake. Divide by 6 you get. 2500mg. So that's about how many milligrams would be fatal for Meliodas, IF HE PROCESSED IT LIKE A HUMAN.

We already know it takes a LOT to get this man drunk. We can accredite at least a part of that to fact that he's: 1) a demigod, 2) a traumatized alcoholic. Obviously, the poor man's immunity is built up even higher than a normal demons.

In a single barrel of ale, there are 496 cups. A tankard is probably about, eh, a quart? That's 4 cups, I believe. So about 124 tankards of ale in a single barrel.

Zaratras was drunk off of one tankard.

Meliodas was tipsy off of, by what I can see in the picture, Six BARRELS. Seven ish, if you add all those bottles together.

Which means his tolerance, as a demonic demigod, is about, eh, 800x stronger than Zaratras's.

Melascula and Galand were drunk off of, but what I remember, four barrels? I believe that is what it was. We split that evenly, a demon's alcohol tolerance is about 200x stronger than a humans. We'll say that tolerance remains the same across the board.

It would take 50,000mg, or 50 grams, of caffiene to affect a demon. For reference, the strongest coffee out there, Death Wish Coffee, has 728mg per 12 fluid ounces, which is one serving. It would take 69 (heheh, nice) servings to have an affect. It would take MELIODAS probably about double that.

Story Potential:

Now for the fun part! If they somehow manage to obtain THAT MUCH caffeine, in whatever form it comes in, coffee or otherwise, and serve it to a demon... let's presume that it affects them the way it affects normal humans. Hyperactivity.

I propose to you:

Demon Zoomies.

Meliodas somehow managed to cram enough Caffeine into his system. Eyes dilated to giant black saucers, practically bouncing off the walls, rambling at 1000 mph and NO ONE can understand a word he says. If you think he fast NORMALLY, he could outpace LUDOCIEL, the literal Archangel of Flash, in this state. It is frightening to say the least.

He definitely destroys several things, mostly on accident. One of those things might have been a mountain.

Merlin ends up having to put him in a perfect cube that he just runs around until he, eventually, HOURS and HOURS later, tires himself out and crashes, falling asleep and snoring as everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

If both Meliodas AND Zeldris are on a caffiene high at the same time, chaos help us all. They'd be able to keep up with each other, when literally no one else would, and they feed into each other's hyperness.

They play tag and terrify the entire underworld, who think the two are in some intense battle, but no, they're just being idiots. Some people try to figure out what's going on, and the two eagerly try to explain they're just playing. But because they're so excited, they're talking even FASTER, before they zoom off again while both the commandments and the sins desperately try to catch them before they hurt themselves or others, though they'd never MEAN to.

When they crash, they crash hard. The last wave of energy leaves them and, right where they land, they curl together and fall asleep. Everyone is very exasperated, and they get picked up and carried back to the castle, where they will inevitably bitch about aches and pains from the high when they wake up.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 3 | And Miss Out on Mum Meeting the Girl You Married Without Telling Her? Not a Chance

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Molly finally gets to meet Luke and they try to convince him that this marriage is not some elaborate plot to manipulate the press.  And Tom makes a critical error.  We learn more about Molly and her past. 

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

–

Tom regretted drinking two cups of espresso the next morning before heading to Luke’s. He definitely regretted not eating anything more than a piece of toast with butter and marmalade. Even after Molly offered to make something for him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you eggs, an omelette? I could probably manage some French toast before we have to leave.” Molly sipped her tea as she ate some oatmeal. 

French toast sounded divine at the moment as Tom’s stomach did somersaults. Molly’s knee bounced in the passenger seat on the way to the Prosper office. 

“Do you think Luke will yell at me?” Molly asked. “I don’t do well when people yell at me.”

Tom’s head snapped over at her. She sighed. 

“Foster parents are not always kind. Bio parents can be worse.” She wrung her hands. 

He reached over and squeezed Molly’s knee. “I promise I won’t let him yell at you.” 

“Thank you, Tom. Are we telling him the truth?” 

“Only if necessary.” 

“Then what are we telling him?” 

“That I went to Vegas, and I fell madly in love with you and on a whim we got married.”

“A fanciful tale.” Her head dropped to her chest. 

“Oh, I don’t know, darling. You sell yourself short. You’re bright, funny, caring and dare I even say easy on the eyes.”

Molly blushed. “Thank you. You are not so bad yourself. Although I seriously question your dietary habits.”

Tom chuckled. “I’ll work on it. And I hope after all of this we will be good friends.”

“Me too.” 

“Looks like we are here.” Tom parked the car on the street. He hustled around to open Molly’s door and help her out. “Time to face the firing squad.” Her eyes widened. “Kidding!”

By the time the meeting was done, Molly wished it had been a firing squad. 

-

“Luke, this is Molly Bishop, now Hiddleston.” Tom wrapped his arm around her waist. “My wife.” 

“My condolences.” Luke shook Molly’s hand. 

Molly’s brow furrowed. “I…” 

“Of all the stupid shit you have ever fucking done—” Luke started in on Tom. 

“Luke, watch your tone.” Tom jabbed a finger in his publicist’s face. “You are not to yell at Molly.” His bright blue eyes flashed and his fists clenched. 

Luke took a step back. “Right. Take a seat and let’s see if we can straighten this out.” 

They sat next to each other. Molly reached for Tom’s hand and he took it. Luke sat down behind his desk, staring at the two of them. Luke pinched his nose hard and took several deep breaths. Before speaking, he poured a glass of water and dropped two Alka-Seltzer into the water. Molly stared at the whole thing. Tom leaned over. 

“For later. Luke says I give him indigestion.” he whispered.

“And headaches.” Luke added.

“I can understand the feeling.” Molly muttered under her breath.

“I beg your pardon!” Tom twisted around to face Molly. “Et tu. Is this about the vegetables?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to eat one every so often. You’re not 21 anymore.”

Tom gritted his teeth. “I said I would work on it. Can we not talk about this right now?”

“You’re the one who brought it up. I was just making a comment.”

Luke’s head bounced back and forth like watching a tennis match, a smirk growing on his face.

“You two are good. Really good. Damn Tom, the lengths you will go to… hiring an actress to pretend to be your wife, that’s—”

“We got married, Luke. In Vegas.” Tom retorted. “Darling, do you have the copy of the license?”

Molly grumbled. “I do, but we are not done with the whole diet thing.” She rummaged through her purse and produced the folded piece of paper. “Show him the photos.” She whispered to Tom as she handed over the license. 

“I’m not showing him the photos unless I have to.” Tom hissed.

“Show me the photos, Tom.” Luke beckoned him. 

Tom side eyed Molly and handed over the license and his phone. Luke glanced at the license and then scrolled through the photos, eyes growing wider. He zoomed in on one and squinted. 

“Is that a spider ring?” he asked.

“His name is Clive.” Tom deadpanned.

Luke cuts his eyes at Tom. “Of course, you named it. You wouldn’t happen to have the ring, would you?” He turned to Molly.

She let loose a breath, exasperated. “Honestly,” she jabbed a finger at Tom and then Luke. “I was not expecting the Spanish Inquisition.” She dug through her purse again. “You are both lucky that I planned ahead.” Molly slammed the two Tiffany boxes on the desk. “There, here is your pound of flesh.”

Luke opened the boxes and found the spider ring and plastic gem ring. His eyes went to their proper rings and then ran his hands through his hair. 

“Holy shit, you got married.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I have been saying that for the last 24 hours, mate. Can we move on?”

Molly giggled. 

“I… I… apologize. Sorry.” He sputtered, he turned to Molly. “I’m sorry, Molly. You have no idea the things this man has put me through.”

“I can imagine.”

“Hey! I—”

“Not talking to you, Tom.” Luke held up a hand. “I am talking to your bride. Clearly the reasonable one. Although she did marry you, so…”

Tom slumped in the chair. “Two of you. I thought you were on my side.”

Molly reached over and rubbed his arm. “I’m always on your side, honey.”

Tom smiled and leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, darling. Do you believe me now, Luke?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, I do.” He slammed his hand on his desk, rattling his water. “Now let’s talk about these.” He held up several newspapers.

Forty-five minutes later, they finally ended the meeting. Tom was starving. Luke grilled Molly about her background. By the end of everything, Tom now knew that Molly spent the ages of 12-18 in foster care, went to college where she worked two jobs to make ends meet, and has no contact with her younger brother who was adopted. Tom felt a twinge of guilt listening to Molly tell her life story. He never really bothered to ask. 

Luke led them to the door but stopped short. 

“How did your mom take the news, Tom?” Luke asked. Tom froze and paled. Luke leaned in. “You did tell her?”

Molly glanced between them. “I thought you called her when we got home.”

Tom ran his hands through his hair. Little bits stuck up. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened. “I forgot. I was distracted by someone yelling at me.”

“You haven’t told your mother about us?!” Molly screeched. 

Luke chuckled, which soon turned into a full belly laugh. “You are so dead, Tom.” Molly gasped. “You will be fine, Molly, but pray for your husband. There is nothing scarier in this world than Diana Hiddleston mad at her only son.” 

Molly gulped. “I will keep that in mind. Now if you excuse us, we have some calls to make.” 

Tom nodded, still reeling from the fact he didn’t tell his mum, or his sisters, that he got married. Fake or not. He hoped she hadn’t seen any of the photos yet. But knowing Emma and Sarah, they sent her the links. “Right, calls.” 

Molly pushed Tom out of the office and towards the elevator. She waved bye to Luke as the doors closed. 

“That went better than expected.” Molly shifted her weight from side to side.

“Yeah, yeah!” Tom blinked and came back to reality. “You were brilliant. What made you think to bring the rings?”

“People have the tendency to believe you when you can present physical evidence. That, coupled with the photos, lends credibility. I mean, who gets married with a plastic spider ring?” She laughed and Tom joined in. 

“Genius, really. Luke would have never—” Tom’s stomach rumbled. He blushed. “You were right I should have eaten something.” 

Molly stretched to reach his cheek and gave him a quick peck. “You will soon learn I am always right. Let’s find you some food and then you call your mother.”

“Fine.”

-

They found a place for Tom to grab a sandwich since it was too late for breakfast and not quite time for lunch. Molly stared on as Tom inhaled the sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a bottle of water. 

“Did you taste any of that?”

Tom glanced up at her as he poked the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth. “Yes.” 

She shoved a napkin towards him. “You have crumbs on your face.”

Tom swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Call your mother.” 

Tom slouched. “Can’t we wait until we get home?” 

“No.” She stared him down. “If you don’t do it, I will.” Molly lunged for his phone, but Tom was too fast and grabbed it first.

“I’m calling her right now.” He held the phone to his ear, praying it would go to voicemail.

“Tom!” Diana’s warm voice filled his ear. “How are you doing, love?”

“Doing good. A bit of jet lag, I was in Vegas over the weekend.”

Diana hummed. “And how is Luke?”

Tom chuckled. “Angry at me as always.”

“If you would just listen to him…”

“I like her.” Molly popped in.

Tom waved her off. 

“I know, Mother. Listen,” He fidgeted with his hair again. Molly realized it was an absolute tell when Tom was nervous. “I was wondering if you might like to grab some lunch this week. We can catch up. So much as happened since I last saw you.”

“I would be delighted, Thomas. Why don’t you come up to the house? Does Wednesday work for you?”

Tom mouthed “Wednesday” to Molly, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Like I’m doing anything? You and Luke are the only people I know here.”

“Right.” He returned to the call. “Wednesday is perfect, mum. Noon?”

“It’s a date. Don’t forget to bring that wife of yours, Thomas. I am quite keen on meeting her.”

