#put them in a jar and like shake it politely

[squigglyoctosquigglez]

"do you think we're soulmates in every universe?"

"shut up dennis it's 2am in the morning go to sleep"

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Three Frat Houses AU pondering right before I go to lay down to sleep is: there’s so much potential for unhinged-yet-oddly-plausible ““crossover”” long distance relationships among the cast. And we’ve done nothing with this. (Probably because it’s Fire Emblem and I’ve already assigned my pairings ahead of time, but! The potential is there! Waiting for us to unlock something as cursed as the Evil Old Dude Polycule.)

[pigeonpeach]

Early love!

Aka into the early courting stages! Pure fluff

Characters included: Arlecchino, Jean, Diluc, Shenhe, Chlorinde

Afab reader

Arlecchino

Early into the courting stages it is quite awkward. As the caretaker you know she’s not the most emotional or social of bosses. But she often requests you stay a little bit late or come see her in her office. At first it has you terrified you did something wrong. But overtime you get used to it. These little meetings are mostly her talking about the kids and any issues you think they might have etc. Nothing too unexpected, but then she starts asking personal questions like lovelife and values. You can’t help but overthink what it means

Truth be told Arlecchino is already smitten with you at this point. She’s just now starting to make her move now that she’s certain life can’t be as enjoyable without you. She sends you flowers on your day off, unintentionally the children also start to try and brag about their father in a advertising sense. She’s well composed, she brings home cakes and desserts specifically for you to enjoy over tea alone with her. She also starts to slowly suggest you move in or move closer. Even offering to compensate the cost. She’s slow with this all. Making sure to ease you into it so she won’t scare you off.

The first time you ask if she’d like to get dinner sometime she almost got a heart attack. She didn’t expect you to be so forward but you’ve grown accustomed to her to the point she’s no longer intimidating. She of course accepts watching you light up and blush with a hidden glee herself.

Jean

Oh she’s very old school. She approaches your parents for permission to court you and of course they agree. Gifts show up at your door, often flowers or your favorite treats. Meals are sent including your favorite foods with the price paid in advance. And she lingers around in your presence. Her gifts are bold but she herself is not. She’s very professional around you. She’s very polite but she tries to hard to hide her blush and trembling lips. You’re just too beautiful for her. Everytime she looks at you she is overwhelmed with her feelings. Mostly she writes letters complimenting your skills, your beauty, anything. The Knights also seem to be more protective of you.

Its quite cute for you to see the Acting Grandmaster so flustered. Her cheeks turn red when you look at her and talk to her. You decided to return the favor one-day and send her a meal, homemade, her favorite too. And ohhh she went from overworked and tired to beaming pure joy when she heard it was from you. She treasured each bite like it was gold. When she found out it was made by you she felt like she was on cloud 9. She was already starting to plan the wedding. The other knights were too.

Shenhe

Shenhe was a odd woman. She doesn’t quite understand when you pick to the best flowers and offer them to her, your face red and your hands shaking that it’s because you like her. She sees it as you trying to appease her like she’s some demon. When you clarify its just a gift she thanks you and… eats the flowers..

You try to introduce her to more tasty meals but she’s more fond of salads and vegetarian meals. Its an adeptus thing she says but its also a bit jarring to see her just eat the bouquet of flowers you spent so long agonizing over and debating which was better looking. The best method is gift giving. A beautiful ornate hairpin is appreciated and she will wear it.

One thing though is Cloud Retainer who is seemingly putting you through trials and tribulations to court her as she wants to make sure you’re the absolute best for her. You still do so. When she suggests you train to get a idea of what Shenhe’s life is like you do and boy are you sore from one day’s worth of training. She wanted to make sure you weren’t weak.

But when its all said and done, you didn’t quite pull off those herculean tasks, but your dedication and determination was proof enough that you were worthy to her. You planned a whole confession on Jueyun Karst, the journey there now seeming more like a hike after all your efforts, having appeased your future mother in law, and being a bit more stronger than before she just randomly asks you out one day before the day of the confession. You accept yes but its unfortunate you planned all this romantic gestures and such for nothing. In the future you just have to be direct and obvious.

Chlorinde

Oh another chivalrous lady! Like jean she’ll request permission… from yourself.. you’re confused because it’s basically a confession but she insists on still going through the courting process. Does she not realize you already accepted her affection? Oh well. The gifts are wonderful. She even has a customized outfit made for you at Chiori’s which fits you so well. Delicate lace you look absolutely stunning in. Jewelry, food, flowers, and more. You keep telling her you accept her feelings but she insists on continuing. Its improper to conclude too soon apparently? She wants to go through the whooleee routine. You even send her gifts in return to which she proudly wears and displays in her home. She refuses to throw out the flowers even when they’re brown and crisp. Finally after a month of having already accepted her feelings, already having told her that: she asks you out. And you accept. Somehow she looks surprised and delighted as if everyone couldnt tell the outcome.

Diluc

Oh another chivalrous one! Only he’s a bit more shy. He’s got a big reputation and he worries if he makes it too public if you would get dog piled on by his other admirers. So his gifts aren’t marked. Causing you to go crazy trying to figure out who is giving you sooo many flowers! You’re questioning Flora when Donna breaks down in tears realizing you’re the one Diluc had been sending flowers to and not her. She makes you swear to treat him well and love him dearly. Which is very confusing but you still agree. You mostly just wanted to tell him to please send something else because you’re out of vases and your cat keeps trying to eat the flowers.

You aren’t sure where to go from here though. Do you confront him? Do you send him something? Unlike Diluc you do not have this courting tradition engrained into you. You don’t exactly have alot to offer really. So you decided to catch him in the act of leaving flowers. You stayed home all day diligently watching the door from your window, not wanting to make a fool of yourself and ensure for certain it was Diluc. Donna could’ve been wrong afterall. She wasn’t though. You were almost half asleep when you heard footsteps. You peered out your window catching sight of his red hair. You immediately junped out and called out to him and… fell out the window into the planter below. Whoops.

So your first “date” with Diluc might’ve been him rushing you to the Cathedral to be seen and healed. Luckily the planter broke your fall but he still fretted over you. He apologized alot despite you reassuring him it was fine. He ended up worried when you said you spent all day waiting to catch him. You forgot to eat and he dragged you to dinner, paying for it of course. You ended up bonding with him over it. He refuses to call it your first date with him becoming so much went wrong but you still enjoyed it.

You forgot to tell him to not send flowers thiugh because shortly after that you came home to a bunch of flowers. Luckily this time they were potted plants so you could patch up your garden you body slammed.

[fairestbeard]

Heat and dry ice. (A Sydcarmy fanfic)

Carmy felt crazy all day. It was a hectic day doing prep and overhauling the previous menu format and rearranging everything while in the worst place he’d ever been with Syd. She still wasn’t talking to him but they had to work together and be polite while jamming and revamping the menu.

It was all so unlike her to give just enough and nothing more in terms of ideas. He was always the one to reign her in when her great ideas got away with her and became too much and she was the one who inspired him to go further than the box he usually confined himself to.

Now, while her ideas where still great- excellent even, they didn’t seem as inspired. She looked sad. She looked tired, almost resigned. She also seemed to avoid him at all costs. She clocked out earlier than usual now, most times Luca hanging around to pick her up at close of work. He had only a week more to stay and was obviously using it wisely, making sure to see Syd everyday, much to Carmy's annoyance.

Which is why the vibe he got lately was jarring and confusing. The space between them felt a little more charged, even through the cold air that swirled around them. He could always feel her presence when she was anywhere near. One time he had caught her eyes on him for a moment and it seemed filled with among other things- and it was completely bonkers to even think of that word, but- longing? He felt even crazier this morning when he had to squeeze past her while she, Richie, Tina and Marcus congregated by the fridge to read a review he didn’t particularly care about, ignoring all calls of “behind”.

It was just a moment. It wasn’t enough to make him lose his mind like this. Or maybe thinking that it even happened, or could have happened, was a symptom of him completely losing his mind at this point. Anyway, it had felt like, for a fleeting second while he brushed past her, her back to him, she had ever so slightly…leaned into him? He had tried to brush it away from his mind as much as he could but his body stayed heavy with the feeling of her body cupped against his and he didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know how to shake it off. He knew he had to be making stuff up in his head again. It was hard to tell when he’s mind was messing with him.

The day trudged on. He carried his weight around like a wet sponge and tried to use what logical part of his brain was still hanging on to brainstorm with Syd some more. They were putting finishing touches to a duck dish and it felt like she was trying today more than usual. The dish came out excellent and Carmy was very grateful.

“This is really good. Thank you, Chef” he said , watching her face.

“Yeah. Thank you too. This is something.” she nodded.

“Yeah, it’s amazing actually" he just wanted to keep them talking  “I wouldn’t have thought about this. Really, you’re amazing at this.”

He was hoping for a smile, a kindly look, anything to dispel a bit of the dry ice that that floated between them. Instead he was stopped cold by the look of exasperation that crossed over her face.

“Yeah, sure, okay” she said in a dry tone and walked off.

He closed his eyes and steadied himself. This had to stop. He needed her to say something. Anything about what’s she’s feeling or what he'd done to warrant her attitude lately. He watched her talk briefly to Tina at the garde de manger, then walk off into the fridge. Perfect.

He followed behind, making sure he wasn’t being too obvious especially to Marcus, who was riveted by some other purple delicious contraption he was cooking up. He opened the door gently so as to not make a noise with it.

She had her forehead pressed against the fennel container, face angled away from the door. She seemed to be taking slow deep breaths and the sight of her made his heart lurch. He would do anything to make her feel better. Make them okay again. She didn’t notice him come in, and if she did she didn’t show it. He walked quietly towards her and was very close when she turned around.

The look in her eyes was disarming. Her beautiful face, ever so sad and full of questions knocked the wind out him. Whatever words he hadn’t even planned got stuck in his throat. He just wanted to physically reach out to her. Touch her. He saw her eyes scan his face from his eyes to his mouth and back to his eyes again and found his body reacting faster than he could think. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

He didn’t have any plans. He just left them there for a moment, pressed against hers while he could feel his heartbeat hammering through his ears. He felt her tense up for a second then relax again. Then he felt her gently lean into him too and move her lips around his to part them. She slid her hand up towards his shoulder as he took her in and it was then he realized his hands had been hanging loose. He cradled her face with one hand and found the small of her back with the other, pulling her into him.

The feeling of the inside of her lips as she gently pried his and slid her tongue into his mouth sent an indescribable feeling through him. Kind of like a tingling and a buzzing. He’d been kissed before but not like this. He didn’t know a kiss could feel like this. A thousand flashes were going off in his brain and though he could feel every single sensation course through his body, it felt like he was having an out of body experience. He felt like he was standing at the uppermost part of his brain, staring down at the most insane scenario he could ever conjure up in his mind.

It lasted forever but only a second at the same time. There was a ringing in his head but not the kind he usually got that made him want to crack his skull open. This was pure pleasure. He felt it in every inch of his body. He could hear his own moans at a distance. He couldn’t even control what he was doing, all sense of self consciousness melted away from him. He could only mirror her motions, her lips caressing his and her tongue darting and prodding and teasing the insides of his mouth. It was too much and not enough. His hand pressed on to the small of her back for dear life. He could feel her trembling lightly and heard her moan softly as they glided over each other and swayed and staggered and finally lightly crashed into the shelves.

The small shock of the crash must have brought them to their senses because he felt Syd tense up again, so he slowed down and broke free. She looked down, her breathing shaky.

“Hey” he whispered to her, bending his face to level with hers but she was looking away.

“Syd, hey, look at me.” he implored, touching her left shoulder. She pulled away and looked towards the door as if indicating to him someone might come in. He stepped back a little, realizing they looked too compromising still.

“I just… we can’t” she said backing further away.

“I know. I’m sorry. Can we just…”

It was no use finishing as she was already walking away. He closed his eyes as he heard the fridge door close behind her. The moment felt unreal. He dug his nails into his skin to make sure it wasn’t a dream, afterall. It wasn’t .

