#so store bought biscuits it is

[leaving-fragments]

writing my thesis has made my biscuit addiction 100000 times worse... nowadays non-chocolate biscuits don't even cut it anymore

[mojimallow]

i love cooking so much and the fact that none of my friends live close enough for me to cook for them is. 😐

[clairewritesfanfics]

Inside an Otoge: Mister Dragon, Let Me Love You Chapter 2

Pairing: Dragon!Sylus x Non-MC!Reader

CHAPTER 1 | Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

A/N: Just a disclaimer, I currently know very little of the world lore for Sylus’ myth, just the bare bones of it. I’m waiting for his cards to rerun to read everything for myself so forgive me for any canon divergence. Sylus may also seem OOC.

“You keep staring at me.” Sylus sighs and pauses from rummaging through the paper bag. “Is the sight really that amusing?”

You are on your knees, elbows on a nearby treasure chest as your knuckles cradle your cheeks. To others who have not lived a loveless life, your face is the picture of adoration, but the dragon who knew only hatred and disgust could not recognize the expression you wear as you observe him.

You glance at his giant talons holding a can of iced mocha and hum.

Five cans of coffee from different brands, random sweets, a bag of potato chips, and one sad fruit cup to hold up the illusion of health were meant to be your dinner that fateful night. You had overtime and didn’t want anything that required more than one hand to eat. 

That paper bag from the convenience store along with your work bag were the only things you had when you were dragged into this world. 

“You look adorable,” you say.

“That’s the first time anyone has used that word to describe me.”

“Then everyone before me was blind or stupid or both.” 

He ignores you and shakes the coffee can. “I can feel something liquid moving inside. I’ve never seen these characters before.”

“That’s because me and that can are not from here. It’s a type of coffee, er, I don’t know if that exists here… it’s a naturally bitter beverage that’s made from a type of bean. That recipe makes it sweeter though.” You get up and approach him. You reach for the can but he pulls it away, looking confused and defensive, like a child who does not want to share his favorite toy. 

You giggle. Maybe he likes that the container is shiny. “I’m not going to take it away from you, I’m going to open it so you can have a taste.” 

He reluctantly parts with it and you show him how to pull the tab open. 

“Here, take a sip.”

He takes a sniff of the coffee, nose scrunching before he glares at you.

“It’s not a trick. I bought those for me, you think I’d drink poison?”

Relenting, he finally takes a sip, brows furrowed. Then he takes another sip, then another, and then he gulps down everything with his tail sweeping excitedly against the floor, pleased. “This taste is… new to me.”

“It’s bad to drink it all in one go, you could get a bad case of the tummy ache.”

“I’m not some impatient child,” he huffs, childishly. 

“Whatever you say.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“You’re imagining things.”

He growls, no, purrs like a dissatisfied kitten before turning his attention back to the contents of the paper bag which now lay scattered about on the ground. He looks calm but with the way his tail keeps wagging, you know he wants to try more.

“I’m sorry for laughing. You can try some more.” You pick up several snacks and hold them out to him. 

He remains unmoving, but his eyes could only barely hide their desire to eat. 

You wonder what the problem is. Suddenly, it comes to you that he is likely feeling shy, almost reserved, not wanting to take more of your food. Pfft. It is truly a wonder how anybody could hate such a cute creature.

You clear your throat and pick out a snack yourself. You tear open the box and aluminum then pull out a single stick of the chocolate-covered biscuit. “This is called Pocky. There’s an interesting game for it, too. Two people compete to see who finishes it first.” 

“Compete how? It’s way too small to even share–” His tail stops moving when you put one end of the biscuit in your mouth and then point at the other end.

His expression of bewilderment morphs into a teasing smirk. “So this was your goal. If you wanted to kiss me, you should’ve just been honest from the start.” He leans over to you. Those soft lips barely graze the stick before you inhale the whole thing in one go.

You swallow and say, “You lost.” 

“...”

“...”

He pulls out another biscuit and puts it in his mouth, then turns to you. You bite down on your end and steal the whole thing away before he has the chance to breathe.

You cover your mouth as you chew. “Lost again.” 

He gets another stick and you steal that too. And then the other one, and then the other one, and so on. Soon, the box is empty and Sylus’ tail thumps furiously.

You swallow the last of your spoils. “And here I thought dragons were apex predators.” You didn’t expect to win so many times. Although considering how short your breaks at work were, eating quickly comes as easily as breathing to you.

“You cheated.”

“Don’t be a sore loser. Isn’t your kind supposed to be the epitome of grace and dignity?”

“...”

“Don’t pout. You can have the rest of my food and drinks.” You nudge the remainder of your “dinner” towards him. 

“...”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually mad?”

He silently traces the rim of a coffee can. Eyes downturned, he asks, “I can’t tell whether it’s bravery or foolishness. Most humans want to kill me, but you talk and act as if you do not even see me as a threat.”

“That’s because I don’t.” 

“And yet you’re weak.”

“Well, yes. In fact, if you were to throw me away right now, I have no doubt that I would die in the wilderness within a day.”

“How…”

“Hm?”

“How are you so bold?”

Bravery or foolishness. If you have to think about it, it is neither. The truest answer is this: apathy. You stopped being alive years ago. You were empty until Sylus breathed life into you. You adore Love and Deepspace but to be honest, even when you had the game version of your darling, it was merely a distraction. If you were to get hit by a truck before finishing the story, you would have been okay with it. Even now, as you kneel before the authentic thing, should your favorite kill you, then you would be fine. 

A walking corpse is still just a corpse, after all.  

You give Sylus a soft smile. “I don’t think I’m being bold, though.”

“You confuse me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You offer him the cappuccino. 

“Do you really have no place else to go?”

You shrug. If he were to somehow kick you out of this prison, there is no doubt that you will end up dead in a matter of days. But you don’t want to manipulate him with guilt. Whatever choice he makes, you would accept. “I was just joking earlier, I’m tougher than I look. I’ll survive.” You grin, hoping it would be good enough to convince him.