All the blood drained from Tom’s face. “I… I… can explain—”

“I’m sure you can. On Wednesday. I have to go, love. It was good to chat.” The line went dead.

Tom stared at the phone. “I’m so dead. She knows about you.”

“Oh, she knows. You are her son. And didn’t you mention having sisters? They totally ratted you out.” Molly smiled at him.

-

Tom had some appointments on Tuesday which kept his mind occupied from seeing his mother the next day. Molly took some time to figure out how to change her name, get a new passport, and figure out how to maneuver life in a foreign country. Tom took her to get a phone that would work. 

“Here you go.” 

The first thing she did was snap Tom to add to his contact list. He was laughing in the photo.

“Don’t use that one!” Tom pouted. “Let me pose.”

“But I like this one. It captures your essence.”

But now it is Wednesday morning. Tom woke up early to go for a run. Molly was already up, sipping tea in the living room.

“Can I join you?” she asked upon seeing Tom in workout gear.

“I run about three miles…”

“Sounds perfect. Give me two minutes.” She bounded off the couch towards her bedroom. 

Tom fiddled with his headphones until Molly emerged in sneakers and workout leggings. Over the ear headphones around her neck. 

“Ready to go.” She tucked her phone into a pocket. “I will just follow you.”

“Let me know if you need to turn around.” Tom winked as they set off.

They returned home about thirty minutes later.

“Sure you don’t want to go another mile?” Molly bounced on her feet. 

Tom breathed hard. “Maybe another time. I’m a bit out of shape. You run?”

Molly nodded. “Most days I run. If I get up in time. I miss the gym.”

Tom chuckled. “We need to get you a membership. And I need to ..get into shape myself. Can’t let my wife show me up in paparazzi photos.” he half-joked. 

Molly coughed. “They take photos of you running?!”

“Sometimes.” He took a sip of water, his heart rate going back to normal. “Definitely now with you in the picture.”

Molly raised an eyebrow, stepping towards him, grabbing the water bottle from him. “Think they are out there right now?” 

Tom glanced around and sure enough, he spied a few cameras with zoom lenses down the street.

“Yup.” 

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck. “Maybe we should give them a more scandalous photo.” 

Tom leaned down. “What did you have in mind?” he smirked as Molly tugged his head towards her and her lips crashed against his. She sighed and Tom slipped his tongue into her mouth. Molly did the same. As he fisted the back of her shirt, Tom noticed one of Molly’s arms moving. 

“AH!!” He screamed as the cold water poured down on his head and Molly jumped back laughing.

“I thought you needed a little cooling off.” she laughed.

Tom lunged for her with a smile on his face, droplets of water falling from his hair. 

“You’ll pay for that!” Tom gave chase, while Molly dashed into the house, screaming and laughing.

She made it as far as the living room before Tom’s long legs caught up with her.

“Got you!” 

Tom grabbed her by the waist to pull her towards him, but their feet slipped and they ended up on the couch. Tom on top of her. Their eyes locked for a moment before Tom scrambled to his feet. 

“I’ll get you all wet.” he commented nervously. “I should…”

“Right.” Molly nodded, sitting up. “I’ll make some breakfast. Eggs and toast. I don’t know what your mother is planning on for lunch.”

“A light breakfast would be best.” Tom shook out his now soaked t-shirt and Molly caught a glimpse of his abs. 

“No problem.” She smiled. 

They both headed off in different directions. When it was time to leave for Diana’s house, Molly fidgeted with her casual dress and knee-high boots.

“Do I look okay?” she glanced at Tom in jeans and a sweater. “I’m overdressed. Look at you, casually gorgeous. I’m going to change. I have nothing to wear. Nothing to wear…” Molly’s face broke down.

Tom wrapped his arms around her. “What’s going on, darling?” She buried her head in his sweater. “You didn’t freak out like this when we went to go see Luke.”

“That was business. This is your mother. I don’t do well with families, particularly mothers. What if she hates me?” 

He kissed the top of her head. “First off, you look beautiful. Second, if my mum hates anyone between the two of us, it will be me. She is going to love you, darling.” 

Molly sniffled and dabbed her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Really?”

“I am 100% certain. Now let’s get on the road.”

Molly smiled and nodded. The fear wasn’t gone, but she felt better knowing Tom would be there with her. That fear came rushing back as they stood on the front step of the house of Diana Hiddleston. Tom reached for Molly first. 

“I’ve got you, darling.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek right as the door opened.

“Gross, Tom. And at Mum’s house no less.” Emma gagged.

Tom’s cheeks turned a bright pink. “Emma! I didn’t expect you to be here.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “What a surprise.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “And miss out on Mum meeting the girl you married without telling her, not a chance.” Emma turned to Molly. “Emma.”

“Molly B… Hiddleston.” She smiled and extended her hand. Emma shook it with a firm grip.

“The papers didn’t give a name. She seems nice, Tom. Clearly she doesn’t know the real you.”

Tom continued to blush. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Em. Can we come in or are we eating on the front step?”

Emma held the door open wide and stepped aside. They stepped inside. “Mum’s in the kitchen.”

As if on cue, Diana’s voice rang out. “Is that them, Emma?” 

“They just got here!” she yelled before turning back to them. “She’s been cooking all day.” 

Molly gulped. Tom squeezed her hand. An older woman with grey white shoulder length hair. She came up to Tom's shoulder, if that.

“You were supposed to tell me when they got here.” she scolded Emma.

“I was on my way to tell you.” 

“Go take the food out of the oven.”

“But…” Emma protested.

“Go, child. You’ll have the entire meal to listen to me yell. Right now I need a word with your brother.”

Emma pursed her lips as she walked into the kitchen but made a slashing throat gesture, mouthing the words “you’re so dead” at Tom before disappearing. 

Diana wiped her hands on her apron. “Now where is my new daughter-in-law?” 

Molly raised her hand. “That would be me. Molly, ma’am.”

Diana held open her arms and wrapped them around Molly tight. She realized where Tom got his hugging skills. 

“You are just a doll. Is my son treating you well?”

Molly nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“So polite and much shorter than the last one. Right at eye height for me.”

“Mother…”

Diana waved Tom off. “And please call me Diana or Mum or Mom. I promise I don’t bite.”

Molly giggled. “Yes, ma.. Diana.”

Diana hugged her again before spinning to face her son.

“Tom.” She crossed her arms.

“Mum.” Tom grew very interested in the rug on the floor. 

“Do I get a hug?” Diana smiled. 

Tom looked up and grinned. “Always.” The two of them hugged tight, Tom bending at the knees to wrap his arms around her. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Diana pulled back.

Her hand reached out and smacked Tom right upside the head. Tom cowered, covering his head.

“Mum!” he howled.

“You got married and didn’t tell me!”

“I was getting around to it. Luke distracted me!” Tom explained. 

Diana smacked his arm. “Do not blame Luke for this, he is a saint! You were keeping this lovely girl away from me.”

Molly beamed as Diana smacked Tom one more time. 

“You think I’m lovely?” she asked.

Diana turned to Molly. “Oh dear. You are perfectly charming. Unlike my wretch of a son.” Another smack to the chest.

“Really, Mum? In front of our guest?” Tom flinched.

“Molly is family.” Diana stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Now with that sorted, let’s go eat.” She spun on her heel and headed back to the kitchen. 

Tom hooked his arm with Molly’s. “My mother.”

“I like her.” 

-

Emma and Diane pumped the two of them for every detail about this abbreviated courtship.

“A chapel in Vegas, Tom? Romantic.” Emma sneered.

“I thought so.” Molly added.

“Thank you, darling.” Tom leaned against her. 

“Awww.” Emma commented.

Diana stood to clear the dishes as Emma examined Molly’s ring.

“Let me help you.” Tom rose to help, taking the rest of the dishes. Diana grabbed his arm when they reached the sink.

“I really like her, Thomas. You did well.”

“Thank you. She is something.” Tom smiled.

“Much better than the last girl you brought home.”

Tom frowned. “Mum, I…”

Diana held up her hand. “I know. Don’t mention her. But I will say this. There was something about her that didn’t sit right with me.” 

“You never said anything to me.”

Diana smiled softly and cupped Tom’s cheek. “You seemed so in love and happy. And all I have ever wanted for all my kids is to be happy.”

“Oh.”

“But none of that matters. You have Molly now and the two of you have years of happiness ahead.” 

Tom glanced over to where Emma and Molly hunched over Emma’s phone. Tom’s heart twinged with guilt. 

“Right. Of course.” He smiled.

Molly burst out in laughter.

“What is so funny over there?” Tom called out, heading over to the table.

Emma giggled. “Just some old pictures.”

Tom’s face fell. “No, you didn’t…”

Molly giggled. “You were so skinny and that hair!” 

The two girls fell into a fit of giggles as Diane placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Yes, I like her very much.” she whispered. “Why don’t we pull out the old picture albums?”

Tom groaned. 

[fantastic-bby]

ATEEZ vs. college

Pairing: - 

Genre: Headcanon 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Swearing

Masterlist

Hongjoong 

Fine arts major with performing arts minor

Has a slightly scuffed sleep schedule but it’s decent

But has a routine that he follows most of the time 

Always on time for class and pays attention like his life depends on it

Gets teased by Mingi a lot 

Shares an apartment with Seonghwa 

Covered the apartment in cute DIYs bcs he wants to make the place more homely

Spends his money on artisan coffee at the overpriced café on campus 

Teacher’s assistant 

He’s very patient when it comes to tutoring students

President of the performing arts club and is usually the director for plays bcs the professor in charge trusts him a lot

Usually sticks to traditional scripts but likes to go a little bit more original whenever he feels like it

Uses the same tote bag everyday (one he made himself)

Dresses in whatever he’s made himself because he thinks they’re cute and he wants everyone to see his creations

Has to wake the others up for class he complains that it’s annoying but he still does it even though no one asks him to

Practically lives in the fine arts building bcs he’s there all the damn time until he has to go home

Finishes his assignments on time 

“Hwa, is this cute?”

“Okay”

“That’s not an answer, asshole”

Seonghwa

Language and literature major 

Is the only one with a good sleep schedule

Has a routine he sticks to

Never late to classes but zones out sometimes when he’s really bored

Has to wake Hongjoong up whenever he pulls all nighters studying for tests

Works at the library because it’s quiet and he moves around a lot which gives him a lot of alone time 

Has to kick Yunho out a lot

Drinks expensive artisan coffee with Joong

Part of the nature club and has plants all over the apartment bcs he thinks they light up the place

Everyday is a different bag and all of them are super stylish and also seem to hold everything

Has to bring around things like tissues, bandaids, water bottles bcs he cares for his friends

Dresses well all the time even if he wakes up late 

Part of the campus heartthrob line

The entire campus fawns over him even the single professors

Spends most of his time reading books wherever he’s comfortable usually the park or whatever bench is the most calming

Finishes his assignments early and submits them early

“But hyuuuuuung”

“Yunho, if you don’t get your loud ass out of here—” 

Yunho

Nutrition major with a dance minor

Does not have a fixed sleep schedule, he sleeps whenever he pleases 

His routine is nonexistent

He does whatever he wants whenever he wants but actually isn’t that reckless

He just doesn’t really have a routine

Late to class and also doesn’t seem to be paying attention because he’s preoccupied with a funny meme that Mingi sent him

Is usually the first to be awoken by Joong and always waits for his hyung to hang up because he doesn’t want to accidentally cut him off mid-sentence

Shares an apartment with Mingi

Drinks convenience store coffee 

Sometimes he visits the library just to tease Hwa usually gets kicked out by said man because he’s being loud

Works part time at a bakery where the owner hired him because she thought he was really sweet

President of the swimming club

Has one bag for everyday use and it’s the same black backpack with random pins on it

Wears cute fuzzy sweaters when it’s not hot and wears plain t shirts when it’s too hot for sweaters

Spends his time at the swimming pool with Mingi

Finishes his assignments right before the deadline

“Yunho, darling, how long have the muffins been in the oven?”