He was shocked by his own audacity. And the response that followed. How was this even possible? For how long has this been possible?

He was still buzzing all over. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck” he muttered to himself as despair washed over him. “Idiot. Idiot.”

He leaned back on the shelves, eyes closed, took deep breaths and waited a while in there till he stopped shaking. By the time he got back in the kitchen, he could sense she was already gone.

P.s: This is my first fanfic ever. I'm not even really a fanfic person and didn't even want to post it but here goes. 🙈 Anyway, hope it's not totally terrible.

[syntheticavenger]

On My Mama - Two

Thank you to @cocobutterqwueen for the support while I was trying to map out this second chapter!

Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x Female Reader

Tyler Rake x Female Reader

Andy Barber x Female Reader

Jax Teller x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, more angst, jealousy, a lot of male posturing, persuasiveness.

Summary | Being a single mom with a complicated relationship with your ex-husband makes for an interesting summer after a school event and an unexpected errand puts you front and center with some eligible contenders for your attention.

True to Jax’s word, you’re in and out in less than fifteen minutes, happy to leave Melanie as she gave you a polite but pointed stare when you tried once more to pay him. He wouldn’t have it, slipping you his card in case you needed anything else, his cell written on the back. Not wanting to get in between Melanie’s distraction, there’s nothing left to say but to lobby another gracious thank you his way and slip into the driver’s seat. 

You found out much more than you ever wanted to in those short moments, Melanie whispering in your ear whenever he was out of earshot every detail that she had gathered about him. A single father to a son, a seven-year-old named Abel, rumored to be part of a biker gang – Vice President, Melanie had told you dramatically, her eyelashes batting when she says it like a secret – and more importantly, the best mechanic she’s ever had. 

Nevermind that her husband doesn’t particularly like that she takes her car to get repaired here, a fact she reminded you about at least three times. Melanie’s daughter tells every single bit of her mother’s business and Mia, at her young age, parrots it right back to you, laughing when you sometimes widen your eyes at the somewhat scandalous details, such as when Melanie bought store bought cookies and passed them off as her own, telling her daughter to stay quiet.

But as you had learned, there was no such thing as a secret to a five-year-old.

🌤

The late 90’s music blares through the speakers, pushing your cart down the aisle to continue your search  for marinara sauce. School nights are hard to plan for, especially with Mia’s ever changing appetite. 

This week it’s all about pasta, opting for spaghetti for dinner, even as you feel a small wave of guilt for the vegetables you will puree in the sauce. Reaching for a jar, a familiar face catches your attention, Laurie Barber giving you a wave when she approaches.

You know Laurie well enough to know that she has some gossip to share, usually between her and Melanie trading stories during field trips or snack day rotation.

“How have you been?” she asks, a hint of mischief in her smile. “I’m so happy I ran into you.”

“Oh?” you reply, noticing that she looks around before she finally speaks to make sure the coast is clear.

“You didn’t tell me your ex came to the parents’ lunch,” Laurie accuses playfully. “I had to find out from pictures?”

“Pictures?” you repeat, Laurie nodding her head, digging her phone out of her purse. 

“Of course there are pictures! I’d seen him with Mia when you had pictures of him with her as a baby but holy hell, that man is handsome,” Laurie praises, showing you a photo of Mia in Santiago’s arms, both of them looking intently at a finger painting. “Him being at the school is a good sign, right?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, Laurie slipping her phone into the pocket of her pants. “It’s a start.”

“Still not on the mend, huh?”

“We’re divorced, Laurie. There’s no going back.”

“Don’t I know it,” she agrees. “It’s been at least three years since Andy and I divorced and I never look back. We got a great kid out of it and Andy’s moving on up in the world and he’s up for pretty big promotion.”

“Andy? That’s great.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t see him. He saw you,” Laurie teases, seeing you shake your head in response.

Every single mother throws themselves at Andy Barber.

You aren’t one of them.

“I guess I must have missed him,” you reply, Laurie shrugging her shoulders.

“You know Andy. I wish he wasn’t married to his work that much so he could get out and see the world, maybe date a nice girl who understands that sense of righteousness that he can’t seem to shake.”

“It’s nice that you’re on good terms.”

“Are you and Santiago not?”

“No,” you say quickly, hating that you feel like you’re now put on the spot. “I mean, we’re good, I guess. I was surprised that he wanted to see the school, he’s pretty much been against her going to public school since before she could even talk.”

“Avon Academy isn’t close to being terrible. He’s always had impossibly high standards, hasn’t he? Didn’t he go to a boarding school in Switzerland?”

“He did. If he had his way that is probably where our daughter would be right now.”

“Alone?” Laurie says incredulously. “She’s five!”

“No, not alone. I’d most likely be in some apartment in Zurich, trying to keep myself busy.”

“Sounds like a dream.”

“It’s lonely,” you respond, Laurie nodding, realizing that you aren’t willing to give up more details.

“Well, selfishly, I’m glad you and Mia are here. I’m also thankful for Santiago for gracing us with his presence.”

You crack a smile then, Laurie trying to contain her laughter as you both laugh. It’s absurd to discuss anything regarding your ex-husband but you know that Laurie is a safe space for you and that little bit of relief is what you need.

“Speaking of hot dads, Melanie told me you got your tire fixed. Jax Teller, huh?”

“Oh, God,” you mutter, running a hand down your face. “She really tells everything, doesn’t she?”

“Your fault for giving her a ride. Come on, don’t be shy.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, I’ve seen him like once and he wasn’t even on a motorcycle. He showed up in a truck to pick up his son.”

“Abel is seven, Laurie.”

“Still disappointing,” Laurie reminds you. “Barely got to see him up close and personal.”

“He’s nice.”

Laurie lets out an inelegant snort at your response.

“Nice? Nice is my neighbor across the way who wears a cardigan and a polo shirt and offers to water my lawn. Jax Teller is not nice. He looks like he could rail you into next week and send you off with a pat on the -”

“Laurie!” you admonish, hearing her laugh.

“I’m kidding but also,” she trails off, tapping the tip of her nose. “You know it’s true.”

Laurie’s cell goes off in her purse, picking up her basket.

“Shit, it’s Andy,” she mutters. “Probably needs me to pick up Jacob. I’ll see you at Jacob’s birthday party. Can’t wait to have a slice of your homemade cake!”

With a nod, she rounds the corner, speaking quickly while you add a box of noodles to the cart when you realize what she told you.

Birthday party?

Birthday cake?

🌤

“You said what?” you ask softly, Mia chewing as she hums.

“I said you could make Jacob’s birthday cake,” Mia offers proudly.

Placing your fork down on your plate, you stare at the wrinkled birthday party invitation that you had to dig through Mia’s unicorn backpack.

“Sweetheart, remember we talked about this? You ask Mommy first.”

“I did,” Mia insists, a smear of marinara at the corner of her lips. “You made mine when I asked.”

“Yes, you asked me to make yours. You did not ask me to make Jacob’s.”

Her little face scrunches up in displeasure at your hesitation, swallowing her food before she defends herself.

“But you’re good at it! Jacob’s daddy said you make the best cake in the whole world!”

“Mia,” you warn, seeing her little shoulders slump.

“No cake?” she asks pitifully, her lower lip trembling. “Please, Mommy? It’s his birthday. He has to have cake.”

“I don’t even know what flavor he likes.”

“He likes banilla!”

“Vanilla,” you correct gently.

“Vanilla and he likes vanilla frosting,” she enunciates. “He told me so.”

With a sigh, you get up, Mia following suit, nearly on your heels when you check the pantry to make sure you have everything you need.

“You’re going to make it?!” she asks, clapping her hands together excitedly. “You’re the best mommy in the whole world!”

“I’ll make it if you promise to finish your dinner.”

Mia gasps, running back to her chair as she climbs up, ignoring your warning for her to wait for you to help her, slurping spaghetti into her mouth.

“We gotta get a gift,” Mia reminds you, as if she didn’t just tell you last minute. “He likes cars.”

“We’ll go tomorrow after school, how does that sound?”

“Okay.”

She finishes her food, watching as you pick her empty plate up from the table, remembering her manners as she wipes her sauce coated fingers with a napkin.

“May I be scused?”

“You may,” you agree, seeing her jump off the chair as it slides backward slightly, nearly giving you a heart attack when she bolts up the stairs.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth!” you call out, hearing her slam the bathroom door.

Pulling out a mixing bowl, you start adding in the ingredients, hearing Mia singing loudly at the top of her lungs.

🌤

You have to hand it to Laurie.

The woman knows how to throw a birthday party. As if directly ripped from a Pinterest page, you and Mia walk through a blue and silver balloon, Laurie’s headband green with alien googly eyes that move back and forth when she hugs Mia.

“Jacob’s out back,” she tells Mia, holding out a pair of headbands – one like hers and another that is hot pink with the same eyes but with lashes. Mia plucks the hot pink ones from her hand, handing them to Laurie so that she can place them on her head, smoothing out her hair before she does so, both of you knowing that she’ll either lose it or break it by the end of the day.

Laurie spies the cake you hold, the piping in blue with an astronaut on the left.

“God, I love your cakes,” Laurie murmurs with glee, taking it from your hands. “I was so happy that Mia said you would do it because I was at my wit’s end with him and trying to make up his mind. First it was a western themed party and then it was a dinosaur party and finally, at the very last minute, he wanted a space party. Gotta love the indecisiveness.”

She looks at your green sundress, settling on your white Mary Janes.

“Finally,” Laurie teases. “You got smart and finally wore flats.”

You were never sure of a dress code, especially with a child’s party. Every party in the city that you attended, kid or not, you were dressed up, right down to the sky high heels. After the last birthday party, you’d gotten wise once your heels had sunk into the grass, leaving a stain that you couldn’t get out.

You pass a contingent of parents, mostly fathers, talking in a huddle, beers in hand while you follow her into the kitchen.

“Andy will be so thrilled that you made a cake. I swear he kept asking. Do you know those peppermint brownies you made last Christmas? He took half the pan home and -”

“I did not,” Andy denies, his gaze settling on the cake when he steps into the kitchen. “Well, well, well. Looks like Jacob got his wish after all.”

You forgot how handsome Andy Barber is up close and personal, his mischievous smile on display when Laurie rolls her eyes.

“Jacob got his wish,” Laurie repeats to you, moving behind you after she sets the cake down. “I’m going to check on the bounce house. Make sure he doesn’t take a slice before the birthday boy, hmm?”

She’s out of your line of sight before you even have a chance to answer, Andy opening the fridge, pulling out a beer before he pauses.

“Do you drink?” he asks cautiously.

“I do.”

Still holding the beer in his hand, he glances at the pitcher on the top shelf.

“Beer or what I think may be a cosmopolitan. Laurie always has some sort of signature drink for these types of things.”

“I’ll take a beer,” you offer, Andy placing it into your hand after lobbing off the cap.

“Good choice. Last time we had a mom who downed three Tom Collins before she realized what hit her.”

You don’t dare share that you’re a lightweight, taking a swig of your beer while Andy leans back against the counter.

“I saw you at the parent luncheon, didn’t I?”

“I was there,” you confirm.

“That lunch was something else,” Andy comments, making a face. “I thought Jacob was teasing when he mentioned glue. Turns out the kid was onto something.”

“Glue?”

“You didn’t try the sandwiches?”

“No,” you say, trying to stifle your laughter at the look of pure disgust on his face. “I’m sure we’ll get a letter of an apology like we did with the dirt pudding cups last year.”

“I must have missed that.”

“You’d remember,” you point out, suddenly feeling self-conscious when you notice his eyes lingering on you. “What?”

He straightens up, looking over your shoulder, his index finger moving in a circle.

“Turn around?” he asks, your eyes narrowing suspiciously as you turn, seeing the ties of your dress float around you.

“Shoot,” you mumble, placing your beer down to try to reach behind you.

“I can help you,” he offers, keeping still when you feel his hands pick up the fabric, carefully drawing them together, the warmth of his breath on your back as he checks to make sure you’re comfortable. “Too tight?”