He touches the can but doesn’t hold it. His hand is so large that the tips of his claws poke your nails. Connected with each other, he looks at you and says, “...If it's all right with you, just stay with me.”  

How could you refuse?

Part 3: here Masterlist: here

@phisen @leryg0 @capribun @sinnamon-bunn @wegottastayfocus @erisnxxi @syyyy4ever

[scoutswritingcorner]

Careful, Baby On Board

Cursed Cat Alastor

TW: The Vee’s, biting, Cursed Cat Alastor being a menace

A/N: I had an idea of Cursed Cat Alastor being in a babybjorn carrier

The day had started out fine, you had to do a few errands around the hotel for Charlie and Vaggie. You were currently finishing eating your snack, Catastor (You originally named it Cat Alastor but that was too long) in your other arm as you ate. It was purring loudly, slowly blinking as if it was about to fall asleep in your arm. It’s paws carefully making air biscuits as it looked around the room ignoring you as you ate your snack.

Sadly every moment of peace is broken in the ever busy Hazbin Hotel as Charlie walks into the kitchen looking guilty as she wrung her fingers together smiling at you. You looked up at her, “Yes Charlie?” You asked as you took another bite of the very very off brand granola bar you had found whilst digging around in the pantry of the kitchen without Alastor finding out but Catastor did find out easily. “So…I have another errand for you cause Sir Pentious accidentally broke one of the bar taps and the part we need is more in town and you’re the only other one who can go..Alastor won’t go near the Vee’s tower..” She explained before smiling at you, opening her mouth about to say something else but stopped when you shrugged, “Okay.”

