#poor onto griddle

[peachsayshi]

Im sure someone has already said this lol, but I'd love to bring peach cobbler to the pot luck 😘😅

This was a tough one to narrow down, but imagine a fluffy scenario with Toji in which he tries to cook y/n breakfast in bed but ends up burning it. My brain is craving domestic Toji

🍑 Peach’s Pot Luck Party 🍑

Imagine: Toji cooking breakfast for his s/o in bed but ends up burning it. 

(minors and ageless blogs dni)

Tags: Newlyweds; Teasing; Fluff; Only alludes to smut

A/N: Thank you so much! ❤️ Surprisingly,  you’re the only one who actually brought peach cobbler :3 hehe but I accept this delicious treat happily, and hope you enjoy this scenario! - For requests, please read the blurb on my navigation on what I’m accepting ❤️

You woke up to the smell of burnt sugar.

Lids heavy and body a little sore, you stretched out your arms and extended your legs as your eyes slowly blinked open. You rolled onto your side, reaching out in the hopes to find the figure of your lover. Instead, your hand met with the rumpled bed sheet and you narrowed your gaze as you murmured his name softly into your pillow.

“Toji…”

That’s when your ears picked up on the clanking of metal and loud footsteps, a muffled string of curses escaping your partner’s lips which indicated that he wasn’t in the bedroom.

You sighed quietly, wishing that you could stay in bed longer before finally mustering up the strength to detangle yourself from the sheets and headed towards the bathroom.

You refreshed yourself and brushed your teeth, slipping on a pair of clean underwear and grabbing one of Toji’s tees. The material hung over you like a dress, and you sauntered lazily towards your kitchenette where you were met with a surprising sight.

Toji’s broad back blocked the view of the devastating scene before him. Your stovetop was a mess, raw batter covered the grills and ingredients were in disarray all over the counter. In between the chaos you watched smoke rise from your griddle as Toji opened the tap from the sink and allowed the water to rain against the flat plane.

“Fuckin’ stupid piece of shit…”

“Now what did my poor griddle ever do to you…” you responded with a pout, startling your partner as you snuck up on him.

“Fuck! When did you-” Toji groaned, covering his face with his hand in frustration as he turned on his heel to meet your gaze. “I didn’t know you were awake…”

“I didn’t know you were cooking,” you teased.

He leaned against the counter and you caught your bottom lip between your teeth to hold back an amused grin as you watched your lover tint in pink with slight embarrassment.

“Yeah, well…” he grumbled, his hands meeting your waist as he gave you a gentle squeeze. “It’s not really working out…”

You hummed quietly, peeking over his shoulder to look at the dirty dishes stacked perfectly on top of each other.

“Were you making scrambled eggs?” you mocked affectionately, giggling to yourself as Toji pressed you firmly against his chest and naturally circling your arms around his neck.

His lips straightened into a firm line, the front of his brows pinching together as he narrowed his gaze at you with annoyance.

“Pancakes,” he mumbled in a low voice, “…you little brat.”

You brought two fingers to his fringe, twirling the strands of his dark hair between your digits before brushing your lips against his cheek.

“There’s no need to get testy…” you whispered between a kiss, “I’m just playing around with you. We both know you don’t have the patience for cooking. What prompted the sudden interest?”

“Hmph,” he scoffed, averting his glance as he maintained his mopey expression. “Can’t a guy make his girl breakfast without it being such a big deal?”

“Yes he can, but…” you carried on, threading your fingers into his hair as you pushed back the layers to reveal his handsome face, “it is a big deal when my guy is doing it.”

“I wasn’t keen on the idea but you wouldn’t shut up about that chef last night on the cooking channel…”

Your chest warmed at Toji’s words, your fingers releasing his hair as your delicately placed your fingers underneath his chin. You angled yourself to meet his lips, pecking him chastely before smiling against his mouth.

“Were you jealous?” you carried on, “all this drama just because I mentioned how attractive it was watching a man cook…”

Toji rolled his eyes but neither confirmed or denied your statement. He finally relaxed against your touch, before returning a kiss with a sigh.

“Just trying to please you, doll…” he murmured.

“You already do, in every way possible…” you sweetly reassured. “…but, you should know that I hate waking up without you next to me.”

Your hands roamed down his strong pecks, over his abdominals before gliding back up to his shoulders. You could feel his own touch slide away from your waist, as he slowly lifted up his t-shirt to rest his palms on the curve of your rear.

“Hmm, I guess I didn’t say good morning to you properly, did I?”

You widened your eyes to emphasize your disappointment as you shook your head no.

The scar on the corner of his lip lifted when he smirked, and he leaned his head forward to capture your mouth in his. You felt his tongue swipe over your own, nearly growing weak in his embrace as he kissed you lovingly.

“Mornin’, gorgeous…” he whispers while playfully rubbing his nose across your own.

“Good morning to you too, handsome…” you giggle.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he adds on, scratching the back of his head as his eyes scan his surroundings, “I’ll clean up and we can grab a bite somewhere else.”

“That’s an idea…” you concur, before cheekily perching yourself on top of your small dining table, “or we can stay in instead…”

Toji huffs under his breath as he raises his brow curiously in your direction. “It’s the weekend, you shouldn’t have to cook…”

He turns on the tap, readily picking up the sponge as he proceeds to scrub down the griddle. His distraction gave you the opportunity to casually hook your thumbs around the band of your underwear, and you slyly slip off the material before raising his t-shirt just above your belly button.

You clear your throat to gain his attention, and Toji glances over his shoulder once before completely shifting his body around to find you splayed out on the dining table with your panties dangling around the finger adorned with your shimmering wedding band.

“What if I told I already had something prepared?”, you smile, your face growing hot as you notice your husband’s eyes darken in a primal stare

A wolfish grin highlights his ruggedly handsome face, and he rinses off his hands before tossing the dish rag behind him.

“Come to think of it, I did work up an appetite…” he informs, sliding both hands deep into his pockets as he takes two strides towards you. “…but I can’t have you going hungry.”

You arch your brow, directing your gaze to the front of his pants before seductively replying, “with what you’re packing, I’ll be more than satisfied, husband.”

A roaring laugh erupts from his belly, and Toji rolls his eyes up to the ceiling as he shakes his head in disbelief.

Three months into your marriage and you still haven’t grown sick of addressing him with that title.

Everyone told you that the honeymoon phase would pass in the blink of an eye, but you and Toji were still blissfully entranced in one another.

You shiver feeling his hands knead the meat of your thighs, drawing your attention on the way he licks his lips as he focuses on the tempting sight between your legs. You swallow as you spread your thighs further apart, dropping your underwear onto the floor and sighing when you feel his hot breath on your skin.

“What have you done to me?” he breaths in a daze.

“I could ask you the same thing…” you moan.

He kisses your inner thigh, green eyes glancing up to meet yours as he softens his expression.

“I’ve got my hands full with you, my beautiful wife…” he grins, before spreading you with his fingers to finally satiate his sweet cravings.

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

heyy :) could i get some lazy morning headcannons w/ the easy co. boys?? maybe with tab, malarkey, winters, nixon, liebgott, if that's not too much..

Oh, absolutely my love!!! Hope you like!

Tab

-Mans is the king of cuddles. Seriously, he will not let you out of bed until he's had his fill of cuddles. -He also loves a big breakfast. So once you're up, one of you starts the coffee while the other starts the griddle for pancakes. Teamwork makes the dream work after all. -He's still super affectionate while you're cooking. Putting his hand on your back each time he passes you, kissing you on the cheek countless times, and even a few cheeky pats on your ass lol. He's just playful, especially in the morning. -He eats pretty fast, but he's so patient with you and sits with you while you finish. It helps that he's talkative so you can just eat quietly and let him ramble on. Little does he know, you're watching him with heart eyes just as much as he's watching you :)

Malarkey

-Poor Don sometimes has tough mornings, especially after a nightmare. So, a lot of mornings, he's already holding you close, face tucked into your neck, and you just gently run your hands through his hair until he's soothed. -When he's had a good night, you know it. He's sprawled out, snoring, legs tangled in the blankets, and hair all a mess. It never fails to make you smile. -Your kisses are his favorite thing to wake up to :) -You are both particular about your coffee, and one of the first things you learn about each other is how you each take it. Don loves bringing you coffee in bed on special occasions like your birthday or anniversary.

Winters

-Dick's not usually a "lazy morning" type. He's a man of action, and that carries over into civilian life. If he does sleep in, it's because you've asked him for some morning snuggles. -You do, however, like to take your time in the mornings. You're both fairly early risers, so you watch the sunrise together. It's the best way to start your day. -Before he does anything else, Dick kisses you good morning. Every day. Without fail. It's just a small reminder of his priorities :) -Mornings are usually quiet affairs, each of you reading the paper but touching somehow - holding hands if you’re at the table or with your legs draped over his lap if you’re on the couch. Together, but independent. 

Nixon

-Literal king of lazy mornings. Sleeps in so late, latched onto you like a koala bear.  -He wakes up slow, and if you’re still asleep, you can count on a scratchy kiss from his unshaven face. You don’t mind, though. You kiss him right back and it usually leads to...well, y’know ;) -You guys like to lay in bed until well after the sun is up. Talking, kissing, laughing, what have you. Like I said, he likes to take his time getting out of bed, and so do you. He’s an excellent cuddler so you just appreciate being in his arms at all times.  -If you wake up before him, you know the sure fire way to make him melt is to kiss him on the cheek and whisper a soft “good morning” into his ear. He can’t even help the big goofy smile on his lips from stuff like that. He just adores it when you initiate affection and make him feel so loved. 

Liebgott

-Lieb, kinda like Don, has a lot of trouble sleeping, so initially there are a lot of early, but troubling mornings with him. At first, he tries to get up and distract himself, but you eventually convince him to take it easy and rest. And soon enough those are his favorite kinds of mornings.  -You try to let him get as much sleep as possible, so you love when you wake up before him and can slip out of bed and get started on his breakfast favorites. The smell of food eventually coaxes him out to join you.  -He moves slowly in the mornings, rubbing sleep out of his eyes a lot until he gets that first sip of coffee. Only then is he capable of talking and other basic functions lol  -After some caffeine, he loves to hug you from behind while you cook and place a warm kiss on your cheek. Just to remind you how much he appreciates all you do for him <3

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 131

Two things about this chapter:

One: I am a sucker for these domestic chapters. I love showing people being people, and weaving world-building and plot development into those scenes.

Two: I am currently doing better from a work-exhaustion perspective, thank you everyone who was concerned!  I actually took the day off the day before I wrote this and just slept as much as I could that day, because the last day I worked, I was literally swaying on my feet if I stood still.

As always, thanks to @the-raven-fae, @baelpenrose, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog for keeping me going, along with every. Single. Person. Who has found this story somehow and just binged it as fast as you could. I love when my inbox gets detonated by someone new, please never stop!

Glimmering Feathers Podcast is currently doing The Miys from the very beginning! Please listen and support!

“Have the shelter locations for non-combatants been shortlisted?” I panted as Tyche and I sat on the floor of the gym after an intense cardio and sparring session.

She shook her head as she took a gulp of water. “Not that I know of, but Xio hasn’t really told me anything yet.”

“You would think we would be told pretty quick,” I complained. “After all, we’re supposed to be putting together the rosters of who goes where.”

“We put together the lists of combatants and non-combatants.” She stood and held out a hand to help pull me off the ground. “Our part is done for right now, and we’re pretty far ahead of schedule, honestly.”

“This isn’t exactly the kind of thing we want to leave to the last minute.”

Tyche groaned. “Right about now, I wish you were planning the Festival still. You get crabby when you’re stressed and don’t have anything to work on.”

I scowled and made pincer-like gestures with my hands.  She just laughed and shook her head before I asked, “Are you and Antoine coming over for dinner tonight?”

“Only if you let me shower first. We both stink.”

There was no way I could argue with that, especially as I went to put my glasses on and caught a whiff of myself. “Showers, then dinner at twenty-oneish?”  As we exited the gym, I paused to let my eyes adjust to the far-dimmer lighting. Chills ran down my back every time I recognized the similarity to the nightmares Else had given me while trying to communicate, and I always had to spend a few minutes forcing myself not to step over debris that wasn’t actually there.

“Can we do vegetarian tonight?”

“You have to talk Conor into it.”

 A couple hours later, we were standing in my kitchen area.  Tyche was aggressively mashing chickpeas while staring down a nearly-flinching Conor.

I leaned over from where I was mincing herbs. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” I whispered.

“Don’t worry. I’m making him lamb, he just doesn’t know it,” she whispered back from the corner of her mouth. 

To avoid smiling and giving it away, I called out instead. “Hey, Antoine, can you come start the tzatziki? You’re better at it than I am.”

“If you would give in to the existence of salt, Sophia, you would be a much happier woman,” he teased with a serious face.

“I use salt!” I objected.

“At the end,” my sister pointed out. “He salts the cucumbers before mixing everything together.” She glanced back at Conor before arching an eyebrow at him.

Distraction time. “Love, how are the plans for the housing fabrications coming?”

“Your mate Arthur apparently convinced Huynh - somehow, it’s not like they talk - that we don’t need fortifications,” he groaned. “I keep trying to explain that we aren’t putting up fortifications, it’s for agriculture.”

“Wait, what? What does that have to do with housing…?”

He tilted his head side to side as he considered. I could almost see him rewinding. “We have several different blueprints drafted for housing, dependent on what we learn when we drop into ‘real space’. Lots of them include plans for those espell-things to grow on the side, but Huynh is pushing back. It’s holding up the approvals.”

“What does Charly think?”

“Anything that helps us grow more plants with less impact on the environment is a win for her, so I’m trying to take the long view. He can decide whatever he wants now, but she’ll go with the plants every time.”

Antoine appeared next to me, wiping his hands. “How would your plan work if there is a cavern system, as suspected, rather than a surface settlement?”

He conceded the point. “Still working on a sustainable grow-light system for that one. But if it works, we would have year-round crops, so it would solve for the problem of storage in the winter.”

The door to our quarters opened just then, and a very tired-looking Maverick paused to take off his boots. “What would solve for the winter storage issue?” he asked.

“Sustainable grow-lights,” Tyche tossed over my shoulder from where she was hiding the lamb.

He made it as far as the table before dropping into a chair and leaning heavily on Conor, who wrinkled his nose. “Mav, you stink.”

“Turns out grav-mechs are greasy, even in space,” he mumbled, nuzzling into the other man’s shoulder instead of taking the hint. “I hate calibrating them.”

“No dirty hands at the table!” I reminded him. He didn’t move his head, just held up two meticulously scrubbed hands. “Fine…” I surrendered.

“Why are we talking about grow-lights?” he asked.

“Huynh is fighting with me ‘bout the housing solutions,” Conor explained, stroking his hair.

“Ah… the plants?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t you just make the plants where they can grow with less light? I thought you were already working on that.”

“They turned black, tasted horrible, and we ended up with a sentient plague,” I pointed out. “No more dinking around with plant genomes please?”

Tyche turned around, hands on her hips. “We are already trying to manage a food festival and a potential invasion by space-pirates. No more plagues. Knowing her luck - “ she jerked a thumb in my direction “- this one won’t be the apologetic and cute kind.” Apparently the words that just came out of her mouth registered, because she rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air before turning back to her top-secret dinner plan.

I finally finished turning the pale green paste into patties and shoved them in the oven, removing the griddle that had been warming in there. Hefting it onto the heating elements that served as a stove, I started putting together dough for pitas. “So, grow-lights. What kind of light do we need for them to work?”

“Blue, ideally,” Conor responded without even having to think. “Four-fortyish nanometers. Weirdly red light, six-fiftyish nanometers works, too.”

“So explain the issue, because I feel like I’m missing something. Charly designed lights in both those colors.”

“Wrong wavelengths,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “And it’s apparently really hard to finetune the wavelengths of organic lighting. She’s managed to get it right, but only for about twenty four hours before it shifts too far one way or another.  We don’t want to depend on completely inorganic light, if Von is as metal-poor as we think it will be.”

“Can’t replace them,” I half-asked. He winked and shot me a finger-gun to confirm my suspicion. “Yeah, that’s a huge problem.”

“The star emits just the right kind of light, barely, so if we stick with surface settlement, we should be okay.”

“And that’s where the storage issue came up,” Maverick mumbled sleepily, bringing us back to the original question he asked.

Conor jostled him gently, and I heard something about a shower to wake up before Maverick padded off in the direction of the bathroom.  Right at the same time, Tyche reached around me to flip a pita before blowing her fingers and cursing softly.  Apparently, her secret was done, so I handed her the spatula and started rolling out more dough.

By the time Maverick came back with wet hair and a too-big shirt that had to be Conor’s, most of the food was on the table and we were ready to eat.  Conor started grumbling about no meat and how could us weirdos eat a meal with no meat when he was interrupted by Tyche clearing her throat. His head snapped up and his jaw dropped.

“You! You are the sneakiest, most beautiful sister in law I could ever ask for,” he extolled dramatically as he saw the platter of lamb skewers in her hands.

She moved the platter out of his prodigious reach as she approached the table. “There’s a catch. You have to at least try the falafel. By itself, no lamb. Then you can have the meat.”

Maverick, more awake now and with half a sandwich already in his mouth nodded. After chewing and swallowing, he nodded again. “It’s really good, I swear.”

I pretended not to notice that he grabbed a skewer off the stack.  Then again, Maverick also wasn’t a grown man who still had to be bribed to eat vegetables. Usually, he had to be bribed to eat meat actually.