“Uhm…”

Yeosang

Computer science major

Does not give a single flying fuck

Sleeps whenever he wants

Does whatever he wants

No one ever sees him in class but he still gets good grades

Drinks at least 4 cups of cheap coffee everyday which makes everyone wonder how his heart is still alive

Even though he sleeps at any time, he always wakes up on time and never answers Hongjoong’s morning calls because he thinks it’s funny

Shares an apartment with Wooyoung 

He has a job but no one knows what it is because he’s never told anyone they just know it’s something he does online

Usually has to wake Wooyoung up

He just walks into his room and repeatedly calls his name until he wakes up leaves if Woo doesn’t wake up at all

Uses a simple black backpack with nothing on it 

No one on campus really knows anything about him because he strictly sticks to his circle of friends and no one ever sees him on campus unless he’s at club events or meetings

President of the robotics club 

Spends all of his time in his room when he’s not on campus

Dresses in smart casual outfits (blazers, slacks, sneakers, t shirts) 

Is never seen doing his assignments but he still manages to finish them on time 

“Woo, look  this robot I made”

“Holy shit, that’s so cool!”

“Be careful with it!” 

San 

Majors in dance 

Also kinda doesn’t give a fuck 

Shares an apartment with Jongho 

Has the most fucked up sleep schedule 

He sleeps at like 7 pm right after classes and wakes up at 3 am (like his brain is programmed on another time zone)

Picks up Joong’s morning call whenever he feels like it

Comes to class on the dot but sometimes just doesn’t show up at all

President of the dance club 

Drinks whatever coffee he can get his hands on

Spends most of his time in the public dance studio and sometimes rents the private rooms because he wants alone time 

Dresses in t shirts and sweats because he wants to be comfy

Is part of the campus heartthrob line 

The girls, the gays and the theys are in love with him and love watching him dance

Volunteers at the local pet shelter because he wants to spend time with the cats 

Likes to go to invite himself into WooSang’s apartment where he bothers Yeosang who pretends he’s not there because he couldn’t care less 

Doesn’t have a bag 

He manhandles his laptop all over the place because he really doesn’t care that much his laptop is a beast tho it handles all the shit San puts it through

Finishes his assignments whenever he wants

“San, you should be nicer to your laptop”

“It’s fineeee” 

Mingi

Medicine major 

Doesn’t ever seem to sleep 

Like ever

Disappears and reappears out of nowhere most of the time

Whenever he disappears, no one really knows where he is and he never picks up calls everyone thinks he’s finally sleeping

Because he’s always awake, Yunho always comes into his room to see Mingi either vibing or literally doing anything but sleep

Comes to class but is always doing something else

Prefers tea over coffee 

Always picks up Joong’s morning calls and greets him really loudly just to bully him 

Part of the swimming club with Yunho 

Works part time at the music studio because he likes being able to use the studios when there’s no bookings

Barely has to try to get good grades bcs his brain is so sexy big

Always filled with energy 

Is also really strong and quite unaware of his strength 

Dresses in v casual baggy clothes and always looks really comfortable

Uses his height to tease Joong and holds his coffee above his head 

Playfully wrestles Jongho regularly

Has a cute orange messenger bag that he uses all the time 

Finishes his assignments minutes before the deadline

“Whoever holds their breath the longest wins”

“Mingi, we’re not five”

“I don’t care, Yun. It’s fucking fun”

Wooyoung

Culinary major

Is always asleep 

Bothers Yeosang during the day 

Has a very relaxed routine that he somewhat sticks to

Likes to break into Yeo’s room to bother him but usually gets a book thrown at him 

Wakes up to Joong’s morning call but likes to go back to sleep afterwards

Always in class but no one knows whether or not he’s paying attention

The neighbours know when he’s laughing but he doesn’t care because he’s happy 

Works part time at a café 

Refuses to give discounts to any of his friends because he tells them he won’t get money that way except for Yeosang bcs he has a soft spot for his best friend

Vice president of the dance club 

Dresses in casual layers (t shirts, loose button ups, jeans, sneakers)

Part of the hearthrob line

The girls, the gays and the theys love his laugh

Likes to drag San out of his apartment to do anything 

Has a cute pastel backpack that he takes a lot of care of bcs he loves it 

Spends most of his time in the culinary building bcs he wants to learn new recipes so that he can cook for his friends 

Does his assignments last minute and has missed the deadline a couple of times

“Yeosang, try this” 

“Mmm, can I spit it out?”

“You fucking—” 

Jongho

Sports major with a vocal minor 

Also has a decent sleep schedule 

Drinks only coffee and protein 

Doesn’t have a routine unless it involves him going to the gym 

Early to class and pays attention most of the time

Wakes up on time so he answers Joong’s morning call just to say hi to both of his hyungs

Works as a personal trainer at the on-campus gym because he likes helping people work out

Asks San to sit on his back while he does push ups at home

The two of them are always working out together 

President of the wrestling club and the entire campus absolutely fears him 

Always wins wrestles against Mingi but only because he knows more technique Mingi thinks it’s not fair

His love language is aggression

Likes to playfully bully his friends to the point where even they’re slightly scared of him

Dresses casually 

Has a dark blue backpack that he’s had for years and is in need of a replacement

Spends most of his time at the gym or just working out in general if he’s not practicing singing

Finishes his assignments a day before the deadline 

“Make sure you’re not using your back when you’re lifting things”

“Dude, I don’t even know what muscles I use when I walk”

“You’ll figure it out” 

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

I really wanted to get the next chapter of Nothing Sacred, All Things Wild up this week, but work was crazy and I also got caught up in another story (I can’t control my muse)...so instead I’m offering up a long snippet of the dystopian/space colonist fic I started off a prompt I got a while ago for an “Arranged Marriage + a/b/o” request I got from an anon.

A/B/O is not my cup of tea, so I twisted it into an arranged marriage by an artificial intelligence instead: 

He wakes up angry, sweat soaking through his pillow, heart racing, stomach cramped. The alarm is buzzing from somewhere beneath the bed, where he must have knocked it. 

“Turn it off,” Ygritte mutters into his shoulder, before rolling away with the rest of their thin blanket.

He complies, letting the shock of the cold floor against his feet spur him into full wakefulness. “I take the test today.” It’s raining. He watches the drops splatter against the small window near the ceiling, and he wonders if Ygritte remembered to check the bucket beneath the leak before she crawled into bed the night before. 

Their garden apartment doesn’t do well in the rain. Jon still doesn’t understand why it’s even called a garden...there’s nothing green about their cramped basement residence, besides the mold growing beneath the sink.  

“Oh yeah. Happy birthday...we’ll get drinks when you come home.” 

“If I come home.”  He could be part of the one percent, after all. That is the Institution's promise. Everyone is SOMEONE. Anyone can be part of the 1%. Are YOU?

Jon knows it’s unlikely. How could he, an orphan from Mole’s Town, have the magic combination of pheno-, geno-, and personality type to be chosen for the Colony? No...he’s just another loser of the 99% who will waste his twenty-first birthday behind the Brutalist concrete walls of the Institution’s testing center, playing lab rat for the day, until the examiners come to the inevitable conclusion that he’s just another nobody. 

They’ll spit him back out on the street, leaving him free to carve out a pathetic existence on a slowly dying planet. 

He doesn’t bother washing. It’d be a waste of precious water when he knows full well they’ll scrub him down at the testing center. Instead he spends his last moments at home drinking a pot of weak coffee, trying to remember anything he was taught in the schools he barely attended. His energy would be better spent bracing for the coming indignity of having every part of his body and mind exposed and dissected. 

“Is the area of a circle, two pi times the radius? Or is that the circumference?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ygritte lights a cigarette at the stove before joining him at the table. “It’s not that kind of test.”

He knows that. It’s another Institution promise. The Test doesn’t ask WHAT you know. It asks who YOU are. Are YOU the 1%

How the fuck would Jon know? It’s easier for him to remember that the area of a circle is actually pi times the radius squared, than it is for him to explain who he is. He has no idea. That’s kind of what being an orphan is all about. 

Ygritte could at least throw him a bone and tell him what the test is like. She took it two years ago, though she won’t talk. Most people won’t. There are no rules against it, but The Test is treated like dysentery. Unless you live behind the gates, you’re going to get it at least once in your life, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna go around describing your diarrhea to the world.  

Grenn went to White Harbor for the test a month ago, and though Jon had to buy him six beers and two shots of whiskey before Grenn would shut up about his first-ever train ride, he did give Jon a few insights into the rest of the experience. 

Not that the train isn’t worth the excitement, especially when the ride is paid for (another Institution promise. No matter your means. No matter the distance. EVERYONE makes it to the Test. Are YOU the 1%?) Technically, Jon has taken it once before, from Winterfell to Mole’s Town as a baby, but he doesn’t remember.  

Now he can’t believe anything that moves so fast could feel so smooth. He’s topped out at ninety miles per hour on the best snowmobile Donal Noye patched together, but that left his teeth rattling and his ears buzzing for hours afterward. The train is moving at double the speed, but he could be in the godswood, for how quiet the near-empty economy cabin is. He shares it with a twitchy young man who never looks up from a cheap tablet, and a black raven perched in a large cage who spends the entire ride staring at Jon with one eerie black eye. 

The testing center is located just across from the train station, in an intimidating building that used to have a name. Jon has a vague memory that it was a prison before the Institution took it over. Before that it was something else. 

He doesn’t balk when a masked orderly leads him to a small room, tells him to strip, and then takes off with his clothes. He knows they’ll be returned at the end of the day. Of more pressing concern is the man and woman who enter talking too quietly to make out at the other end of the room, while a nurse rolls in with a small cart covered in collection tubes, gauze strips, and butterfly needles. 

Everyone wears surgical masks, latex gloves, long white coats, and black clogs. 

Jon remains naked beneath a small paper covering. 

He has given blood before, and the messy, life-saving transfusion Mance performed to save Tormund three years ago was far scarier than the rapid, methodical draw that's taken from him now. Still, it’s disconcerting to think of the secrets the Institution will glean from his blood. He’s uncomfortably aware that they’ll know who his parents are before the day is over, even as he’ll continue living in total ignorance. 

Another Institution promise. The Institution values EVERYONE’S right to privacy. YOU control the right to tell the world who you are. Are YOU the 1%?

Before he’s finished the recitation in his head, five tubes are full, and the nurse pats a cotton ball and a band-aid over his arm. She tosses a granola bar on his lap before rolling out of the room with her cart of samples. 

Next comes a physical exam, where the other two examiners speak only to each other as they record his height, weight, blood pressure, and note his every blemish and scar in flat affect. 

“Post-burn contractures across the palmar and dorsal aspect of the left hand, adduction and extension in the metacarpophalangeal joint of thumb fall outside normal range of movement.”

“Keloid scarring along the right gastrocnemius muscle, five point three centimeters in diameter.”

“Slightly hypertrophic scarring beginning at left brow and running medially down across the left orbital cavity to the cheek. No ptosis noted. No apparent damage to the eye.”