“..okay? That’s all?” She asked, disbelieving that you would answer so quickly, “Yeah..I’ll head out in a second.” You hummed, throwing your trash away as Catastor made a little growling noise in response. “Hush grumpy boy, we are going on an adventure.” You whispered out to him giving him a gentle kiss to his head which made him start purring more. Silly cat behaves much like your darling deer man.

~~~

After looking at what broke and taking a picture of it to make sure you could find the right things you had headed into town. The only store that was close was sadly in the Vee’s distract of Pentagram City which was dangerous for most of the hotel- Angel because Valentino and Alastor won’t go anywhere near modern technology and barely anyone in the hotel goes this far into pentagram city. So it was up to you, which you didn’t really care much for as you usually tuned everything out and stayed in huge crowds to avoid Vox finding you. The fucking creep trying to either flirt with you and get you to leave Alastor or he just watches you.

Straightening out your jacket to keep Catastor from growling at the amount of modern technology around and calm in the babybjorn carrier you had bought and specifically custom made for him so you could carry him around with you easier. While he was practically light as a feather, your arm would get all tingly after a while, he also tended to pick a fight with anyone who dared venture too close for his comfort. Sadly lady luck was not on your side on this fine hellish evening, first when you got into the store they were completely out of the part you needed and it wouldn’t be shipped in until a week later, so you had to call Charlie and get her decision on what to do, then Catastor didn’t like how the store manager was looking at you and decided to have an early lunch which resulted in you getting kicked out after you had negotiated a reasonable way for them to deliver the item to the Hotel and finally when you thought your day couldn’t get worse. Vox had to show his face to you as you finally got Catastor calmed down enough to get back into the carrier.

You fixed your jacket and gave Catastor a little kiss on his head before turning around to immediately run into Vox’s chest. “What the fuck.” You hissed out angrily glaring up at the tall tv headed demon, who only smirked at you. “What the fuck indeed, I didn’t expect you to be out and about this part of pentagram city!” He said loudly causing you to flinch, you already felt a migraine building behind your eyes. The low static that emitted from Catastor started to become louder and louder by the passing seconds as Vox went on and on about something you couldn’t care about.

“What…what the fuck is that noise?” He hissed out his screen glitching in anger, “My baby.” you replied quickly making the overlord stop in his tracks, “You have a kid?” He asked, watching you nod and open your jacket to show the bright red and black fluff ball that was currently hissing and jerking its head in anger. Bright red dialed eyes glaring Vox down, as it easily escaped the carrier it was in, saliva and foam escaping its fangs. “This is my baby boy and bodyguard while my darling Husband is off doing his own thing.” You replied looking at your nails, nonchalantly. 

Vox opened his mouth to say something but as his hand reached over to touch you that’s when Catastor pounced, claws digging into the Overlord’s chest and screen as he bit down anywhere he could. It was over in a flash as Vox had disappeared using his electricity and Catastor was standing where Vox laid before snarling and growling out wires in his mouth. You smiled picking him up, praising him as you took the red and blue wires out of his mouth. “Don’t need my bodyguard to get a stomach ache later.” You hummed walking back to the hotel.

Alastor is going to have a field day when he hears what happened with Vox. Maybe rub it in the overlord’s face at the next meeting.

[ma1dita]

ready for checkout!

'between certainties and doubts' installment part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 1.4k a/n: remus sees someone he doesn't expect at the grocery store. fluff n a lil flirting. enjoy the beginning of their doomed summer. love a summer fling. feel free to send requests for them

—

Though it wouldn’t seem like it, summer was Remus Lupin’s favorite time of year. 

Summer was Remus’ chance to be someone other than himself, and that was something he greatly looked forward to. No school, no magic, no worries about his furry little problem until the next full moon, and most days were just him doing whatever errand his mum would pull him along to do. His perfectly normal, perfectly Muggle mum. 

And Hope Lupin was a force to be reckoned with on her own, undeterred by the magical world her family lived in, so whatever she says, goes. She was Remus’ favorite person in the world—and right now, all she wanted was fresh ingredients to make her world-famous oggies.

Nothing stops his mum from conquering her grocery list. Not even the fact that he’d barely pulled into the parking spot before she hops out of the passenger seat as if all the leeks in town would be bought within the next two minutes.

“Mum, wait a moment, yeah?” he half-yells, and he watches her wave him off with a grin, making her way into Tesco.

“Get a trolley an’ follow me, boy!”

In moments like these, with his hands gripping onto the handle of the shopping cart, Remus can’t name the feeling, but he knows that there is nowhere else he’d want to be—completely normal, and completely Muggle; the half of him he only gets to tap into when he’s home.

No matter if he’s shivering from the subzero temperature they keep the inside of the store.

The cart squeaks underfoot as it rolls across the white linoleum, chilly air from the AC rushing against his sweat-slicked pores. Even in the summertime, he wears long sleeves, pulling them over his wrists as he glances up at the sweets aisle, shuffling past instead. 

But he can’t resist his sweet tooth.

He doubles back, turning 180 at the end of the aisle, his sneakers scrubbing against the worn floors, and Remus scans through the assortment of biscuits before his eyes land on you, teetering on a misplaced wooden crate in an attempt to reach for something on the top shelf. 

For a moment, he thinks he still must be half-awake, or maybe this is one of those weird dreams where one shows up naked to school—he’s only barely been able to regulate his sleep schedule since term ended, after all. But maybe the sensation he feels in his chest is butterflies swarming his ribcage—he’s never actually thought of you as much as he would like to. 

Never would allow himself to at least. 

Always seeing you in passing, acquaintances at best, Lily and Marlene sang praises about you constantly, and you were too pretty for him to ruin, too scary to entangle himself with, because he knew if something happened, you wouldn’t want to stay. Not with him. It’s a miracle in itself that he’s already got the boys with him for life, despite his predicament.

 It’d be easier if he didn’t know you, Remus thinks, because at least talking to a stranger who has no idea who he is outside of this Tesco would be infinitely less complicated. His mum always did say he overthinks too much. Remus looks down to see that he’s still wearing clothes, blinks twice—and comes to the conclusion that you are very much real, and holy shit, you’re gonna break an ankle if you keep doing that. For Cadbury Dairy Milks?

“Need a hand?” he decides to say, clearing his throat behind you. You’re already here, there’s no harm in a brief interaction, and then he can forget this ever happened and see you in the fall. Your body seizes like you’ve been electrocuted—whipping a head full of hair in his direction with an animated squeak, and you fall backwards, straight into Remus’ cart. The Cadbury Dairy Milks you were reaching for come spilling off the shelves like hard-hitting confetti, at least four of the bars smacking against Remus’ head and neck, bouncing off to land onto your misshapen form that’s currently crumpled in front of him.

“Lupin!” you say with a gasp. He can’t tell if you’re scandalizing the situation or creeped out by the fact that he’s there, and then you’re smiling up at him under the harsh white lights as one does when they’re relieved to see an old friend.

“What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that,” he tentatively grins, offering a hand and helping you down from the trolley, “Didn’t expect to be checking out a pretty girl at Tesco today.”

You feel like a princess, patting down your skirt as your cheeks flush, and you look at him with a sideways glance. He’s different here than he is at school, something more relaxed—his shoulders have descended from their naturally pinched position, and Merlin, he’s not wearing argyle or tartan or anything that resembles business casual attire. Somehow, Remus Lupin has gotten softer in the summer. You think you might like it, seeing him in this new light.

“So you were checking me out?”

Remus Lupin is a walking contradiction—he’s all bark and no bite. He awkwardly idles in front of you, emerald eyes flickering to the hem of your dress that kisses the sheen of your thighs from the summer sun as he sputters out a response, something that sounds like, “Er… I meant, you... like buying… Um that sounds wrong too,” he clears his throat, and you let him off the hook for now, giggling at his embarrassment. He finds it weird that he doesn’t mind it, shaking his head as he lets himself laugh along with you. You’d never seen each other outside of Hogwarts, much less a world away from the one you both frequent. 