Conor, on the other hand, took the falafel pita that Tyche made for him and eyed it skeptically. “I feel like I need to point out that this isn’t a sandwich, this is what you put on a sandwich.” His hesitancy lasted about as long as it took for Antoine to stand and pick up the platter before he took a huge bite out of fear that the lamb would be taken away. He chewed frantically until Antoine put the platter back down, before he actually registered the taste.

I wanted to laugh at the confusion that flooded his face as he stared down at the sandwich in his hand. Finally, he swallowed, but the confusion didn’t stop.

“That’s…. Actually not bad. I thought vegetarian food was supposed to be bad?” He flinched when dual glares were thrown his way by me and my sister. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant - you know what, I’m going to shut up and eat before you two ladies decide I’m for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Very wise course of action,” Antoine confirmed solemnly as he carefully spooned tzatziki on his own, onion-loaded sandwich.

Still shaking my head, I started making my own food when I realized something. “I thought we made a lot more falafel than this?”

Tyche smirked but didn’t say anything. Neither did Antoine, focused on his own meal. Maverick however, was suspiciously quiet. I glanced over at him, only to see him staring really hard at his plate, which now had three empty skewers on it.  As my mind caught up, I actually found the sight kind of adorable.

I must have stared too long though, because Maverick muttered pathetically. “I was hungrier than I thought.”

Kissing the top of his head, I put another pita on his plate. “Baby, we made more than enough. Eat all you want. I just don’t want you to choke, that’s all.”

A long-fingered hand with slightly ginger hair on the back put a skewer on his plate. “Love, we can’t eat all this, you’re fine.”

“I always make enough food for ten people when you two are eating,” Tyche confirmed, not even looking up. “Teenage nephews in the Before. Lots of practice.”

He slowly looked up at us, and realizing that no one was angry, just surprised, he looked less afraid and sat up straight. Conor patted the top of his hand before deploying one of his weaponized, thousand-watt smiles. “C’mon, I’ll show you to make one with the lamb. You’re gonna need a lot of onions for this…”

I groaned, setting off a round of laughter. I wasn’t against onions on a sandwich, but they didn’t have to sleep between two men with onion breath.

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[basura2319]

Take A Break

(Gif credit)

Pairing: Jango Fett x reader

Requested by: anonymous

Anonymous said:

“Hi! Can I request Jango x reader fluff? Your writing is really good!”

WC: 1.9k

Warnings: slight angst but fluff overall

A/N: I’m sorry for the lack of uploads guys. I hope whoever requested this likes it!

The annoying blare of the chronometer was what had awoken you and Jango from your peaceful slumber.

You buried yourself further into the covers as if that would block out the noise.

“Jango, turn it off!” you whined.

You heard a grunt, then the blaring stopped.

You sighed contently and closed your eyes.

“Seriously?” Jango’s voiced, the sleep still imminent in his voice. He gently pulled the covers off of you to reveal you, glaring at his disruption. “What? Is this the ‘good morning’ I get from you?”

You closed your eyes and smirked at him. “Yes, because you woke me up.”

He placed both hands on your hip to pull you in forward, making you jolt. “It’s my turn to retrieve the bounty, remember?” he said stated.

It’s true. You both had to take turns leaving Kamino for your bounty hunting endeavors, while one of you stayed behind with little Boba. You didn’t understand why you both had to do this. Jango received a huge sum of fortune for being the clone-template for the Kaminoans; enough credits so he would never have to work for the rest of his days. All those years partnering with him just goes to show how Jango was a man who always needed something to do. A man always on the move. You, on the other hand, were the same, but you also believed in taking breaks from this profession too.

Your lips formed into a pout. “I know.” Your gaze traveled to the fine lines on his face from all his years of fighting.

“I sometimes wish you could take a break from all this,” you said solemnly, tracing patterns over his face.

He said nothing, just took your hand that was touching his face and began to kiss along the pads of your fingers.

“I need to get ready,” was all he said before getting out of your shared bedroom.

You stayed on your bed for a few seconds before getting up to use the refresher. After checking up on Boba, who was still sound asleep (lucky him) you ventured into your kitchen to make breakfast.

You gathered your ingredients and commenced your cooking. Pancakes seemed like something to brighten up your disheartened mood. Not to mention, your little Boba would appreciate them too.

Taking the already prepped batter, you poured a good, almost even amounts onto the griddle.

“Pancakes?” you heard Jango say behind you.

“Pancakes,” you nodded, taking note that he was already in his armor. You looked away wistfully and flipped the pancakes with your spatula.

He saw your clear disappointment at his departure and his chest crept with guilt. Of course he felt bad that he had to leave you and his son behind while he made some credits, but it was grained in him since the beginning of his bounty hunting career to work non-stop. You were a notorious bounty hunter too, but he knew that there would come a day when you would be ready to cast it all aside and live a quiet life. With him of all people. Jango was aware that he had to set his bounty hunting ways aside someday. It was the question of when that day would come.

He stood behind you, setting both hands on your hips and brushed his lips over the nape of your neck.

“You’re mad at me,” he pressed a kiss below your ear.

You shivered slightly at the feeling but continued to flip the pancakes. “No.”

He could tell you were lying by the tone of your response.

You moved away from his grasp to fetch a plate for him, then handed him his breakfast.

“Thank you cyar’ika,” he said, giving you a peck on the lips before taking the plate from you.

You gave him a small smile before serving yourself.

You both sat there, making small talk about the bounty he was going to after.

“How long will you be gone,” you said while adding more syrup to your pancakes.

Jango reached over to touch your hand in a feather-light motion.

“If everything goes right, I should be back in a week,” he stated, watching your reaction.

You nodded, expressionless. “Okay.”

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again.

“I’m going to say good-bye to Boba,” he let go of your hand to move.

You took yours and his empty plate and placed it into the sink to wash later.

Moments later, Jango came into the kitchen carrying his four-year-old son, who was half awake.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” you swept your hand over his curls, kissing his forehead.

“G’morning,” he said dreamily, rubbing the sleep of his eyes.

Jango smiled softly at his little family, regretting having to leave behind moments like these.

“Buir has to go to work ad’ika,” Jango said, giving him to you to carry.

“Why?” his small voice quavered, and his brown eyes gleaned with unshed tears.

“I’ll be back,” he hugged you both. “Behave towards (Y/N), okay?”

Boba replied with an “mhm.”

“I made you pancakes, sweetie,” you said to him to which you saw his the corners of his lips lift into a grin at the mention of pancakes.

“I have to go,” he kissed you both on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Be careful out there,” you wavered. “Come back to us.”

He kissed you again, but this time on your lips. “I will.”

“Bye, daddy!” Boba waved at him, and you sat him on a chair to give him his pancakes.

“Good-bye ad’ika,” you heard him say before the sound of the door opened and shut, leaving you and Boba on your own.

Cutting the pancakes into smaller bits, you gave your little one his food and watched how he devoured it all with a delighted look on his face.

Noticing your far-off look, he slides off his chair to climb onto your lap.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in concern, hugging you with his small arms.

You stared at him, the spitting image of Jango, of course, because he was an exact replica of him and smiled softly at him.

“I just miss your father, little Boba,” you said, soothing his unkempt hair back.

“Me too,” sighed Boba afterward.

*

The following days were spent trying to entertain Boba, but since it always rained on Kamino, there was nothing the both of you could do except stay inside. However, you did what you could. You made a blanket fort with him, watched holo-movies, read to him, and you even managed to get him to help you with cooking. The Kaminoans would occasionally come knocking on your door to see if everything was alright, or more likely to see if you and Boba weren’t stirring any trouble. Four years living on Kamino, and you got the sense that they didn’t trust you or Jango. The feeling was mutual.

Also, Jango would send you messages over how things were going. He was in the mid rim according to his messages. A long distance from Kamino.

Overall, you and Boba were having fun despite the lingering feeling that you two were missing someone important who should be with you right now.  

Entering the living-room, you laughed to yourself as you spotted an exhausted Boba asleep on the couch, clutching his stuffed animal. Poor thing. He was spent from all that running around the house playing a game of tag with you. You picked him up and bought him to his room, changing him into his pajamas before leaving him to sleep undisturbed.

You cleaned up the mess around the apartment, then headed for your room. Yeah, you were also tired from chasing that little maniac around. Kriff, you were getting old, you thought as you stretched out your arms.

A shower later, you hit the covers and your mind, too tired to wonder about anything else, fell into a spiral of dreams.

Not long after Jango returned, entering into a silent home. He put his helmet, weapons, and armor away in his closet before heading to your shared bedroom.

Jango did not want to wake you, so he tried his best to maneuver in the dark. But the lights turned on, revealing you on the bed, aiming your blaster at him.

“Oh,” you mumbled disoriented while setting the weapon at your bedside. “It’s just you.”

Jango looked sheepishly at you. “I was trying not to wake you.”

“I heard rummaging outside, plus I thought you had a few more days until you came home.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I managed to capture the bounty quickly and in good time.”

“Of course you did,” you said, smiling tiredly. You patted the empty side of the bed. “Come to bed, Jango.”

He raised a brow at you. “But I stink.”

“So?” you scoffed. “I want to cuddle with my lover, regardless of how he smells.”

He chuckled softly. “Nah, cyare, I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” you huffed, watching him enter the refresher.

“It’ll be quick,” he said, closing the door.

You flopped back onto the bed, your droopy eyes staring up at the ceiling and ears listening to the running water for a time. You heard Jango opening the refresher door, and you sat up, staring at his bronzed chest glistening with droplets of water and his stark black hair tousled in yearning.

“What,” he said, meeting your eyes as he removed his towel to change.

You rested your palm under your cheek. “I missed you.”

He hung his towel to dry and slipped underneath the covers.

You turned off the lights and faced him.

“Come here,” he said, and you sidled into his strong his arms wrapping you close to him. He nuzzled your neck and kissed his way up to meet up with your lips. His lips devoured yours languidly, and you sighed happily.

“I have something to tell you,” he said in-between kisses.

You brushed over his lips one last time before drawing back. “Nothing bad, I hope.”

He cradled the back of your head with his one hand, bringing you in closer to for a keldable kiss.

“Not at all,” his breath fanned over your face.

You raked your hand through his damp hair in the dark. “Okay, so what is it?”

He went silent for a minute. “I was thinking about what you said the other day,” his thumb brushed your cheek. “About taking a break from hunting for a while, and I agree.”

“What?” You echoed.

The thumb brushing your cheek stilled. “I think we don’t have to take turns leaving Kamino to hunt all the time,” he continued. “I thinking taking a break will be good for us, for Boba.”

He couldn’t see your expression in the dark, but he didn’t have to see you for him to know you were looking at him as if he grew a second head.

“Jango? Taking a break from bounty hunting?” You gasped dramatically, clutching his shirt. “What have you done with my lover?”

He pinched your side, and you yelped.

“Ow!” you whined, rubbing where he pinched you. “But seriously though, what brought this on? You’ve never taken breaks.”

“I just want to spend more time with you and Boba,” he replied nonchalantly. “I believe it would do us good.”

You giggled. “I can’t believe I’m hearing you say you want a vacation.”

He tickled your sides, causing you to double over in laughter.

“Stop! You’ll wake up Boba,” you whispered harshly at him as you tried pathetically to push his hands away.

You both held each other in comfortable silence.

“Mon Cala.”

“Hmm?”

He held your hand and kissed your inner wrist. “Let’s go to Mon Cala.”

You rolled on top of him in a flurry of excitement, causing him to grunt at the sudden movement. “Hell yeah!”

Permanent Taglist: (Lmk if you want to be added or removed): @chaotic-noceur​ @kaminobiwan​

[power106hq]

𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙴𝙽𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚃 𝙴𝙿𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙳𝙴 𝚃𝚆𝙾: 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝚃𝙻𝙸𝙽𝚂, 𝙿𝙾𝚆𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙳𝙾𝙽𝚄𝚃𝚂, 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚀𝚄𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚃.

QUEENS COURT is now LIVE! Powered by Power 106 FM in partnership with TSMADISON and KHIA. At 9:30, court will be accepting callers (anons) to send in their own thoughts about the past two weeks. To close the show, KHIA and TS will issue out presents to the celebrities discussed in the recap. Click below to stream the full episode!

TS MADISON: We are live baby! Welcome viewers and callers to Queens Court starring myself and the legendary Ms.Khia Thug Misses! We are going to get right into the gig tonight and waste no time. Now remember that everything said is alleged unless we say otherwise. We don’t need any of these rich folk trynna get us shut down or give us gag orders. Starting off this episode we’re gonna get THE COURT OF TRENDS out of the way. Miss.Khia the people would like to know your thoughts on this whole Chi and Poppy situation. To clarify, we’re talking about both the arrest in Paris as well as the leaked messages this past Friday.

KHIA: Chile this first case is coming in straight from desks over at TMZ. Reportedly Chi and Poopy were arrested and banned from France. These two were at a gay club in Paris, got drunker than the Cooter Brown, and ended up bumping shoulders and coochies with foreign carpetmunchers in jail. Now if I’m being completely honest, I expect this kinda behavior from Poopy muffler pussy having ass but Chi?! No ma’am! Now at first, I didn’t know what to make of this shit other than Poopy finally sinking her shit crumb infected claws into poor ole Chi. But, chile more news done broke that Chi done got outed for being a bulldagger? Chi, I really don’t know what to tell you other than go monkey stomp Poopy ass blind! She did that shit on purpose girl, and we all know why. Don’t trust no skillet bitch!

TS: Wait, what you mean by skillet bitch?

KHIA: Pans, skillets, griddles: that’s what we call the girls who like anything! I’m sending Poopy long titty ass to the electric chair for setting that girl up like that. NEXT CASE!

TS: Moving onto the next trending topic we have Lolita who was admitted into rehab about a week after being photographed snorting what the people are saying is cocaine. Now, Miss.Khia how do we feel about everything going on with Miss.Lolita?

KHIA: I would like to be the first to say this, all y’all favorite artists done played in the sugar before. However, some play harder than others. I guess Lullaby was the MVP this week.

TS: Lullaby?

KHIA: Yes, we call her Lullaby because the only thing the bitch can do for me is put me to sleep with them tired ass songs! Now, I’m not sure why everybody acting shocked and surprised. I personally don’t feel no ways about this dumbass bitch and this loser ass situation. Bitch, keep yo’ nose out them powdered donuts. Y’all should’ve gotten her tired ass some help years ago. This the same bitch that was gettin’ fisted by shady oaks biker gangs in her videos as soon as she turned eighteen. The bitch done always seemed slow and delayed to me so this is really no surprise. Now, the people are saying that this was all a stunt to promote this tired ass album she's releasing soon after they take the ball and chain off them decrepit ass ankles. I personally don’t think that’s the case. However! If that is the case, bitch imma be the first to tell you, we don’t care. We didn’t care when they dragged yo’ ass in the cage, and we not gon’ give a damn when you get out. So what makes you think we got give a damn when you drop that foot dragging ass album? I’m sentencing this cokewhore to an extension on that rehab sentence. We the people don’t want you out of that building until you can put out a hit record! NEXT CASE!

TS: Lord have mercy. Alright y’all moving on from the court of trends, we are going to be handling a case in CIVIL COURT. Now, there’s a new collaboration with Sashabelle and Audriella out. Some of the people lived and some of the people think Audriella should sue Miss.Sasha for ruining the song. Now I’mma give MY opinion: I personally lived for the song. I lived for Miss.Belles and the vocals. Miss. Khia how do you feel about the R.E.M. remix?

KHIA: Yes, well I was truly enjoying the song at first. I thought the two sounded really good together harmonizing n’ shit in the beginning. But... then we get to the end of Audriella’s verse, and we’re all waiting to get what we need from Sashabelle right? Instead we got chitlins! I told y’all to stop putting Mama Odie old ass on y’all songs back when I was on my red couch! I can’t remember one time Stinkabelle actually made the song better. You got Audriella talking ‘bout La Perla and Vicky Secret, and then we got Mama Odie starting her verse off with a hot ass “...Aye ‘dere bwoy.” No no no bitch! That shit was trash bitch I don’t care what y’all say. Keep that old hoe off y’all songs! This bitch can’t find herself on the charts if it ain’t a chopped and slopped verse added to someone else’s shit. TS tell me I’m lyin’.

TS: 

The people are tired of the we shall overcome plantation rituals and now you breathin’ yo’ delayed ass over everyone else songs trynna be that bitch you once were. If y’all really want a hit call the queen and I’ll be happy to help for the right price. I’m gonna sentence Sashabelle’s country ass to another mandatory session of remedial English classes. Next time I hear yo’ ass get on a song with that country bumpkin’ ass shit, I’ma personally send yo’ ass to the electric chair. NEXT CASE!!!

TS: We’ll be finishing off the show today with another segment of JUVENILE COURT aka YOUNG DUMB & FULL OF CUM. On the docket we have reported complaints about a group of artists who attended this passing Saturday’s charity football game and started twerkin’ and gyratin’ in front of the tv. Miss. Khia do we find the defendants guilty?

KHIA: Not even sure why you put this shit on the highlighted docket tonight sista. This type of shit really puzzles me more than anything else. So, basically the Alvin Ailey Foundation was having a charity event a few days ago. Everything went as planned and most importantly they raised a good amount of money for the charity. None of these great things can stop a hoe from doing what she does best: hoe. We the people summon in Audriella, Amilli, Mulatto, and Viva La Vita. Here we have a forty year old bedazzler, a white man’s whore, and two knock kneed mothers. Veronica, bitch you’re forty. I would leave it at that but obviously it hasn’t clicked yet. Stop tryna live in the glory days bitch you is washed up, fucked out, and dried. That music ain’t selling and that ass ain’t movin’, pack it up. Audriella, now I will admit your confidence is somewhat inspiring. Any slave that is willing to go out and publicly be a melon muncher is brave in my book. But for you to let the tribe down twice? It’s flat out disrespectful. I hope that mayo monster knocked you upside yo’ head when you got home. Amilli and Mulatto, please go be mothers. That’s all we ask you nothin’ ass hoes to do. It’s almost like that’s the only time we hear anything from you hoes, its never about y’all doing motherly shit. I’m sure there were kids at the charity event too. Just a shame. I sentence all four of you to house arrest effective immediately. That way y’all can focus on what’s really important. NEXT CASE!!!