He should feel worse beneath the weight of each fault. Instead he relaxes. He was nervous for nothing. Failure was always inevitable. The Institution would never invest in a malnourished kid with a burned hand and a badly healed leg wound. They are famously secretive about their selection process, but some reasons for failure are common knowledge. As the crows like to say, no cripples, bastards, or broken things. 

So, he chews his granola bar slowly and even closes his eyes for a bit, letting the examiners move his limp limbs as necessary for their measurements. He imagines himself a cadaver during the early stages of an autopsy. 

As long as they don’t cut me open….

When an white-haired man enters and lays out what look to be a series of tiny torture devices, Jon wonders if he stopped caring too soon. He white-knuckles it through an excruciating dental exam that ends with his first real exchange of the day. 

“Have you ever been to a dentist, kid?” 

There is still a tube in his mouth, sucking up his spit and a hook pressing at his gums, so Jon just shakes his head. There are no dentists in Mole’s Town. Just Chett, who used to work at a slaughterhouse down south and will pull a rotten tooth for the price of a bottle of whiskey. Jon wouldn’t give the creep the lint in his pocket, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let him near his mouth. Instead he brushes his teeth so hard his toothbrush regularly snaps in half, and prays something else kills him before gum disease has a chance.

“You’ve got better teeth than I see behind the gates, boy,” he pulls the hook from Jon’s mouth to dictate into a small microphone hanging from his mobile workstation. “Review DEFB1 on ID 17630343BA. At some point the focus will need to expand beyond the holy 22 and get back to the basics. Who is going to care about neuron growth if every fourth planter is born with anodontia?” 

Jon understands little of what the man is saying, but he’s heard enough to know he’s at least got as good of teeth or better than some of the rich tossers who live within the heavily guarded gated communities where the Colonists are actually culled from. Behind their high walls, wealthy sons and daughters of the only one percent that really matters, spend their youths preparing for the Test in homes and classrooms pumped with filtered air, where the water runs clear, and no one ever goes to sleep with their bellies cramped from hunger or disease. 

The Institution promises that ANYONE can be the 1%, but EVERYONE knows that's a lie. 

---

The physical exam ends at last, after several more rounds of sterile humiliation. Jon isn’t sure which was worse; having to lie within a noisy cylinder while a disembodied voice reminded him not to move, or being asked to run naked on a treadmill, wired with electrodes. 

When it’s over, the last examiner provides him with a sweatsuit that is softer and better-made than anything he owns, and he wonders if there is any way he can smuggle it out with him at the end of the day. Another orderly comes in with a waxy crisp apple that hardly seems real even as a spray of tartly sweet juice hits the back of his tongue. He’s given a pill as well that he swallows down with a cup of water so clear and so cold, it’s an act of incredible will-power not to ask for more. 

It’s only after, when he’s led to a small room with two chairs, a table, and a pulsing white orb in it’s center that he thinks to ask what it’s for. 

“This will make the answers come more naturally during your interviews,” the man explains before leaving him alone. “We want you to answer as truthfully as possibly, but we understand that can be difficult under the stress of the Test.”

He supposes people lie all the time on the Test, trying to game the system, though Jon doesn’t have the first idea how he’d go about doing that, nor does he have any reason to try. He’s not going to the Colony. This is all just a spectacular waste of time, and it’s a race day, which means he’ll have to pull extra shifts at the Rookery to make up for what he would have made beyond the Wall. 

By the time a petite woman with a neat low bun, and cracking, grey scar across half her face and neck enters, Jon is reckless with anger. 

“I’d like to go home.”

“Hello, Jon,” she smiles as she sits across from him, and she’s the first person he’s seen since he entered the building who isn’t wearing a mask. She’s also the first person to call him by his name. “My name is Shireen.”

“Where’s your mask?”

Her smile dims slightly, but she maintains her gentle tone. “I’m here to facilitate the interview portion of your Test today. Before we begin, is there anything you need to feel more comfortable? Something to eat, drink, a bathroom break? Should the temperature be adjusted?”

He’s sour with anger so he takes everything she offers, suddenly eager to make everything as inconvenient as possible for the Institution. Shireen takes his requests with an easy smile, however, escorting him to the restroom herself. When they return to the room, there is a bowl of hearty soup with a chunk of bread that is soft and airy beneath it’s golden-brown crust. Beside it is a tall glass of water and a smaller cup of green liquid that Jon eyes suspiciously. 

“What’s this then?”

“I thought you might like some juice. It’s mostly apple, with some kale, cucumber and celery in it as well, I suspect.”

It’s the best thing Jon has ever tasted, and while part of him wants to fling the rest of it at her frustratingly serene face, it’d be a horrible waste, and he’d be the biggest loser. So, he takes his time, savoring each bite and sip, rolling the bright flavors across his delighted tongue. 

“Feeling better?” she asks after the tray is cleared. 

“Is that an official Test question?”

“No.”

“Let’s get on with it then. I can’t afford to miss the train home.”

“As you may know, it is not individuals who decide the 1%. Our artificial intelligence algorithm, The Seven, determines who is the best fit for the Colony. That is how the institution guarantees objectivity in its selection process,” she taps the pulsing orb on the table. “Though we find people are more comfortable responding to another person, so I will be facilitating our discussion as The Seven records and analyzes your responses. Are you ready to begin?”

He shrugs. 

“I’ll start with a series of statements. After each, please say a number to indicate the degree to which you agree with that statement, wherein one equals strongly disagree and five equals strongly agree. Three indicates you neither agree nor disagree. Do you understand?”

“Five.”

“Okay. Statement Number one: At social events, you rarely try to introduce yourself to new people and mostly talk to the ones you already know.”

Jon knows everyone in Mole’s Town, and he doesn’t want to socialize with most of them. 

“Two.”

This goes on for a while, each statement absurdly divorced from anything relating to Jon’s life, but the numbers spring easily from his lips as he relaxes under Shireen’s soothing voice, and kind face, and the lovely feeling of a full belly and soft, warm clothes. 

It’s when the format shifts, that he begins to feel strange. Shireen starts with questions that are easy to answer. Where were you born? How many years of education have you completed? What was your favorite class and why?  What do you do for work? Describe your strengths. When are you most satisfied in your job?  Do you live alone or with others? How many others do you live with? What is your relationship to the person you live with? 

At this point, the questions grow more invasive; more personal. A voice tells Jon that the Institution doesn’t need to know how many times he and Ygritte fuck a week...but the answer escapes all the same. 

“Four or five times a week.”

“Do you use contraception methods?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to have children with your partner?”

“No.”

“Given your age and your partner’s, without contraception, given your regular intercourse the odds of conception are--”

“She’s sterile.” 

“How do you know that?”

“Most everyone in Mole’s Town is. It’s something in the water, or the air, or our weak genes. It doesn’t really matter the cause. If it’s not the one; it’s the other. She’s been fucking since she was fifteen, and nothing’s ever caught.”

“How do you know that you aren’t the sterile one?”

He shrugs. “I probably am too, but I’m not her first partner as you say. I’m not her second or third either.”

“How does that make you feel?” 

He glares, and Shireen clarifies. 

“Your partner’s sterility?”

“How do you think it makes me feel?” he pushes back from the table, letting his chair lean back on two legs. 

Shireen only gives him a minute shake of her head, and waits for him to answer the question. 

“Angry. I feel fucking furious about it.”

“So, you would like to be a father?”

“I’d like the freedom to choose. I’d like Ygritte to have that freedom.”

“What is your least favorite thing about humanity?”

She can’t be serious with that question. It’s like asking him to name all the stars. He takes a deep breath. Shireen waits. He stands up and paces. Shireen waits. He finishes his water and asks for another. Shireen calls for a refill. He drinks that too. Shireen waits. 

“My least favorite thing? That we’ve given up. We let this machine,” he points at the orb, “decide who doesn’t have to. It’s like….it’s like the men in Mole’s Town who wander into the snows when winter grows too cold, and there’s not enough food or warmth to go around. Grown-ass men who could be fixing furnaces and braving the cold to find the resources their families so desperately need. Most of the time they don’t even have the fucking guts to tell anyone  what they’re off to do. They just wander away one day, and winter takes them. 

That’s what the fucking Institution is. We’re all those men in Mole’s Town who’ve just given up, despite the blood still pumping through our veins. We’re sitting around, waiting for winter to kill us, so that a few can live. And there’s no one left to be mad about it either, because it’s a fucking machine that decides our fate. It’s like being mad at the wind. What’s the fucking point? But just because there is no one to be angry with, that doesn’t mean the rage goes away...and winter isn’t killing us fast enough."

“So you want to live?”

“I want humanity to want to live. I want humanity to want most of humanity to live. I want us to care about more than the one percent.”

It feels radical, saying it here; behind the walls of the Institution. It feels like he’s put the last nail in his own coffin. Shireen watches him as he cracks his knuckles, one at a time, waiting for her to say the interview is over; it’s time to go home. 

Instead she asks an even crazier question. 

“Do you think there is an essential connection between the morality of an action and the morality of the intentions behind it?”

[ironmandeficiency]

falcon, falcon, goose!

pairing: sam wilson / reader

word count: 3547

summary: there were reports of geese leading people to their soulmates spanning centuries, and it seemed like a cool concept, but why did it have to coincide with you coming out of your writing slump?

warnings: cursing, geese, dumbassery, implied happy au where the avengers get along, iw and endgame who?

a/n: this is an older piece i wrote a couple years ago, decided to brush it up and repost it. and the reader works for snl bc why the hell not? keep in mind that the original was written before everything went to shit w iw & endgame. posted from mobile yet again yall what is wrong w me

it was a sunny day outside, and deciding that you had been cooped up for far too long, you brought your laptop to the park a couple blocks from your studio apartment.

being a writer for saturday night live wasn't always so peachy, what with the lack of a social life outside of your co-workers and constantly explaining your job to confused relatives. you had been in a slump for the past couple weeks, the fact most of your sketch ideas not making the cut for the next episode continuing to throw you off your rhythm.

this week, you were going to change that. Your headphones were playing your concentration playlist full volume and you were hyped to the max. with your laptop on the picnic table in front of you and a warm cup of tea beside it, you were ready to blow the producers away with your next idea.

"honk! honk!"

you felt something nudge your leg, but you were too engrossed into what you were typing to care. after getting through a few more lines, it happened again.

"honk! honk! honk!"

you couldn't hear the sound but the feeling on your leg got a little bit rougher, more demanding. you moved your headphones to the side for a minute and took a moment to look around you. there was no kid running to get their ball back or any squirrels nearby that dropped a nut.

strange.

but you put your headphones back on, trying to keep your groove alive while hoping the interruptions are finished.

"HONK! HONK! HONK!" the goose honked louder, pecking at your leg harder than it had earlier.

you were getting frustrated and a little pissed. the creativity was flowing through your veins for the first time in what felt like ages and this — whatever it was — decided that today was the best day to annoy you.

you kicked your legs out with a strange flail and when you came into contact with something large and solid you nearly screamed.

"ow! motherf- oh my god!"

standing on the ground beside your table was a goose. it honked yet again with impatience (geese could do that?) and nipped lightly at your thigh closest to it. looking to the pond nearby, it was nearly an entire gaggle of the damned things.

so here was this goose honking at you and nipping at you like you were supposed to know what the hell it wanted from you.

"i don't have any bread, dumbass. go find someone else to bother." thinking it would leave if you ignored it, you turned away and continued your work.

"HONK! HONK!" it continued to honk and decided to peck you before flapping its wings, landing itself on the table next to your computer.