Was there ever really a time you both talked about anything other than schoolwork or given more than a wave and nod in greeting? 

“Would’ve been easier if I could just Accio it, huh?”

“But then I wouldn’t have had to see you fall for me,” he says in jest, and he feels a certain satisfaction at catching you off guard again, raising your eyebrows and shoving him with a force that rattles the Jaffa Cakes behind him. Is this flirting? Is Remus Lupin flirting with you?

“You wish, Lupin!”

“Remus,” he mumbles, and the look you give him is searching and curious, signed off with a saccharine smile that he’ll still be thinking about when he closes his eyes tonight. You nod, saying your name like he doesn’t already know—he memorizes the way the letters fall off your lips and wonders if they’d taste just as sweet. There’s something more here, palpable in the way your knuckles brush against the others as you haphazardly fix the mess you’ve made (you just wanted a reason to touch his hands, if we’re being real. He knows this, and lets you. There’s no fucking way you could reach that shelf in the first place).

This was new and uncharted territory, but Remus resigns himself to the realization that this is…nice. You’re here for the summer to help your grandma settle into her new house, which he finds himself thrilled about, although there is absolutely nothing to do in this dreary old town. When he tells you this, you giggle again; somehow the two of you have started pushing his cart together, walking up and down the aisles with no particular direction, and none of the items on his mum’s list have gotten checked off.

“Well, I’m sure you’d make very entertaining company,” you reason, arm brushing against his Henley-covered one, and he shivers again despite the freezer aisles being across the store.

“Hiya—ooh!”

Hope Lupin is stunned by the sight of her darling boy willingly interacting with a girl, a very pretty one at that. She doesn’t even have to say anything before Remus widens his eyes, and within minutes, she’s inviting you to have dinner with them, and oh, you live just down the hill from us, how lovely! Remus, you never told me you had a girlfriend!

“Maaaam!” the tall boy whines, until he sees you stifling a grin at his accent slipping out and how petulant he is stomping about in front of his mother at a towering 6 feet 2 inches.

“I’m just a friend of his, Mrs. Lupin,” you say, locking eyes with the boy in question. 

Friends.

With you.

An interesting, surprising development—even for an overthinker like him, Remus didn’t see this one coming. He nods, scrunching his nose at the idea, and when his mum turns away, long fingers reach out to pinch your side.

Both of you walk out of Tesco with no Cadbury Dairy Milks in tow, neither of you finding yourselves bothered by that whatsoever.

—

i don't do taglists anymore! follow @ma1dita-mail & turn on post notifs 🤍

[starlightvld]

Allowances

For @baohanhanesel - happy holidays! Have a little hurt/comfort, MacTavish family Christmas vibes, and Simon beginning to find his place among them (and a bit of sappy romance at the end).

(Also on AO3!)

---

"Dinnae fash, Simon. They're gonna love ye."

Ghost stands perfectly still beside the car as Johnny rounds the boot to step up beside him. They make a pair, with Johnny in a new bright red cable-knit sweater, jeans, and a navy blue knit cap that brings out the blue in his eyes, while Ghost is dressed down in his usual black shirt, black hoodie, and a black medical mask. His faded blue jeans are the only spark of color, as old and worn as Johnny's are crisp and new.

If he were a better person—a better partner—he would've worn something nicer. As it is, he's a split second away from turning around and disappearing into the Scottish twilight. The only thing keeping him rooted in place is—

A warm hand slips into his hoodie pocket and curls around his balled up fist. Ghost sucks in a deep, slow breath, and as he exhales, he releases the fist to clasp Johnny's hand palm to palm.

It terrifies him, the comfort a single touch can give. He knows how easily comfort can turn into soul-wrecking pain. Yet he clings to Johnny's hand with the kind of desperation Price would no doubt find concerning for a whole host of reasons.

"We dinnae have tae go inside," Johnny murmurs. "I can call mam from here and—"

"'M not gonna melt, Johnny. Just... gimme a minute."

He's already ruined Johnny's Christmas enough by bowing out of the actual holiday. But the aching despair of the anniversary always winnows him down to his basest self. Even three days later, he feels hollowed out and cold, his sole point of warmth the callused palm and strong fingers clinging to his as they huddle closer against the chill winter air.

Johnny doesn't know the sordid details, but he knows enough about special ops life to fill in the blanks. Every operator has their demons. Simon Riley's are just a little more harrowing than most.

At least the MacTavishes like to celebrate the winter season all the way through New Year's. Or so Johnny says. Ghost suspects the post-holiday get-together might be an allowance made specially for him, but he's certainly not going to ask about it. So here they are, standing in front of Johnny's childhood home outside of Glasgow, store-bought biscuits in hand, while a multi-colored glow spills through the frost-edged glass into the rapidly darkening outside world. It beckons them inside with the promise of warmth and joy and all the other things those trite holiday cards claim for the winter season.

Ghost doesn't move.

The blinking Christmas lights taunt him through the front window. Memories loom from the dark corners of his mind and threaten to upend the one thing he desperately wants to give Johnny—time with his family.

He takes another deep breath, taking care not to let the exhale shudder on the way out.

He's only met Emma and Grant MacTavish twice in passing at Johnny's medal ceremonies for Las Almas and then for the Chunnel op. The latter medal, a Victoria Cross, was officially for exceptional heroism in the line of duty and unofficially for assisting in the dismantling of a major bomb threat and taking down Makarov with a well-aimed stab. He and Johnny weren't in a relationship then, and even if they had been, it would've been inappropriate to mention it on base. Even so, he remembers the overflow of unearned gratitude in Emma's blue eyes—exactly like Johnny's—as she wrapped both of her warm hands around his and thanked him for keeping her boy alive.

The words still ring hollow as he thinks about Johnny collapsing on the cold concrete after clipping that final wire with Price.

He almost died in Ghost's arms that day, and Ghost hasn't been the same since. For one, he kissed his subordinate in the hospital the instant he thought Johnny was coherent enough to remember it and hasn't stopped kissing him since.

Completely unprofessional.

And utterly worth it.

With a final deep inhale and slow exhale, he straightens his shoulders. He can do this. Even if it makes his stomach cramp and his palms sweat with anxiety and the Christmas decorations seem to taunt him with memories of a family forever lost to him.

For Johnny, he can do this.

"Alright," Ghost murmurs—more to himself than to Johnny—as he slides their clasped hands from his hoodie pocket and pulls him toward the door.

It opens before they can knock, flinging brilliant light, excited conversation, and upbeat music into the night air. Emma MacTavish greets her son with a wordless exclamation of joy as she throws her arms around him in a tight hug. Somehow, Johnny manages to return the hug and answer rapid-fire questions about their journey all without letting go of Ghost's hand. Cold air pricks at the exposed skin around his medical mask, but Ghost is too focused on processing and cataloging every detail to acknowledge the physical discomfort.

Johnny looks more like Emma than he does Grant, sharing those bright blue eyes, dark hair, and a brilliant smile that could melt a glacier. Peas in a pod and, according to Soap, often partners in pranking crimes. All Ghost can see is warmth and light—pouring from her, from Johnny, from the home that was never riddled with suffering and people whose lives were never cut short by an evil too insidious to anticipate.

When Emma pulls back from Johnny, she keeps her hand curled around his bicep as she turns the full power of her warm gaze on Ghost.

"And Simon—may I call ye Simon?" Emma asks.

"Yeah," Ghost replies before clearing his throat and adding, "Hello, Mrs. MacTavish."

The smile she gives him sends a shock of pain through his chest even as a flood of comfort flows in behind to sooth the ache.

It's kind. Compassionate.

Motherly.

And it's directed at him.

It gets worse—or better?—when she reaches out to gently clasp his bicep too, connecting the three of them in a circle of touch. As if he's somehow a part of this world. As if he deserves a second chance at family despite dooming his own. The connection is both suffocating and freeing, as if he's taking his first breath of fresh air in years all while a boulder crushes his chest.

She squeezes his arm, and her smile widens into something familiar. Maybe a bit teasing, too.