TS: Okay that is all the time we have for cases today. The lines are open for callers if the people want to chime in and tell us how they feel about the past two weeks.

[turtlepated]

The Handbook for the Recently Married (to the Deceased)

Chapter 7:

Tag list:

@sapphic-florals , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @imtherain , @imsuchahobbit , @pastelnacht , @tialanderrol , @sammyskip , @monsterlovinghours , @allmycrushesaredead , @missiheart23 

------

 It wasn’t the first time a Monday had seemed to stretch on forever. But this particular Monday, after the extremely unorthodox way I spent the weekend and the fact that there was a demon? man? something in my house while I was stuck at the office for the next… I paused halfway through the thought, checking the time again and utterly dismayed to see that it was still only mid-morning. Beetlejuice would have the house all to himself for the next 7 hours. It seemed like every time I looked at a clock, the hands stood still. Finally I pasted a sticky note over the bottom left corner of my computer monitor because I couldn’t stop glancing at it every few seconds.

I did my best not to dwell on it, since there was plenty of work to occupy my mind and my time, but I kept getting distracted by thoughts of Beetlejuice. He’d been docile enough this morning when I hurtled through the house getting ready to leave, but what might he be getting up to while I wasn’t there? I’d glimpsed the sort of mayhem he was capable of back in the Deetz house; morphing the Victorian home into a devilish fun house straight out of the seventh circle. 

Early on I planned to run home during my lunch hour, just to check on things, but that plan fell through when an overwhelmed coworker asked if I’d be willing to help them out instead. Which I wasn’t, but I agreed to help them anyway even while my own stress level continued to climb. By the time I left for the day I was wound tight as a bowstring, both gunning to get home and anxious about what I mind find when I arrived. But I’d also realized that if he was going to be living with me, Beetlejuice was going to need some things. So I forced myself to drive at a normal speed and to make a stop at the chain department store in town, consulting the list I’d put together as items occurred to me throughout the day. 

Once or twice I did think about the fact that I hadn’t told him when I would be back, but he hadn’t asked either. And I didn’t have any way of contacting him to let him know I’d be late. I could, perhaps, find the Deetz’s home number, but it might be…. awkward to ask them to drop in on the specter who had terrorized them. So I just did my shopping as quickly as I could, loaded it all back into my car, and booked it for home. 

At first blush the outside looked perfectly normal when I pulled into the driveway and I let out a sigh at the rush of relief. Leaving all the bags in the car for the time being I mounted the steps, rifling through my keyring to unlock the back door only to find it standing slightly ajar. Intrigued but not yet alarmed, I stepped inside and shut it behind me, my eyes roving every square inch of the room for anything out of place but finding nothing of note. The kitchen was still messy from where Beetlejuice had made pancakes: the island countertop cluttered with dried spots of dripped batter, bits of eggshell, dusted with flour with the bag left sitting open. The dirty griddle still sat on the stove where I’d put it for him, the sink full of used dishes. Overall, I’d been braced for worse, but it was nothing a wipe down with a hot dish cloth and a load in the dishwasher wouldn’t take care of. 

In the living room the coffee table had been shoved against the far wall and in the center of the room it looked as though he had gone through the whole house scrounging pillows and blankets which he had then constructed into some sort of enormous fort. The couch was bare of seat cushions, and I even recognized the pillows and blankets off my (our?) bed. At some point he must have gotten bored with it because the blankets and quilts and pillows were now strewn all over the room, as if he’d burst out from inside like some sort of larvae escaping its cocoon. 

The signs of his habitation and how he’d spent the day were in plain sight, but I’d seen neither hide nor hair of the man/ghost/demon himself. “Beej?” I called, belatedly realizing he might be lying in wait to scare me in some way like he had when we first met. Going a little more warily now, I proceeded into the bedroom only to freeze in the doorway, dumbstruck. 

It wasn’t quite pitch black in the room, but only because a ghastly greenish radiance seemed to be emanating out from under the bed, throwing long, twisting shadows over the floor and up the walls. The wallpaper had torn itself free, curling into ragged scrolls and exposing cracked drywall that looked like a stiff breeze would reduce it to dust. The skittering of many small things with many small legs made me flinch and recoil as I picked my way forward, unable to see the source of the skin-crawling sounds while I sidestepped puddles of viscous goo that seemed to be dripping from the ceiling in thick, foul-smelling ropes. Something dark was seeping down the full-length mirror by the closet door, and in the poor light I couldn’t tell if it was slime or paint or blood. 

More of the spectral light was leaking out from the cracks around and under the door, along with drifts of thick mist and shadows that curled along the floor toward my feet like tentacles reaching out to grab me. This was so similar and also somehow so much worse than what I’d encountered in the Deetz house. My heart was hammering in my throat, but I did my best to keep my breathing calm and slowly reached for the knob to the closet door.  

Steeling myself, I gave it a twist and pushed it carefully open. 

Inside was much the same as outside. All my hanging clothes were coated in the same sticky residue dripping from the ceiling, a veritable swarm of small shiny insects scattered to the shadowy corners of the small room as I opened the door, and huddled at the rear wall, crouched on the floor and curled into a surprisingly tight ball, facing away from the door was Beetlejuice. His broad back was rising and falling rapidly, his hands clasped around the back of his neck, his head ducked low and out of sight. I opened my mouth to speak but found that I couldn’t make a sound, snapping it shut and taking a moment to collect myself before stepping fully into the closet. 

“Beej?” I said tentatively, moving closer. He didn’t appear to hear me, utterly unresponsive except for his quick, shallow breathing. I took another step, reaching out a little apprehensively to give him a gentle prod in the back, softly repeating his name. At the touch, at my voice, slightly louder this time, he visibly flinched and gasped, uncurling with startling quickness and turning to look up at me. 

His eyes were red rimmed and puffy as though he’d been crying but his cheeks were dry. His chin, on the other hand, was slick and shiny with drool that had dripped down his neck and onto his shirt front. His messy hair, which I had come to understand possessed some sort of mood-ring quality with its shifting colors, was a deep, dull burgundy. I had jumped back, surprised by his quick motion when he spun around, but the state of him was so worrying that I forgot all about the mounting dread I’d felt when I saw the bedroom, the messes left in other rooms of the house. I moved closer, his eyes riveted to my hand as I reached out again and laid it on his shoulder. 

“Beetlejuice, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

For a long moment he didn’t respond, blinking at me with a look of acute confusion. Then he made a sudden sound, a gasping sob that seemed torn from deep in his chest and scrambled up onto his knees in front of me, flinging his arms around my legs and clutching them against his body while he buried his face into my stomach. Thrown off balance by the grabbing, I staggered and braced my hand against the sticky wall while my other hand bemusedly settled in his unkempt reddish-purple locks. It took me a few seconds to realize that the vibrations against my middle where muffled words, rendered incomprehensible by Beetlejuice’s face pressed tightly to the fabric of my shirt. 

“Beej, I can’t understand you,” I said, chuckling as I brushed my hand through his tousled hair. “You wanna tell me what’s bothering you?” 

His arms tightened around my upper thighs, his head shaking back and forth as if he were trying to burrow in even deeper and I grimaced at the thought of the saliva that would now be soaked into my clothes. Sighing, I peeled my hand off the wall, regarding the thin strands of muck strung between my fingers before wiping them off on my pants, which I would now have to wash anyway. When most of the mess was gone I laid my hand on his shoulder again, squeezing softly, rubbing soothing circles into his upper back while my other hand remained tucked in his hair. 

“C’mon, Beej,” I coaxed gently. “Did something happen? I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s the matter.” 

I felt him sigh harshly, a blast of warm breath against my stomach as he finally pulled back enough to look me full in the face. His eyes were still red and swollen, ringed with bruise-like dark shadows, though I realized now that it wasn’t just from inflammation, his irises had actually shifted to a deep and very inhuman bloody red. His face looked haggard and drawn, like he hadn’t slept in weeks even though when I’d left this morning he had looked perfectly – well, not normal, perhaps, but certainly normal for his circumstances. Beetlejuice stared at me hard for another long moment before answering. 

“You left,” he croaked, and my eyes darted from his to the roots of his hair where a fiercer scarlet color was bleeding slowly up the strands between my fingers, like spilled ink spreading over paper. I grew aware of his hands, gripping my hips, holding me against him, digging into the soft flesh through my pants in a way that was bordering on painful. “You left,” he repeated, his voice coming out stronger this time, gravelly as ever but with a much more bestial rumble than I’d heard before. Something primal in me tensed fearfully at that predatory growl, hair standing on end up my arms and at the nape of my neck. 

With a gracefulness I wouldn’t have thought to expect from him, Beetlejuice rose smoothly to his feet, never blinking or releasing me from his burning gaze or his tight grasp as his arms unwound from my hips and his hands moved to grip my elbows, dragging my hands from him. 

“You said you wanted me here but you still left!” Beetlejuice snarled between clenched teeth that were sharper than I remembered, flecks of spit flying from his lips. I couldn’t help flinching when some of the airborne saliva inevitably spattered my cheek, feeling the bite of his short nails gouging my arms. 

“Beej, you’re hurting me,” I said, fighting valiantly to keep my voice even, a tiny tremor escaping. 

“You left me!” he shouted, his voice harsh and accusatory in his anger but colored unmistakably with pain and despair. 

I struggled to understand why it should trouble him so much, why my absence for one single day would cause him this much panic and distress. Slowly, I brought my arms up to press against the underside of his forearms, my hands curling around his elbows. 

“I know,” I told him, not wanting to discredit his statement which was technically correct. “I went to work, Beej. We talked about it last night, remember?” I watched his brow furrow, could practically see him digging back through the recesses of his mind to recall our conversation.  

“You… you left,” he nearly whimpered, the anger literally draining out of his countenance as every spec of hair I could see on him shifted to a dark plum. 

Like a bolt from the blue, understanding struck me. In the house, when Lydia had gone upstairs to talk with the Maitlands, that was when Beetlejuice had apparently turned on her. He must have assumed that her departure meant she was choosing them over him, when all she had done was leave the room. I felt my fear evaporate, my chest aching at this realization, at the knowledge that he was so sure he would be abandoned and forgotten as soon as he was no longer in someone’s line of sight that it would reduce him to this. What sort of horrible experiences would instill such a fear in him? 

“Beej,” I began hesitantly. “Did you… did you think that I would leave and not come back?” 

A quiet, keening wail left him, involuntarily it seemed as he pressed his lips together to silence it and abruptly released me to sink his hands into his own hair, his eyes squeezing shut as he backed away. That seemed the closest I was going to get to an affirmative. It took everything in me not to rush right over and pull him into my arms, but I didn’t want to spook or stress him anymore than he already was so I went slowly, one step at a time.   

“Who would do that?” I asked, mostly speaking to myself. I hadn’t been expecting an answer, but Beetlejuice gave one anyway, seemingly unable to stop himself. 

“Everyone!” he burst out, his voice raw with hurt. “Friends, roommates, my dad, every girlfriend or boyfriend I ever had! When my mom wanted me to move out, she just stopped coming home!” With a small plaintive squeak he clapped a hand over his own mouth, his eyes wide and round and fearful as they searched my face. I sighed deeply and moved closer still, tugging his hand gently but insistently away from his face. It came away wet, strings of saliva trailing from his palm to his chin and bottom lip. I wondered if maybe Beetlejuice, as a ghost or demon or whatever he was, was incapable of producing tears even when he might want to and the excessive drooling was meant to be some sort of caricature of the very human act of crying. 

Pulling my sleeve down over the heel of my palm, I dabbed at his wet chin to give him a moment to calm down while I thought of how to respond. “I’m sorry, Beetlejuice,” I repeated softly, tracing my fingertips across his cheek before I lowered my hand from his face. “I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry you were upset today, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I’d be home. I didn’t even think about it, I’m not used to having someone waiting for me.” 

His eyes fluttered closed for a second when I touched him, and it didn’t escape my notice that he tilted his head to press his face into my hand, nor did I miss the oh-so-tiny mournful noise he made when I pulled away. I smiled warmly at him, though he didn’t see since he was avidly avoiding my gaze by staring at the floor, at his hands as they fidgeted with his clothes and with one another.  

“Would you like a hug?” I asked, spreading my arms in invitation, wondering if I was setting myself up for another awkward physical moment with him. But he just looked so forlorn and forsaken that I couldn’t stand it. Beetlejuice nodded adamantly and stepped into my embrace without a word, his face tucking into the curve of my shoulder, his arms lax at his sides as mine wrapped around him. He was tense, but after a beat I felt him sigh and relax against me while I stroked the back of his head and rubbed up and down between his shoulder blades.  

Gradually, tentatively, his arms came up as well and settled themselves around my waist. “It’ll be okay,” I assured him. “You’re going to be okay.” I said it that way very deliberately, since I was certain that at the moment he did not feel okay. His arms tightened around me, his fingers twitching against my back and fisting my shirt. I felt warm wetness against my collarbone, so he was probably drooling again but I muscled my way past the shudder that tried to crawl up my spine at the sensation. I noticed that, as Beetlejuice continued to calm down, the frightening transformation of my closet around us shimmered like a heat mirage and disappeared to reveal the small room exactly as I’d left it.  

Beetlejuice made no move to pull away or loosen his hold, and in all likelihood he would have happily stood there in my closet all night long as long as I kept hugging him. But when his stomach gave a long, loud growl powerful enough that I could feel his round midsection rumbling against mine, I broke away but made sure to keep in contact with him since he seemed to draw so much solace from it.  

“When’s the last time you ate anything?” I asked, and he have a lopsided shrug. 

“Dunno. Prob’ly the pancakes, I guess.”  

I shook my head and tutted at him with no real crossness. “Beej, you’re alive now. Not human, maybe, but alive. Which means your body needs things: like food, water, rest.” He shrugged again, rubbing his damp chin on the sleeve of his shirt. The violet tone had left his hair, which was green again but a pale, dull tone. I took that to mean he was feeling better, which was good.  

“Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s get some food in you, that should help you feel a little better, and then I’ll show you what I brought you.” At those words he perked up like a puppy hearing someone said ‘car ride’ or ‘treat’.  

“You brought me something?” he asked slowly, as if he was sure he’d misunderstood or heard wrong.  

I nodded, turning to exit the closet, tugging him by the hand after me and quietly relieved to see that the supernatural makeover in the bedroom had likewise disappeared like mist burned off by sunlight. “Sure did.”  

“Is it a bucket of spiders?” 

I laughed. “Not quite, but good guess.”  

“Two buckets of spiders?”  

I laughed again, clearing a space at the kitchen island to make him a sandwich while Beetlejuice settled on a bar stood. “Tell you what,” I said. “After you eat something, you can come out to the car with me and help bring it in.” 

-------

This was one of the very first parts I thought up when this story idea came to me and finally getting it out was so much fun! 

I am so soft for a soft garbage man. Hopefully you all are now too!

No ETA for chapter 8 but I’ll do my best!  Thanks for reading!!

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

lookin’ up from a cigarette and she’s already left - henry pearl

henry pearl x reader

title from jackie and wilson by hozier

TW: hints of relationship abuse (nothing explicit but it could possibly be a trigger please seek help if you ever find yourself in a situation like this!! i love you all very much!)

notes: this is very similar to the plot of battlecreek, so i highly recommend watching that first!

also this is a lil angsty (i know, a first for me) but it all turns out okay because i think i’m physically incapable of writing something 100% sad :(

**********

henry bit into his burger, fresh off the griddle as he watched her with fascination in his gaze. 

it was downpouring outside as huge gusts of wind nearly tossed an umbrella out of many a hand, not the most ideal night to be outdoors. she saw the neon sign of the diner glowing in the haze of the rain, so she quickly pulled the door open and slipped inside. she made her way to the back of the restaurant, looking over her shoulder for something and seating herself in the booth farthest from the entrance. 

she looked a little disheveled, whether from the precipitation or another factor henry didn’t know. one of the waitresses stopped by to take her order, asking her if she needed anything else that wasn’t food-related. she quickly dismissed her, smiling a fake smile that henry knew too well.

another waitress picked up on henry’s interest, grinning at the young boy. “she seems a little shaken ‘bout somethin’, but we’ve all been there. why don’t you go on over and chat with her?” she suggested. 

  “she looks like she wants to be alone. i don’t wanna intrude or anything.” henry murmured, not taking his eyes off the sad soul sat by herself. 

  “come on, henry, she looks like she’s in need of some company and you’re a real sweetheart. just go talk to her, it’s the least you could do.” the waitress insisted, giving him a playful nudge. henry’s cheeks tinged pink at the compliment; the waitresses at the diner seemed to have a degree in sweet talk, well, sweet talking him at least. 

he finally mustered up enough courage to head over to her, approaching her carefully as she silently sipped her tea. she tensed up as the strange, tall man sat across the table from her. 

henry noticed the poor girl’s apprehension and began to introduce herself. “hi, my name’s he-” 

she got up quickly, apologizing and excusing herself before quickly dashing out of the diner and back into the rain. henry chased after her, looking out into the darkness of the small town in the night. she was nowhere to be found. 