“No,” you respond, feeling him tie it quickly, the faint scent of his cologne lingering as he ties it slowly, your eyes looking up at the ceiling, staying still, feeling the slight tug of the bows before you feel him step back to look in approval.

“Better.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, feeling embarrassment wash over you when he waves your appreciation away.

“I was hoping I didn’t touch you with cold hands,” he answers. “Or get into your personal space.”

“I didn’t feel a thing.”

“No comment about the personal space?”

He smiles, lifting his beer to you before taking a sip. 

“Seriously though? Thanks for the cake for Jacob,” Andy thanks you, nodding toward the cake. “This kid hasn’t stopped talking about it once he found out. I gotta admit, they’re pretty damn good. I don’t know what you put in them but I can’t just have one slice.”

“I do the buttercream by hand.”

“Really? Tastes like heaven, that’s for sure. Not sure what you do for a living but if you made that career, I’m just you’d make a fortune.”

“Project manager,” you say, Andy nodding in response. “Wish I had the time. Baking relaxes me.”

“I’d be happy to eat your cake anytime,” he says, trailing off when he realizes what he’s said, laughing to himself as your eyes widen, biting down on your lips at the comment to keep from laughing yourself, when you hear Laurie coming back inside. Eyeing the cake, she looks up at you, turning to Andy.

“Cake is still intact. Guess she distracted you enough.”

🌤

Pete nudges Tyler in the side when you pass by, herding a small group of Jacob’s friends outside who were late arrivals, Laurie calling out to them outside to get their gift bags.

“You’re a married man, Pete,” Tyler reminds him.

“And I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but I have eyes, you know,” Pete counters. “Judging by the rest of us gawking, we all have eyes.”

Tyler can see Hunter running, playing tag with the other kids as they laugh and scream. He catches a glimpse of you, beer in hand as he sees Andy next you and Laurie. It’s a scene he’s still getting used to, seeing Laurie and Andy divorced but still cordial. It’s wistful thinking to believe he could have the same, knowing that the shared custody took years to be processed.

“Does Barber know that Mia’s dad is back in the picture?” another father asks, raising an eyebrow at the sight outside. “Bold move, Andy. Right next to your ex-wife.”

“He never left,” another man chimes in. “Look at her. You really think he wasn’t that far behind? Surprised he showed up, he never comes to these things.”

“Reconciliation,” Pete says with a confident nod.

“He came because it was a special occasion,” Tyler points out, the men turning to look at him.

“How do you know? She told you?”

“Hunter knows Mia through school, and she told him that her father was going to be there because it was important.”

“So, he’s still out of the picture,” one of them hints.

“I don’t hear any of you offering to step up and take care of his child so unless you’re willing to break up your marriages or take on another responsibility, you’re all creeping on a single mother who doesn’t know that you’re looking at her. Excuse me,” Tyler responds, breaking away from the group as he heads outside.

🌤

“Honey, it’s alright,” you say softly, holding onto the boy’s arms gently to keep him steady after he was dropped off unceremoniously on the door step. “It’s alright. You don’t need a gift, okay? Your gift is that you’re here. Your presence is enough, I promise.”

Tyler peers over to look at the boy who is nodding, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. 

Abel Teller.

No doubt his mother had dropped him off without a word, a far cry from his father, Jax, who would have come in to say hello. He would have most certainly provided a gift, even though it wasn’t required, seeing Abel shake his head when he’s asked a question.

“What’s your name?” Tyler hears you ask, soothing him as you dab at his tears that slide down his cheeks. 

“Abel.”

“Hi Abel,” you respond, introducing yourself. “Jacob’s outside. I’m sure he’ll be happy you’re here. Are you ready to go in and have some fun?”

He sniffles, nodding his head when Tyler clears his throat.

“Hunter’s here as well, Abel,” Tyler speaks up. “They’re playing tag, I think. You like that game, don’t you? Why don’t you come with me? They’re still in the thick of it.”

Abel’s eyes light up at the game, following Tyler to the boisterous crowd of children. A few of them recognize him, calling out to him before he leaves Tyler’s side. He can feel you standing next to him, your gaze settling on your daughter who is climbing up the ladder to the slide.

“You know him?” you ask, Tyler nodding as Abel takes off running.

“Yeah,” Tyler says after a pause. “He’s a good kid. His mother… she’s not always present. Father does what he can but when it’s her weeks to take him, it gets a little complicated.”

“I can’t imagine.”

He can hear the uncertainty in your tone, your fingers gripping your beer bottle tighter. He can tell you’re thinking about Abel and before it can go deeper, he nods at the beer in your hand.

“Need another one?”

At his question, you look at him in confusion before he smiles. You’ve been nursing that same beer since he’s seen you, absentmindedly ripping at the wrapper with your nail when no one is looking, a nervous habit that he finds adorable.

“I’m good,” you answer. “Thanks though.”

“How’s it taste?”

You look up at him, unsure of why he’s asking by the way you raise an eyebrow.

“Great,” you tell him, forcing cheerfulness into your confirmation.

He laughs then, seeing how stubborn you are. 

“Never met a woman who liked room temperature beer. You’re one of a kind.”

He sees you smile then, nodding at your lie.

“It tastes terrible,” you admit with a laugh. “But I was running around and by the time I got back to it, I didn’t want to ask for another one. It’s like coffee. I end up reheating it at least four times because I don’t have the time to finish it in one sitting.”

“I can get you another one, you know. No pressure, of course,” Tyler says, putting up his hands.

“I would like one,” you tell him, placing the bottle in his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

“Thought so. I’ll be right back.”

Mia stops mid run to wave at you, grinning wide when you wave back, taking off after Hunter and Abel when Tyler hands you a beer.

“Thank you,” you say, looking back at the kids when Laurie gives you a pleading look, motioning with her hand that the cake needs to be cut.

“Shall we?” Tyler says.

Laurie calls out to Jacob, the kids lifting their heads so quickly that it reminds Tyler of meerkats, nearly a stampede as the dads remind them to slow down as they head toward the table.

🌤

Forks clink dully on the paper plates, frosting smudging on faces and clothing, moms swooping in to wipe mouths and clean off messes. Mia sits between Hunter and Abel, picking up a buttercream star and eating it, eyes closing in bliss as she dances in her seat.

Collecting discarded plates, you nearly run into Andy, who holds out a trash bag for you to toss them in.

“They’ll sleep good tonight,” Andy assures you, seeing the trio run into the house. “And I know I said this already but the cake… you just knocked it out of the park. Amazing.”

“Thank you, Andy.”

Between the number of kids and adults moving around you both, you focus on cleaning up the leftover cups of juice and water while Andy picks up the plates, working together in unison. 

You don’t really know the ins and outs of his and Laurie’s former relationship, only that they seem to have the co-parenting thing down to a science, no ill will, just a simple partnership that works well for them. Without meaning to, your mind wanders to if they sleep together, much like you and Santiago, watching his tongue run over his lip as he focuses the tower of plates in his hand to the trash.

You blink the impending thought out of your mind. It definitely isn’t any of your business and it only makes you more embarrassed that you have no self-control with Santiago.

Which is only half-true. You’ve been cordial when he asks about Mia, sending him pictures of her at the birthday party.

And you’ve conveniently ignored his text from the picture with you and Mia under the balloon arch.

Nice dress.

“Seriously though,” Andy says, any hint left of Santiago disappearing in a flash as he smiles at you. “Thanks for coming and helping. Laurie couldn’t do this without you, and I know I couldn’t clean this up alone. Crazy how people love coming to parties but when it’s time to clean… it’s suddenly time to go home.”

“I’m still here, Barber,” Tyler interrupts, holding up a trash bag. “Did you forget about the poppers with the streamers in them? They’re everywhere.”

“When Laurie throws a party, she goes all out, I told you,” Andy informs him.

Laurie stands, rubbing her lower back with her fingers when the doorbell rings. The small clean-up crew continues on, tidying up before the vendors come and finish up. A soft whisper of your name from Laurie makes you move away from the Andy and Tyler, both of them engaged in sports talk.

Hunter and Mia are asleep on one side of the large sectional, Jacob laid out in the middle and Abel on the other side. Standing in the entryway, Jax zeroes in on his son before he engages in a hushed conversation with Laurie for a moment, both of them turning their attention on you when you approach.

“Sorry,” Laurie says, frustration in her voice as she gives you a small squeeze of your hand. “I’m going to send Abel home with a gift bag. Would you mind showing Jax where he is?”

Jax gives you a glance when you give him a smile, hearing him sigh behind you.

“Sorry to come so late,” he says in a hushed voice as he looks on at the sleeping kinds. “Got word last minute that my ex wasn’t going to pick up Abel and I was doing a double at the shop.”

“He’s been fine,” you assure him, watching as he carefully picks up his son without waking him, brushing back his hair as he focuses on his son’s face for a moment. It’s a tender moment, one that you don’t pay attention to for too long, unsure of what to say. You can feel the anger radiating off of him, muttering to himself as he places a kiss on Abel’s head.

“We’re going home, buddy,” he says, Abel’s eyes opening for a scant second before closing once more.

Laurie meets you at the door with Abel’s gift bag, Jax extending his hand to you as you shake it, Laurie giving him a hug, careful not to wake Abel.

“You know he’s welcome here anytime,” Laurie tells him, the sliding glass door closing in the distance.

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Barber.”

“Laurie is fine, Jax. Do you have my number?”

When he shakes his head, Laurie has her phone in hand, waiting for Jax to recite his number.

“I’ll make sure she has it too,” Laurie promises, referring to you as he nods, giving you a hint of smile.

“Have a good night, sorry again for being so late to pick him up.”

Laurie closes the door after you both see Abel get settled into the truck, turning around to face Tyler and Andy.

“Teller?” Andy asks Laurie.

“The one and only.”

“Pity I missed that,” Andy murmurs. “I would have liked to ask him a few questions.”

“You leave your interrogations at work,” Laurie fires back softly, keeping her voice down. “He’s a father doing his job.”

“Oh, he’s got a job, alright.”

Tyler checks his watch, heading toward the couch where he looks over the remaining sleeping kids. You follow suit, your cell phone vibrating in your purse that is on a chair.

“Need some help?” Tyler asks, Laurie and Andy still in the foyer, their hushed voices a cue that he’s not ready to let whatever he knows about Jax Teller go.

“Actually,” you pause for a moment, looking at how peaceful Mia looks. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

He’s gentle when he scoops her into his arms, cradling her to his chest as Mia doesn’t move, her breathing steady as he carries her toward the door.

“Not everything has to be investigated, Andy. Sometimes people can make mistakes and learn from them,” Laurie says, her words fading out when she sees Tyler holding Mia.

“I hope my spirited debate with Andy didn’t scare you away,” Laurie says, shooting Andy a glare. ‘We differ on justice and knowing when to pick our battles.”

Andy stays silent, his eyes locking with yours.

“Thanks again for today,” he says, Laurie nodding in agreement. “Get home safe.”

Tyler waits until you collect your purse, hug Laurie goodbye and give Andy a quick hug, inhaling the scent of his cologne once more that is intoxicating. Underneath that Henley, you realize there is a solid wall of muscle, something you weren’t expecting to feel before you head out the door and down the steps, opening the backseat for Tyler to place Mia in her car seat. Her head falls back on the headrest, still fast asleep when you close the door, checking to see if the movement woke her.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, waving to Laurie, who is standing in the doorway.

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do.”

Warmth radiates off of him, trying to get the picture of how quickly he had lifted Mia into his arms so smoothly out of your mind.

“I was thinking,” Tyler says, looking over behind you to see Mia still asleep. “If you’re interested, maybe you’d like to go to dinner with me.”

It’s finally cool now that the sun has gone down but your face is warm, nearly burning with anxiety on what to say. You haven’t been asked out on a date since your ex, let alone even entertaining the thought if you were ever asked.

But now you have been asked and you need to give an answer.

You only get one chance at this.

“Sure,” you reply. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” he says. “I can give you my number. There’s no pressure, of course, if you find that you want to cancel or that you’re not interested then let me know and -”

You recite your number, Tyler realizing almost too late as he punches in the number, sending you a text.