"get outta here, ya damn goose!" while you were trying to shop it away, it expertly evaded you. "go! shoo! leave me alone!"

it just stayed over on the bench, expertly dodging your attempts to get it to leave.

a few people nearby had heard your altercation with the infernal bird. one of them was an older gentleman that laughed as he sat across from you, the mirth in his eyes glinting as you give him a sarcastic side eye while trying to deal with the current issue.

"that bird won't leave you alone, you know." At his voice, the goose calmed down and waddled a few feet away from your arm's reach.

that was the first time the thing had been seemingly calm since he showed up at your little table.

"what do you mean he won't leave me alone?"

he pauses, part of him enjoying the irritation in your tone. he remembers someone talking to him like he was to you many years ago, and it made his heart smile at the idea of repaying the favor. "have you ever read about soulmate geese?"

"hey we're gonna go for a run, wanna join?" steve’s offer was given with a smirk. ever since reuniting with bucky, the two supersoldiers found so much humor in doing laps around sam every time they went out jogging.

it annoyed the shit out of him, the "on your left" comments from steve and the newer "on your right" jabs from bucky, but it also pushed Sam to work harder during his runs. ultimately he knew his non-enhanced body didn't stand much of a chance beating them, but he enjoyed when he was able to close the gap between their times just a little bit.

"sure, just gimme a few to eat breakfast and I'll join you guys." the blond nodded and turned back to the elevator, having woken up far earlier than sam and therefore already ate.

he hummed otis redding as he laid the bacon flat into the pan, shoulders moving along with his created rhythm while changing the grounds in the coffee filter. this was how he spent most of his mornings, barring the occasional hangovers and missions where he couldn't afford the distraction.

he ate, got dressed, and told FRIDAY to let bucky and steve know he was ready to go. h had his water bottle in hand, giving his body a pep talk in preparation for the run. they met in the common room and soon, the trio was off.

"on your left!"

"on your right!"

"oh, come on!"

he knew it was gonna happen, but for some reason it felt like it happened sooner than normal. either they were trying really hard to mess with him today, or he was off his game. but regardless, he pushed his body harder than he probably should have because when there was something obstructing his path, he didn't pause. no, he charged it straight on through and fell hard.

steve and bucky had seen this from a distance and immediately rushed to get to their friend.

sam rolled onto his back, exhausted and now in terrible pain from the fall. he closed his eyes and just let it all sink in. when he opened his eyes at the sudden foul smell flooding his nostrils, he could feel the palpitations, thinking he was about to have a heart attack.

"holy shit!" sam sat up like a rocket despite the way his body was throbbing from the fall.

the goose stared at him curiously and turned its head toward the pounding footsteps from the approaching brooklynites.

"sam! What happened?" steve was concerned, inspecting sam while bucky noticed the bird. The brunet bent down to meet the goose eye-level and was somewhat surprised that it didn't run away at the close proximity.

"did you trip the dumbass? was it your fault sam landed on his face? Huh, little guy?"

"honk! honk!"

"i thought so. good job, man." bucky pats the animal on the head gently before turning to help steve get sam off the ground.

"nothing’s broken but there's probably a sprain, can't really be sure until we get to cho." sam and bucky lift their friend from the pavement and they have no problem supporting his weight.

they began the walk back to the tower in silence. well, almost silence. there was a faint pitter-patter of tiny, webbed feet behind them that sam and bucky weren't paying attention to.

steve noticed the goose slowly waddling behind the trio and looked at sam with a smile. sam responded to steve’s happy face with a glare, not enjoying any of the situation he found himself in.

"look behind us, guys."

both men took turns looking behind them and see the goose waddling behind them patiently. sam wasn't particularly happy about the culprit from moments before trailing behind him, but bucky thought it was hilarious.

"do you know what this means?"

sam rolled his eyes because he thought the blond was about to make some sort of poetic comment about one thing for another.

bucky had paused to think about the implications of a random goose for a moment before gasping. "dude," bucky nudged sam softly, being conscious of his friend's injuries. "you’re gonna meet your soulmate, man!"

"a soulmate goose. man come on, are you out of your mind?"

"steve got his goose back during the war, i think we know enough about it."

sam had only heard vague reports of soulmate geese throughout his life, but now that he thought about it, it did make sense. the goose showed up randomly in the middle of his routine, completely throwing him off, and was now refusing to leave him alone.

"well if this is my soulmate goose, then somebody’s gotta tell tony about our newest avenger." they laughed at the implication, viciously eager to witness tony’s reaction to the newest resident of avengers hq.

it has been three days of dealing with your goose, and you were now teased at work as “bird brain”, walking into your office to see several loaves of bread covering the desk. your goose, that you had named piper once you got home, was excited at the prospect of more food, but you planned on donating most of the bread to local shelters, only keeping a couple loaves for the house.

the guest host that week was mick jagger, and he had emerged into the room “i dream of jeanie” style, startling both you and piper, who honked at him in irritation.

it was time for you to work on the song for your little sketch with him, and you had only two more days before performance night (it was thursday) to finish writing it. after settling down and getting into the right mindset, the writing process had begun.

"alright let's see," mick murmured. "let’s all go to the picnic, let's all have a drink. what rhymes with 'drink'?"

you thought for a moment and said quietly, "think?"

you weren't prepared for the absurd response you received from the man, his accent making him round mean as he barked out a loud "NO!" with an unnecessary hand gesture.

piper just about lost it. she was honking and flapping around your office in a tizzy (but staying away from mick because the man was seen as a stranger she wasn't comfortable with).

you racked your brain for another solution, something else to rhyme with 'drink' and you eventually found it: "sink?"

mick thought about it for a moment before replying with a much lighter "yes!" also paired with unwarranted pointing.

‘motherfucker, is this how you write songs?!'

thursday and friday came and went, and soon it was time for your piece to be performed by mick. du to an accidental ankle twist someone else suffered, you were forced to perform a skit live for the first time in your career. it would have been great, but there was one teensy problem: piper blatantly refused to leave your side when it was time to perform, and she would honk and bite anyone that tried to keep her from you onstage.

even poor bobby, who she had grown fond of, was taking the brunt of it. she was not allowing you to be more than a couple feet away from her, and it was almost endearing if you weren't being broadcast on national television.

apparently, piper would also be making her debut appearance on saturday night live tonight as well.

saturday had arrived, and it was sam’s day of rest. he spent the day doing the bare minimum, eating junk food and watching almost everything on netflix he could find.

he didn't stray too far from tradition, not really. it was just that now he had a goose accompanying him the entire time, honking at this and that and eating occasional pieces of popcorn that sam didn't want to share.

he didn't mind his feathered companion, he was actually quite fond of his goose at this point. whitewing (not to be confused with redwing) was the most calm goose any of them had seen, no biting or nipping and especially no honking at ungodly hours of the night.

steve was perplexed. "Are you sure whitewing hasn't done anything bad? no waking you up at night or bites when you don't feed him soon enough?"

sam would chuckle and shake his head, proud to have such a calm goose. "why are you so keen to see him misbehave? aren’t all soulmate geese like this?"

"for lack of a better word, most geese are assholes. i don't know how whitewing is so well behaved," steve balked at the very idea of all geese being so mellow and decided it was story time.

steve’s goose from the century before was the most rambunctious animal anyone had ever seen. he recounted the first and several occasions following where his soulmate goose, jimmy, fended off the blond man's alleyway attackers.

sam was extremely grateful that whitewing had less feral and goose-like tendencies. whitewing was extremely well behaved and had an almost human way about him, the way he honked in reply to sam or the rest of the team when they talked to him.

it was late in the evening when clint decided to plop down onto the couch and flick the channel to nbc, where tonight's host was mick jagger.

"why are we watching this?" sam was enjoying his sitcoms before the other bird man had showed up.

"i haven't watched it in ages, plus mick jagger is on tonight."

"alright, whatever you want."

the intro played like usual, and whitewing was perfectly complacent. they laughed in the right places with the occasional honking from the bird, and everything was great.

"hey man, look!" clint interrupted, keeping sam from being able to hear the punchline. "i think that's a goose!"

"why is there a goose? The skit has nothing to with-"

sam and clint seemed to come to the same realization at the same time as whitewing, the goose beginning to honk incessantly. he was going absolutely berserk, flapping his wings and hopping off of sam’s lap and onto the coffee table, occasionally pecking at the tv where he saw the other goose.

he was going absolutely bonkers.

"whitewing! whitewing, no! calm down!" sam scrambled to calm down his goose, but he was having none of it. the whole entire skit, whitewing was honking and flapping and being a general nuisance.

he found his soulmate.

whitewing kept at it until the screen went to a commercial, his soulmate off of the screen.

"y’know," clint spoke around a slice of pizza. when did he get pizza? "if you hurry, you could go to the studio and meet your soulmate. the show is about halfway over."

before sam could think over the proposition, tony’s voice was heard from the corridor. "somebody shut that damned bird up before I pay ramsay to cook it!"

"i’m taking care of it!"

with that, sam heads to the armory with whitewing on his tail to get his wings. once he's equipped, sam heads to the window and jumps, immediately setting his course for studio 8h and his soulmate.

you’re released to go back to your office once you finish the skit alongside mick and piper, the show almost over. you’re gathering your things lazily, knowing that you have no other responsibilities for the night.

just as you lock your office and piper is waddling beside you without a care in the world, you see kyle running towards you with a look of fear in his eyes. that fear seems to only triple when his eyes land on piper beside you.

"kyle! what’s-"

"there’s another goose on the set! no one is safe!"

wait, was he bleeding?!

you were going to try and help your friend but one look at piper sent him off the rails, the lanky man nearly falling on his ass in an attempt to skid the corner. you hoped that someone would help calm your panicked friend, seeing as you were literally the worst person for the job at the moment.

without further incident, you are able to say goodbye to cecily and mikey before you're stopped in your tracks by michael, who gives piper a funny look.

"wait, so the goose that attacked kyle wasn't piper?" You shake your head in confusion. "dude, your soulmate must have come to the set!"

piper must have either understood what your co-worker had said or she could sense a change in the studio, but she began to honk erratically and run away from you. the last thing new york needed was two feral geese running around attacking people, so you did what anyone would do and ran after her.

"piper! piper, come back!" michael laughed as you chased after your goose. while you were running, you nearly died when you heard a honk that you knew wasn't from your piper. hers were carved into your brain, and you were positive that you could pick hers out of an entire gaggle of geese, so there was indeed a second goose in the studio.

to your dismay, piper did not stop and wait, she just kept on honking and flapping and scaring people in pursuit of the other goose, poor old you having to chase her.

there was another voice you assumed was yelling at his goose since you didn't know of anyone naming their kid whitewing. your eyes were not looking straight ahead when you suddenly bumped into someone, immediately stumbling a bit before regaining your balance.

piper had stopped her honking and that scared you. did someone hurt her? was she-

her and another goose were making muted honks to each other. they sounded like affectionate honks, which is one of the weirdest sentences you ever constructed in your head. but it was true! they were cuddling close to each other and making really quiet honking noises at each other, and if that wasn’t affectionate then you didn’t know what would be.

so if piper found her soulmate, that means yours was-

"i hope comin' to your job was okay. whitewing wasn't gonna give up until I left, so here we are." your eyes were dragged from the touching scene of piper and her special goose to a pair of dark brown irises that radiated warmth and a promise of happy days.

you were absolutely dumbstruck. your mouth was unable to form coherent words, so you decided to take in the appearance of your soulmate. he was wearing a soft grey tee and sweatpants, and socks without shoes. did he realize how unsanitary the streets of new york were?

but upon further investigation, you realize that he probably didn't walk to the studio. on his back was what you would normally call a jetpack, but when you recognize the face your mind completes the puzzle: your soulmate is sam wilson, otherwise known as the falcon. holy shit.