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

henry brushed off the odd encounter, deciding to take his nightly walk the next evening. tonight was much nicer than last night, the moon shining brightly in the sky and illuminating henry’s path. 

he walked along the main road that passed the gas station at which he worked. he spotted a car parked in the grass, only a couple hundred feet away from the station. henry briefly wondered if it had broken down and it’s owner was getting help at the station, but upon closer examination, that wasn’t the case. 

there was a human-sized lump spanning across the backseat with a large blanket draped over top of it. a sudden curiosity took over henry’s common sense and he decided to see who it was. he walked around to the other side of the vehicle and peered in the window. 

even from the small sliver of face he could see, he knew it was the girl from the diner. he wanted to knock on the window and ask if she was alright, but she looked so peaceful asleep compared to her frantic, paranoid state last night. 

henry figured the best course of action was to continue on his stroll and leave her undisturbed. just to be sure, he made a mental note of her model and plate number so he would recognize if she pulled into the gas station during his shift. 

he looked back at the unlit car, sheathed in the darkness of the bush and trees, hoping she would find wherever she was going. 

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

the next night had been uncharacteristically gloomy for the small town, but henry didn’t mind since he was cooped up inside the station. he hadn’t been required to work outside tonight, instead he spent his time painting a lovely portrait of a tropical island on the tool rack. 

suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of tires screeching on asphalt, prompting him to head outside. henry recognized the model that had pulled in immediately; it was hers. 

she jumped out of the car, immediately looking up and down the road for something he couldn’t see. she backed away from her car on shaky legs and henry reached a hand out to gently place on her shoulder. she jolted violently and quickly began apologizing as she rambled on again. 

  “th-the r-red pickup- he was there- p-pulled off som-somewhere- i-i swear i saw him,” she panted, her chest heaving desperately. 

henry felt bad for the poor girl; she was clearly troubled by something. so he did what any reasonable person with a sympathetic bone in their body would do and pulled her small, shaking frame against him. she hesitated a bit, but wrapped her arms around him, melting into his calming embrace. 

  “it’s okay, you’re okay,” he shushed her. “do you want to come inside for a bit?” she nodded after a moment, heading into the backroom with henry. he gave her a bottle of water and wrapped a heavy coat over her shoulders. “i know it’s nothin’ much, but i’m afraid it’s the best we got.” she thanked him and curled the soft material around her tightly. 

henry’s boss had so generously let him off early after he explained the situation. he thought the best idea would be to take her home with him so he could make sure she was safe until she had a more long-term place to stay.

she walked home with his arm fixed firmly around her shoulders, yet she still couldn’t help but check over her shoulder while they were alone on the empty road or the dark sidewalk. henry was amazed she let him touch her so much when she seemed to be quite jumpy, but he wasn’t complaining. 

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

they arrived home and, thankfully, tallulah was asleep in her bedroom instead of passed out on the couch for once. he realized he’d never asked about how she felt physically, too preoccupied with worrying about her mental state instead. “are you hurt? do you need to take anything?” he offered up a bottle of painkillers in case she was injured, but her reaction said it all. 

she pulled her knees to her chest, shaking her head vehemently as she tucked it against her legs. he’d been confused at first, but he understood his mistake and quickly put the bottle away. it breaks his heart that she’d even think he harbored any ill intentions, but he reasoned that she’d clearly been through something traumatic and was just trying to protect herself. 

“that’s okay, i’m sorry.” henry apologized quickly. “can i make you somethin’ to eat?” she shook her head, looking up at him with glassy eyes.

“can i just go to bed, please?” she asked in a fragile tone that just about broke his heart. the poor girl looked so panicked and frightened, like the stray puppy that wanders into your yard that you can’t help but pet. 

  “of course you can, follow me.” he led her up the stairs into his bedroom, giving her a t-shirt to change into and leaving a glass of water on the nightstand. he figured she needed space, so he headed towards the door. “i’ll be downstairs on the couch if you need me. good ni-”

  “wait!” she blurted out, causing henry to let go of the handle. “can you stay in here tonight? l-like on the floor, or something?” she asked shyly, her worried gaze peeking out from underneath the covers. 

this girl was just too precious. he couldn’t even possibly think of anything she might’ve done to be mistreated, presumably by someone close to her. he marveled at her boldness and braveness letting someone so close to her and leaving herself so vulnerable in a stranger’s home. he couldn’t help but say yes to her, so he gathered a few blankets and pillows and set them up on the floor.

he noticed her staring at the artwork that adorned his walls, and a small smile formed on his face. “did you paint these?” she queried, looking at all of the paintings that ranged from rather small to ones that took up an entire wall. 

  “i did. do you like ‘em?” he pulled his shirt off, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and sitting on the corner of the bed, still maintaining a good distance from her. he wasn’t going to get any closer unless she explicitly allowed it, lest he cause her to panic again. 

  “i do, they’re really pretty.” she complimented. henry secretly hoped whatever they had going on would last long enough for him to paint a portrait of her, but he didn’t feel now was an appropriate time to ask. 

he laid down in his makeshift lower bunk and curled into the blankets. he was expecting her to be asleep, so he was a little surprised when she spoke quietly. “thank you for letting me stay here, henry.”

he had no idea she actually remembered, or even heard his name, but he blushed nonetheless. “no problem, sweetheart. it was the least i could do.” after a few minutes of silence, he heard some soft, even breaths, so he safely assumed she was asleep. 

suddenly, henry heard the shifting of the sheets and a little moan while she moved into a new position and slung an arm off the mattress. he was tempted to tuck it back up onto the bed so she’d be more comfortable, but judging by her stillness in this new spot, she didn’t seem to be uncomfortable. he slowly reached out and intertwined his fingers with hers that were hanging next to him. 

she subconsciously tightened her grasp on his hand, making his heart melt a bit further. “don’t worry, you’re safe here.”

***********************

i debated breaking this into two parts, but i think it’s more satisfying as one so here you go 😌

i really need to stop writing things where the reader is the baby but i can’t help it 🥺🥺

anyway, tags: @emmyrosee @jadelynlace @copper-boom @manicpixiedreamguurl @little-grunge-flowerz @hecohansen31 @goblincxnt @lihikainanea​ @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass​

[ninjakasuga]

Sonsal Celebration Year Two, Day 3:

Onto prompt number three for the @boundforfreedomsonsal celebration! This one jumps in time even more than the last one, taking place sometime after the entire Mecha-Sally arc of the pre-reboot era has been handled. A few people told me they really enjoyed my usage of multiple characters beyond Sonic and Sally and I hope this one while only three characters in total are enjoyable to you all as well!

SURPISE!: As she adjusted her clothing, Bernadette Hedgehog smiled at her reflection in the mirror. A good night’s sleep, a fresh shower, clean clothes, and the matron of the Hedgehog household was ready to face the day. Turning from her mirror, she went over to her bed, tidying it up a bit, before a sniff told her, she should just go ahead and change the bedding. It wasn’t rank; it just, smelled very heavily of a certain act she and her husband partook… several times last night. A girlish giggle left Bernie along with a pink tinge to her cheeks as she stripped her bed of the sheets, pillowcases, and the comforter to haul to the laundry room.

Sometimes it was still hard to believe that a mere few months ago, a way to restore her beloved husband Jules to flesh and blood without his old war injuries returning and killing him was discovered. Ironically the development came from the method used to restore Princess Sally to flesh and blood after she had been turned into Mecha Sally. As she put the bedding into the wash, and set it to run, Bernie’s happy thoughts soured a little at that thought. The deep depression her son suffered during that period made her heart ache for her son even now when all was well and over with. Nor had it been fun to see the poor Princess dealing with her own post-deroboticization trauma of all the things she was made to do. It wasn’t uncommon to see Sally spending time at their home with Sonic, or he with her at the palace. 

Suffice to say Bernie let a few of the few rules she and Jules insisted upon Sonic when bringing his girlfriend over, well slip into the cracks. More than once when she woke up in the middle of the night for some reason, she’d walk by her son’s (locked) bedroom door and hear the sounds of certain... activities that were requested to not happen under her roof. Neither Bernie nor Jules were prudes, but their home wasn’t a refuge for teenager frolicking of that nature. It was more a desire for discretion than forbidding Sonic and beloved from being intimate, after all out-of-sight, out-of-mind. Jules and she doubted Sonic wanted to stumble them making love. 

However, both had, let that rule bent some, so long as it didn’t get out of hand, since at the time, the two deeply, and VERY much needed one another. Since they were never loud enough to be heard from Jules and Bernie’s own bedroom or left any mess to be cleaned up, they let it slide. At least things were better now, Dr. Eggman was still a threat but his operations had been severely hampered losing his precious Death Egg, and a slew of victories the Freedom Fighters had won lately. The false-King Naugus and his agent, turncoat Geoffery St. John had been dealt with. Good riddance to both of them, Naugus could rot in whatever dimension he was stuck in, and St. John could rot in prison forever. Shaking her head, she lightly smacked her cheeks to clear her head; why should she focus on so much dread? She had every reason to be happy as happy could be today!

Walking back down the hallway connecting to the bathroom and bedrooms, Bernie on a whim went to her son’s room and tested the doorknock. Locked; which meant… he had company. Given Jules and she had already gone to bed when her son probably came home from his last mission; of course, he would sneak Sally in. Shaking her head, however, she smiled, rather wickedly rather than seem angry. While she had gladly bent the rules before for her son; at this point, he should be MUCH more open in inviting Sally over. A note outside his door would be nice, even a damn sock on the doorknob as tact-y that sounded would do the job.

Time for a little playful payback. Raising her balled hand, she rapped on the door normally and spoke in as much of a motherly ‘sing-song’ voice as she could manage. “Ooooh Sonic dear! Wakey, wakey sleepyhead!” Putting her ear to the door, she barely held back a giggle as she heard the sounds of ruffling from the bed, including the sound of someone falling out of said bed, onto the floor and cursing. There was a lot of muffled cursing, and she could make out two distinct someones’ scrambling about.

Her son’s badly disguised panic-voice called out to her, trying to sound as sleepy as he could. “B-be right out Mom! I just need to be presentable!”

Bernie rolled her eyes, waiting until she heard the sound of the window starting to open, then with a wide grin, she spoke aloud through the door. “Oh Sonic dear, please do let Sally know she’s invited to stay for breakfast!” Upon hearing two audible gasps and more under-the-breath cursing, she allowed herself a small fist-pump in her victory. “Jules and I already showered, and your Father’s out helping your Uncle, so I’ll be making breakfast just for us, and the shower’s free for both of you to use! Just don’t take too long!” Now she let herself giggle as she could envision the two’s blood-drained faces.

Sometimes, teasing your kids and their significant other was fun. Which is all this was, Bernie had no intent on reaming either of them. She supported them both, but, she wanted her son to remember this was his parents’ home, and well; you had to pay the piper when you kept bending the rules. Making her way to the kitchen, Bernie found her apron and put it on, and started working her magic. Soon the kitchen was filled with the smells of food being cooked; sizzling bacon, pancakes on the griddle, toast, hashbrowns, and simple scrambled eggs. After last night she could use some ‘power food’ and she had a feeling both kids could as well.

As she was finishing up the last of the food, she heard footsteps and looked toward the doorway leading to the main hallway, and smiled ever-so-pleasantly as both Sonic, and Sally appeared, freshly cleaned and showered, and blushing from their necks to their ears.“Good morning you two!”Running a hand through his head-quills, Sonic looked ever the child who had his hand caught in the cookie jar. 

“Mornin’ Mom…”

“G-good morning Mrs. Hedgehog…” Sally swallowed hard, twiddling her fingers together in a sheepish manner, mirroring Sonic’s own ‘hand in the cookie jar’ guilt expression. Looking at the Mother of her boyfriend, Sally summoned her courage, and humility as she spoke. “I’m sorry about us we… you know… in your home-.” Waving a hand, Bernie began to transfer the finished food items to the table. “Oh don’t fret about it, dear! You’re practically family now, I don’t mind if you stay over, you’re always welcome!” She waited for a beat as the two looked gobsmacked and then she grinned in a rather evil-manner their way. “You’re both old enough to mind your own affairs, and make love all you wish, but I still would like some notice when you bring Sally over son. Just continue to be discreet about the love-making and all will be hunky-dory, do I make myself clear?”

Both the fastest hedgehog alive, and squirrel-munk Princess nod their heads rapidly. “Yes ma’am!” They utter in unison, sufficiently cowed and humbled, which pleased Bernie.

“Good, my only other request is you don’t make me a Grandmother just yet.” Her plain smile hid the internal glee she had as both of them turned redder than tomatoes. “MOM!” Exclaimed Sonic who looked like he wanted to run out of the house, into the woods, and bury himself under the nearest big rock. Sally was no better, rubbing her face still tinged with pink as she tried to fight back all the thoughts both positive and negative that concept brought up. “M-Mrs. Hedgehog, we’re too young! Oh god, and my parents would have a fit if we weren’t married first...” “Okay, I had my fun, both of you have a seat, oh and Sally dear just Bernie will do.” Giggling, Bernie gestured for them to sit, and once they did, she seated herself. She felt a small amount of pity for them, but she still wished to remain firm in making this little incident a bit of a reminder lesson for the two on her house rules. Within minutes, they were eating and the good breakfast grub seemed to help ease any of the prior embarrassment, plus getting compliments for one’s cooking was certainly welcome at her table. Bernie couldn’t help but occasionally look up from her meal, smiling as the two were being cute without realizing it.

They would occasionally offer the other a bite of the others’ food, or their hands not holding a utensil would slide under the table, probably to handhold. The female hedgehog also would bet money if she glanced under the table, she’d see them locking their legs together. Then when Sonic got overenthusiastic and make a mess eating pancakes and getting syrup on himself; Sally would take her napkin and try and clear his face for him, and despite initial resistance, he would let her. It warmed her heart to no end. As she watched them, her own freehand not scooping food had moved down and rested on her belly which she panted before deciding now was a good time to spill some good news.

Clearing her throat, Bernie smiled at her son and Sally as they both looked her way, gaining their attention. “Well, now that we’ve had most of our meal, I feel I need to tell you both something important.”

“What sort of important thing Mom?” Her son inquired with a raised eyebrow, a slight unease on his features as he undoubtedly worried it might swivel back to the prior topic. Sally seemed to share his unease.

Which made Bernie all the happier to put those concerns at ease. Standing up, she flashed a beaming smile, every ounce of joy she’d been containing all morning flooding from her very being. “I’m pregnant!!”

Dropping his fork, Sonic’s jaw dropped and Sally slapped a hand over her mouth as the shock hit them both first. Shock slowly gave way to a brief period of processing. Sonic still seemed to be in the middle of processing as Sally’s shock fully gave way to giddy, joy. “Oh my gosh Mrs. Hedgehog that’s amazing!” Sally got up from her seat, rounding the table to give the woman a big hug.

Returning it happily, Bernie squeezed the young woman who was practically her daughter-in-law. “Just Bernie dear remember? No need for formality at this stage!” She laughed and rocked a bit with Sally as the two women basked in the joyous moment.

Once he finally processed what he had been told, Sonic got up from his seat, and like Sally, walked around the table toward his mother, still seeming to be mildly shocked. “You’re pregnant Mom? Really?” Giggling, Bernie released Sally and held her son. “Oh very much so! Don’t forget son I’m biologically still in my twenties instead of my forties. So my oven is still very able and primed for life!” She added a little eyebrow waggle, which made Sally giggle and Sonic make a mildly disgusted face.

“Um, okay, a bit too much information Mom.”

“Son, your parents still have sex, deal with it. It was going to be a thing once your father was flesh and blood again.” She playfully stated while patting his cheek. To which he turned his head and covered his mouth. “I really didn’t need to hear that…”

Sighing but sympathizing, Sally walked over and rubbed his right shoulder. “Well, I guess considering she’s overheard us, it’s karma.” She rationalized, knowing she’d feel the same in his shoes if it was her parents.

Pitying her son, Bernie cupped his face and planted a kiss to his forehead. “Sorry sweetie, I’ll knock it off. In all seriousness, I’m so…. Happy.” She wiped her eyes, as they misted over some. “I only just wish we could have given you your siblings when you were a child.”

That tidbit caught Sonic’s ear, “Siblings? As in, multiple?”

Smiling widely still, Bernie nodded with the same giddy energy as she replied. “Doctor Quack confirmed it, I’m having twins. Genders are unknown if it’s twins same-sex or boy and girl twins, but that’s half the fun in waiting to find out.”

“....I’m going to be a big brother.” Sonic finally murmured as he slowly sat back down in a chair, a smile slowly crawling onto his face. Looking up at his Mother he then asked. “Does Dad know?” “Oh yes I told him right away, we were going to tell you both this morning but your Uncle called, needing a hand so he went out after a shower.” Steepling her fingers together, Bernie bounced a little on her feet.

Sally knelt by Sonic to hug him, kissing him once on the lips. “Welcome to the sibling club, admission is free.” Petting his head quills Sally couldn’t help but smile more as she looked upon Sonic’s still happy expression; feeling joy for him and his family.

Flashing a cocky smile, Sonic slid his arm around her waist, keeping her close. “I technically am a member since Tails has always been my li’bro. I just now got a new li’ bro or li’ sis or doubles of each incoming.”

“Well, Tails is welcome to be a big brother to the new brood as well, family is family after all.” Commented Bernie as she laid a hand on her son’s shoulder and another on Sally’s. A sense of contentment filling her and seemingly the room.