"Call me Emma, love. I'm so glad yer here. Both of ye. Now, come in out of the cold, will ye? My bones are already aching."

Ghost flounders as the onslaught of pain and comfort slices straight through the layers of armor he's built up through the years, exposing his soft insides.

He wants to fall into the touch.

He wants to run away.

He meets Johnny's gaze, and the softness and understanding he finds there is a balm to his spiraling emotions. Despite everything inside screaming at him to shut down, to not let anyone else into that secret part of him that Johnny breached with the ease of a demolitions expert, Ghost is helpless to do anything but follow Emma inside.

For the first time since he lost his family, he dares to let himself hope.

-

Hours later, Johnny pulls Ghost into bed with a gentle hum, guiding his head to rest on his chest. The heavy thud under Ghost's ear is like scissors to a puppet's strings, snipping the tension away and leaving him boneless and overwhelmed.

"Alright?" Johnny murmurs in his ear before pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head.

"Not made of glass," Ghost grumbles.

Johnny knows him too well to take him seriously, even now. "Nae, yer made of sterner stuff. Gunpowder, madness, and pure spite."

"Spite can be motivatin'. Just ask any of the rookies who've had me for drills."

Johnny hums a laugh, and Ghost presses his ear harder into Johnny's chest to catch every vibration. Fingers trail through his hair, and he sighs.

"How shite was that, scale of one to ten?"

"What?" Johnny mumbles, his lips once again pressed to the side of Ghost's head.

"How bad an impression did I make?"

A hand grasps his hair to gently tip his head up. Their eyes meet, and the genuine confusion in Johnny's expression gives Ghost hope.

That he didn't fuck everything up. That Johnny's family won't try to convince him to stay away from Ghost.

"Mam was absolutely charmed, Ghost. I think she'd adopt ye on the spot if she could."

Ghost blinks. He replays the evening in his head—from the homemade dinner to the impromptu after-dinner sing-along between Johnny and his niblings to the softer conversation between the adults once the children had crashed. He can't think of anything he did to warrant such a reaction. In fact he barely talked at all, content to let Johnny answer questions for both of them and only interjecting when someone spoke to him directly, which happened rarely enough that Ghost was positive Johnny had asked them to make allowances for him. He both hated and loved it—hated that it made him feel weak, like he couldn't handle himself or his emotions, but loved that Johnny was clearly thinking about him and ensuring he would be as comfortable as possible.

He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve Johnny at all if he's being honest with himself. The man is too good—all righteous fire and burning passion. But with that honesty comes the acknowledgment that he's far too selfish to ever give Johnny up.

At this thought, a faint memory surfaces of Emma's soft look when Ghost wrapped his arm around Johnny's shoulders as they settled on the couch. It's how they always sit when on leave because they can't risk it on base. Ghost loves the feeling of their bodies melding together, a line of heat at his side and Johnny close enough for Ghost to mumble inappropriate comments, bad jokes, and blush-inducing innuendo into Johnny's ear.

Apparently Emma MacTavish thinks it's a good thing, too.

"Well. Good then?"

Johnny hums another laugh, making Ghost's cheek buzz. "It is good, love. Very good." He tightens his arm around Ghost's shoulders. "Thank ye for coming with me."

Ghost swallows. Despite their solid relationship status, they haven't exchanged more than joking admissions of their mutual attraction. He feels the lack all the more as the worst of his holiday malaise falls away in the face of so much care and affection. Something wiggles loose in his chest, a sensation of free falling as his lips form words he hasn't said since before Roba took his family from him.

"Thought you woulda figured out by now that you've got me wrapped around that trigger finger of yours." He swallows. Takes a shaking breath. "You're the only thing alive in this world that I love."

Johnny stills under him. Even his chest is unmoving, breaths locked up with a quick inhale.

And then it all comes out in a rush.

"Simon... d'ye mean tha'?"

And though it means losing the comforting thud of Johnny's heart in his ear, Ghost answers by leaning up, gripping Johnny's chin with his fingers, and pressing a soft kiss to slack lips. When he pulls back, Johnny is staring at him, tears welling in his blue eyes and a wide grin replacing his shocked expression.

"Love ye, too, ye big bastart," Johnny whispers before diving in for another kiss.

And maybe it's not perfect in an objective sense. Maybe he still misses his family and what could have been. But in this moment—with this man and his gracious family who went out of their way to make him feel welcome—it's the closest to perfection he's ever been.

[ddodol]

pepero day mishaps with riize !

summary ⭑.ᐟ they mistakenly grab a box of condoms instead of your usual pepero snack <3 (as referenced from here) content warning ⭑.ᐟ condom mentions, slightly suggestive, secondhand embarrassment maybe.

a/n; i know it's already the 12th... </3

  ☆ : embarrassed, please go easy on him

shotaro:

it would be the first time shotaro’s ever celebrated pepero day with someone meaningful, wanting to commemorate it by buying you a box before he came to pick you up. he’d show up at your place, smiling brightly as he hands you the box. shotaro would be excited about today, telling you there were a lot of things he wanted to do with you, like the pepero game or getting to decorate a piece for each other. you wouldn’t know any better though, surprised to see packs of condoms inside the box instead of the familiar foil packet that had pepero in it. you’d pour a few out on your hand, still in denial, making shotaro panic once he realizes. he’d be embarrassed, apologizing over and over again as he snatches the box out of your hands. needless to say, he’d be bummed out the entire day, still bothered by the unintentional blunder he made. putting a smile on shotaro’s face wouldn’t be difficult though, going back outside to buy actual boxes of pepero this time and doing all of the things he wanted to try just to make him feel better.

seunghan:

i just know seunghan takes made-up events like this seriously— this is serious business for him. he would have planned out an entire date, along with his gift and a letter to show how much he appreciates being with you on pepero day. it would be romantic just like he planned and as he opens the box, hand scrambling inside to reach for the pepero snack, he pulls out a handful of condom packets instead. seunghan would freeze in shock, the romantic atmosphere crumbling down in an instant. you’d be laughing at the incident, laughing even more at the look on his face. it would take a lot before seunghan recovers, having to seek comfort in your arms because he can’t believe he was careless. he’d explain to you that the packaging was different from their normal ones that he just wanted to give it to you so you’d feel special </3 you'd coo at him, reassuring him that you understood what he was trying to do and that he shouldn't be this shy over condoms lmaoo

anton:

it’d be funny ngl. anton walking in a random convenience store at six in the morning and grabbing a red box reminiscent of the pepero packaging without even checking, all because you’ve been texting him last night about how excited you were for today. you’d wake up to anton hugging you from behind, the red box placed in front of you. it would put a smile on your face, appreciating the gesture even though anton never got the point of pepero day. excited, you’d open it up, getting mixed signals when you see condoms instead of your favorite biscuit sticks. anton was always the type to show affection through his actions so you weren’t too surprised that he went out of his way to 'ask' in this way. he would stir awake to you hugging him back, wondering why you were being affectionate. once you explain to him what he brought you, he’d be confused, scrambling to check with his own eyes. anton would pull out various excuses, like how it’s too early in the morning or even pull the foreigner excuse, cheeks and ears bright red out of embarrassment.

  ☆ : works out in their favor

eunseok:

did he do it on purpose? who knows. eunseok for sure would’ve found it amusing nonetheless. a quick trip to the convenience store meant that he only grabbed the first thing that caught his attention, whether it was subconsciously or he really didn’t know was all up in the air. you couldn’t really blame him though, the boxes were similar and stacked next to each other. conveniently, you also just ran out of condoms so it works out perfectly. finding out that he bought the wrong thing wouldn’t even faze him, blushing as he laughs. if it was any other day, he’d be too ashamed to even say anything but ‘gifting’ you a box of condoms felt appropriate for an event like today. once you two have settled down, maybe even got an actual box of the snack, eunseok would lay beside you, pulling you in his embrace as you held the box of condoms. he’d praise their marketing sense, mumbling about how he wants to see how good the quality is next so you could write a review afterwards or whatever ;;;