"uh yeah of course, i guess you flew here? no sane person in new york would walk around barefoot in the street." did you really just say that?!

sam nodded and then remembered that he was in his pajamas in front of his soulmate without any shoes. "yeah, he wasn't gonna stop attacking the tv once he saw uh…"

you realized he was asking for your goose’s name, and so you hastily gave it to him.

"yeah, once he saw piper, he went wild. caused more chaos in five minutes than he did in five days!"

you laugh, the nervousness falling away as you recount the story of you first meeting with piper.

people are staring at the pajama-clad avenger and his soulmate, their geese finally satisfied. after all, it wasn't every day so many people were able to watch soulmate geese (and their people) meet for the first time.

sam gently took your hand, his thumb smoothing the skin on the back of it, just listening to you talk. you asked him a question about whitewing and he was in the middle of telling you when he cut himself off. "i just realized i don't even know your name!"

in most scenarios you’d be slightly put off by this, but you didn't have an issue because of the specific circumstances. if he weren't an avenger you wouldn't have known his either, and plus, no one really pays attention to the little rat writers. you give him your name and smile when he introduces himself, his voice even helping show off the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.

with impeccable goose timing, piper and whitewing honk at you to hurry your introductions and leave the studio.

"do you want to fly back to your place , or can I drive you?" it was a risk to ask him such a question, but you were genuinely concerned. you hoped he wouldn't think you were trying to jump his bones only minutes after meeting him so you used (terrible) humor to show your intentions. "you shouldn't fly so late at night without headlights, no matter how high up you get."

sam’s laughter was infectious and soon you joined him, your geese about to get more irritated with their humans.

"yeah, I'd like that. lead the way, soulmate." piper and whitewing honk as the two of you head to the lobby hand in hand, the birds waddling behind you just as happy as soulmate geese could be.

[dameronology]

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 3

3 - an examination of agent tequila and why he takes rejection so damn hard

summary: after tequila is on the receiving end of your stress, jack decides to help you de-stress in the only way he knows how: alcohol. what could go wrong? (series masterlist) 

warnings: language 

honestly this might be my fave chapter yet 

- jazz

song for this chapter: oil on water by bastille 

Within a few weeks of being in New York City, you’d fallen into a routine. 

You missed London, truly and deeply, but it was almost as if you didn’t have time to think about it. Between being dragged into more undercover missions with Whiskey, keeping up with Merlin’s demanding schedule and trying to tail Calahan and his contacts, you were lucky if you had time to sit down and have a cup of coffee. Being a Statesman was much more fast-paced than working at Kingsman; you didn’t dislike it by any means, but you had a pool-sized bathtub waiting in your shiny, new apartment that you never got to use. You were pulling five or six late nights a week, usually not leaving the office till 10PM. 

Working with Jack Daniels was...an experience. He was nice, in some ways -- he always brought you coffee when he went to get some for himself, and he drove you home on those late nights so that you didn’t have to take the subways. He had a few annoying habits - namely the fact he never seemed to shut up or ever use your real name, instead opting for a thousand different nicknames - but he was more than tolerable. He worked hard and played hard, and you respected that. He helped you stay hot on Calahan’s tail and that was the most important thing. 

On your third week in New York, Merlin flew out to see you. You’d been keeping him up to date with weekly briefings, but he’d wanted to come out and have a proper look at the actual work you and Jack had been doing. The evening before he arrived, you’d pulled an all-nighter to try and organise the files. Whiskey seemingly had no organisational skills, instead opting for a stack of folders that had no meaningful order. The paperwork was endless, not unlike Jack’s energy the following morning. 

‘Anyways, so I tell the guy to go fuck his moth-’

‘- Jack.’ You held your hand out to him, motioning him to shut the hell up as you rubbed your temples. ‘I appreciate all your funny stories of when you were a fratboy in Yeehaw Land but I have to get this done.’

‘What’s with you this morning, tea?’ Jack looked up from his laptop, brow furrowing. ‘You haven’t insulted me once since you walked through that damn door two hours ago and I’m starting to become concerned.’

‘I just have a lot of work to do.’ You replied. ‘Merlin is landing any minute now and I...how did you put it last week? I’m as busy as a cat covering crap on a marble floor.’

‘Southern sayings don’t quite right with your accent.’ He offered you a smile. ‘So what if Baldilocks is on his way? You’ve been doing your job real good these last few weeks.’

‘Merlin is...particular.’ You let your eyes trail away from your screen and out towards the view of the city beside your desk. ‘Everything has to be perfect or I might as well have spent the last three weeks shitting in my hands and clapping.’ 

‘They didn’t praise you much at Kingsman, huh?’ Jack quirked an eyebrow.

‘I never gave it much thought but I guess you’re right.’ You shrugged. ‘Why would they praise us for meeting expectations? A slap on the back for doing the bare minimum is pointless.’

It was true: praise at Kingsman was far and few - and you only got for achieving superhuman standards. If you were bad at your job, they would fire you. If they were good, they kept you. That’s how it worked. That’s how it had always worked. You’d never had so much as a well done! or a you’re doing great! from Merlin, nor Harry or Arthur. It had been odd at first but you’d become used to it.

‘What you do is not the bare minimum.’ Whiskey shook his head. ‘You do you know you’re a good agent, right?’

Jack had been impressed with you over the last few weeks. You seemed to embody the very energy of getting shit done. You worked through your lunch breaks and arrived to the office earlier than everyone -- and then you left later than everyone. He was surprised you didn’t hold a more senior position, if anything.

‘I mean, I guess?’ You averted your glance back towards him. ‘I work hard. I’m just hoping it pays off some day.’

‘Just-’ Jack sighed, pausing for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about the paperwork, okay? I can vouch for the fact you’ve worked your pretty little-

‘- watch it, Jack-’

‘- that you’ve worked hard.’ He quickly back tracked on his words. 

‘That’s a dollar in the arse comment jar.’

‘I didn’t even get to finish it though!’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘And it’s not even worth taking those dollars home with you, not with this exchange rate.’

Before the conversation could go any further, Tequila stuck his head around your office door. He’d been out in the field for the last week so you hadn’t seem him that much. Having been in South America, he’d caught a slight tan. That lead your mind back to your previous missions with him -- he’d had terrible Spanish. Truly awful.

‘Merlin is here, Percy.’ He announced. ‘He’s in with Champ now. Come whenever. You too, Whiskey.’

‘Have you ever heard of knocking?’ Jack raised his eyebrows at him. 

‘The door was open.’

‘Still, it’s etiquette-’

‘- hey, Patrick! Spongebob!’ You slammed your fist on the table. ‘There’s more important things to worry about.’

--

Half an hour later, you were waiting outside of a meeting room on the top floor of the Statesman building. Jack, Merlin and Champ were all on the other side of the door, checking over your work. You had no reason to be nervous -- you’d done your job and you’d done it well. Besides, you knew that Whiskey would fight your corner if Merlin became finnicky. He’d said it himself earlier. You appreciated that. 

‘I’ve been in Chile the last few weeks.’ Tequila leant against the wall beside you, adjusting his hat as he peered down at you.

‘I know. Your new hat is a Chilean brand and you have a tan.’ You replied, attention still clearly on the door in front of you. 

‘Damn. I never pegged you to be so observant.’

‘I’m literally a secret agent.’ You shot back. ‘It’s kind of an entry requirement.’

‘Or maybe...’ He adjusted his stance. ‘It’s because you fancy me.’

‘Fancy you?!’ You turned your head to look at him in disbelief. ‘How old are you? Twelve?’

‘I just mean that you’re single and hot. I’m single and hot.’ He continued, barely faltering. ‘You’ve been working your ass off these last few weeks. If you need help relaxing, you know where-’

Tequila barely had a chance to blink before you’d moved from beside him, pinning him to the wall with an elbow over his throat. He blinked in surprise; both at your speed and strength, especially considering that he was much beefier than you. It wasn’t exactly hard. You’d taken on men twice his size and strength. 

‘Try and come onto me again and I will make you eat your hat.’ You threatened. 

‘It was just a suggestion-’

‘- did I stutter?’

‘No, ma’am.’ Tequila muttered. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

‘What in the holy hell is going on here?!’ 

You hadn’t heard Champ leave the meeting room - or Jack and Merlin for that matter. The three were stood with wide eyes and gaped mouths at the sight of you holding one of their best agents to the wall. You quickly took a step back, letting Tequila fall onto his ass with a sweet thump. 

You dusted yourself off. ‘I was simply teaching Agent Tequila the value of workplace boundaries.’

Turning away, you strode off and down the corridor, the sound of your heels clicking against the ground ringing behind you. Tequila might have just been trying to shoot his shot but damn, you were sick of it happening. You’d had it during your training, from some of the guys at Kingsman and especially on missions. The amount of men that assumed you needed a ring on your finger or a proposition from them to have a good time was beyond you. Could you not just do your job? It was one thing to have a flurry of nicknames but you drew the line at being constantly hit on and asked out. 

Stalking to your office, you slammed the door behind you and took a seat at your desk. An oh for fuck’s sake! escaped your mouth upon realising that you’d left all of your files with Merlin. That meant no work to do - which meant that the tiredness and consequences of your late night were about to hit you like a ton of bricks.

You made your way over to Jack’s desk, taking a glass and decanting some of the whiskey that was inside it. Drinking on the job wasn’t usually your style, but you were stressed. Calahan was still on the loose. Both of your bosses had just seen you drop kick another agent. It felt like you had been in the States for nearly a month and had no work to show for it. 

‘Is it okay if I come in?’

‘It’s your office, Whiskey.’ You didn’t bother turning to face him. 

‘Well, that can’t be good - you only ever call me Whiskey when you’re mad.’ 

Jack was right -- and it was something he’d noticed not long after you’d met. You’d started calling him by his first name not long after you’d pulled your first all-nighter together. He’d given you a ride home and it had started with a thanks, Jack. He’d come to discover that he liked how it sounded when you said it. It was so rare that anyone called him that, that it almost felt like it meant something. 

‘Sorry.’ You took the glass, returning to your desk.’ You said. ‘I’m stressed and Tequila didn’t help. There’s paperwork and deadlines and I have done nothing worthwhile since I landed nearly four weeks ago.’

‘That’s not entirely true.’ He replied. ‘You’ve arrested six of Calahan’s spies, found information that lead to a raid on one of his bases and you just hit Tequila harder than a semi to a fox on the highway.’

‘I should probably apologise to him.’ You groaned. 

‘I wouldn’t bother, sugar’ Jack shook his head. ‘You’re being too hard on yourself.’

‘Yeah.’ You stared off into the distance, sipping some of your drink. ‘Maybe.’

‘What are you doing tonight?’

You faltered, turning to look at the cowboy in disbelief. ‘Are you serious, Jack?! You just saw me deck Tequila for trying to make a move. You think I won’t slap that moustache right off of your-’

‘- hold your fucking horses!’ He cut you off. ‘If you’d let me finish my goddamn sentence! I was going to offer to show you a bar that I go to when I’m stressed. The alcohol is cheap and the music is good.’

‘You mean as....colleagues?’

‘I was going to say friends.’ 

---

It was beyond you how Jack had convinced you to come to a cowboy bar in the middle of Manhattan on a Tuesday night. He’d made a few comments about having a stick up your ass, then with a promise to reschedule your meeting the following morning and pay for your drinks, you’d finally said yes. It can’t have hurt to take a night off - in fact, you’d barely had one since you’d got to the city. A few drinks and the company of the most tolerable man at Statesman could do good for you, you figured. 