“Get home safe and uh, just let me know when you’re interested in going. My schedule is pretty open this week and next.”

You see Andy standing next to Laurie, both of them waiting until you get into the car, turning on the lights and the engine starting before they take a step back into the house. Easing out of the parking spot, you see Tyler heading back inside to presumably get Hunter, text messages popping up on the screen during your drive home.

Birthday party? Is that why you’re all dressed up?

Need a favor.

I’ll be there in an hour.

At the last message, you look at the timestamp when you pull over. The time is nearly ten and the message was sent almost an hour ago. With Mia still fast asleep, you take the quickest way home, unsure if he’s already beat you there.

🌤

Pulling into the garage, you see him leaning against his SUV, your resolve hanging on by a thread.

He never visits at night. Always morning, always in between meetings or a flight, or some appointment.

When the car is turned off, you hear the back door open, looking over as he studies Mia’s sleeping face.

“Out like a light,” he murmurs, smoothing back her hair. “She must have partied hard.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask quietly, his dark eyes snapping up to look at you.

“You didn’t get my texts? Got a late flight out tomorrow, Derek was able to charter it at the local airport, so I figured I’d come and see my girls.”

He unlatches Mia from her car seat, careful when he lifts her into his arms while you get out of the car. In a way, it feels like this should be a snapshot or normalcy, domestic life that you had a taste of once that had been snatched away without having properly processed what had transpired before it was too late.

The promise you had made to yourself still lingers in the depths of your thoughts, propelling you forward when you open the door, letting Santiago carry Mia across the threshold, heading up the stairs slowly while you watch him disappear.

It would be so easy to fall into the same routine. To have him share your bed, to give and give as he takes, lusty promises against your skin that he doesn’t intend to keep because he knows you well enough that you won’t hold him to it.

Placing Mia’s gift bag on the kitchen island counter, you know you could follow him, let his lips trace a line down your neck.

Picking up your phone, you send off a text, heart skipping a beat at what you’ve done. For a moment, you don’t think there will be a reply.

Your answer comes swiftly, Santiago coming down the stairs.

I’m glad you made it home safe.

🌤

Santiago follows you up the stairs, your silk robe billowing out behind you.

“I liked the pictures,” he tells you once you reach the top of the stairs. “I’ve always loved the color green on you.”

“Why are you really here?” you ask, turning around to face him. His shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing a hint of the chest tattoo.

“I told you,” Santiago reminds you. “I wanted to see my girls.”

“Since when?”

He leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest when he narrows his gaze.

“Since I saw the pictures you sent me. You’ve always held people’s attention. A child’s birthday party is no different.”

“I wasn’t sending them to you to make you jealous.”

He smirks at your passionate denial.

“And I’m not jealous. I know every inch of your body, every little nook and cranny that makes you come apart. They don’t know you the way I do so no,” Santiago says with a sigh. “I don’t think you were trying to make me jealous, but I think you’re lonely. I think the men in that picture know it too, judging the way they were staring..”

“I’m not.”

He gives you that perfect smile, looking you up and down.

“We both know how this always ends. We’re good for each other. Maybe not emotionally but physically, we’re compatible and we always have been. There’s no one else I would have wanted to have my child, to be the mother of my precious daughter. I can’t get enough of you still.”

He pushes himself off of the wall, settling his hands on either side of your face, your fingers wrapping around his wrists. It feels euphoric, his lips close to yours, body pressed against you, and it feels familiar, like you aren’t living separate lives when he kisses you.

“I can’t,” you whisper against his mouth, his forehead resting against yours.

“You can. I’ll take care of you like I always do.”

Your hand flattens on his chest, feeling his heartbeat when you close your eyes. You want to, you already know how it would end, tangled in sheets and alone when you wake.

Satisfied but alone, yet again.

“I can’t sleep with you anymore. This isn’t healthy for either of us. You can have the guest bedroom,” you answer, moving away from him as he lets you go.

“Guest bedroom,” he repeats, seeing you head toward your bedroom. “I’ll leave the door open if you need me.”

Closing the door behind you, you lean against it, squeezing your eyes shut as you ignore the ache between your thighs.

🌤

Sun shines in your eyes, startling you when you toss away the blanket, looking down to find yourself still clothed, clad in your shorts and t-shirt. The sigh of relief that flows from your lips gives you a sense of calm, nearly laughing to yourself that you had the willpower to deny the man who you’ve willingly given your body to after the divorce.

The savory scent of breakfast hangs in the air, scrambling to get up when you look at the time. It’s well past the time you had meant to wake up, running down the stairs to stop in your tracks.

Santiago cracking another egg in the bowl while Mia carefully picks out pieces of fruit to place them on a tray. Bacon, pancakes and oatmeal is on the table, something you haven’t had the time to make in at least six months with Mia’s busy school schedule.

“Oh, you’re finally up,” Santiago greets you, Mia dropping a strawberry on the counter as she hops off the step, running after you when she clings to your legs.

“Hi Mommy! Daddy and I are making breakfast!” Mia announces loudly, standing on her tiptoes to see what her father is doing. “I want an o-mel-le.”

“Omelet,” Santiago corrects gently, Mia nodding.

“Yeah, one of those!” Mia agrees.

Santiago cleans as he works, wiping off a counter before he checks on the omelet he’s making for Mia. 

A ripple of resentment goes through you at the thought of what this means. He and Mia always make breakfast together when it’s his week with her. It’s something Mia looks forward to when she’s packing her suitcase to see her father, knowing that the best you and Mia can do is a rushed breakfast of toast or instant waffles.

Father of the beginning of the day, you think, sitting at the table after Mia points to your chair, Santiago placing a glass of orange juice in front of you.

“Breakfast is almost done,” he reminds you. “Coffee?”

Before you have a chance to answer, a mug of hot coffee is placed next to the orange juice, Mia giggling when he turns back to the stove, flipping the omelet over as she claps her hands excitedly.

Mia whispers to her father, the hushed discussion reaching you. Curious, Mia covers her mouth when she sees you staring.

“Secrets don’t make friends,” you tease her gently.

“We’re going on a tour!” Mia blurts out, Santiago plating her omelet, holding it high above her head.

“A what?” you ask, Santiago placing her plate down and lifting Mia onto the chair.

“A tour,” Santiago repeats.

“I heard her,” you protest, Mia grabbing her fork as she stabs into her breakfast. “A tour where?”

Santiago sits across from you, Mia focused on shoving a piece of fruit in her mouth as he looks at the breakfast spread and back to you.

“We’re touring St. Mary’s today.”

[esteemed-excellency]

OC SMASH OR PASS

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

I was tagged by @bardusgate (poll: x) thanks bestie! 💖💖

You all know my blorbo (last portrait by @letters-of-fire)

Name: Hiram Howell Hastings Hargrave

Age: 65 45

Gender: queer

Sexuality: pansexual

🌹 Propaganda for:

Good conversationalist, attentive and polite.

Engaging personality.

Good sense of humour, even if a bit morbid sometimes.

He's always courteous, and knows how to turn small gestures of courtesy into romantic displays.

He's a really good dancer.

Aways pays for everything on dates.

Will play music and read poetry to you.

Will spoil you with gifts.

Soft curls, very clean, loves flowery perfumes.

Throws amazing parties.

🚩 Propaganda against:

[Scandal is increasing...]

He's an incorrigible risk-seeker and he will enable all your destructive habits for fun.

He likes to create problems on purpose when he gets bored. And he gets bored pretty often.

Extensive criminal record.

Will keep offering you dubious beverages.

He can't shut up about The Horrors, he loves The Horrors (this is a good thing if you're A Horror, or a Horrors appreciator).

He can get too intense or too detached without warning.

You will get bad deja-vus if you look in his eyes for too long.

Mirrors bleed around him sometimes.

He's always plotting and scheming. Believe me, you don't want to know his secrets, and you don't want him knowing yours.

I'm tagging some mutuals and everyone else who wants to do this, it would be fun to see more oc polls in the fl fandom! @thunder-threnodies @that-giorgione @the-dye-stained-socialite @thedeafprophet @zeebreezin @viric-dreams @waterlogged-detective @velvetlinedbox @violant-apologia @capn-twitchery

[mushroomates]

samwise gamgee headcanons:

enjoys doing the dishes and folding laundry

love language is quality time or acts of service

likes to give sprouts and seedlings to friends and neighbors

nerd about mushrooms and has a mushroom log growing in his closet

keeps a hoard of ladybugs to deploy at any time

windowsill is lined with old jars and bottles, filled with clippings for propagation

he gives the best slices of pie and best baked cookies to others. will keep “defects” for himself- they taste just as good

favorite cookies are “everything but the kitchen sink” where he throws a bunch of stuff into the bowl (fruit, pretzels, nuts) and puts it into a cookie

has like 80 pillows on every couch/bed/chair

in addition to the 50-something blankets also piled high

“please, have a seat” he says. ha, no. any surface you could possibly settle onto is adorned with elaborate spreads of throws and such.

has a fruitcake that is legit an heirloom. it’s so stale it’s a brick. you can use it as a doorstop, stepping-stool, or a bludgeoning weapon. (note: has been used for all. he once chucked it at a late night visitor. this is how he learned frodo takes late walks at night. this is also how frodo learned that sam has an arm on him)

his great aunt made it forever ago and honestly he doesn’t know if it’s still good. he keeps it around because it’s been with him so long he feels bad throwing it out.

likes pecan pie! goes nuts (pun intended) for it.

roast his own chestnuts, pecans and walnuts. has a strange grudge against macadamia nuts. (almost choked on one as a child)

very cozy. has scarves and mittens and even slippers (GASP) at the ready

likes to watch the rain with a cup of tea for hours on end

takes his tea with honey, two sugars, and cream. it barely counts as tea.

enjoys bubble baths.

guerrilla gardening. sam is a force to be reckoned with on this front. he is a strong advocate for native plants and will gut someone over deforestation.

carries a salt shaker filled with seeds everywhere. kind of just. shakes it around empty plots of land.

has a hostile land grab once a month and slowly expands the baggin’s garden by an inch, until it takes up nearly the whole estate.

has a great misconception about the appropriate amount to discuss you garden with someone. this is because:

he tends to talk about this to frodo, who will listen, good naturedly

frodo also prevents anyone from talking over sam or changing the subject

most hobbits are to polite (passive aggressive) and don’t have the skills to subtly change the subject in a way sam understands

and if he does recognize the effort he will avoid it

likes to try new recipes but at the same time never follows them

knows a great deal about farming hemp. this is because merry and pippin recruited him into their pipeweed shenanigans and now sam has unintentionally created a strain of the good stuff that has hobbits traveling miles to get their hands on

loves his houseplants like children. they have names and backstory and a rich inner life that he has created that could fill a book

is fighting a battle with english ivy at the moment and only slightly loosing it. it’s suffocating the tree outside his house and he’s not very happy with it.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Pregnant Reader - Part 3

So after the final part of Not So Single Mom I realised I still had a few more parts planned for the pregnant reader fic so while we have a little writing momentum - here we are with part 3. Hope you guys enjoy!

Part One

Part Two

You press a hand to your stomach, smiling as you feel the movement beneath.  Your little girl was a dancer, it felt like. 

“Oooh, is she on the move again?” asks Janine, dropping down to sit next to you.

“And apparently determined to get somewhere,” you chuckle as you feel the baby shift.  “You want to feel?”

She gasps.  “Really?”

You shrug.  “If you want to?”

“Yes!” she grins.  “Definitely yes.”  She holds out a hand, grinning as you take hold of it and settle it against your stomach.  Janine squeals when she feels the baby move beneath her hand. 

“You trying out to be the new fire alarm or somethin’?” asks Melissa as she enters the breakroom, a frown already on her face at the high pitched noise as she heads for the coffee machine.

“The baby’s moving,” grins Janine.

The red head’s eyes zero in on the spot where Janine’s hand rests against your stomach.  “And that gives you an excuse to get handsy, does it?”

The younger woman shrinks back at Melissa’s words, her hand quickly retracted back to her own lap.  “I should get going, I have things to get set up anyway.”