sungchan:

regardless of the event, you’re getting spoiled no matter what because sungchan would definitely be the type to get one of each, the box of condoms accidentally getting added in the mix. he’d sit you down on his lap, going through every single box and feeding one of each to you by mouth. he might even sneak in a little kiss in between just to stay true to the pepero day shenanigans. you would have gone through half of the boxes by this point, the mood starting to get hot and heavy. the moment sungchan grabs the condom packet, he’d stare at it curiously before glancing back at you, a playful smile growing on his face. sungchan wouldn’t even have the time to feel embarrassed because he knows you feel the same way as he does.

sohee:

i like to think that sohee would know, laughing at the drawing on the box (it’s pepero characters with the unrolled condom on their heads). he’d find it funny, buying one along with a box of pepero for you like he planned on doing. he’d even share it to the boys’ group chat, jokingly warning them to be careful </3 sohee would hide the fact that he knows, wanting to surprise you with it. clueless, you’d give sohee a kiss on the cheek, thanking him for the pepero day gift. it would kill him if you started taking photos of it to post on your socials, holding back his laugh as he watched you. sohee would start to feel guilty at how happy you look though, hugging you from behind and telling you to try opening the box. you would be the one panicking in this case, quickly grabbing your phone and deleting all stories and posts you've made of it </3

  ☆ : the secret third option

wonbin:

poor guy would've went out to buy out an entire stock to make it into a bouquet because he's seen it on social media. wonbin likes doing romantic gestures and he'd be satisfied with himself afterwards, proudly showing the bouquet off as he comes pick you up for your date. you would have to ask him if he walked around while carrying it, which he smiles at and nods— your shoulders moving up and down as you try your best not to burst out laughing in front of his face. it would take him a while to realize, face paling when you explained to him that these boxes did not contain the sweet snack you both knew. seconds later, wonbin’s knees would give out from embarrassment, wailing and beating himself up for not checking. he’d start to connect all the weird glances he got, especially from the cashier, feeling even more embarrassed the more he thought about it. your pepero day date would be cancelled and a movie night will have to do (and maybe put one of the eleven boxes he bought to good use)

[oaksgrove]

Oiii, você pode fazer um de Price fazendo compras com a esposa? No mercado! amo suas escritas!

THIS ISN’T A DRILL! I GOT MY FIRST PORTUGUESE REQUEST!!! OMG😭💓💓💓

request translation: “Hiii, could you write Price going shopping with his wife? In a grocery store! Love your writing!”

Thank you so much for your request!💓

The Little Things

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Synopsis: Grocery shopping with John is nothing extraordinary—just another small part of life together.

Warnings: Pure fluff, domestic softness, playful banter, and John Price being the most husband material to ever exist.

Word Count: 905

The grocery run wasn’t anything special—just another part of life together. But that was the best part, wasn’t it? The ease, the routine, the small moments that made up a life shared.

John held the shopping list in one hand and your hand in the other as you made your way through the store, the steady, familiar rhythm of it comforting. It was a slow day, no rush, no mission to get in and out. Just the two of you, picking out what you needed and maybe a few things you didn’t.

“You wrote this,” John murmured, squinting down at the list, “but I can’t read half of it.”

You peered over his arm. “It says tomatoes.”

“That’s supposed to say ‘tomatoes’?” He turned the paper slightly, as if a different angle would make your handwriting more legible.

You sighed, reaching over to take the list from him. “Fine, I’ll read, you push the trolley.”

John hummed, clearly pleased with the arrangement. He set both hands on the trolley handle, steering it steadily as you moved through the aisles. His hand occasionally left the cart to pick out a pack of biscuits or a different brand of tea than the one you usually bought, dropping it in without a word.

“Do we need more honey?” he asked, already reaching for a jar.

“We have some at home.”

He hummed but placed the jar in the cart anyway.

You rolled your eyes fondly but let him have his way. It was little things like that—John ensuring there was always enough tea, enough honey, enough of whatever made the house feel full and warm.

In the produce section, he stood beside you as you picked out fresh fruit. He reached over, selecting an apple and pressing it gently between his fingers, testing its firmness before handing it to you for approval.

“Good choice,” you said, dropping it into the basket.

He let out a small, satisfied huff. “Years of experience, love.”

Further along, in the bakery section, he grabbed a fresh loaf of bread, knocking on the crust lightly. You raised a brow at him.

“Checking if it’s hollow?”

John smirked. “Checking if it’s fresh.”

You shook your head, amused, as he added it to the trolley.

As you passed by the sweets, you reached for a pack of biscuits, only for John to take them from your hands.

“Oi,” you protested, but he simply gave you a look before placing them back on the shelf and grabbing a different pack.

“Those are better,” he said simply.

You huffed but accepted it. He always had his preferences when it came to tea and biscuits, and you had long since learned to trust his judgment.

At checkout, John took charge of unloading the trolley onto the conveyor belt, his movements easy and practiced. You stood beside him, watching as he efficiently packed the bags, ensuring nothing was crushed. He always took his time with it, methodical even in something as mundane as grocery shopping.

Once everything was packed up, he pulled out his wallet, but you were quicker, tapping your card before he could.

John exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he tucked his wallet away. “You’re too fast for me these days.”

You grinned, grabbing one of the lighter bags. “It’s all the practice.”

Back in the car, as he pulled out of the parking lot, he reached over, resting a hand on your knee. It was nothing grand, nothing extraordinary—just a simple touch, a quiet moment in the middle of an ordinary day.

But that was the beauty of it. Life with John wasn’t just the big, defining moments—it was this. The small things. The steady companionship. The warmth of his hand on yours as you drove home together, groceries in the back, the rest of the day stretched out ahead of you.

As John pulled into the driveway, he turned off the engine and sat back with a satisfied sigh. “Right. That’s the shopping done.”

You nodded, grabbing one of the lighter bags. “Yep. Now we just have to put everything away.”

John reached for the heavier bags, hauling them inside with ease. As you stepped into the kitchen, you grabbed your phone, checking the bank app out of habit.

A new notification popped up: Joint Household Account – Grocery Store Purchase Approved.

You squinted at it.

John, blissfully unaware, was already unpacking the bags, neatly placing everything in its proper place.

You turned to him slowly. “John.”

“Hm?”

“You know how you were grumbling about me paying?”

He glanced over his shoulder, brow raised. “Yeah?”

You held up your phone. “Darling, we used the account.”

John blinked. Then, recognition dawned.

“The account,” you repeated. “The joint account. The one we both put money into.”

A beat of silence. Then John groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. “Bloody hell.”

You burst into laughter. “So all that fuss about me paying first—”

“Doesn’t count,” he grumbled, shaking his head.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, still grinning. “Face it, love. We both paid.”

He exhaled through his nose, but you could see the amusement tugging at his lips. “Fine. But next time, I’m tapping first.”

You patted his chest. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever makes you feel better.”

John huffed but pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love me for it.”

He didn’t argue.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

Haunting Heroes DPxDC. December 22: Baking

Right before Christmas movie night, the power went out at the Manor. Dick was hysterical. Yeah, Tim's laptop still had enough charge for at least one movie. The real problem was that the Traditional Xmas Bat Cookies weren't ready. And Nightwing wasn't going to accept that they would have to spend that evening eating store-bought ones. Dan adjusts his Santa cap and indignantly hurries the birds and bats. "Leave the poor dough alone. Bruce will soon sort out the breakdown anyway. Go watch the Grinch or I'll turn on Saw and drain your laptop's battery so you'll just be staring at the wall for the rest of the night." Jason, with the confidence of a man who has come up with a brilliant idea, grabs a strand of Phantom’s hair that has escaped from under the red cap and pulls. "You! You are a solution to the problem."