Having changed your heels and dress out for boots, jeans and a leather jacket, you already felt a little more relaxed. The Statesman weren’t even as strict as the Kingsman about what their agents wore, but you had the latter’s emphasis on looking formal so ingrained into your brain that it was practically second nature. The pain of wearing high heels every day was long gone. 

The bar itself was as you’d expected. Dimly lit, and filled with people in cowboy hats and boots. There was a country song playing from a jukebox in the corner and the air was stuffy; a mix of tobacco, stale beer and crisps chips.It wasn’t that different from the dodgy pubs you and Eggsy had frequented in your late teens. 

Jack was dressed a little more casual too, wearing a button down and leather jacket instead of his usual blazer and tie. What were you here as again...friends or colleagues? Actually, it had been a compromise. Friendly colleagues. 

‘Alright, sweetheart, we’ll go here.’ He pulled you over to two empty stalls at the bar. ‘What’s your poison?’

‘Rum.’ You replied. 

Jack’s nicknames didn’t bother you anymore. You’d come to accept the fact that they were simply part of his dialect rather than a place of affection. It was the same with Champ, and even Ginger. It was no different to you calling your own colleagues mate or pal. 

‘Damn.’ Jack murmured. ‘Off to a strong start.’

You took the glass from his hand, clinking it against his. Naturally, he’d gotten Jack Daniels whiskey. Then again, if you were named after an alcohol, you probably would have drunk it constantly too. But then again again, you drank it constantly anyways. 

The evening was a little awkward at first -- what were you supposed to talk about aside from work? That’s what all your previous conversations had been about, even during all your late nights. They usually consisted of Jack reciting stories of wild missions during his younger days as an agent. You had a few crazy ones, but they seemed to pale in comparison. There wasn’t as much crazy shit in Britain. 

You didn’t know whether you should have been asking him questions about his personal life. Wasn’t he your boss, formally speaking? Jack was a higher rank than you. He ran the whole damn Manhattan office when Champ was out. That thought was what lead you to realise that you’d hardly given his life outside of the agency much pondering. You knew he didn’t exist solely to be an agent, but he spent as much time working as you did and you existed solely to be an agent. 

Did he have a wife? Kids? Based on how long he spent working, you figured it was unlikely. Being an agent didn’t really offer a healthy work-life balance. You knew that he lived in an apartment near Hudson Yards, so that meant he was probably rich too. He did have shares in the company that fronted Statesman, and it was one of the best selling bourbons on the market. 

You spent the better part of two hours trying to deduce him through conversation before you realised that you could have just asked. Jack had called you his friend. That counted for something. Plus, you had two hours worth of alcohol and a fair few shots of rum floating around your system. It was liquid courage, after all. 

‘So what’s your deal?’ You slapped your fist on the bar. 

‘My deal?’ Jack raised an eyebrow at you. ‘The hell d’you mean, sugar?’

‘Like...what’s your life outside of Statesman?’

‘Statesman is my life.’ He quipped. ‘In the same way Kingsman is yours.

‘Damn.’ You murmured. ‘But Kingsman isn’t my whole life.’

‘Oh yeah?’ He smiled at you. ‘What else do you do then?’

‘I have an orchid at home!’ You exclaimed. ‘Although I did ask Eggsy to look after while I’m here so it’s probably dead.’

‘You miss him, don’t you?’

‘The orchid?’

‘No. Eggsy.’

‘Oh, right!’ You let out a tipsy giggle. ‘I mean...yeah. He’s my best mate. This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing him ever. I FaceTimed him the other night but he’s with Tilde.’

‘Girlfriend?’

‘Yeah.’ You solemnly nodded. ‘And do not mistake my sad face for jealousy! I love Tilde. And I love Eggsy. It’s just hard not seeing him, or having someone to bully everyday.’

‘Hey, I’m right here if you need someone!’ Jack nudged you with his elbow. ‘Just...no comments on my accent. Or my hat. Or my moustache.’

‘Okay, I’ll just rip into your personality then, shall I?’

‘Please. As if you could find anything bad about my personality. I’m fan-fucking-tastic.’

--

The rest of the night went quickly. 

Once you and Jack had veered away from talking about work, the conversation felt natural. He was easy to banter with and it made talking to him easy. The fact he was paying for drinks too was proving to be a slippery slope - for him and for you. The more you ordered, the more he tried to outdrink you. That was when the evening had taken a bit of a turn. 

You hadn’t mean for it to happen, but your temper tended to slip up when you were drunk. It was easy to describe you as trigger happy at the best of times, let alone when you had a few shots in your system. And, you were by no means wankered beyond repair, or so drunk that you couldn’t walk, but you had proven yourself to be drunk beyond normal rationale. 

It was all a blur, really.

You’d seen a man try to follow a girl into the toilets and in true sisterhood style, you’d flown after him in an attempt to save her. There had been punches thrown - in both your direction and his - and it had resulted in the two of you both being kicked out. Jack had followed suit, rushing out after you with your jacket and bag. A true Southern gentleman indeed. 

‘It was his wife.’ Jack had been muttering the same words over and over. He was knelt in front of you, dabbing at your bloody nose with some cotton balls. ‘He was following her into the toilet because they were married-’

‘- how the hell was I supposed to know that?!’ You snapped, wincing in pain. You made a mental note not to raise your voice too much. ‘I’ve had things like that happen to me before. I just wanted to make sure she was safe.

‘You could have gotten me to check it out.’ He reasoned. ‘I might have had to have gone into the ladies’ toilets but you can be damn sure I wouldn’t have punched the guy.’

Jack’s hands were steady as he worked to clean up your nose. Somehow, you’d ended up in his living room -- he’d refused to let you go back to your own apartment in a bloody state. On the bright side, his place was a thousand times nicer than yours. And, given your jacuzzi bath tub and flat screen TV, that was truly saying something. His felt a little more homely, and a little more lived in. He had random knick-knacks lying around; there was magazines on the table and piles of shoes by the doors. You, meanwhile, had been living out of a suitcase. 

Once he was done, Jack stood up and dropped onto the couch next to you. He stared at you for a moment, pondering what to say. You didn’t look too tired; your eyes were slightly hooded and hazy from the drinks, but the sock to your face had sobered you both up to the point where you might as well have only had one or two shots. 

‘God, what must you think of me?’ You finally spoke, flopping back against the cushion behind you.

Jack frowned. ‘What on Earth do you mean?’

‘You saw me deck Tequila this morning and then attack a guy in the bar.’ You snorted. ‘I’m not a violent person. I promise.’

‘I don’t think you are.’ He replied. ‘I definitely think you could knock a man into the middle of next week looking both ways for Sunday but I think it’s admirable.’

You couldn’t help but cackle. ‘Admirable?!’

‘A lot of people run their mouths but very few would actually square up when things came down to it.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I know y’all believe in manners maketh man but I think fury maketh woman.’ 

‘Fury maketh woman.’ You repeated the words back to him, turning your head to face him. 

A moment of silence fell over you after that. Not an awkward one, but rather a comfortable one. Things weren’t so hazy anymore - if anything, that guy punching you had been rather sobering. Meanwhile, Jack definitely looked like he’d been around the block a little bit; he’d long ditched the hat, leaving his dark hair in a ruffled mess. You were holding his gaze, looking intently at his eyes. 

They were brown - but no shit, Sherlock. You knew that. What you hadn’t noticed was the way they creased when he laughed, or the fact they had little gold flecks in them. And they looked a little more caramel under the bright white lights of his living room. The man had a chandelier. An actual fucking chandelier. In 2020. 

If you could just lean a little closer to get a better look. 

Just a tiny bit. 

Just edge a little bit closer, not too much and -

- Shit. 

His lips caught yours halfway, and you suddenly realised that you hadn’t been trying to look at his eyes at all. No, absolutely not. Had you wanted to kiss him this whole time? Or had the urge just suddenly over come you this split second? 

Either way, it didn’t matter because Jack Daniels was a fucking good kisser. He was giving and soft, but there was a hint of something deeper too. Desire? Lust? You didn’t really possess the brain capacity to figure it out, not when he was biting at your bottom lip and gently holding one hand against the back of your head. His large, calloused hands were clutching loosely at your, pulling you into him It was so good that you let out a moan in your head. 

Except, it wasn’t in your head. It was very much out loud, and right into his mouth. Your immediate reaction was to consider pulling back, to apologise straight away and swear never to talk about it - but he liked it. You felt Jack smile against you. He placed his hands on your hips and gently manoeuvred you into his lap, being careful to avoid putting too much pressure on your sore nose.

It didn’t take an idiot to work out where this was going, and you were both pretty smart people. Smart enough to know that it was going to make things awkward in the morning, and then everyday after that. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that his kisses were more intoxicating than any spirit you could possibly have consumed. You didn’t know.

And frankly, you didn’t care. 

[uniquevocashark]

Tea and Ice Lattes

Part 2

tw cussing and mentions of pain

...

Rosalyn relieves you of work immediately after the Countess leaves, and Maxwell spreads the salve on you before you can bloody your cheek.

“Hey,” he snaps his fingers in front of you and you jolt upright. “Hey, stay with us.”

You look around and find that the back room is trashed, the chairs thrown about and the table flipped over. Rosalyn has your arm trapped against the wall, your fingers twitching back and forth. You open your mouth to speak but your jaw aches so bad you snap it shut.

“Here.” Rosalyn murmurs, and spreads a bit more salve on your face. Your eyes water but the pain fades eventually. “You should go home until this heals.” She counsels, letting go of your arm slowly.

You rub your cheek and wince.

It takes longer to heal than you think it should.

The first three days you’re never far from an ice pack and you burn through three quarters of the salve before the pain cools. Rosalyn checks up on you those days, often with jars or bowls that someone left for you at the store of foods so soft you can suck them up a straw. After that, Maxwell takes her place, though he doesn’t stay long.

A week after your incident, he comes by with a large purple box, wrapped with a ribbon softer than anything you had in your house. The card stuck to it was equally as soft and shone like spun silver under the light.

“Hey,” You greeted him, “What the fuck is this?”

“Yeah.” He laughed uncomfortably, then handed the box over. It’s too large to fit under your arm, so you end up carrying it like a forklift with your arms out and palms up. You wonder how he even managed to carry it up the stairs, let alone fit it through the doorways.

Your name is written in large, loopy cursive on the letter, in letters too large to have been comfortable to write with a normal sized hand. “Do I need to worry about this?”

“Oh, nah,” He shrugged, “We did the cat test, and it turned out fine.”

“The cat test?”

“Yeah, the cat test.”

“Elaborate, please?”

“It’s an old superstition about the Dimitrescu’s. Nothing dangerous,” He assures you when you look at the box suspiciously, “We rubbed a couple cats on it.”

“You rubbed cats on the box?”

“Yeah. We held them up like Simba and rubbed them on the box.”

“Alright then,” You say, “Which one is it from?”

“I don’t know,” He paused, checking his watch, “hey, I gotta go. Adrian and I are going on a lunch date.”

“Oh, right. Have fun!”

“Yeah. See you later.”

…

By nightfall, after you’ve managed a dinner of chicken nuggets and creamed corn, you still haven’t opened the box. It’s very picturesque unopened, like those aesthetic photos you see sometimes. The letter, too, is very nice, with a proper wax seal to close it.

It smells distinctly like the Countess, which makes your face itch so badly you have to flee to the kitchen and get the salve to calm yourself down. You make yourself a coffee. It isn’t a good thing to do, especially so late at night, but you drain two cups before you can force yourself back into the lounge.