You watch the younger woman go.  “’Lissa, I offered to let her feel.  It’s not like she just decided to get hands on herself.”

“Good, or she’d find finger painting difficult soon.”

Rolling your eyes at the implied threat you can’t help but smile at her possessiveness.  It’s nice to still feel wanted and protected even though you feel the size of a school bus.  Your smile only grows as you watch her prepare not only her own coffee, but a mug for you, ensuring that yours comes from the special jar of decaffeinated she picked up for you. 

*

Janine isn’t the only one to be excited at the prospect of the baby moving, quite a few of your colleagues all too eager to have the chance to feel the life moving inside you.  To say Melissa does not share their enthusiasm is putting it lightly.  You have to hand it to her though, after her initial snap at Janine, she’s been subtle by her standards.  A curling of her fingers into a fist.  A scowl.  A glare. 

One day, however, you hear it; she growls.  You’re seeing your kids off at the end of the day and one of the mother’s hands has apparently wandered a little too far and lingered a little too long for the red head’s liking.  You turn to see her standing at the top if the steps, arms crossed, stony expression on her face.  Politely saying goodbye to your student’s mother, you make your way up the steps to stand in front of the red head.  You reach for her hands, untucking them from her arms and placing them against your stomach.

“You can’t kill them all, you know.”

She frowns. 

“I’ve seen the looks you’ve been throwing at people.”

Her eyes drop to where her hands rest against you and she shrugs.  “I just don’t like people with their hands all over you.”

“’Lissa, there is precisely one person who gets to have their hands all over me and she’s standing right in front of me.”

“But-“

You shake your head.  “They’re excited.  That’s all.  The baby is exciting for them too, especially now she’s started her gymnastics.  It’ll be old news to them soon enough but let them be excited for a while.  Let them be excited about your daughter.”

*

You sit back in your chair with a sigh.  “Seriously, little one, you gotta give the tap dancing break.”  Reaching for your phone, you quickly type out a message to Melissa, asking if she can swing by your classroom when she has a moment.  Barely sixty seconds later you hear familiar footsteps rushing along the corridor.  A few moments later the red head appears in your doorway, hands clinging to the frame to halt her momentum. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her worry for you and your daughter never far away.

“You didn’t have to come running,” you say as she enters your classroom, green eyes roving over your frame, head tilting questioningly to the side when she finds nothing amiss.  “I said when you had a minute.”

She shrugs.  “I always got a minute for you and the baby.”

At this, you smile.  You smile because it’s true.  It doesn’t matter how busy, how tired or what else happens in her life, she will make time.  There are times you feel guilty, but somehow, she always manages to persuade you your guilt is unwarranted.  “I need you to tell your daughter to quit throwing a tantrum on my bladder.”

When Melissa frowns you reach out your hands, taking hold of hers and slipping them under the loose jumper you wear.  “I don’t know what voodoo magic you pull but just do what you do.”

Automatically, she moves her hands against your skin and after a few moments you smile in relief. 

Tilting her head, she regards you curiously. 

“She settles when it’s you,” you tell her.

“Really?”

You nod, covering her hands with your own.  “It took me a while to figure out, but yeah.  When it’s your hands she stills.  It’s the same at night in bed too, especially when you speak to her.  She knows you.” 

Melissa tries to hide a sniffle, but the tears glistening in her eyes give her away.

“Turns out she’s just as fussy as her mama as to who has their hands on me.”

[nightmareworks]

hi i have been Cooking lancer fic

Once again, we meet Union Auxiliary Pilot, (28th Voidcombat Division, Mercenary Wing Bravo,) ["Kingfishers",] Callsign- VI The Lovers. We meet Miss Allison Wax (she/her) [Her Body, a borrowed face]

And her Loverboy (he/him) [Stone Butch Death Machine]

(both art gotten from @skycrimedraws who NAILS IT EVERY TIME BABY)

"Hey boss man," The words fell out of her lips, halfway through (the next words were a question) when her CO interrupts with "I told you not to call me that." She stops. (She doesn't flinch, its not flinching.) [She kind of just needs to run through some maybes.] For just that moment, there's no one in the body in front of the CO. And then she starts again, words coming back out. "Alright, alright. CO, what's the job you got lined up for me and my Loverboy?" The CO gestured to the spare chair with a file, and Allison picked her way across the floor. (She walked on the tips of her toes, even in the sneakers.) [She walked with a gait to big for her body, like her legs were blades.] {She's En Pointe} She pulled out the chair and sat, crossing a leg across her lap and looking at the CO through her bangs. "The next mission shouldn't be for a while yet, Miss Wax." The CO's voice was always even, collected. That's why they were the CO. That's why they wore Union Grays and Allison wore what she always did. (Just put clothes on Her body) [What kind of clothes did She wear before Allison?] A thought dismissed with the disappointment of nearlight engines. "Really now, CO? How long are you gonna keep me up? More time in medbay?" The CO shakes their head, opening files, going through them. The work seems endless, running a Merc Lance. (But what's Alllison gotta worry about work?) [Gets to wound up, being in a ship conapt too long without her Loverboy.]

"So is it more time with the headmeds?" The CO looks up from the papers and gives that kind of pained smile as Allison snatches a file off the table to read. (One of the ones with the Mission Seal on it.) [Can't read Unionite Legalese for shit.] "No, Miss Wax, you're scheduled for wind-down, but you don't need to go see one of the after-action therapists- unless you feel the need of course." So she started paging through the mission file, going over the after action reports compiled from her Loverboy (From his eye, from his soul.) [The stars are beautiful at 2,000 kmph.] "So there's really no jobs, CO? Not even basic patrols? I get bored when I'm stuck down too long." The CO holds out their hand, and she returns the file. (She likes to feel like she earns her keep.) [That's just polite, for all the things Union offers.] "Miss Wax," the CO begins "I understand that talented pilots get odd without flight." That's the thing about Grays- they're willing to work with you more than they aren't. (Its not that Allison thought they were pushovers.) [Just the most reasonable kind of people, mostly.] I can organize testflights for you, if you see that there isn't more work for the technicians." There's what she wants to hear (But not quite).

"Work's good for me, CO. You wouldn't let a butterfly starve in a jar, would you?" The CO folds the file closed. (Her file.) [The one that says "Obvious signs of long-term Chronos exposure."] Doctors let you read files out this way. Its nice to know they care, at least. CO gives their answer. "Miss Wax, war's a failure and you're a contingency. Glory only comes with time. Take your mech out, call it a patrol if that helps, but my job is to make sure the mercenaries stay healthy and stay flying." There's more, Allison knows there's more, and she stops a moment. For that split second, she's not in Her body. Allison is watching Her sit there, in the chair, in Allison's clothes, across from the CO. (The look on their face is kind of worried.) [People still caught in their meat don't like being reminded of it's hold on them.] Allison picks a maybe, a series of words that seem right, and then the moment is over, and she's back in Her body. "So where are we headed, CO? You can at least let me prepare for the future."

"We're headed to Dawnline, Miss Wax. There'll be work aplenty for you in the Long Rim and beyond."

======

The cavalry technician looked up at the frame he was gonna work on. It was a custom job, one of the Lancers that the Aux had brought onboard when coming out of the Range. Long haul ships for Union do that sometimes, guard presence in exchange for amnesty and escape. Good people get trapped places. He just wasn't sure whoever flew this thing was the best kinda people. "Beautiful damn monster you are." The mechtech murmured under his breath, looking through a sheaf of printouts. Specs for the machine in front of him, an IPS-N Frame the pilot apparently fit together herself. He didn't, really trust the speed listed under its maximum output. That kind of speed would make someone grayout (The speed at which the blood of a human body begins to pool in the limbs, causing the pilot to lose consciousness). Redout even. [The point of g-force at which the brain is starved of blood, and dies.]

He looked up again at the machine and saw it was staring back at him, great singular eye tracking along its axis, to cast its baleful red upon him. He noted it, and looked back to his notes. Looking for if this thing had a casket it in, a C/C programmed to play tricks. The normal shit pilots pull on their technicians. He came up around the great black thing in its bay, and stared it in the eye from the gantry. It stared back, body making the clittering hiss of a mech at rest. (Mechanized Cavalry frames that are in regular usage are rarely quite things.) Coolant pumped through the entire frame, keeping the coldcore under wraps until it really needed to go. Fusion engines, power-reroutes designed along the Albatross style… where the verniers and thrusters aren't shaped for an RPV. (Remote Pilot Vehicles aren't uncommonly retrofitted for pilot use, he notes under his breath) [Under that red eye.] He eyes them again, as the giant thing keeps staring. There isn't any record of a computer smart enough to do anything of worth on this machine.

It was strictly Turning-Compliant, according to the CO's paperwork. That left the damages to repair. Bits of slagged armor along the leg-blades and shoulder plating. Nothing a few hours work with the rigs wouldn't fix. The mechtech flicked a few switches and brought the frame up to the light, to the arms that pulled and printed in smooth motions as his fingers danced across the keys. It was slower going than he thought. And the mech was making a noise. It was keening, a clatter-chatter at once both rumbling low and piercingly high. Something was wrong with the feedback from the mech-harness, reporting simple and blunt legionspace attacks. Best the cavalry technician could manage was to remove the offending plates before the assembly limbs gave up and stalled. That's when a hand touched his shoulder, and a voice rang in his ear. "My Loverboy doesn't know you, mechtech, but I do. Gimmie a minute to settle him down and you can get back to work."

The girl walks past him then, almost teeter-tottering as she glides across the floor on the tips of her shoes. She moves her legs wrong, picking her way as much as stepping. The cavalry tech looks at the mech's legs and puts together the kind of pilot he's dealing with. The kind that have gone in a direction past human, hunting for something else. (He'd never really known someone in full body prosthesis) [Was rare, in his neck of the galaxy.] She moves like her mech even as she steps off the gantry and onto its chest, placing hands against the grinning skull. Ever since she came in, the eye's been locked onto her alone. He worries and wonders what kind of monster he's got to work on now.

===

He screams for her, against the void, he tears away from the cling-gravity of the UNS-CV Paris (Like the commune, she offers) [Like lights, the therapist offers back.] But the past doesn't matter when the future is laid out in the bleeding world of 2000 kmph. She was safe from everything, safe from Gravity itself as she lay coiled in her Loverboy's guts, aching through Chronos haze and picking his flight path for him as a beautiful dance. She wanted him to run through his paces, and he was eager to please. To show her what he could do. How he was built for her. Like a butterfly flitting across a windless sky, like a shark dancing through a school of fish- Loverboy puts on a show for his girl.

She's spinning him a dance, putting the engine to its test. Her Loverboy screams for his girl as he dances, frame keening against the speed and void. (Allison watches Her legs twist against the seat.) [That's how she knew the engine was art] {State-of-the-art affection} She doesn't like to think about home. Not home anymore, and not worth thinking about. More Gravity shorn free from her under the speed. So what's it worth if its pulled away so easily? Home wasn't ever home, no matter how much anyone told Allison it was. What's where you're born compared to where you'll be? (What's the flesh you were born in but another place to be trapped in?) Allison feels her brain reel as Loverboy spins in a piroutte ascending. It doesn't spin in place, but it recognizes the forces working upon it as her Loverboy pulls into a rise. (The snap from horizontal to vertical would snap necks.) [But when you don't have Gravity, moving is easier.]

Verniers howl with force as Allison considers Her. (And the changes Allison had made to Her.) [Would She mind? Would She understand?] There are protective tendons, built from the same kind of whipcord steel that run through Loverboy. There are stabilization systems built into her braincase, that absorb and disperse the shock of sudden shifts of g-force. There's a dozen, a hundred little aftermarket touches to Her body that Allison has made. (But is it really that bad, when the body is aftermarket?) [When the body wasn't built for you.] Allison still watches Her, curled as Allison left Her. (Back curved gentle. Arms on knees, resting eyes against forearm.) [The clunky implants hooking Her to Loverboy peek their tubes from beneath Her shirt] She was still perfect. Still beautiful. Everything Allison had wanted to be back then. There She was, with Allison's brain in Her body, Allison's Loverboy hooked through feeds to Her back.