~~~~~ Dan: Auch, I prefer to be part of the problem, thanks. Jason: Come on, take off your sweater and give us some warmth. Dan: First take me on at least one date, brat. Danny: Actually, that's a great idea. You can warm up your core to the desired temperature, right? Just lie there with a sheet of biscuits on your chest for about twenty minutes and Dick will leave you alone. Dan: I refuse to act as an oven! ~~~~~ Also Bruce, who an hour later comes into the kitchen and sees the children sitting in a circle near lying on the floor Dan like a sect: “..You all know that we have a backup energy source, right?” Tim, who is tired of trying to persuade Dan to warm up another cup of coffee: Mother of f..

[ceratedfish24]

raises mic 2 u. snowangel headcanons?

(I have one that i'll share: their relationship p much kicked off in limited life when, one night, skizz couldn't sleep, so went out to the beach to get some air. coincidentally there was a certain fish in the water... Scott made and carved an intricate netherite sword for skizz as an apology for the boogey kill. it couldn't exactly be used on the LiL server (op + had some Old Galactic enchants like loyalty, which is non-applicable on the Life servers), but it carried over into every other server skizz joined. with that rather over-the-top gift, the conversation... spiralled. and ended with them the next morning making cookies and being gay)

That is SO cute and they ABSOLUTELY bake together. Skizz can’t follow a recipe he doesn’t make every other day to save his life. Scott doesn’t need a recipe. He knows most basic recipes by heart.

My personal headcanons?

Scott is REALLY good at hiding that something’s bothering him, but Skizz can read him like a book. Skizz might not be the most observant person, but his people skills are like no other. Scott used to be surprised and dismissive whenever Skizz called him out on it, but now he just collapses into Skizz’s arms, knowing that there’s no point in hiding that something, no matter how small, is upsetting him.

Skizz has mentioned that he could fall asleep in Scott’s arms, and so I absolutely headcanon that, when Skizz can’t fall asleep, he lays his head in Scott’s lap and asks Scott to sing for him. Scott will drop anything and everything to do this whenever asked.

Scott bought Skizz a whole new wardrobe. Dragged him to every store and made him try on so many clothes. Skizz was just happy to be there. He struck over exaggerated poses every time he showed Scott a new outfit. Scott clapped and cheered and hummed and hawed the whole time.

Scott and Skizz have completely different family favorite dishes. Sharing them with one another is a very important part of their relationship. Skizz comes from a world of meats and roasted vegetables and biscuits and gravy. Scott comes from a world of various pastas and steamed vegetables and different ways of serving rice. They like their own food, but they really love the other’s food, and cooking for each other and with each other is always the highlight of their day.