The letter isn’t anything special though, or particularly harmful. It’s a long three pages of an obvious copy paste offering all kinds of platitudes and condolences that don’t really have anything to do with you. The only thing of note is the handwritten note at the end, which differs from the mechanical writing of the letter with thick cursive in red ink.

To whom it may concern,

I hope this gift will convince my errant daughter that my apologies to you are sincere, and that I didn’t mean any truly debilitating harm to a lovely creature like yourself.

With my full regards,

Countess Dimitrescu

“Creepy.” You say to no one and through the letter back on the table.

You take the lid of the box and are met with a mountain of velvet. Beneath the lilac layers is a set of teacups and a finely filigreed book. The book is an 1898 version of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which is a little on the nose, considering the Dimitrescu family history.

The teacups though are too large for you, more like a soup cup than anything, painted delicately on each of the sides are birds. One depicts a duck, another a hummingbird, and another a kingfisher. They’re a little impractical, especially since you don’t drink tea, but they are lovely.

Hidden in one of the teacups is a bundle of duck fluff and feathers and a small portrait of a very happy duck in a finely made suit.

…

You decide to treat the teacups like a white elephant, because they are no doubt expensive, and you want to have them sit around for a little bit before you use them. The book is even worse to look after, because you have no idea how to keep it pristine and end up keeping it along with the duck portrait in the box.

Thursday rolls through with a lazy breeze and light snow. It’s spring, and the icicles on your windows are a little smaller than they were yesterday. Maxwell comes by practically glowing, and he spends the walk to work gushing over his boyfriend. They went a town over to have lunch, where the place was built half in the woods and half out of it.

You’re barely into the rhythm of work before you’re swamped. It is nice to be able to do something again, that isn’t scratch your cheek and watching the same series for the fourth time, so despite the heavy work load you find yourself smiling.

Today must be a special day too, because Alcina walks in around one, wearing a perfect purple pantsuit and sleek black and red heels. She seems surprised to see you, and her smile is more genuine than she usually directs at other people.

“You’re better.” She says by way of greeting, leaning forward more so than usual as she stands at the counter.

“I am!” You smile, straightening your apron, “Your usual today?”

Her chest gives a little peep. You peek lower than you usually would and see a duckling in the fold of her jacket, its beak peeking between her fingers. Alcina clears her throat, her smile a little more sheepish, “That was a yes.”

Her duck peeps again and she remains by the counter, watching you make the drinks.

“Archibald,” You hear her admonish quietly, her voice thick and disappointed, “That is very naughty, young man.”

Archibald peeps quietly again, and it sounds cheeky. You glance over and see Archibald held to her eye level, her lips pursed, and eyes narrowed.

“Are you taking it to go?” You ask after a second, not sure if interrupting is rude or not.

“No,” She says calmly, at odds with the face she gives her duckling, “Here is fine.”

You look at her a second longer, the way her face isn’t drawn or tight. Alcina languidly strokes the top of Archibald’s head, and she seems calmer than the last time you say her.

She catches your eye, “Yes?”

“Oh, nothing.” You smile and she looks away.

…

“I wanted to ask a question.” Alcina says as she comes up to pay.

“Yes?” You reply.

“Would you accompany me to an event this weekend?”

You deposit the money into the till. You weren’t, precisely, busy. Being cooped up at home for the week with nothing to do meant that you had powered through your household chores. Archibald, as if he could sense you debating, waddled towards you on the counter and shook his little tail feathers. He was from a large breed, almost twice as large as your hand, and he nudged at your fingers until you pet him gently.

“If it’s on Saturday, then yes.” You say.

Her fingers shook for a second and her voice was smooth as cream as she whipped a pair of black glasses onto her face. “Excellent. I’ll pick you up at ten on Saturday?”

“From the store,” You say quickly.

Alcina scooped Archibald into her hands, “Yes! Yes, of course.”

You gave her the receipt. “I’ll see you Saturday then.”

“Yes, Saturday.”

She strode from the store more quickly than you’ve ever seen her move. You looked at Maxwell and he looked at you before cracking a smile.

“Holy shit.” He laughed, “She asked you out.”

“I guess she did.” You say lightly.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Somebody has a crush.”

You flip him off.

[lavenderslemonade]

HII!! I was wondering.. do you think you could do a hc of Bakugou and any of the other boys of UA (you decide!!) with seeing their crush freshly out of the shower? Like, she's only really wearing a big t-shirt and she's in the living room pretty late at night and they talk for a bit?? Preferably before the relationship where they've been pining for a while?? Thank you!!! I love your work too I hope you have an awesome day/night

Sure thing! Also, my requests are currently open if anyone is interested! 

The Boys Reactions to You Coming Out of The Shower in Nothing But A T-Shirt (Bakugou, Todoroki, Midoriya, Kirishima)

Bakugou

- He had come down to get something to drink before bed, but surprisingly heard the showers running

- Who the fuck was taking a shower so late at night?

- Probably some dumbass that lost track of time

- Bakugou was in the middle of searching through the fridge 

- “Hey who’s in the kitchen?” He heard your voice, and honestly he wasn’t surprised that you happened to be the dumbass in the shower

- “It’s me, go the fuck to bed idiot!” 

- He’d listen to you whine that you’re thirsty and if he’d bring you a drink from the kitchen on his way out

- He honestly stood there for about a whole ass minute with the door open trying to decide if he should bring you a bottle of water or not

- Though he was tempted to say fuck you and go to bed, he decided to be nice enough and grab you one

- Oh and when he got in the living room the sight he got was certainly rewarding

- Hell, he’d bring you whatever you wanted as long as he could keep this image in his mind

- You were currently lounging on the couch, long t-shirt hiked up your thighs, hell he could just about see your underwear

- It didn’t help that your hair was still wet as well as a bit of your skin, since some of the water had soaked through your shirt and started showing the outline of your breasts

- “Sooo, can I have the water please?” You asked him breaking him away from his train of thought

- “Do you know how fucking cold it is outside!? There’s literally snow on the ground and you’re wearing that?!” He barked as he handed you the water, which you simply took and took a long drink of

- “It’s hot in here.” You casually shrug with a small smirk playing on your lips

- Bakugous face would heat up, because boi weak af for your smirk/smile

- “Psh, whatever, don’t be bitching when you catch a cold!” He growled, before stomping back to his room

- “But if I get cold I can always come and cuddle with you can’t I?” You’d ask innocently causing his face to explode

- “Either that or put some pants on before that fucking grape headed perv sees you and I gotta beat his ass!” He’d stomp back to his room to handle a little “problem” that has come up due to your attire

Todoroki 

- Was coming down to study in the living room since he wanted to fix some tea, however he saw some books were already scattered across the table

- He hoped that whoever was there wouldn’t mind him intruding to study as well

- He’d set his books down to go prepare the tea, and hear the showering running

- Whoever was in the shower, that must’ve been their books

- He’d make an extra cup for the person who’s also studying, not wanting to be rude and drink in front of them

- After a few minutes the tea is ready, and he fixes two cups being careful as he walks back to the living room

- Nearly drops the cups when he see’s you sitting on the floor cross legged with wet hair, and a long t-shirt on

- “Oh hey Todoroki! I didn’t know you want to study with me!” You’d joke, shooting him one of your dazzling smiles that always secretly made him weak in the knees.

- Face would be a light pink as he sits down beside you offering you the tea, which you happily accept

- Tries his best to keep his eyes on his notes, but they keep glancing over at your exposed thighs

- He takes note of the water dripping down your neck and slipping down your shirt, wetting the fabric, and giving him small glimpses of your skin

- He starts to warm up, which causes the temperature in the room to warm up

- You take the neck of your shirt and jerk at it a bit stating that it’s starting to feel hot

- He quickly tries to lower the temperature to make you more comfortable, however this time he makes it too cold, causing you to shudder and holy shit he can see your nipples hardening

- Boy swallows roughly before standing up stating he needs to go shower

- “But didn’t you shower earlier after training?”

- “I need another one. A nice long cold shower.” 

- Boi disappears for a long while

Izuku Midoriya 

- Also this boy wanted to do was go downstairs to get the book that he had left earlier on the living room table

- But no, that task currently seems impossible as his eyes locked onto you

- Midoriya.exe has stopped working

- You feel someone staring at you, and look up to see Midoriya, low-key freaking out on the inside as he notices the book in your hands, which happens to be his

- “Hey, I hope you don’t mind but I found this down here and I haven’t been able to put it down!” You stated with a innocently smile, holding the book close to your chest

- He kept his eyes focused on the book as he watched you squish it against your breasts, a look of innocents in your eyes as you didn’t realize what you were doing to the poor boy

- “Ha-haha, it’s no problem-”

- “Can I borrow it once you’re done? I really wanna read what happens next!” You requested, anxiously rubbing your thighs together, something that Midoriya noticed

- Oh to have them thighs wrapped around his waist

- He nearly died at the thought, he’d never had such impure thoughts about you before!

“U-uh, yeah! Sure thing!” He’s be a blushing and be stuttering mess, watching as you’d get up, your shirt shifting a bit to expose your green panties with lace and a little bow before the ends came back down to cover them

- “Awesome! Feel free to stop by my room once you’re done!” You’d insisted, handing him the book back before walking away

- Oh he hated it when you’d leave but boy oh boy did he enjoy watching you go

- Especially when you started up the stairs, your shirt lifting a bit to reveal your butt

- For the rest of his life he’ll cherish that scene, as well as the book in his hands that was lucky enough to be pressed against your breasts

Eijiro Kirishima

- Was actually coming down to watch some tv before bed to help ease his mind

- See’s the back of your head, which causes him to smile

- He’d finally get to spend some personal time with you, and the thought made his face heat up and a big smile appear on his face

- “Hey (y/n) I hope you don’t mind if I-” He felt his voice catch in his throat as he staged a glance at your appearance

- Freshly out of the shower with hair still wet, and a t-shirt that didn’t cover much

- Plus he could sure as hell tell you weren’t wearing shorts underneath!

- “Hey Kiri! Wanna watch some tv with me?” You’d ask innocently, which would earn a short/embarrassed nod from Kirishima

- Before he sits down he grabs a blanket and wraps it around you, confusing you quite a bit

- “Uh, Kiri? What’s this for?” You just blink a bit confused

- “Well it started snowing a few hours ago so it’ll probably get cold in here, so that means you might get cold as well.” He’d state, keeping his eyes glued to the tv

- You’d just blink a bit confused before smirking, and tossing a bit of blanket towards his end

- He didn’t mind it at first, it actually felt pretty nice, however, he felt his body stiffen as you slipped your legs across his and scooted closer to lean against his body

- “There! Now we can both be warm!” You’d giggle and smile up at the boy

- After a few hours of watching some tv, though Kirishima couldn’t really focus, you felt yourself beginning to doze

- You rubbed yourself against Kirishima trying to get comfortable, though causing a problem for the boy down below

- You woke up a bit once you felt your legs getting a bit uncomfortable. 

- For some reason Kirishima had nudged your legs closer to his knees

- You’d stretch tiredly, causing your breasts to press against the thin shirt, your nipples being exposed a bit from the cold

- “I’m going to bed, are you coming Kiri?” You’d ask, sliding the blanket onto his lap, and standing up to stretch

- He’d glace at your red panties, his face burning by this point

- “Nah uh, I uh, think I’mma gonna sit here a while...” He’d state while he gulped, watching you carefully

- You’d blink a bit confused but smile either way

- “Okay, don’t stay up too late. We got class tomorrow!” You’d state before giving his cheek a quick kiss as a thank you for staying up with you and walking to your room

- Now he had to just stay still and allow his rather big problem to die down...