Allison reached in the stopped little flaring moments between directing Loverboy through his dance. They were all the same moment. Allison reached out, and cradled Her face, and said Her name. Something Allison couldn't ever know. (How was she supposed find Her? Long way from Ketherese.) [From everything from that life.] Everything but her Loverboy. He counts the micromovements of her eyes. His own whirrs and focuses, keening as the scopes hone in on a target and his body twists with his girl's desire. He counts the times she stops existing as a presence registered at the controls. He rolls over and considers in his clicking thoughts the ways he loves her. His adoration burns in him as retros flare and he lands blades first, touching against an asteroid with the grace of a butterfly upon a blossom. His thoughts turn and his computers chitter and churn. His whitewash tanks purge into rawmat resivors and a new batch is rapidly encoded, new chains of acids and code written by mute-drive, a silent organ buried deep in his frame, coiled round and through his girl.

The Hyperkinesis Module develops a novel admixture of nanites and adrenaline and feeds through the connection to Allison, filling her endocrine system with a soothing electricity synchronized to readouts and full reports of engine efficiencies, micrometeor grazes, and heat venting. (His body hisses for her, waste gas for heat disperial in null atmosphere environments) [He bares his heart to her, reactor dropping as he stretches against the asteroid.] Allison leans forward, the Chronos uptake stretching from her back and into the cockpit's back wall. (Little tubes running up to her spine and kidneys) [One of the other aftermarket touches to Her body.] Allison's face reaches through the holoscreen outputs of Loverboy's eye. She kisses the armored outer hull of her cockpit. (She stands to her toes.) And her Loverboy gently touches off the asteroid, into the void, gently floating in the empty place beyond Gravity.

Allison lowers her oxygen uptake, and rides the Chronos her Loverboy made for her. (She dreams like an editor.) [Looking at scenes and picking them.] A wash along the nervous system, stuttering climbing up her spinal column and into the brainstem. She dreams of Ketherese, and what was left behind. Consider the Gravity that's been shed. (In the embrace of her Loverboy.) [Memories are the only thing you can't shed.] Her grandfather's dirt is far from everything she'll ever see again. No one will see the frontiers she sees. (Allison will see things even She'll never see.) [Or maybe they'll see the same stars some day.] {Face-to-borrowed-face.}

No one she had ever known would see what she sees, know what she knows. (She'd shed them, like her old body.) [Like Gravity.]

[drarrily-we-row-along]

October 1: "I've Got You"

Draco Malfoy had had more than his fair share of humiliating moments. There seemed to be no shortage of things in his memory that made him simply want to crawl out of his skin with embarrassment, but this had to be one of the most horrifically mortifying things to ever happen to him.

His bank card was being declined at the check out. Face and neck heating horribly, he looked at the items he had to try to decide what to put back; a loaf of bread, sliced cheese, a jar of apple sauce, a jar of peanut butter, a dozen eggs, and a container of yogurt. "Oh," he said, heart racing as he tried to get past his anxiety to make a decision.

"Here," the man in line behind him said, "I've got you."

He turned, ready to decline his help, but those words fell away in favor of a spluttered, "Potter?"

"Hey, Malfoy," the other man said, nudging him out of the way with his elbow to insert his own card into the machine.

"No-" he started, too late.

Potter looked over at him, then back at his card, "I've got it," he said softly. And somehow there was compassion and understanding in his voice without any pity.

"I-" he tried again, looking at the fresh fruits and vegetables, the rice and potatoes, meats, and other delicious foods that Potter had piled on the belt behind him.

"Don't worry about it," he said before Draco could get any other words out. "Seriously," he added, looking at Draco from under his fringe, looking like he was the one feeling embarrassed as he pulled his card out of the machine and a receipt was printed.

Draco took his bag from the cashier and all but fled the store.

He wasn't too far, though, when he heard a set of footsteps jogging to catch up with him. "Hey-"

"Thank you," he said politely, "I-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head. "Don't thank me. I just-" he broke off and Draco stared, waiting for him to continue.

When no other words were forth coming, he said, "If you were wanting to make fun of me-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head vigorously. "No. Shit," he ran his hand through his hair. "Look, come to my house for dinner."

He blinked, "Excuse me?"

"I'm just making up a stir fry," he rambled on, "Nothing fancy just some rice, peppers, snap peas, onions, broccoli, steak, and some teriyaki sauce-"

"I'm fine," Draco said, even as his stomach growled at the thought of eating some actual fresh vegetables.

"Please," Potter said, grabbing his wrist to prevent Draco from turning away.

"Why?" he asked and he wondered if Potter could hear all of the questions in his head why would you help me? What's in it for you? Why aren't you mocking me? Do you just want to mock me in your home? What will this cost me?

Potter swallowed and looked down at his feet, "I know what it's like to not have enough," he said softly. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Just," he huffed, "Come on. Let me feed you dinner. Please."

"You have an insufferable martyr complex." he snapped but before he could go anywhere, Potter spoke up again.

"My aunt and uncle," he said, "they didn't feed me enough. I fucking hate peanut butter sandwiches. No one should eat them day in and out. Just," he shook his head, "let me make you some dinner. You don't have to stay to eat it, you don't have to talk to me, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"And that's it? You just want me to come to your house and eat your food?"

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Potter said, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm not going to drag you to my house or anything because that would be creepy," he said when Draco didn't reply, still weighing his options, "but I'd really like to do this for you."

"Alright," he whispered, still feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed but also a deep longing for vegetables.

Potter grinned at him, bright and charming, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "Brilliant. Come on then."

And that was the first time that Draco found himself having dinner with Harry Potter, but it certainly wasn't the last.

By the time he left that evening, with a full belly and a container of leftovers, he'd let himself be convinced to come back the following week. A weekly dinner on Wednesday became a Wednesday dinner and a Saturday dinner, which became dinner every other night. And then before he quite knew how it had happened, he was at his house every night for dinner, staying later and later like he never wanted to leave.

Because the truth was that he didn't want to leave. Harry listened to him talk about his dreams, about how hard he was working in the muggle nursing program he was enrolled in, about his shitty job that didn't pay enough. He loved Harry's cat, Milo. He loved looking at Harry's art and listening to him talk about the creative process of making it. He loved hearing about Harry's childhood and getting to talk about his own. He loved having someone to do the mundane things in life with like cooking, chatting, watching telly, even just having someone to sit on the other end of the couch while he studied.

Still it took him by surprise one evening when they were making waffles and bacon for dinner, Harry was at the stove and Draco was cutting up strawberries, when the other man said, "Hey, Draco?"

"Mmhmm?" he hummed around the strawberry that he'd popped in his mouth.

"You know how your job is shit?"

He laughed, "I do. Thanks for reminding me."

"Right," he said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "But what if you didn't have to pay rent, would that make things easier?"

"It would," he said slowly, not allowing his heart to rise, not allowing himself to hope.

Harry nodded, "Do you think you might ever consider moving in with me?" he asked. "No pressure or anything, but I have an extra room," he continued, "well, five, actually. And Sirius gave me the house, so I own it, and-"

"Harry," he said softly, fingers lighting on the other man's bicep to get him to slow down. "I would love to, but I can't take advantage of your generosity."

"You wouldn't have to," he said earnestly. "If you're not paying for rent, you could maybe help with the cost of groceries, if you feel like you need to. But I don't have a ton of expenses, and I have a stupid amount of money, and a ridiculously large house for one person," he babbled. "And I just really like you," he blurted before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Draco blinked at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "You like me?"

Harry nodded, hand still firmly in place over his mouth.

"I like you too," he said softly. "But I don't want you to feel like I only like you because of what you can give me."

He dropped his hand, a tiny smile blossoming on his face, "I hoped you might." Harry reached over and took Draco's hand, "I don't think that you only like me for what I can give you. You see me and hear my words, you know me. I'd really like it if you stayed."

And really, who was Draco to deny Harry Potter anything that he wanted? So he stayed.

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

[salubriwrites-blog]

I was on a train for 8 hours so I wrote smut

I am still mentally ill for What In "Hell" is Bad? so I needed to get it out of my system. Andrealphus is my sweet baby, and this one is for the Andrealphus wanters. I intend to add a full on smut chapter later, but here have some fluff.

I start my Lycawise week stuff tomorrow so I am gonna go stress about that for a bit ^^; enjoy some fluff for now!

UPDATE: Its done :3

You Chose Andrealphus

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Gusion said flatly, shoving Beleth aside. “The daughter of Solomon does not want to ride along and watch you shoot angels all day.”

That wasn’t entirely true, you thought to yourself, you didn’t mind seizing the learning opportunity that could come with being with Beleth. You didn’t know how the rules of the road in Hell worked, but how hard could they be? With his cool way of speaking and not-fucks-lost demeanor, it was easy to imagine you as the Bonnie to his Clyde in an angel waste land.

“Oh yes,” Bathin said sarcastically, examining his nails without looking at his brothers. “She’d much rather sit in a morgue instead and watch you dissect them.” That would be interesting too, if she would be able to take notes and ask questions about how different angel anatomy was from human or devil. And then ask for an in depth demonstration of those differences, you thought with a squeeze of your legs.

“Yes, thank you for agreeing with me, Bathin,” Gusion clapped his hands enthusiastically. He was able to conveniently ignore the eyeroll that Bathin gave him as he turned back to Beleth. 

“Actually,” you spoke up in the comedic lull, but you were cut off by Bathin. 

“You’re both too blood thirsty for a human. She is a fragile thing who could break if you aren’t careful. Angels are dangerous things dead or alive, and her blood would be on your hands if you are negligent.” 

“Oh no,” Beleth and Gusion said together, whirling on devil, both ready to explain how they would take care of you with the utmost professionalism and tenderness. 

Meanwhile, you huffed your bangs out of your face and crossed your arms, trying to think of what to say to get them to pay attention to you. 

Your visit to Abyssos so far was… interesting, if you were forced to put it politely. Lord Belphegor greeted you at the gates of, bowing respectfully at the presence of Satan, brushing your hand with his lips. It put the King of Gehenna at ease when the devil prince didn’t immediately try to jump on top of you like every other devil who’d mistaken you for Solomon. After making several promises to Satan that you’d be safe and cared for, the Lord of the Nephilim offered you his arm and off you went. 

It was when Satan seemed well and truly gone that Belphegor let out a yawn that could shake the pillars of heaven, and dropped all propriety. “He can be such a hard ass,” the lord groaned, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. “Let’s get you to the palace and figure this all out.” Flying over Abyssos, you saw the good and the ugly parts of this level of Hell. It was damaged and razed similarly to Gehenna, but it seemed that places associated with the Prince of lust had been targeted in particular. It was jarring to see districts that had once been for sex and drugs were leveled with unholy precision, as if whole swaths of city had been cut from the fabric of this world. 

Prince Beelzbub’s home looked less like a regal castle and more like a warehouse home to raves. The “throne room” was just a large dance floor, and on the stage where a DJ’s booth might sit was instead an empty throne. The Nephilim stood in firm military form as you and the lord burst through the iron double doors.

“Gentlemen,” he said darkly, eyes narrowing at the three devils as though he knew that he had just missed catching them in the middle of something naughty. “I present to you the Daughter of Solomon. She is here on special orders from the King’s regent, and one of you will- wait.” You started as he raised a finger and counted out the handsome devils in front of him. “Where is Andrealphus?”

“Hunting, my lord,” one of the dark haired ones replied, bowing his head as he spoke. “We tried to summon him but… You know how he gets.” 

Thinking to himself, Lord Belphegor counted the three men out one more time before sighing tiredly. “I will address him myself when he returns. In the meantime,” he paused again to yawn, and the three devils looked at you for your response. You didn’t know how to respond, this was a Lord of Hell yawning, what were you going to do? Call Sitri to smite him down for his disrespect? Believing you knew better, you just smiled placidly as the Lord finished. “I will leave the three of you to decide who will tend to the Daughter of Solomon. I need to rest.” 