Of course, with the state of the world, bringing new lives into a war-torn world was certainly an iffy prospect. However, Bernie wanted the new lives growing in her, to expand her family. She believed in her son, Sally, and their friends. Somehow, someway, they’d win this. Hopefully, her unborn children could enjoy a world without Eggman looming over the horizon.

All she could do was hope, and perhaps; her want of a world where all her children could walk, run and just live free would be a reality someday.

Author Notes: Welcome to my fanon method of making Sonia and Manik canon to Archie-Sonic!       

[nokomiss]

deadtedkord replied to your post “taking prompts!”

more excellent jaysteph bonding please you're stuff for them is amazing!!

Even in Gotham, it’s hard to get takeout at 4am.  

So after a particularly grueling night fighting crime -- not Arkham-escape bad, but involving the Condiment King teaming up with Mad Hatter for easily one of the grossest in every imaginable way nights Steph could remember -- the troops all ended up at the Cave, fighting over who got into the showers first. The troops in question being Bruce, Damian, Tim, Jason and herself. Steph saw the writing on the wall immediately and booked it up stairs to shower in luxury before Bruce could complain about ketchup in his fancypants rich people showers.

After convincing herself that she couldn’t, actually, just live in the bathroom at Wayne Manor for the rest of her life, Steph reluctantly got out, wondering if she could convince Bruce that installing the same shower at her decidedly less luxurious home was actually a necessary crime fighting expense. The water pressure alone had relieved a few lingering muscle aches she’d been nursing a few days.  

She ransacked various rooms for a new, mustard-free outfit -- she had clothes stashed away somewhere, but everyone knew other people’s clothes are far superior, especially when they were Selina’s yoga pants, which she was never returning because damn they were amazing, Cass’ fuzzy socks and Tim’s softest hoodie.

By the time she returned to the cave, smelling like coconut and feeling like a champ, the boys had managed to clean themselves up and were bickering about food.

“I got Stromboli’s to deliver at 3 last week,” Damian was insisting, even though the Batcomputer clearly showed that they were closed.

“Maybe we could bribe someone at Batburger? They’re open all night,” Tim suggested, sounding doubtful about the prospect.

“There’s food here,” Steph suggested, because she, too, was starving.

Silence for a moment, then Bruce said, in a voice that almost sounded sheepish, “Alfred isn’t here.”

Steph felt a little bad about the smears of ketchup she’d undoubtedly left in the bathroom. “Did he… did he take the kitchen with him?”

“Pennyworth is the only one permitted to use the kitchen,” Damian said loftily while also not looking at anyone directly.

“Yeah, but… we’re hungry,” Steph pointed out.

“They don’t know how to cook,” Tim said, gesturing towards Bruce and Damian. “They’re really bad at it.”

“Like you’re any better,” Damian snapped. “Remember when you set the microwave on fire?”

“I didn’t realize there was still a spoon in the bowl!” The tops of Tim’s ears were turning bright red.

Steph looked at the only person in the room not howling about their own ineptitude in the kitchen. “Please tell me you’re not as useless as they are.”

“I’m insulted that you would think I am,” Jason replied. “I certainly didn’t grow up with a butler.”

Steph sighed, and said, “Wanna go make some food?”

Jason looked at the other three, who were suddenly very focused on writing the night’s mission report. “If it means we’re done with the paperwork, yeah.”

So she climbed the steps to up to the manor for the second time that night, and when she entered the kitchen she suddenly understood the silence and sheepish looks.

“I have seen active crime scenes less disastrous than this kitchen,” Jason said with an awed tone.

“How long has Alfred been gone? A year?” Steph said, staring. “And the question is, is he ever gonna return if he knows this is waiting on him?”

 “Probably he will, but he’ll finally snap and murder them all in a dishes-fueled rage,” Jason said, poking at the mountain of dirty china piled haphazardly in and around the sink.  He poked at a dish. “I’m pretty sure someone ate Spaghetti-Os out of fine china. Is this a real silver spoon?”

The spoon in question had curdled milk clinging to it.

“Okay so ten minutes ago, I would have told you there was no way anything could be grosser than Mad Hatter flopping around in a pool of mayonnaise,” Steph said, “but oh, how I have been proven wrong.”

“How do they even function as human beings?” Jason wondered. “Was it always this bad? I mean, I lived here. I know Bruce is an absolute moron in the kitchen. But…”  He looked around. “Wow.”

“Do you suddenly feel so much better about yourself as a person?” Steph said. “Because I gotta say. Really feeling good about myself right now.”

Jason offered a hand to high five, and Steph did, happily. They rummaged through the pantry side-by-side and found that the staples were still intact, though anything ready-made had been ransacked.  The fridge offered up similar bounty -- takeout leftovers of questionable providence, some wilting produce, and basics.  

“Pancakes?” Steph suggested once she saw the state of the waffle iron -- had someone tried to make a grilled cheese on it? -- and pulled out the dry ingredients. “I’m not willing to eat anything that requires a condiment right now.”  Thankfully maple syrup had not been one of Condiment King’s weapons of choice.

“I’ll make eggs,” Jason said, pulling out a carton. “And there’s some fake bacon of Damian’s.”

“We are a breakfast-making machine,” Steph said. It was true, too -- away from the chaos of crime fighting, she found that working alongside Jason in the kitchen was surprisingly easy. Steph stared at the sink again, and said, “I think that it’s time that certain vigilantes learned the domestic arts.”

“Yeah, we can’t let Alfred come back to this,” Jason said. “He’s too valuable. If he quit--”

“We’d never have his cookies ever again,” Steph said in horror. 

“Maybe we could steal Alfred,” Jason said after a pause. “Like, let nature take its course, then swoop in and take Alfred for our own.”

“Share custody of him,” Steph said, nodding. “We could put him on a rotating schedule, and give him days off, and… I don’t know. Let him join a book club, instead of spending all his time with these disasters.”

They spent a few moments in quiet contemplation of a life where Alfred showed up and made creme brulee at any hour of the day.  Then Steph sighed, giving the pancake batter one last stir before letting it sit and moving to the stove, clearing off several crystal goblets with what looked like coffee dregs in them before finding a griddle.  “There’s only one flaw with our plan.”

“The thing where Alfred loves Bruce like a son and would never abandon him to die alone and hungry in his filthy mansion?” Jason flipped the fake bacon.

“That’s the one,” Steph said, deciding the griddle was hot enough and spooning pancake batter onto it in cute little shapes. She thought that Damian’s should be hearts, and she experimented with bat-shapes for Bruce. 

Jason peered over and saw what she was doing. “I want stars.”

“Of course you do,” Steph said, though she tried to make one as soon as Damian’s hearts were done. It turned out a little wonky, but still recognizable. She was awesome. “Gotta be difficult, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason replied, cracking eggs into a bowl.  He glanced at the kitchen door. “Are they hiding in the cave in shame?”

“Like, it’s wrong, but the fact that I think they are makes me really happy,” Steph said. “Like, kind of makes up for all those times they acted like I was a moron for not knowing something.”

“Right?” Jason said. 

“I mean, how do you master dozens of different kinds of kung fu, but never once master the grilled cheese? I was making my own grilled cheese in kindergarten!”

“There are only three ingredients,” Jason agreed. “It’s a true embarrassment.”

“We should nominate him for Worst Cooks In America,” Steph said. “I really want to see Bruce on reality television, and that would be comedy gold.”

“Just seeing him get an invitation to be one of the worst of anything would be fucking amazing,” Jason said. “Like, congratulations, sir, you suck at this.”

“You suck so hard we want to feature you on television,” Steph snickered.  She flipped the last of Bruce’s pancakes onto a plate before they burned, and began making Tim’s. She tried to make a coffee mug shape, but it turned out looking like a blob, so she made teddy bears instead.  

“I mean, I kind of get why they’re so terrible at it,” Steph said, “given their upbringings. But I would have literally starved if I hadn’t figured out how to cook early on. Takeout was not an option.”

“Right? Only for special occasions,” Jason said. “The rest of the time, you had to make shit yourself.”

“Exactly,” Steph nodded. They didn’t really talk much about how they were the ones in the family who’d grown up poor, who’d spent a lot of time raising themselves because their parents hadn’t been capable of it. She knew it was why Bruce had compared them so much -- there was a startling amount of similarities between their childhoods, from their mothers’ drug problems to their fathers’ criminal inclinations -- and for once, it felt nice to be the ones with the necessary skills while everyone else floundered. 

They grinned at each other, then put the last of the food onto the plates.  Steph grabbed the maple syrup, and stopped short, staring at the calendar on the fridge. “Four days!”

“What?” Jason said through a mouthful of fake bacon.

“Alfred has only been gone four days,” Steph said, pointing to the note on the fridge, “and he left prepared meals.”  

They gazed in wonder at the chaos around them. 

“He’s going to be back tomorrow,” Jason said suddenly, pointing.  

“Okay, so we feed the troops, then we start Mission: Learn to Do the Damn Dishes,” Steph said. Sleep was for the weak. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason said, and followed her to the breakfast nook, setting down Tim and Damian’s plates and going back for the rest. “Wanna tell them now?”

“Let them have a final meal first,” Steph said. “Then we’ll light a fire under them.”

Jason grinned. By the time Bruce, Tim and Damian came out of the Cave, she and Jason had polished off half of their meal, and Steph had to admit that delivering a lecture to Batman about chores was one of the highlights of her week.  Possibly the entire month.

It took until dawn, but Alfred came home to a kitchen that no longer looked like it had witnessed the collapse of civilization.

[bcbdrums]

Pancakes//Surprised

FFn link --> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13577191/14/The-Little-Ones

@midnightcaptions is to blame for the pancakes.  Idle comment in chat went crazy.  And the rest of the concept was inspired by @gothicthundra‘s 13th chapter of Lipsky Family Shorts.

Enjoy the uber-fluff!

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

Shego wasn't surprised by much anymore, given the way her life had changed.

She wasn't surprised to wake up alone, since, at nine months pregnant she tended to sleep in, and her poor sweet husband still barely slept for six hours a night despite years of her training him.

She wasn't surprised to hear sounds of voices and utensils coming from the kitchen—and she was grateful their bedroom was far from it—as their daughter was an early riser like her husband. She also wasn't surprised that her husband had been making a point of waking before their young daughter for the last several months, to make sure she didn't come bounding into the bedroom and 'disrupt her beauty rest' as her husband put it.

More like, avoid making the pregnant woman grumpy, who might then take it out on the blue man with glowing green fury. It was a self-serving motive. Or, that's what she told herself on her bad days. She knew of course, his motives were pure.

When she arrived at the kitchen, she wasn't surprised to see her husband clad in an apron, and the shiny black hair of their three-year-old daughter just visible above the top of the counter. A wooden spoon was being waved in the air by a tiny hand that came from somewhere below the counter, near the hair.

"Can I stir?" the small voice said.

Drakken smiled a bright greeting at Shego as she silently entered the room, and then he reached down and hefted their daughter up to rest on his hip as she waved the spoon without coordination toward the large, metal mixing bowl. Shego watched Drakken try to hide the wince on his face from the effort, but he could no more hide that from her than he could the gray in his hair. She was grateful they'd had kids right away, so that Drakken could enjoy the years when the children would have boundless energy before nature forced him to slow down.

The wooden spoon held by the tiny fist descended into the bowl, and it hit the side with a soft metal thud, doing so more than it actually seemed to stir. After a small drop of batter was flung out of the bowl and hit Drakken's cheek, his spoon joined the process.

"I want to stir... Mama!" The excited grin on her daughter's face made Shego's own grow. "We're making pancakes!"

"I see that. Is Daddy letting you stir, AJ?"

Drakken gave her a look, and Shego only gave him a knowing smirk. He hated the nickname that she'd given their daughter, and the conversation about it was still repeated many, many times.

"We need to get her used to it."

"It's a boy's name!"

"And it's what everyone is going to call her in school, so she may as well learn to like it from us."

"They won't call her that!"

"Do you not remember being a kid?"

That was where it always stopped. But it didn't prevent Drakken from bringing it up again almost every day. But he never did so in front of their daughter, so Shego knew she could get away with it for awhile.

"Daddy, why doesn't Mama cook?" Abby asked, peering up at her father.

"Yeah Daddy," Shego echoed, "why don't I cook?"

Drakken gave her a look, and Shego's smirk grew. Neither expression lasted as they kept eye contact throughout Drakken's response.

"Mama does cook sometimes," he stated simply, continuing to stir the pancake batter which their daughter had abandoned as she stared at her father's chin.

As long as it had taken them to get used to calling one another by their real names, which still sometimes felt out of place, calling one another by their parental appellations had been very easy. And it usually brought an extra joy that they shared through a look, as they were now.

Being parents, especially as difficult a journey as it had been to arrive there, meant everything to them.

"Grandma says that Mama can't cook."

Shego's brow rose as Drakken startled and looked down at their daughter in shock. He cast a wary glance at his wife and winced as he saw that Shego's jaw was clamped shut.

"When did she say that?" Drakken asked cautiously.

"When you were on your trip. She th-..th-..." the girl stuttered slightly while thinking of the word, "th-threw away Mama's cookies. And my lunches."

Shego's teeth were bared as she glared at Drakken, who kept casting fearful glances in her direction as he quickly set their daughter back on the floor.

"Down you go, Abby Joy," he said a bit shakily. "Would you like to set the table while I cook the pancakes? Mama can help you get the plates."

"Yes!" the toddler said brightly.

Shego slowly rose, a hand over her belly as she tried to quell the swirling anger and heat rising within her. She'd worked really hard on the food for Abby while she and Drakken had taken a weekend trip for some alone time.

As she got the plates from the cupboard she noticed another pan on the stove with something dark reducing, like a caramel. She sniffed the air and thought she recognized the scent, but she wasn't sure.

"Be careful, AJ," she said, handing the three plates to her daughter who was beaming with pride for being trusted with the task.

Shego sidled up to Drakken.

"I had no idea!" he whispered anxiously, giving her an apologetic glance as he flipped a pancake.

"After this kid comes out I'll find a way to get her back," she muttered in reply.

"Shego!" he whined quietly, his eyes pleading.

Just then, a shatter.

"Uh oh."

Shego and Drakken whirled to see that the top plate on the stack of three had slid to the tiled floor and broken into several pieces at their daughter's feet.

"Don't move!" they both cried in alarm. They looked at each other as Abby's face began to redden and her eyes crinkled with the onset of tears.

"I'll—"

"No," Drakken interrupted, "you finish here. I don't want you trying to get on the floor."

Drakken pushed the spatula into Shego's hands, and she stood dumbstruck for a moment and watched as her husband crossed the kitchen in two large steps, put the remaining two plates on the table, and then scooped their wailing daughter up into his arms.

Shego listened to his soft murmurings that they weren't mad and that it was just an accident, cradling their daughter close to his chest as her tears fell. It was only when Shego smelled burning that she spun around and saw that the pancake on the griddle was smoking. She bit back a curse and lifted the entire pan up to slide the ruined pancake onto the short stack Drakken had already cooked. She could eat that one...

While Drakken dealt with the broken plate and comforted Abby, Shego focused on the task she'd been given as she understood it. Butter the pan...ladle the batter...wait for bubbles...flip. And then wait again and hope she guessed right. Pancakes were easy, Drakken had told her a few years back when he'd taught her. She couldn't mess up pancakes...right?

The burned one was still making her nervous, but the others were going well so far. Her baby bump made things a bit awkward, and she stayed a step back from the stove just in case.

A soft bump against her leg startled her, and she looked down into her daughter's tear-bright eyes.

"Mama needs to concentrate, Sweetie..." she said gently, looking back at the pan as her daughter hugged her leg.

"Daddy said to stay with you while he cleans up the broken plate."

"Okay," Shego said. She peered down at the dark hair again and the face pressing against her stretch pants. "You did so well helping Daddy with the pancake batter. They're going to taste great!"

Abby looked up with a shy smile, and Shego grinned confidently at her. Their daughter was already showing a mixture of traits from both of them in her personality, with her matter-of-fact way of talking but her shyness in approaching unknown things. It didn't feel like she'd been theirs for three years, as some days it felt like it had been forever and other days like they were brand new parents. But it was always a joy.

Shego reached down and ruffled the girl's hair. "My Abby Joy."

Abby giggled, and then turned as Drakken spoke.

"All done!"

Abby ran over to hug her father around the knees, and then she scampered away to parts unknown. Her rapidly shifting attention and focus was another trait of Drakken's. Also very typical for her age. Shego noted that not only was the broken plate cleaned up, but the table was set and ready with plates, utensils, and toppings. All that was missing were the pancakes.

Drakken stepped up and looked at where Shego had created a large, haphazard pile of the steaming breakfast cakes on a paper towel. He lifted his brow at her.

"So I can't stack. At least I've only burned one."

His brow rose higher.

"Maybe four. But only one is bad."

Drakken grinned and started organizing her pancake pile. "This is more than enough. We'll save the rest of the batter for tomorrow."

Shego felt a wash of relief as she dropped the ladle in the mixing bowl and tossed the spatula into the sink. She turned off the burner and then glanced at the other pan where whatever was reducing had thickened more.

"Uh...should I have been watching this?" she asked.

Drakken glanced up and smiled. "No. But you can turn the burner off, it's ready."

Shego did so. "What is it?"

Drakken carried the pancake stack to the table and glanced back at her with a sly smile. "Taste it. But be careful, it's—"

"Hot, yeah, I get it."

She dipped in the spoon he'd been using to stir at one point and watched the thick, translucent, reddish-gold liquid drip off of the metal. She waited several seconds before testing it with the tip of her tongue, and then licked at the sweet concoction a bit more. It was very familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"What is it?" she repeated as Drakken came back to her side.

He set his arms around her from behind, one hand holding her shoulder as the other gently rubbed her large baby bump.

"You can't tell?"

She shook her head and leaned back into him. He furrowed his brow and took the spoon from her and tasted what she'd left of the sticky substance there. She watched as his face twisted further in confusion.

"It tastes like it should... Maybe your taste buds have changed," he said with a sigh.

"I still like it," she encouraged him. "What is it?"

He set the spoon down and held her shoulder again.

"It's watermelon caramel."

Shego's brow rose. Suddenly the familiarity of the taste became clear. She turned around to face him, setting her arms around his neck as her belly pressed into him.

"Where have you been hiding a watermelon?" she asked with a grin.

"At the back of the fridge," he said. "It was a small one."

Her brow crinkled. "None left?" she asked, pressing closer to him. His arms went around her waist.

"I used it all. It was a very small one. They're out of season," he explained with an apologetic smile. "You can put the caramel on your pancakes."

Shego pulled him closer until their foreheads touched, smirking all the while.

"Unless..." Drakken grinned and lowered his voice, "you'd rather have some sugar?"

"I'd love some," she said, just before their lips met.

Shego lost herself in his touch, as she always did, until a bump against her legs brought her back from the soaring high of his kiss. Drakken however, didn't seem to be aware as his lips floated over hers and his tongue skimmed the edge of her teeth, attempting further entrance.

"Mama? Daddy? Are the pancakes ready?"

Drakken opened his eyes and peered down along with Shego, though their lips didn't part.

"Mm-hm," Drakken acknowledged their daughter, turning his attention back to Shego. He pulled away just enough to look into her eyes and he gave her a dangerous look. "We haven't really said 'good morning' today," he said in a hush, his voice deep.

Shego felt her heart race and in seconds was again lost in his kiss, gentle and tame as it was in front of their daughter.

"Stop kissing. You're always kissing!" Abby complained at their feet, her tiny hands pushing on their legs.

Shego turned her head out of the kiss slightly to grin down at their frustrated little angel. She was short-tempered at times, and demanding; both traits of her mother's.

"We can't stop," Shego smiled against Drakken's lips. "We're stuck together."

Drakken's shoulders shook with silent laughter at the familiar joke as Shego returned to their kiss. It had only fooled Abby once. Briefly.

"No you're not!" Abby whined, wiggling between them and pushing hard on their legs to separate them.

They gave in and stepped back, Shego leaning against the counter as she chuckled while Drakken picked up their daughter and hugged her close.

"We could kiss you instead?" he said.

"No!"

In unison, Drakken and Shego leaned forward to kiss Abby's cheeks. The girl squealed and wiggled in Drakken's grasp, so that he stepped back and held her tighter.

"It tickles!"

Drakken continued kissing her cheek as she squirmed and laughed until he plopped her in her booster seat in her designated chair. Shego slowly took her seat, and Drakken stepped over just in time to help her push her chair in before heading back to the stove. He poured the caramel into a dish while Shego put a pancake on Abby's plate and began cutting it into small pieces. Just as she finished, Drakken returned without his apron and placed the caramel in front of her.

"How many?" he asked her, beginning to set pancakes on her plate.

"Three."

He served himself the same and then sat down as both he and Shego dressed their breakfast to their preference.

"Butter..." Abby said, watching with a smile. "Blueberries for Daddy... Strawberries for Mama... And both for me!"

"And both for Abby Joy!" Drakken echoed, spooning some of the fruit onto her plate.

Abby's attention however had shifted to Shego, who was pouring the watermelon caramel over her pancakes instead of maple syrup.

"What's that?" Abby asked, pointing.

"Your Daddy made me watermelon caramel. It's like syrup, but it's thicker and it tastes different," Shego explained.

"Can I try?"

Shego took Abby's fork and dipped it in the thick liquid, handing it back to her once the blunted tines were coated. She and Drakken watched as their daughter stuck the fork in her mouth and sucked on it. After a few moments she made a face.

"Hmm... I don't like watermelon," she declared.

Shego froze and looked up at Drakken who was equally startled. They blinked at each other for several seconds before bursting into laughter that was loud and long.

"Mama? Daddy? What's so funny? Stop laughing! What's so funny?"

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 20

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​,  @innerpaperexpertcloud​

Every Saturday morning Millie has him up at the crack of dawn; a habit she’d developed after their first weekend back in Australia, when she pestered him awake, insisting he watch the sunrise with her. Six months later he can still remember the look of awe and wonder on her face; those blue eyes impossibly wide, her mouth hanging open in shock, hands clasped tightly against her chest. It became their ‘thing’. Sitting out on the back patio and watching as the sun came up, having breakfast and then heading down to the beach. If the conditions were right and the winds not too strong and the waves not too challenging, he’d take her surfing; she’d been a natural from the start, confident, expressing no fear or hesitation. She even had her own board: a custom job that he’d let her pick out and choose the colors and designs she wanted on it.  If things weren’t cooperating, they’d take Mac for a walk along the beach and throw things in the water for him to retrieve. Millie would collect rocks, shells and all the beach glass she could possibly find; adding everything to the already expansive collection she kept in shoe boxes under her bed.  Or they’d take a hike through the woods that bordered their property, and she’d use his phone to take pictures of any wildlife and ‘cool looking stuff’ they’d stumble upon.

It’s their time together. Before all her siblings are awake and the chaos of the day begins. Just shy of six years old and despite her penchant for profanity and fighting, she’s insanely intelligent and well spoken; introspective and wise, oddly intuitive for someone so young.  More like her mother than anyone realizes. And he cherishes their alone time. She’s not his first born; no one could ever replace Austin. But she’s the first in his new life; a living reminder of the second chance that he’s given.  A beautiful, amazing little soul that had been created during quite possibly the craziest and most difficult time of his life; in the midst of all the loss and the destruction that Dhaka had brought with it. An accident maybe, not but a mistake. Their bond is profound, stronger than the others. He’d been with her from the go after all, when she was still being carried inside of her mother’s body. When she was a baby, he hadn’t gotten back into the job yet. There’d been no leaving in the middle of the night, no being absent for days and often weeks.  And he’d been so grateful to be given another shot at being a father that he’d devoted every waking moment to her.

After the sunrise she helps him make breakfast; standing on one of the kitchen chairs she pushes right up against the stove. The same thing she has him make every Saturday: pancakes topped with fresh fruit and syrup. Proud of herself when she gets the responsibility of mixing the batter and ladling it onto the griddle. Talking his ear off the entire time the food cooks; the dreams she’d had during the night,, everything she’d learned in school that week, all the different activities she and her friends had engaged in during gym and recess. All bright eyed and cheerful, a stark comparison to his more sullen and quiet morning mood. But he humors her. Like always. Offering up nods or small comments at the appropriate times, sympathetic scowls or shakes of the head when she’d complain about something she found wildly unfair or particularly disturbing.   When all the food is prepared and they’re ready to head outside to eat, she throws her arms around his neck and squeezes as tight as she can.  And when she says “I love you daddy” in that little voice of hers, everything seems perfect and right in the world.

Breakfast is finished and he’s on his second coffee of the morning when she speaks again.  Her thick, unruly hair tumbling down the sides of her face and to the middle of her back as she sits across from him; feet up on the seat and her Hello Kitty pajama top pulled over skinned and bruised knees.  Those blue eyes dark and serious, her brow furrowed.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it true you almost died?”

Tyler watches her over the top of his mug, lips pressed against the rim.  She’s already perfected the poker face, not even the slightest hint of emotion. And she suddenly seems so much older and mature than her actual age.  

“The other night when we saw Auntie Nik and Uncle Kyle,” she continues.  “Mommy said you almost died. Is that true?”

Fuck, he silently curses.  It had been bad enough dealing with the fallout of Ovi telling her about his ‘real job’; that the reason he went away so often was because he was ‘helping get good people away from bad people’.  The nightmares had lasted for two months; she’d wake up screaming in terror, often wetting her bed, sometimes even throwing up.  But now this? His own brush with death was something he’d hoped to not have to touch on until she was much older. If ever.

“It is,” he confesses. “I did almost die.”

“The bad guys hurt you?”

He nods.

“How? How did they hurt you?”

“You don’t need to know those things. Maybe when you’re older I’ll tell you. But you’re too young to hear all of that.”

“But it was really bad,” she states.

“Yeah. It was really bad.”

Her expression remains neutral, eyes fixed on her fingers as they fidget with a loose piece of thread on the hem of her night shirt.  “Mommy was there too?”

“Mommy was there,” he confirms. “She helped me. So I wouldn’t die.”

“So she’s a hero?”

“I think so. She’s my hero, at least.”

Millie smiles at that. Then quickly turns serious again; those deep lines in her forehead returning, eyes darkening once more.  “If you died, I wouldn’t be here. And neither would TJ or Tanner or Declan or Addie.”

“You would still be here. You were going to be here whether I died or not. You were already in mommy’s tummy.”

“Did you know? That I was in there.”

Tyler shakes his head. “I didn’t know. Neither did mommy.”

“How come? How come you didn’t know?”

“The doctor hadn’t told us yet,” it seems like the easiest and most logical explanation for a child to grasp. “We didn’t find out until a little while later that we were having you.”

“So if you died, mommy would have been all alone when she found out about me? She would have had to have me all by herself? With no daddy in the room?”

He manages a nod, finding himself fighting back his own wave of emotion. It’s something he doesn’t think about often; if he’d died and Esme would have been left to handle everything on her own. How she would have felt finding out that she was carrying the baby of a dead man. With nothing more than those five days in Dhaka to remember him by.

“That’s sad,” Millie’s voice is a near whisper, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Poor mommy.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Or if there’s anything he can say. No wise or helpful words of comfort that can heal that particular wound.  Especially when flooded with his own emotions: sadness, regret, guilt. That he’d ever put Esme in that situation in the first place.

Millie rebounds quickly; brushing the tears off her cheeks with the backs of her hands and tucking her hair behind her ears. “Were you happy?” she asks. “When you found out that I was in mommy’s tummy?”

“Yeah...” he takes a swig of coffee. “...I was happy. Surprised. But happy.”

“A good surprise?”

He smiles. “A very good surprise.”

“Because you were sad before, right? Because Austin died. And he was you first baby. I’m the second.”

“You’re my first too. You’re my first with your mom. That still counts. And yeah, I was happy because I was getting a second chance to be a dad. Your mommy gave me that chance. So did you. Did you know that I used to talk to you all the time? When you were in mommy’s tummy.”

Her eyes and her voice brighten. “You did?”

Tyler nods. “I used to put my hand on mommy’s stomach and you’d always kick it. I used to tell you all kinds of stuff. About all the thing we were going to get to do together. About how awesome it was going to be take you to beach and teach you how to surf. About how much I loved you and couldn’t wait to meet you.”

“Mommy said that you got to meet me first. When I was born.”

“I did. I was the very first person that doctor gave you to.”

“Did you cry?”

“I did,” he admits. “More than you did, I think. You were kind of quiet, actually. You were just looking around at everyone and everything with those big blue eyes.”

“What did I look like?”

“You were really small. Not as small as Addie though. You were three pounds heavier than her. And you had tons of hair. A little darker than it is now.”

“Was I cute?”

“The cutest baby ever.”

“Did I look like you or mommy?”

“Would I say you were the cutest baby ever if you looked like your mom? Come on now.”

“Daddy!” she scolds. “That’s mean. Mommy is very pretty.”

“She is. You’re the cutest baby ever and she’s the prettiest mommy ever. But you looked like me. You looked like me then and you look like me now.”

“That’s okay I guess,” she gives a rather forlorn sigh. “I mean, you’re okay to look at, I suppose.”

Tyler smirks. “Now who’s mean?”

“I learn from the best,” she declares, then reaches for the plastic cup of chocolate milk that sits on the table. “If you and mommy didn’t know each other and didn’t have any kids and you met her somewhere, would you still fall in love with her?”

“Absolutely,” he replies with no hesitation.

“Would you still marry her?”

“I’d marry your mom a million times over.  Think she’d marry me? If she didn’t know me yet and just met me?”

“I think so.  I mean, she obviously loves you, right?”

“Think so?”

“I know so. I mean, she puts up with your shit.”

Tyler laughs at that. “Yeah,” he agrees. “She does.”

“But I think you’re doing okay, daddy. I think you’re brave and you’re strong and you need to be nicer to yourself.  You need to say nice things to yourself instead of bad things. When you get up in the morning, you should look in the mirror and tell yourself that you’re awesome and no one is going to make you angry or sad or dull your sparkle. That’s what I do, you know,” she pushes her hand through her hair, moving it off her forehead and away from her face. “Every day when I get up, I tell myself, ‘Amelia, it’s going to be a great day’. I use my real name when I talk to myself. Just ‘cause.”

Tyler grins. “You talk to yourself a lot?”

“When I want to have an intelligent conversation,” she responds, and he nearly chokes on a mouthful of coffee. “I mean, have you met the kids in my class? Or my brothers? I have to talk to myself. There’s no other option. And I tell myself, ‘Amelia, no one is going to dull your sparkle!’”

“No one could EVER dull your sparkle, Millie. No one. You’re a lot like your mom, you know. More than people realize.”  

Esme is all personality as well. For years she’d had to hide it behind a tough, no nonsense exterior; her time in the Corps, the disastrous marriage to Mark, her years on the job spent lying and conning people. She’d never been able to be herself, for one reason or the other. But the true Esme had always been lingering just under the surface; vibrant and carefree, a bit of a wild child, one that loves life and everyone in it and tries to never waste time on regret and ‘what ifs’.   Moving back to Australia had brought it all out of her. It had been like meeting her all over again for the first time; she was Esme, but she wasn’t. Even now there are shades of the Dhaka Esme lingering under the surface, but that Esme is no longer in control.  The new one has taken over. And seeing those different sides to her...seeing her real personality come out...had made him fall even more in love with her. Which he had thought wasn’t even remotely possible.

“If you don’t think you can tell yourself stuff like that, I can do it for you,” his daughter offers. “I can tell you that you’re awesome and that you’re brave and strong and that there’s no better daddy in the whole, wide world. Not even in the whole universe.”

Tyler never thought an almost six-year-old could bring him to his knees, but if he’d been standing, she would have done just that. The words take his breath away; so innocent and pure. So honest.  That IS how she sees him. To her, he’s the strongest, bravest man that exists. She doesn’t know just how broken and damaged he actually is, nor does she have any recollection of the birthdays he’s missed or the times he’d left in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye. And if she does, she’s forgiven him and holds no grudges.

“Don’t cry, daddy,” she implores, and she’s climbing into his lap now and taking his face in her hands. “Don’t be sad. Be happy. I’m here.”

“You have no idea how happy that does make me. That you ARE here.”

Her eyes sparkly mischievously. “Because I’m your favorite?”

“I don’t have a favorite. I love all of you.”

She rubs her palms against his beard, giggling at how it feels against her skin. “It’s okay, daddy. You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”

Grinning, he combs a hand through her hair, moving it away from her face and pushing it off her shoulders.  “You’re my favorite,” he concedes, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

She gives a brilliant smile; one that wrinkles the corners of her eyes and crinkles the top of her nose. Then wraps her arms around his neck and settles her head on his shoulder. “I knew it.”

****

“I really do want a puppy,” Millie announces three hours later, from where she’s perched upon his shoulders, hands clasped together and forearms folded, resting on top of his head.  

They’d spent nearly two hours in the water; alternating between swimming and surfing, then had joined the rest of their family for a second breakfast. And while Esme and Declan went to the neighbors and Kyle took the twins for a ‘guys day, Millie had insisted of spending the day with him. Even if meant doing nothing more than going into town and running errands: picking up baby formula and prescriptions, checking items off a small grocery list, and browsing through stores. Since their talk that morning she’d been clingy; more so than usual, not wanting to let him out of her sight. And he enjoys it; the way she’s so attached to him. Even the way she can talk him into doing just about anything for her. Possessing the innate ability to get him out of his comfort zone without him even realizing he’s doing it.

“What kind of puppy?” Tyler asks, shopping bags on one hand, free arm across her legs to keep her in place.

“I dunno. A cute one. A fluffy one. Really fluffy. Like a little bear. But not as mean and big when it grows up.”

“We already have Mac,” he reminds her.

“Mac needs a friend.”

“He has you and your brothers and your sister.”

“A furry friend. Like him.”

“He does, does he?”

Millie nods. “Maybe for my birthday?”

“You never know.”

He and Esme had already made the decision; picking out –and paying for- an Australian shepherd that could picked up the morning of the big day. A friendly –albeit extremely hyper- little thing with enormous blue eyes and a playful disposition. The breeder had asked for a name so the puppy could get used to it and recognize it in the home, and without hesitation he’d said ‘Saju’. It seemed fitting; that man had been strong and loyal to the bitter end.  

“I’m going to be six, you know,” Millie says.

“I know. I was there when you were born, remember?”

“Did mommy cry? When I was born?”

“What is your obsession with people crying when you were born?”

“Mommy and I watched The Baby Story on Netflix. Everyone on that show cries when their baby is born. Did mommy?”

“Mommy cries at sad commercials. Of course she cried when you were born.”

“Was she sad?”

“Why would she be sad? She was happy. And relieved. Because you were healthy and you made it safe and sound. It was a lot of hard work, you know. Keeping you inside of her as long as she could. Couple times we didn’t think you’d make it that far. That you’d arrive a lot sooner.”

“Like Addie?”

Tyler nods.

“Addie’s super tiny! But she’s tough. And when she squeezes my finger, she squeezes really hard! When she’s older, I’m going to teach her to fight. So no boys pick on her.”