“Oh wait, what?” You asked after him, now deciding that this was the time to step out of line. You weren’t so sure about being left alone in a room of three, good looking veterans of war, who were also devilishly watching you. 

It wasn’t so bad, you decided as you sat on the edge of the stage, one elbow on your knee as you watched them fight. Who would be your personal servant, guide, and whatever else you needed? Watching them argue among themselves that they knew better than the other about your preferences to pass the time. Even though none of them had even spoken to you yet. As you were wondering when they would notice that you had just left, a pair of shoes scuffed over the stage. The steps were shambling, as if whoever it was was feeling for the way forward. Looking over your shoulder, your face twisted embarrassingly into awe at the creature approaching. 

He was tall with gorgeous hair contained into a singular, bloody braid. His all black attire contrasted like night and day against his pale skin, along with the dark scars down his face. One even seemed to be choking him, it wrapped around his neck like a serrated brand. The damaged skin grappling and strangling for territory at his unblemished skin. Atop his head were dark horns, spectacular as death herself, that twisted like great constellations from his blonde lock. All of these beautiful traits almost offset how upsetting it was to see that he was also doused in blood. 

As he drew near, eyes looking forward and seemed to watch the shouting match at risk of escalating to fist throwing, you checked yourself. You owed this man an apology for having such a visceral reaction to his appearance. However as you uttered a slew of begging pardons, the devil - no, angel? - continued to watch cautiously past you. A pair of wings, angel wings, dragged on the stage behind him. 

“Uh, guys? Why is there an angel here?” You asked, scooting away as the creature shuffled to the edge of the stage. That’s when you noticed what else dragged behind him, something in a fishing net that left a smear of blood on the stage in its wake. Even more angel wings, all of them varying qualities and methods of brutally removed.

Surprise, surprise, the devils didn’t hear you say that either. At the seeming mention of his appearance, the beautiful monstrosity dropped the bundle and took a seat on the stage near you. “I am not an angel.” 

“Then what is this? Some kind of disguise?” You asked, now having the courage to step out of line and touch the thing’s wings. They felt pretty real, so you were interested to hear his excuse. 

“A mark of my shame, a reminder of betrayal,” the man said, soft spoken like Sitri but intimidating and feral like Amy. 

“Is your name… Andrealphus?” You asked, remembering that one had been busy initially, “hunting”. 

All signs pointed to yes, but still you waited to hear him respond. “It is, and you must be the Daughter of Solomon?” 

“I am,” you said, suddenly feeling bashful, he was so sweet and well spoken that you were the one to feel childish for being rude. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Please accept my deepest and sincerest apologies,” he began, turning to face you now but something was still odd about his gaze. Like he couldn’t bear to look at you, he stared past and toward the stained glass windows. Feeling self conscious now, you tried not to tilt yourself into his line of sight. “I got… carried away on my patrols, and lost track of time when the Lord Master Belpegor appointed me to return for your reception. Please,” reaching back now, Andrealphus pulled the net of amputated wings to his side. “Accept the bounty of my hunt as a symbol of good will and promise to do better.” 

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before you could feel your thighs slick with arousal. This had to be the hottest thing anyone could do, bringing you the spoils of their angel hunt for you to enjoy first. Andrealphus stopped to gasp mid sentence as you realized that you were going to leave a heart shaped finish on the wood, and you wondered if he may have sensed what he was doing to you. Still, you tried to play it cool, if only he would look at you, especially after all this back and forth. 

“This is beautiful, but these are a little big for me to just carry around for myself,” you laughed, and his eyes finally looked closer in your direction. It was the vacancy in his eyes that made you squint and ask yourself out loud. “Are you… blind?”

At the same time, the entity was plucking dozens of feathers from one of the larger wings, gathering them up in an elegant handful. He held them out for you, shoving his hand almost too close for comfort. “Show me where you’d like to be decorated, then.” 

Andrealphus’ laughter was hard to hear over the still bickering that you were no longer following. “I am, but don’t worry, my other senses are sharp as ever and help me get around.”

Aw fuck, you thought to yourself as you squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to stifle the smell. It only got worse when his breath hitched in his chest again, and you knew he was catching your aroma. 

“That’s… interesting,” you began awkwardly, looking to change the subject. “Well, yeah you can put them in my hair… here,” reaching you, you took Andrealphus’ hand and twisted his fingers into your roots. “Wherever you want to put them.”

Wordlessly with interest and caution he loosened where you had gripped them, the angel navigated your hair. At first you had been afraid of the blood that stained the fine, black leather gloves, now though you fought to lean into it. Bloody fingertips left a rosy sheen behind as he ran hand over fist through it. Somehow though you were not disgusted or frightened of it, as if Andrealphus was wordlessly regaling you with the stories of his conquest. Eyes fluttering shut, you held on tight to the moan that gathered in your throat when he touched you. Little, probing touches that dragged on into soft caresses with his knuckles and the brushing of the angel feathers. The tingling feeling, like little beads of tickles rolling over your cheeks, was orgasmic. 

You waited until his hands were off of you to frown your disappointment that he stopped. “Well, if I’m going to be decorated, it would make sense that you match me.” 

His eyebrows creased downward at your proposal, but sat still as you took his braid between your fingers. The handsome devil’s eyes closed the same way as yours had, and he put his hands in plain sight, folded up tight over his lap. As if he was showing you that he was remaining chaste. It was a good sign as you fixed the bloodied and mangled feathers into his hair, sometimes even sorting through the wings that he had brought you to find softer downs. Maybe you could have him take you to where the angel’s bodies had fallen and he could kiss you on a bed of their bones. 

“How do I look?” Andrealphus asked when your hands reluctantly pulled back, touching his braid to feel where you had adorned him. 

The blood was the perfect contrast to his monochrome look, but you couldn’t just say that out loud. “You look nice,” is what you said instead. 

“How do you look?” He asked second, smiling wide with too many teeth as you swooned. At this rate, you were going to leave a permanent water stain from your sex because of this angel. “Describe yourself for me.”

“Uhm,’ you started, running your hand over your face as if trying to remember your features. “I have purple hair, it’s long.” 

Angling his body to face you, Andrealphus propped his chin on his elbows and smiled dumbly at you while you detailed your futures. Where your moles were, your stretch marks, and your scars, you listed them all and he painted a picture of your beauty. 

“So,” you said after you finished, dropping your hands slowly from your face. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to try and sneak your fingers across the little space between you and touch him. “Now that I’ve done that; how do you think I look?”

“Hm,” he said critically, deliberating heavily before giving you that wide smile like a shark. “You look nice.” 

Once again you got annoyed at how the three devils still fighting overpowered his laugh, and you whipped to glare at them. Were they even arguing about you anymore?

“Would you take me away from here?” You asked the fourth devil, expanding your hand bravely now, clasping your palms together. “They are too loud and frankly, I don’t like any of them.” 

“You don’t wish for any of them to be your guardian in the Abyssos?” He asked, seemingly surprised even though Andrealphus was helping you to your feet. Feeling for the ends of it, the angel dragged the bag of disembodied wings with you off stage. 

“No, I choose you.” You said confidently, wondering how long it would take for them to notice that you were gone. Sooner than you expected, as the throne room’s metal door hadn’t closed yet when Andrealphus laughed again. You heard this one, and your belly tightened at his soft tenor. It was not like the deep voices of the other devils, rolling like thunder and crashing like waves. He reminded you of the wind blowing iridescent fields of grain on a clear day. He almost bumped into you when you stopped to shudder. 

“They’re arguing again.” He explained, pulling his black leather gloves away to reveal delicate fingers, long and spindly. 

“What about now?” You asked, watching him stretch an arm out for you to take, just as Lord Belphegor had. 

“They’re blaming each other for not realizing you’ve left.” 

“Well,” stunned silence fell over you as Andrealphus opened his wings, which were also blood stained. They didn’t look to be in much better shape than the wings that he had dropped at your feet. “No one was stopping them from talking to me but themselves so, their loss… are you going to carry me?” 

“I can, if you want, or we can walk,” the angel offered, seeming to strain as he lifted the wings and stretched them as though they were weights. 

“Why don’t we walk? I can lead the way,” you decided and as though he had already made up his mind, watched as Andrealphus approached you with an outstretched hand.

“Will you be my eyes, please? Once we get to the square I’ll know where we are and can show you around.”

This first day in Abyssos so far was nowhere near your original expectation, but after the rough start it wasn’t so bad. At least now you felt like you could engage in a conversation instead of just being the topic. Holding his long fingers, you led the way down the steps from the house of Beelzbub, counting out the steps for Andrealphus so that he wouldn’t stumble. You were surprised by how easily he kept up with you, and how easily he clung to you. 

“What are you seeing?” He asked simply. “No one has ever told me what Abyssos looks like. I want to know what this place is like through your eyes.”

Oh Andrealphus, you thought to yourself as your stomach tightened again with feeling. Keep asking me things like that and I’m gonna show you a whole slew of new things. You didn’t say that, though. Instead you held a hand to your eyes and looked far over the rooftops. 

“All of the rooftops are flat, with furniture and bars. The windows are full length to let the sunlight in.”

[assortedgoods123]

Stardew Valley Harvey pt. 1

When you first meet, he is as timidly polite as can be. He shakes your hand without meeting your eyes and smiles at his shoes when you tell him your name. It's cute; he's cute.

Later that night though, you wake up panting, thoughts of a blushing doctor's tie wrapped around your hand as you lead his head downwards flashing in your mind. About a man you only just met that day? You grab a glass of water and look out the window, thinking about how unusual it is for your brain to latch on to naughty thoughts about a stranger that fast. You decide more investigation is needed.

The next few days have you running yourself ragged, planting crops and clearing out debris on your farm. To your chagrin, it isn't until later that week that you're able to walk to the clinic with some wildflowers behind your back.

You tell Maru you'd like to help them decorate a little for spring, and show her the scrappy little bouquet from your farm. She gushes a thank you and goes to get a jar to put them in. As you lean against the counter, you hear Maru tell Harvey about your little gift for the clinic, and straighten up as he walks into the waiting room.

He adjusts his glasses and stammers out a thank you for the flowers. You give him your sweetest smile and lean in closer; he freezes. You tell him it was your pleasure, and gently tap one of the buttons on his sweater. His eyes grow wider, and you tell him he's welcome to come by the farm if he ever wants more flowers.

As you're leaving the clinic, you catch a glimpse of his reflection in the window; his face is bright red, and he's grabbing the button you tapped so hard his sweater is twisted. Any thoughts about you going too far are forgotten.

The next several weeks are some of the most tiring you've ever had. Farm work from morning to evening, and throughout the day any chance of breaks are often replaced by fulfilling a villager's request or trying your best to socialize at the saloon.

The one thing keeping you going is getting to see Harvey every now and then at the saloon, which you notice he's frequenting more and more as the days pass. You hope it's because of you, and when Emily gives you a wink and a thumbs-up behind his back, you think it probably is.

[running2reanimation]

Scars

We all have them, it's just that not all of them are visible.

"It was very nice of them to invite me," King remarked as he rolled up a colourful towel, "Are you sure you're going to be able to carry me and our beach day things?"

"You can't be that much heavier than Green, it'll be fine," Purple reassured, popping his own towel into the bag, "Besides, it's not like there's that much in there, a couple of towels and some sandals..."

"There's an entire picnic in the other bag," King reminded Purple, hefting the aforementioned bag over his shoulder, "Oof, and it definitely has some weight to it."

"Okay, so we might walk for a little bit," Purple rubbed the back of his head, "But I should be able to handle getting us over the big lava lake and across the soul sand valley."

"If you're sure," King frowned, picking up the beach bag and hanging it off the opposite shoulder.

"I've got this," Purple reassured, and the two made their way to the basement portal.

--

And to Purple's credit, he did, in fact, got this. There were definitely some long stretches of walking through the Nether, which gave King an opportunity to talk with Purple.

"So... they did actually invite me right? This isn't going to be an unpleasant surprise for them and me right?"

"What? You don't trust me, Baba?" Purple put his hand to his chest in mock hurt.

"I know you well enough to know you're more of a 'it's better to ask forgiveness than permission' sort sometimes is all," King defended, putting a hand on the bag at his hip.

"I promise, Baba. They actually invited you. They don't hate you as much as you think they should. They're kind of like that. Way too forgiving. Besides, you've clearly shown them that you're not... The King anymore, y'know. Through me and stuff. And you keep feeding them, you'd be surprised how excited they are to get your baked goods," Purple reassured with a hand on King's back, "Now we've got one more section of flight to do, think you're ready?"

"...As I'll ever be."

--

Stepping out of the portal and onto the PC was a little jarring and King sort of just stood there taking it all in for a moment. He could hear the sounds of the beach coming from all around him...

Purple pushed past him and started climbing down, out of the window and calling out to the others, "We're here!"

He turned back to look at the awestruck King, and smacked himself in the head, "Oh yeah, this is your first time on a PC, isn't it, Baba?"

"...Yes," King answered, shifting his feet a bit, and Purple held out a hand.

"C'mon, follow me," Purple coaxed the older stick into taking his hand and they climbed down onto the main screen together, landing on the sand blocks with a crunch, "Wow guys, this looks great!"

The whole screen was done up like, well, a beach, with sand and water and few palm trees. The trees looked hand-drawn, but the rest of it looked like Minecraft assets.

"Very... tropical," King nodded, gaze drifting out of the PC, but the view was... very fuzzy. Better to admire the kids' work.

"Oh, you actually came!" Red clapped excitedly, with a parrot perched on either shoulder, "Guys, Purple and King are here!"

And it was like magic, the way the others just seemed to appear, dropping down out of other windows. Green ran and embraced Purple whose cheeks definitely turned a shade darker in response.

"Glad you could make it," Orange said, holding his hand out for King to shake. King took it politely and gave it a single shake.

"Thank you for inviting me," King smiled as Yellow approached and peeked inside the picnic bag.

"He brought food!"

"Yes!" Blue cheered from their spot on the beach.

"Just a few sandwiches, really, since I wasn't sure what any of you would like. Tuna, chicken salad, egg salad, bologna and cucumber. Two of each, so anyone who wants to try can at least have one triangle to themselves," King explained as Yellow took the bag off his shoulder and carried it to the drawn picnic table.

King followed her, setting his other bag down next to the table before making his way to the water's edge and dipping his feet and legs into the cool water.

Despite hearing the sounds of the surf, the water was actually placid. That was kind of nice, it meant he wasn't about to get soaked from head to toe by an errant wave.

No, he was going to get soaked by the gaggle of children charging past him to get in the water.

King couldn't even be upset about it; the kids were laughing and having fun. Honestly it was a bit of a relief that they didn't seem to feel tense or on edge at all. They seemed wholly unbothered by his presence.

King watched them play something akin to volleyball; he wasn't quite sure what the rules were but it was three on three, so it wasn't quite proper volleyball. And goodness were they ever competitive.

He frowned as he started to notice... all of them were covered in scars. Even Purple, who had a dark scar that spread across his whole torso like a lightning bolt... Had Purple ever been electrocuted before? That felt like something they would have told him. He'd ask Purple about it later.

He got up and headed to the picnic table to unpack the sandwiches, enjoying how the sand didn't get stuck to his feet. A few moments later and the kids had noticed his absence, and they all came charging out of the water as a unit.

The eagerly settled around him, grabbing sandwiches from the trays. It seemed they didn't have the best table manners, but honestly they still weren't the rudest people he'd ever eaten with.

King happily chatted with them, mostly with Yellow about her experiments with the command block staff but eventually King managed to get Purple's attention.

"So, where did you get that scar?" King asked, and despite his conversational tone the whole table went silent. Green and Blue bit their lips and Orange just stared at King, trying to lock eyes with the stick, but King's gaze was focused on Purple, who squirmed under it like he'd been caught in a lie.

"I... you..." Purple started, and licked his lips and started again, "...are you sure you want to know?"

King paused, aware that Purple genuinely thought there was a reason he wouldn't want to know. He looked at the scar, and he felt the staff he no longer had vibrating in his hands; he lashed out in anger then, hadn't he? "I... gave it to you, didn't I?"

He very much wanted Purple to shake his head, but the young man only hung his head and King flinched, "I'm sorry."

Purple shook his head, "You already apologized for it. And I forgave you then."

King knew what he'd wanted to say wasn't the right thing to say, so he didn't apologize again, or insist that Purple shouldn't have forgiven him. He just hung his own head and went back to his sandwich quietly.

He expected the Colour Gang - as Purple called them sometimes - to stay silent and them politely guide them out, but that's not what happened.

Instead, they took turns talking about their own scars. It turned out that King wasn't the only one who'd hurt someone he cared about. It was pretty shocking to hear about all of Green's scars and how many had actually come from the others.

It... made him feel a little bit better.

These kids were good for Purple. He'd already been pretty confident about that, but it was good to see it in action.

And if he was being honest with himself, they were good for him too.

[that-angry-noldo]

(cw: panic attack)

"I hate tea."

"Mmm."

I hate you, too, Orodreth wanted to say, but just pursed his lips and curled into his blanket, warming his hands with the steaming mug. Finarfin was busy; Orodreth watched, dispassionately, as he carefully put away small bags of dried herbs that he used to brew Orodreth's tea with, as he closed and hid the jar of honey and then patiently washed his hands. His face did not change its polite-calm expression through the process even once.

Orodreth did not mean to be here. He did not mean to wake up from the nightmare, from the feeling of fire-ice-cold-fear that gripped him and wouldn't let go, did not mean his screams to be as loud as to wake up his own father; did not mean to sit here, scrunching his nose at the smell of herbs and honey.

Why couldn't it be Finrod or Amil? Why couldn't it be anyone else but Arafinwë, whom Orodreth still, after all this time out of the Halls, could not see without memories of cold and fear creeping up his spine?

He brought the mug closer to his mouth. It was warm against his lips.

Finarfin's eyes skimmed over Orodreth once more, the slightest bit of worry passing over his face; as if Orodreth could be wounded and conceal the injury, as if Finarfin's falcon-sharp gaze could miss anything before, when he had grabbed him by his shoulders, when Orodreth could feel nothing but fear and pain and panic.

He noticed with a strange detachment that his father's hands were shaking as he wiped them; Finarfin rubbed his face and took a breath - and finally, finally, sat down on the chair. His frame looked exhausted. Orodreth felt - almost sorry.

"You scared me," his father finally said, softly, as if reading his thoughts. "I thought-"

He cut himself off, and Orodreth shivered beneath his blanket, looking away. He took a tentative sip. The tea was both bitter and sweet; an unpleasant mix on his tongue.

"I am sorry," he said, and the words came out colder than intended. Or maybe just as cold as intended; Orodreth could hardly care about the difference. "I did not mean to wake you up."

Or maybe, he did. Maybe, if given the chance, he would disrupt Finarfin's sleep as often as possible, for reasons as petty as possible. He wondered just how many nights it would take for Finarfin to snap, to abandon this pretense of a loving father that he surely was not, for how could have a loving father ever abandoned-

He took another sip of tea.

"It's alright," Finarfin sighed. "I would have likely woken up nonetheless. Describe me how do you feel. Any pains, or complaints?"

Only you, Orodreth wanted to answer. One horrible, massive pain.

"No," he shrugged. "But I hate the tea."

Finarfin allowed himself a little smile. "I know. But I cannot let you drink coffee at midnight."

Orodreth pursed his lips.

I hate you and I hate your stupid tea, he wanted to say. I hate your worried eyes and your careful hands. I want to smash this cup and I hope you cut yourself on the splinters, too.

He did not actually mean that. Or maybe, he did.

No.

He did not.

He felt a knot tying in his throat. His hands trembled. He took another sip, and set the mug aside.

He was crying, he realized, as his shoulders started to shake. He put a trembling hand to his mouth, trying to stiffen the sobs that he could not control, to even the breath that beat wildly inside his chest - all futile, all making him shake even more and scattering his thoughts in different directions; Arafinwë was by his side, kneeling before him, his falcon eyes sharp again, and he was talking, telling him to breathe; and with each breath another thought would hammer inside Orodreth's brain.

I hate you. A breath.

I hope you die. Another. The rhythm was unsteady. He sobbed as blood rushes through his brain.

You left me. Finarfin's voice was steady. Orodreth shut his eyes, focused on his father's words. They were a blur.

You left me. He was crying.

I thought I would die.

I died.

I missed you. I miss you. Please-

A hesitation, then an answer - regret, hurt, apology; Finarfin took his hands, squeezed his fingers, counted, voice calm and leveled.

He heared him.

"Breathe."

Inhale. One, two, three, four. Exhale. Five, six, seven, eight.

Again.

And again.

Finarfin counted, whispered, and Orodreth felt the fog of his state slowly fall back. He still shuddered. He squeezed his father's hands.

He was trembling.

There was fire, he wanted to say. We could not run, and-

-you left. You left. You left us. Left me.

"I know," Finarfin answered. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Orodreth, my Artaresto, my-" he took a breath. His own hands were trembling, Orodreth noted, detached. When he looked at his face, Finarfin's eyes were no longer sharp; they were pained, and afraid, and tears welled up in their corners.

"I'm sorry," Finarfin repeated. His voice was barely a whisper. "I will not leave. Not again."

Not again?

Finarfin took a breath. Never again.

[trixierosewrites]

happy STS! Do you have a favourite character? Also… did Aidan kill wife number 3…? “mysteriously died young” is suspicious

Happy STS!! And definitely Emilia. No hesitation. I love her to pieces, I'm putting her in a jar and shaking her, I'm blending her to a fine paste, I'm buying her yellow lipstick. I love her. There's a reason she's the only character I've commissioned artwork for.

As for Aidan... well, this actually comes up in Memento Vivere:

Aidan was no stranger to the cruelties of abusing someone’s love for someone else. His third wife—of four, so far, and unlikely to be more if he couldn’t get out of here, which was looking less and less likely—had looked at him like he’d hung the moon, and had been twenty years younger than him, only eighteen when they’d married. He’d married her because she was easy, because she was beautiful, and because she’d loved him. She’d fallen into his arms, believed anything he’d said, and he hadn’t even had to try with her the way he tried to convince the country that he could do better, this time, and he deserved the seat of power he was planning on embezzling money from.

[...]

Her father was in Aidan’s first cabinet for his new party. He’d been seeking power, much like Aidan, and had gladly handed his own daughter over for the chance to curry his favour. Anyone with eyes knew that Aidan was going to win—again—and anyone with eyes also knew that Aidan flipped through wives almost as quickly as he flipped through political parties, and so Aidan married his barely-legal wife on a cold December day, rain spitting down about them like disapproval from the gods. Amy had squealed with delight when he’d kissed her for the first time in front of the small crowd, mostly of her father’s friends. Her mother wasn’t told and found out through the newspapers, but Aidan hadn’t cared that he’d married a teenager and split the family into three. He had a pretty new wife on his arm and in his bed and she’d hung onto every word he said, and it had been satisfactory. Later, when she’d caught him balls deep in Miriam Fucking Fischer, he’d talked her around, telling her that it didn’t matter, he’d been married twice before her, that she was pure and touched only by Aidan, and that it didn’t matter what he did with his cock, and she’d agreed, and then he’d talked her into killing herself as he fucked the prostitute beneath him. Ten minutes later, and he’d talked Mary Mayland into revealing her real name.

She overdosed, and he made it look like an accident (she was so tragically young, after all, only twenty-one by her death), and then he got married again because he's awful.

Thanks for the ask!!

And that was a huge ass Memento Vivere chunk so I'll throw the taglist on here: @callmelyrae, @planets-collide, @mthollowell-writes

Ask to be +/- from the taglist!

[rochenn]

Why do I have such a spusific thing for old gay tailors who are also somehow play some sort of role in politics. Or did you just also watch ds9.

Anyways tinker tailor soldier spy is such a good premise for a charecter and your atrem looks like so much fun. Want to put him and Dooku in a jar and shake them.

I've never watched DS9, but I'm glad we're both shaking Atrem and Dooku in a jar :D