“How about you not teach her to fight and you just beat up whoever picks on her.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

“Exactly.”

“I can do that. Keep the boys away from her. Because boys suck!”

Tyler smirks. “I’m a boy. I don’t suck.”

“That’s different. You’re daddy. You’re a boy, but you’re not.”

“What happened to that Ryan kid?”

“We broke up,” she sighs. “I was sad at first, but mommy said there’s lot of other fish in the pond and I should keep fishing until I find the right one. Even if I have to fish until I’m a lot older. And she said I should never lower my standards.”

“She’s a pretty smart lady that mommy of yours.”

“She is. You’re lucky daddy. That she loves you. ‘Cause she’s crazy cute and crazy smart and lots of boys want someone who is crazy cute and crazy smart.”

“Yeah? What boys? I want names so I can beat them up.”

“Don’t be jealous just ‘cause boys like her. Appreciate it. They like her, but she likes you.”

“You know, you’re awful smart for just about six.”

“I know,” she giggles. “Cute like daddy, smart like mommy.”

“That’s exactly it.”

He stops at the truck to put the bags in the back and they continue on. Taking her to the pet store, where she ‘ooos and awws’ over the wall to wall tanks of various sizes and colors of fish, giggles at the antics of the birds and the hamsters, and gets to pet the kittens and a hedgehog the workers bring out for her to see. But she’s most intrigued by a large tarantula and the snakes. The kid that doesn’t panic when the Huntsmen spiders get into the house or someone finds a snake curled up and hiding in the toe of one of their shoes. She’s calm and composed while everyone else –aside from him- if losing their minds and Esme is threatening to burn the place down.

They go for ice cream next; in a candy shop very similar to the one they used to frequent in Telluride.  Millie never talks about Colorado or about their old home; almost as if those times never even existed and she’d been in Australia from day one. Her developing accent is stronger than the other kids’ and every day he hears her voice changing more and more; filling him with a sense of pride that he can’t quite explain.  

He sees the way people react to them together; the smiles and the passing comments they get, especially from women. It’s the visual, he supposes. Someone his height and his size catering to a little girl in pig tails and a flamingo patterned sundress.

“Why do girls like big muscles?” Millie asks, as they sit at table on the outdoor patio; kneeling in her seat in order to reach her bowl of ice cream.

“I don’t know,” Tyler replies. “Who likes big muscles?”

“Lots of girls. Mommy does. She likes YOUR big muscles.”

“Mommy knows a good thing when sees it, I guess.”

“I see the way girls look at your muscles. How they look at YOU. I hate it. It’s gross. You’re my dad. I don’t want them thirsty bitches looking at you.”

He frowns. “Amelia...”

“I know...I know...bad language...sorry.  But it’s true. I don’t want girls looking at my dad like that. You’re already married. To mommy.”

“Yeah, and I’m going to stay married to mommy. Doesn’t mean other girls can't look. Just means they can’t touch.”

“’Cause mommy will throat punch them.”

Tyler nods. “Exactly.”

“And don’t want Salena looking at you like that either. I don’t appreciate her touching you. Touching your arm. That made me mad.”

“You need to relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax.”

He can’t help but laugh. “You sounded exactly like your mother just then.”

“She shouldn’t have touched you,” Millie continues her rant. “Only mommy should. Because you’re daddy and she’s mommy and you should only touch each other.”

“That’s a very good point. You don’t like her? Salena?”

“I dunno,” Millie shrugs. “I guess she’s okay. It just made me mad. When she touched you.”

“It’s no big deal. Mommy said it was okay.”

“I don’t care. It was wrong and you can’t convince me otherwise. Do you want other guys touching mommy?”

Tyler scowls. “Do they?”

“That’s not the question. Do you? Want other guys touching her?”

“There better not be other guys touching her.”

“Mommy would never let them touch her. Only you’re allowed to touch her.”

“Have other guys tried? Have you seen them try?”

“Daddy, you’re missing the whole point,” she sighs in exasperation. “Do you, or don’t you? Sheesh.”

“I’ll more than throat punch any guy that touches your mother.”

“Well then no girl should touch you either. It’s only fair.”

“You know, you are way too smart for your own good.”

“It’s common sense!” Millie reasons.  “I’m going to tell her when I see her. That she’s not allowed to touch you ever again. Or else.”

“How about you stop being such a bad ass and mind your business,” Tyler suggests.

“You’re my dad. You ARE my business.”

“Why don’t you like her?” he asks once more. “Other than the whole touching me thing.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her...I just...” she sighs and allows the words to trail off.

Tyler watches her at he eats his own ice cream; patiently waiting for her to continue. Recognizing that intense, deep in thought expression on her face. It’s one he’s seen many times in the mirror. Esme had called it ‘frowny eyebrows’.

“I don’t trust her,” Millie finally says.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, she shrugs, and licks ice cream off the end of her spoon. “I just don’t. Do you?”

“I’m trying to,” he admits.

“Maybe you don’t trust her for a reason. Maybe you don’t know what it is either.”

“Or I’m just paranoid.”

“No. That’s not it. Mommy says you have really good...” her eyebrows pinch together once more as she struggles to remember the word.

“Instincts?” Tyler offers.

“Yeah! That’s it. Instincts. That’s what mommy said. Those are good things to have, yeah?”

“Most of the time.”

“So maybe they said not to trust her, and you need to listen to them.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know what kind of ‘grow up juice’ they’re giving you at school, but I think you need to lay off it. There’s no way you’re only five.”

“Excuse you, I’m almost six.”

“Sorry. Almost six. You sure you’re not more like sixty?”

“Just six. But six means I’m getting bigger.  That I’m growing up.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I can’t stay little forever, daddy. No matter how much you want me to. One day I’m going to get married and you’re going to have to give me away.”

Tyler frowns. “Are you intentionally trying to depress me or...?”

“I’m just saying. It’s sad. That mommy’s daddy didn’t get to do that when she married you.”

“He died a long time before I ever met your mom. She was just a teenager.”

“But even though he’s dead, he’s still my grandpa, yeah?”

Tyler nods.

“And your dad is my grandpa too. But I don’t get to see him. Even though he’s still alive. Mommy said he’s sick. Will I catch it if I go see him?”

“It’s not that kind of sick. You can’t catch it.”

She pouts. “I don’t remember him.”

“You were just a baby the last time I took you there. Did you want to see him?”

“Yeah...I guess...I mean, he’s my grandpa. Will he remember me?”

“Probably not. It’s been a long time since he last saw you.”

“When we moved away when I was a baby. Maybe you could take me there. To see him. So he can see what I look like now.”

“If you want to go and see him, I’ll take you. But...”

She arches an eyebrow, spoon in her mouth as she waits for him to continue.

“...he doesn’t remember who I am, either. Some days he does, some days he doesn’t. It might be a good day for him, might be a bad day.”

“Because he’s sick? Is his brain sick.”

“Yup. That’s exactly it”

“Which means we can’t even bring him popsicles and chicken noodle soup. Those always make me feel better when I’m sick.”

“He might like them, but they don’t help.”

“Hmmm...”  her eyes focus on the snack in front of her, spoon swirling around in the now melted remnants of ice cream; bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “...but it might cheer him up. To see me.”

“It could,” Tyler agrees.

“And maybe he can come to my birthday party.”

“What birthday party?” He inquires, and she gives him a sly smile, spoon poised against her lips.

“Amelia.”

“Daddy,” she responds, using the exact same tone.

“What birthday party?”

“Mommy said I had to talk to you about it. And then you could talk to her.”

“About...”

“Okay....so....” she scoops the last of the melted ice cream into her mouth and then ducks under the table, resurfacing beside him and scrambling into his lap. “...I thought it would be really fun if the whole class could come over.”

“To our house?”

She nods enthusiastically.

“That’s a lot of kids.”  And a lot of parents that will likely stick around. Each of them complete strangers. In the one place he holds most sacred and where he feels the most at ease. And he can feel the anxiety building at the mere thought of it.

“We have lots of room,” she reasons. “And a big beach and lots of water. None of my other friends have any of that. It would be really fun. A beach party.”

“And you’re sure that’s what you want to do? You don’t want to go to the amusement park or to go the koala sanctuary or...?”

“I like home the best. It’s the most fun. Mommy said to talk you about I.”

“She did, did she?”

Millie nods. “I know you don’t like lots of people around, daddy. It’s because of the bad guys, right?”

“You don’t worry about that stuff, okay?” He offers her the last spoonful of his ice cream and she happily accepts it. “Those things aren’t for little people to worry about.”

“But you’re my daddy,” she reasons. “So I worry about you.”

“I know. And I appreciate it and I love you for it. But you’re five...”

“Almost six!” she interjects.

“...and you need to worry about kid stuff. Not about that crap. And you really want to have you friends over for your birthday?”

“I do.”

“I’ll talk to your mom and we’ll make it happen. I’ll deal with it my own shit.”

Millie giggles. “You said no bad language today, daddy.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. Fuck.”

“Daddy!” she erupts into giggles. “That even worse language!”

“You going to rat on me to your mom?”

“I’d never rat on you. Unless some other girl touches you. Then I will tell mommy for sure.”

“You’re touching me right now,” he points out.

“That’s different. I’m allowed.”

“Says who?”

“You’re my dad. You helped make me.  I still don’t understand how though. How’d you help? How’d you get me in mommy’s tummy?”

“I just did. You don’t need to know how.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. Ready to go?”

“Ready!” she chirps, and then wriggles her way around to his back; wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his torso.

“You’re choking me,” he gasps and gags dramatically

“Sorry,” Millie laughs, and he waits until she once more gets herself up onto his shoulder, hands tightly gripping his hair as he stands up. “Don’t drop me!” she pleads. “You’re a giant and I’ve got a long way to fall!”

“Your hard head will protect you,” he assures her.

“I don’t have a hard head. That’s mean, daddy. Let’s go to the dollar store!” she declares, as he tosses the empty bowls and dirty spoons into the trash.

“No way. I take you in there, I’m stuck there for hours.”

“I need craft paper. And glitter.”

“For what?”

“Birthday invitations. I want to make my own. You can help.”

“That’s more your mother’s thing.”

“Mommy does enough. You can help.”

“Millie...”

“Daddy...” she giggles.

“How do you always manage to talk me into these things?”

“Because you love me and I’m your favorite.”

“Fifteen minutes in the store. In and out.”

“Twenty if the line is long,” Millie debates.

“I’m only agreeing to twenty if you use your allowance and buy me a Gatorade.

She laughs and rests her chin on the top of his head. “Deal.”

[mordenheim]

Dr. Mordenheim’s Travels, Book 1, chapter 6:  Nightmare Night

Luna let out a soft groan as the alarm she had set went off with a headache-inducing clamor.  She grabbed her silvery silk and down pillow and plopped it over her head as her dark, starry mane flowed out from beneath it.  She was just about to try to go back to sleep when her heavy eyelids snapped open.  Her alarm hadn’t been early, this was the day!

She quickly rolled out of bed, her silken sheets tangling about her long legs for a moment.  She rushed about her royal chambers, trying to be as quiet as possible as she got herself cleaned and dressed.  She threw open the room darkening curtains and squinted at the noon sunlight.  She poked her head out of the window and trotted out onto the balcony.  She saw no sign of the usual guards in the courtyard far below or on the ivy covered castle walls on this side.  Her dear sister had kept her promise.  She clapped her silver slipper clad forehooves with glee as she crept out onto the edge of the balcony and took wing.

A few moments later, her hooves clattered down onto the smooth, sandy stone of the ledge outside the lair of one Grumpeter Goat.  She tapped her hoof lightly on the heavily reinforced iron door.  She smiled as it opened to reveal a floating goat skull with an ever-burning candle situated between the horns.  She glanced all about to ensure that she had not been followed and slipped into the cave.

After a few moments, she emerged from the cave, seeming no different from when she entered.  Accompanied by the floating skull and a tall, slender alicorn skeleton she stretched her wings a bit as she prepared herself for the flight down to Ponyville.

“I trust we’ll be seeing you at Caramel Treat’s this evening?”  The caprine necromancer smiled, in spite of the fact that a skull should not be able to do so.

“Of course, I would not dream of missing it!  Will you be coming as well, Litch King?”

The skeleton nodded, his head bobbed up and down on his long, bony neck, “I have a few appointments set for later on, but nothing that should keep me from joining the festivities tonight.”

The princess practically squealed with glee as she lifted off from the ledge, her great wings stirred up a bit of dust and swirled dry leaves that had blown up onto the ledge.  “Tonight then, dear Grumpeter and Litch King!  I have a few more things to pick up for the festivities!”

Grumpy goat simply chuckled quietly to himself as she flitted off, then watched as a tall, slender zebra in a lab coat made his way up the path.  Yes, anyone who tried to interfere in this night’s festivities would get a few nasty surprises.

A few hours later and the Nightmare Night celebration at Caramel Treat’s was in full swing!  As the weather had been unseasonably warm, she had decided to move the celebration outdoors this year.  Corn, carrots and hay-burgers sizzled on a huge grill while buns toasted alongside clover-top scrambles on a griddle.  Princess Luna, now dressed in a heavily-stitched faux-leather version of her Nightmare Moon armor used her magic to swirl a delicious red-candy coating on a few bright green apples.

Caramel Treat and Fangrin in their huge Everfree Ridgeback wolf forms watched over their famous foal bowl as the children waiting in line were entertained by what looked like a huge, gangling horror of a scarecrow horse.  Tall as a Rom, it stumped around loudly on the four clunky wooden boards that made up its legs.  A straw-stuffed blanket made up the body of the thing, a small, scorched broom for a tail.  The head, however was perhaps the most unsettling.  It was a huge, white straw-stuffed burlap sack.  Eyes and lines for a harness had been crudely painted on the rough cloth, but where the mouth would be the fabric was brownish red as though stained with old blood.  It raced back and forth and clumped along after the children to herd them into an orderly line!  Every now and then it would rear WAY up on its spindly hind legs until it fell onto its rump.  Then it would cock its head quizzically at the children and topple over on its side like a small tree before almost magically rising back to its legs.

The foals, dressed as ghosts and goblins, princesses and adventurers laughed and giggled at the gangling thing as it spun and danced.  They then grabbed huge hoof-fulls of sweet treats from the huge foal bowl before scattering quickly off into the night.  Caramel and Fangrin laughed and smiled, glad to make so many foals happy, and adults for that matter!  They let out a howl of joy for the mares and stallions who were lined up almost around the block to purchase the delicious smelling food.

The festivities were soon interrupted, however, by two armed royal guards pushing their way through the crowd.  They shouted at the ponies to get out of their way as they rudely bullied their way towards the happily smiling princess.  She was switching from the shining red candy to smooth, butter-scented caramel to coat her apples.

“Your Highness!  What are you doing here, we were told you were sick in bed?!”

Luna, who had been completely absorbed in making the delicious sweets let out a yelp and dropped her freshly-coated apple in the dirt!  “Wh...  What are you....  Wait...”  She stammered a moment, then regained her composure.  She smiled merrily over at Grumpy who was having a bit of fun as he thumped a spiky club on the ground and pretended to chase the foals around.  “You were right, Grumpy!  This glamour makes me look just like her!”

The two guards blinked in surprise and looked at each other a moment, completely unamused.  “What nonsense are you speaking of?  If you’re not sick you need to come with us at once, you have royal obligations to fulfill!”

The princess’ voice seemed to change slightly, softening and adopting a bit of southern drawl, “Grumpy, dear?  Do us a favor and drop this glamour from me, won’tcha?  These boys ain’t gonna leave until we show ‘em and I can always just put on another costume.”

As Grumpeter trotted over, his skull grinned evilly as he leered at the guards.  He was flanked by the huge skeletal form of the Litch King, which made the guards grip their long spears a little more tightly.  “Of course, Daisy.  Don’t worry about another costume, though.  I’ll re-apply the galmour after these two have finished making fools of themselves and leave..”

The pegasus guards bristled at the comment, their wings flared out wide in agitation as Grumpeter went about his non-equine magical business.  He made a great show as he chanted archaic-sounding nonsense and made grand gestures with the club clasped in his invisible hooves.  He traced a few demonic looking symbols in the dirt before he produced a contract seemingly from thin air.  He touched it to the glowing flame of the ever-burning candle atop his skull and it FLASHED into a great green fireball.  The guards were blinded for a moment, then blinked in amazement at what they saw.

There where the princess had stood was a tall, slender white unicorn mare.  She was dressed in a cheap-looking copy of Nightmare Moon’s armor and the image of a string of daisies adorned her flank.  Her mane was a deep midnight blue and her eyes were the grayish green of a stormy sea.  

She raised a delicate hoof in greeting as she bowed to the guards.  “Mah name is Daisy Chain.  Are y’all satisfied now?”

Both of the guards stood dumbfounded for a long moment.  One of them had his wings stuck straight up in the air as he let his eyes travel over the attractive form of the lovely mare.  His partner elbowed him sharply in the ribs with a foreleg which caused his armor to clatter loudly before he doffed his helmet.  His mane was cut so close to his head and neck you could not tell what color it was supposed to be.  

“Our apologies.  We should have checked more carefully before we barged in.”

“Y.. Yeah!  Yes, um.. so... so sorry...” The other guard stammered.  A red blush had crept into his cheeks and he seemed unable to take his eyes off of Daisy.

The first guard rolled his eyes, grabbed his partner by the wing and slowly started to drag him away.

As soon as the guards were out of sight, Grumpy repeated his arcane “ritual” and sent up another mystical contract in a flash of bright green flame!  The unicorn mare, Daisy Chain was truly gone, and their nightmare princess stood proudly in her pace, decked out in her full armor.

“Huzzah!  Now we should have a fun night without interruption!”

If only that had been the case.  They did indeed have a few more hours of uninterrupted merriment before trouble approached once more.

“BLASPHEMY!”

The two huge werewolves and Peanut Brittle, who had been disguised as a classic Canterlot gargoyle all rolled their eyes in unison.  Hortimer, proud leader of the infamous Celestian Church had stormed onto the scene in all of his “glory”.  With a gang of about five or six unicorns in tow behind him there was sure to be trouble.  They approached the gay festivities quickly, bellowed their false scripture and attempted to chase off the poor foals and hungry customers who were attending the party.  The ragged scarecrow pony went stock-still nearby as Luna just continued to cook.  She had moved over to a swiftly bubbling fryer and had just started a batch of fresh funnel cakes when the unwelcome guests had arrived.  She tried desperately tried to make sure they would not burn.  She kept herself as quiet as she was able and carefully listened to what was happening.  She sincerely hoped that she would not have to break her ruse and use her station as princess to stop the gathered mob of overblown unicorn supremacists.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves, cavorting around, dressed as foul, demonic beasts and glorifying the evil night mare!”

Grumpeter was just about to mumble the word “Blooper!" to cast his favorite non-lethal spell, Friday the 13th, on the unruly unicorns when the towering Litch King laid a cold, bony hoof on his shoulder and pointed slowly off to the side.  The horrific looking scarecrow pony had started to wiggle its way closer to the group.  A larger unicorn stallion with olive drab fur and a bright, if greasy, royal blue mane and tail had picked up a large rock and hurled it into the crowd.  It had narrowly missed a young filly before she dashed out of the way.  Turning his likely drunken gaze towards the decorations, he noticed the huge, gangling scarecrow nearby.  He turned his back to the straw-horse, reared up and delivered a powerful kick which knocked it onto its side with a loud clattering of wood.  Snorting at what he thought was just a decoration, he resumed his raucous shouts.

Soon, their yells and jeers were joined by a great clattering and cracking of splintering wood. The sound of a heavy saddle blanket being torn asunder filled the air along with a series of sharp snaps as heavy leather straps burst apart.  Slowly, what had once been a scarecrow rose up on all fours, towering over the Celestian congregation.  An ancient-looking timberwolf, its body shot through with thorny vines, rot and fungus glared down at them as demonic magic seemed to flow freely from its sunken, glowing green eyes.  The horrid beast was easily the size of a pony-drawn carriage and a foul ichor drooled from its wooden-stake fangs.  It let out a deafening roar that all in attendance would later remark sounded like a hurricane tearing a forest to shreds.  Before any of them could react, the huge beast leapt high into the air with frightening ease, landed in the center of the gaggle of unicorns with a crash and scattered them in all directions!

Hortimer was the first cowardly pony out of there as he quickly scrambled off.  He did his best to keep himself low to the ground, clutched at his holy symbol and prayed he would not be seen by the ravening monster.  The rest of the motley crew rapidly scrambled off into the relative safety of the night in random directions save one.  The huge timberwolf pursued the shrieking olive drab pony off into the brush of the Everfree.  The bleached bone skull of the Litch King gave Grumpeter a knowing grin as he swiftly vanished from sight.  After a few moments there was a loud cry in the distance.  Had it been a scream, or some kind of bird call?  None at the party could tell.  All they knew was that the skeletal alicorn returned a few moments later, a horribly satisfied grin spread across his skull.

About an hour later, the party was back in full swing.  The happy foals had begun to sing and play as the adults enjoyed the wonderful food and games. Luna let out a slight sneeze as her muzzle was suddenly covered with suddenly cinnamon sugar! The top of her shaker had flown off while she tried to finish off another batch of warm funnel cakes.  Caramel enjoyed making a nice profit as well!  

Eventually, the ragged scarecrow pony slowly stumped its way out of the forest on its thin stick legs as good as new.  Perhaps even a bit better as the body looked a bit more thoroughly stuffed than it had earlier in the night and the stains on the muzzle of the burlap head looked to be a much brighter red hue and fresh almost to the point of dripping.  

As it clattered its way past Grumpy the sly goat whispered, “Enjoy your meal, Doctor?”

The bulbous burlap head wrinkled and shifted slowly into a sly wink and a wicked grin before the creature went back to its job of herding the foals.

[old-souldier]

Prompt 1: Voracious

On an early Lightsday morning in early autumn, a crowd of old-timers, families, and many a hungover soldier, sailor, and privateer shuffled into the hastily constructed mess tent set up on the Lower Decks. For 200 gil a head (100 for kids under 14), One kid eat all of the hotcakes, La Noscean toast, sausage links, muffins, bacon, and eggs they can stuff into their gullet. It was the annual Lominsan Veterans Charity breakfast. 

It had gone on for several years now, interrupted only by the Calamity itself. The event raised funds for local clinics, hospices, healers, and other services for those who served as a Barracuda Knight, Yellowjacket, or Maelstrom Soldier under the Admiral's banner. The Lominsan Veterans fund had helped the settlement of former privateers in Summerford and more recently to restore Poor Maid's Mill. While Lominsans were not a particularly philanthropic people, they were charitable, especially if it came with a rasher of smoked meats to ease the overindulgence of the night before.

Jordan herself never missed the event. Some years it wasn't for lack of trying, but the Postmoogle would send the card asking her to volunteer, she'd tell herself 'not this time, too old fer it', and after a week, send back an rsvp and look for her special apron: red with two black and silver spatulas crossed.

And so Jordan stood behind a large warm griddle (some apple boxes serving as a nice perch to see over it) dispensing batter and flipping hotcakes the size of her head. 

The early crowds had mostly gone through and Jordan afforded herself a break and an extra pancake, her fifth so far. After a spell, Jordan went back and prepped some more pancakes, an older Midlander gentleman came up to her.

"I thought they only let the sprat do the volunteer work? What's a ol' Sea Rat like ye doin there?" the man asked, with a mixture of surprise and wry amusement.

Jordan looked up and smirked. "I ain't dead yet, ye bleedin' codger. 'Ow many?"

The man held up two fingers and with a bit of Dutifully-trained deftness, she flipped the done cakes at their station onto a plate and handed them over. 

" 'ows things, Bren?" 

"Lovely, ad a grand ol' time at the tavern with the missus and the whelp."

"Oh, 'ows Benjin doin'" 

"Fine, fine. Lad's found 'imself an 'usband." "Oh? Congratulations're in order. 'ow the time flies, eh? Who'd he marry?" "Aye Some..." he continued in 'used tones,  "Auri feller from back East." the man shook his head. "Well these young folk. I dun understand it."

Jordan shrugged, "Far East's not a bad place, Bren. Good tea. Lovely lasses in them silk n' brocade." Jordan smirked, "Some *very* lovely establishments fer a discernin' customer if ye can ken me waddle, eh?" She gave the older man a bit of a wink. 

Bran shook his head. "Aye, well the lad's shovin' off ta go n' see the 'in-laws'. Some kind of tribal thing."

"Ah, well, if it 'elps any, I'd rather 'ave some Auri in-laws that the stuck up Ishgardians ones my son-in-law 'as. Them steppe Auri know 'ow ta party, Bren."

The older man nodded. "Aye, well any road... when are ye gonna come over ta this side, eh?"

"As long as I'm servin' the Admiral, I'll be doin' this, Bren."

Bren smiled as he gathered along, "Just remember lass, "'Til Seas Swallow All' don't mean ye gotta do it till the end of time. I'll probably be back fer some of that La Noscean Toast." "Aye, n' I'll be 'ere ta serve ye up some 'til midday," Jordan said with a wave. She served someone else, a young girl, then sat back. She grabbed her coffee and drank a deep quaff. 

"Still warm enough. Speakin' of La Noscean Toast..." Jordan reached over to make herself a plate.

[zmediaoutlet]

w/l ratio

(a coda for 14.12) (AO3)

They come back to the bunker and it's empty, again. The place has been empty a lot since Dean came back. Sam's part of it, he keeps sending the others out on hunts, but they've started finding their own, too. Living, in this world that's not yet destroyed, and he hopes that's the bigger part of it. Some if it is that they're avoiding Dean, too. He doesn't think Dean knows, or that he'd care if he did, but it bothers Sam. He doesn't need additional evidence for Dean that he's not to be trusted. Used to be their belief in each other was all they needed. Dean's here, and that's a victory, but it's one Sam wished he didn't have to win. His knuckles hurt, a little. He keeps stretching his hand against his thigh.

Castiel sees them both down into the bunker and then announces he's going to pick up Jack. "What?" Dean says, voice a scrape. They didn't talk much on the drive. He's frowning, his arm wrapped under his ribs. "Where's the kid?"

"Tulsa," Sam says. Dean's eyes swing his way and Sam shrugs. "He and Maggie and Cora, and Keith for backup. Just checking out the area." He turns to Castiel, standing stiff by the stairs, watching Dean. "They're staying at the Cowboy Inn, off 75." Cas nods and stares at Dean almost threatening for another long moment and then disappears up the stairs, and when Sam turns around again Dean's eyes have closed, his chin dropped to his chest. "Jack texted. He hopes you're doing okay."

Dean snorts, and leans hard against the map table. "Good kid," he says, quiet, and Sam's still so goddamn angry at him he could throw another punch and break his damn nose, but he wants to hug him again, too, wants to hold him so tight and close that he can't breathe, that he makes some dumb joke about Sam's octopus arms, that he can feel Dean's heart beating.

He doesn't do either. He's tired. They drove all the way through the night into the morning, and Sam dozed for a while in the passenger seat but it wasn't any kind of decent sleep. He kept lurching awake, certain for a second that when he looked over the driver's side would be empty. It's just after three o'clock and neither of them have eaten. That's somewhere to start. "I'm making grilled cheese," he announces, and Dean looks at him, at least. "Want one?"

Dean sucks in his cheek on one side and looks like he wants to say no. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, sure. I'm taking a shower, though, first."

"Try not to take forty minutes this time," Sam says. "I'm not keeping yours warm for you."

Dean huffs and nods, his mouth tucked into something that's nearly a smile. God, they're both tired.

Sam cooks. This is one of the few things he knows he's good at. He used to make grilled cheese on a hotplate in his dorm room, back when. Before that, even, when he was a kid, and Dean was gone. He leans over the griddle, the heat bathing his face. That conversation in the car. So many things left buried, things he wishes would stay buried, and they keep coming up. Nothing ever stays dead. He'd hate that if it wasn't something he'd pinned his heart to, so many times before.

To his credit, Dean is quick, and Sam's got two sandwiches each loaded up on plates when he comes into the kitchen, in clean jeans and one of his henleys and socks, still toweling his hair dry. "Think that might've been a record," Sam says, and hands him a plate.

"You just don't know how to enjoy the finer things in life," Dean says, and if it's not all that much like his normal self it's at least closer. He slings the towel over his shoulder and lifts the edge on the top sandwich. Just a little underdone, to Sam's taste, which makes it just how Dean likes it.

"Hey," Sam says, and then when Dean looks up at him and meets his eyes he doesn't know what to say. He feels like he punctured something, there in the dirt by the car, and he's drained. Dean's expression changes, just like that, and he looks for a second so sad and sorry that Sam wants to cover up his face, hide both of them away, and to stop Dean saying anything he blurts out, "Today's Sunday," and Dean says, derailed, "Uh, yeah," and Sam says, "Let's watch the game."

They've, neither of them, watched more than about two hours total of football this year. Even so, Dean's eyes clear with relief and he nods. "Yeah, sounds good," he says, and then, "You better not root for the Bradys."

Sam snorts and pushes Dean's shoulder. A lot softer than he did before. He leads the way, passes by his room, and when he pushes open the door to Dean's little den he knows without looking that Dean's surprised. They haven't spent much time in here, what with… everything. The other-worlders don't go in here, though, and it's still the same as it was when Dean left it. Two armchairs, side by side.

Kickoff already happened, along with whatever pageantry was involved. Football isn't really Dean's game, he prefers baseball, but he settles in easy enough. He takes the Rams' side, immediately. "Always root for the underdog, Sammy," he says, one sandwich down and the other in hand. "Haven't you ever watched a sports movie? Come on."

"Sometimes data tells us a little more than feelings," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes. Brady throws another out to Edelman and gains a first down. "Case in point."

"That blatantly ignores the power of a good halftime speech from the gipper," Dean says. He pulls the handle on his recliner and puts his feet up, socks pointing toward the TV. "Turns the whole thing around."

"Yeah," Sam says, looking down at his half-eaten grilled cheese, and sets it aside on the floor. The game's a weird one, slow and staggering. The Rams' coach is supposed to be some young genius, but there's not a lot of evidence of it. The Patriots aren't sparkling either. Sam's favorite thing about football has always been the strategy, ever since he was a little kid watching Brick Holmes. Two coaches, playing chess with fallible pieces. This is turning into a defensive struggle, rather than an offensive one. Linemen holding back a surging tide with everything they've got.

Halftime comes and Dean's asleep, his face turned away in the soft cushion of the recliner so Sam can't see the bruise starting on his cheekbone. Sam picks up their plates and takes them to the kitchen, dumps his congealed uneaten sandwich and washes the dishes. That stupid box, that coffin, is still sitting outside, in the snow. Sam can't stand looking at it. There was a while there, on the drive through the cold hours before dawn, when he'd thought about what could've been. Dean, alone under the oppressive weight of the sea. They've been through solitary confinement, before. This would be worse. And then, on the shore, Sam would be—

He brings a cold six-pack from the fridge back with him. The stupid neon light is on and this room seems—warmer, somehow, than the rest of the bunker. The halftime show's over and the Patriots have the ball. He sets the six-pack down with a clink and says, "Dean," and Dean's head turns toward him, his face flinching somehow before his eyes open. Sam smiles at him and Dean drags a hand over his mouth, pain in the corners of his mouth and in the lines beside his eyes, and Sam says, "Hey, your Rams actually got some points on the board," so Dean can look at that instead of whatever's in his head.

"Damn straight," he says, hoarse, and he accepts the beer when Sam hands it to him. They don't talk much, through the rest of the game. There are a lot of punts. A sack, on the poor Rams QB who looks barely older than Jack, and then Brady throws an interception that makes Dean whistle, and they both hiss when the Rams miss a field goal that would've given them a little more dignity.

"Told you," Sam says, when the Patriots are jumping around all over the field, pre-made hats crammed onto every head. Super Bowl LIII Champions. They look so happy.

"They win all the time, I don't know why they're so damn surprised about it," Dean says. "Pretty boring game."

They're each on their third beers. The Rams players are slumped on the sidelines, leaning against each other, miserable. Sam shrugs. "Touch and go there, for a while," he says, and leans down to get them both fresh bottles. A little warm now, but not too bad. He pops the caps on both beers and waits for Dean to drain his last before he hands over the new. He holds out his bottle to toast. "Defensive victories still count as a W."

Dean scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, nods. He clinks the neck of his bottle against Sam's, and they take a swallow together. Maybe when Jack and Cas get back they can teach Jack a little about football. For now—he's glad it's just them. "Maybe next year we can make a real bet," he says, eyes on the television.

Dean's ankles cross, out on the footrest of the chair. He sighs, but he reaches out and grips Sam's shoulder, too. "Sure thing, Sammy," he says, and releases his grip. Sam chews the inside of his cheek, eyes stinging, and wishes more than anything that he could know for sure if Dean meant it.

[moocha-muses]

“Mornin’ Dad.”

“Morning, Becks.”

“Can you believe your poor mother starts work at two in the morning? You couldn’t get me onto a boat at that hour if you put a gun to my head.”

“Plus she misses pancakes.”

“I pack her lunch pails, but I still haven’t found one with a griddle and a syrup compartment.”

[heyroslan]

---open starter.

“Ah--for fuck’s sake.” Smoke hissed and lashed upwards the moment Roslan dropped the pancake onto its uncooked side. The distinct smell of something burning matched the distinct sight of two very burnt pancakes sitting on the griddle; all the while, faint music played happily, obliviously, from his phone in his pocket. Oh, you’ll be fine after midnight! one of his new coworkers had assured him. People usually only get coffee then. And if someone does want food, you’ll probably be with one of the cooks anyway. Roslan wasn’t sure if it was the severe underestimation of just how capable he was of fucking things up, or just the fact that said cook had started feeling sick and Roslan couldn’t not say yes when the poor guy asked to end his shift an hour early. Either way, here--burnt pancake, impatient customer out front, and a fire alarm that really should have gone off five minutes ago--was where the night was at, and it was only the ripe time of 1:03am. “Hell,” Roslan muttered, digging the spatula back under the second pancake and scraping it off the griddle. More smoke. More of the burnt smell. The pancake landed on the plate with a brittle sound, and Roslan winced the whole way through preparing a side of butter. When the plate was as presentable as it could look he brought it outside. 

Two steps out, he stopped, that one, that original customer had gone and now been replaced by someone else entirely, and two, his ass was still blaring I Want You to Want Me. (Like that might convince anyone to take this sad heap of pancakes.) Biting back a grimace, Roslan swiftly took out his phone, paused the music, and set it aside in favor of facing the new customer. “Hi. Compliments from the chef?” he said, sliding the plate towards the new customer with a faint hint of agitation. Was it ‘of the chef?’ Should’ve paid more attention to Dad’s fancy dinners. “Or, I do have a pot of perfec--” no, wait, a quick glance at the coffee machine, “--yeah, perfectly unburnt coffee, if you’d rather do that.”