Scott loves to go all out for the holidays. Whether it’s Halloween, Christmas, Valentines, New Years, whatever, he goes all out. Skizz isn’t the type of guy who’s self motivated to put up decorations, but he does enjoy the decorations and putting work into something that makes his hardworking sweetheart of a partner so happy.

Skizz and Scott are both very social people. They’re the ones who put on holiday parties and Friendsgiving every year. Most couples would stress out about this and divide tasks unevenly and get frustrated, but I genuinely don’t think Skizz and Scott would struggle with this. With their experience, Skizz would immediately have a prioritized list of everything that needs to get done, Scott has a vision about how he thinks it should look, Skizz inherently trusts Scott’s vision and helps Scott get everything he needs, and then Skizz and Scott work together to make it all happen and it’s a hit every time. Scott is so grateful not to have to take complete charge of every event he wants to put on, and Skizz is so grateful to have someone with such an artistic mind grace his life like this.

Scott is a book lover, so Skizz built him a beautiful old-fashion style bookshelf. Skizz swears that Scott loves the bookshelf more than he loves Skizz.

These two for SURE go for walks. They’ll walk anywhere. They love to walk through parks. They love to walk on boardwalks. They love to window shop. It’s one of their favorite ways to wind down together.

They share a scarf when it’s cold. Skizz often forgets that they are sharing a scarf and will try to wander away or bend down. Scott is offended every time.

Skizz is not the type of guy to start a fight when it really matters. When it comes down to it, Skizz is a professional at de-escalating a situation and handling it maturely. In a game, though? Skizz will defend Scott’s honor to no end, die about it, and dramatically fall over with declarations of loyalty and peace with his decisions.

Scott isn’t the type of guy to start a fight either. He is the type of guy to get you fired if you insult his man badly enough, regardless of whether or not your career is relevant to the offense you’re being fired for. Nobody ever knows that it’s him who does it. Not even Skizz realizes this is happening. Scott didn’t start this feud, but he will end it and in one single move.

Skizz isn’t usually a sweets guy, but Scott is a “what if we got a sweet little treat🥺” guy, and Skizz gives in every single time.

Scott is a passenger prince, and Skizz willingly sets up the passenger seat with blankets, snacks, drinks, and stuff to do. Scott never expects it, and he’s grateful every time.

Scott is a clean freak. Skizz isn’t a dirty person, but he’s also not a clean freak. It doesn’t bother Skizz, and Scott uses it as an excuse to have something to do when he’s overwhelmed and Skizz isn’t home.

Skizz took Scott to a carnival, and it was the first time Scott had ever been on a ferris wheel. He’s not particularly afraid of heights. He just has never had much a reason to go on one. It seems like such a two or more people activity, and Scott just never had someone else want to go. He doesn’t realize that people aren’t exaggerating how romantic it can be until he’s up at the top with Skizz’s arms wrapped around him.

Their first kiss happened because Skizz offhandedly said something that made Scott laugh, and Skizz unconsciously zeroed in on the sound of Scott’s laugh and kissed him without even thinking about it. The sound of Scott’s laugh and the mirth in his eyes was just too overwhelming for Skizz. He pulled back immediately afterwards, but Scott wouldn’t let him go.

I know they’re the same height, but Skizz is slightly taller to me.

Skizz will kiss Scott ANYWHERE. Scott’s hands are a common place, but anywhere that is Scott and that is available in the moment is free game to Skizz.

Skizz didn’t know how to dance before he got with Scott, and now they dance everyday, even if it’s just swaying while one of them hums with a frozen lasagna in the oven.

Skizz loves cheesy mugs, and Scott keeps indulging him. They have a dedicated mug cabinet. Everyone else keeps calling them crazy, but Scott insists that no one can talk about his boyfriend like that.

Skizz was not a jewelry guy before he met Scott. Scott gifts Skizz so much jewelry, and Skizz can’t deny that Scott knows what he’s doing. That man has taste. Every piece so naturally enhances Skizz’s style, and, best of all, they always remind him of Scott, wherever he goes. He got his ears re-pierced for Scott.

Scott is a ring gay irl (we are KIN), and I completely headcanon that with his character. Skizz takes notice of the rings he wears the most often and buys him so many more. Every one that Skizz buys him is Scott’s favorite. Skizz knows Scott’s ring size per finger by heart. This information will be very useful when Skizz wants to propose.

Also, with the amount of work Scott does everyday, Skizz totally bought him a gorgeous blue pen with Scott’s name engraved on it. The ink shimmers without glittering. It’s just enough dramatic flair. Scott has not used a different pen since Skizz gave this to him.

Skizz is a complete sports head. Scott can’t name even one single sport, but he will be damned if he doesn’t support Skizz’s interests. He makes so much food every time Impulse comes over to watch a game. He buys tickets to see local games. He has NO idea what’s going on, but, if it’s men’s sports, he’ll point at the player he thinks is the hottest. Skizz will then, playfully, blow up about why Skizz himself is the hottest, thank you very much, and lather Scott’s face with kisses that tickle. Scott may not know sports, but he does educate himself a little on Skizz’s favorite teams and their players and history. He’s nothing if not supportive.

They’re not a “I need to bite you” couple, but Scott is a “I need to feel you” partner. He’ll sporadically and frantically grab onto Skizz throughout the day. It’s his dose of exercising his right, as Skizz’s boyfriend, to have casual touch with Skizz without it seeming weird. At first, Skizz would stop what he’s doing or saying whenever it happened and ask Scott if he’s okay. Scott’s response is to stare into space for several seconds and then return to what he’s doing. Now, Skizz doesn’t so much as bat an eye when this happens. If anyone asks why Scott does it, Skizz will say that Scott has magic powers and is “analyzing my genetics to figure out how I’m so sexy”. Scott will say “cause I can and no one thinks it’s that strange. Could you imagine if you did it to Skizz? Weird. I’d have to kill you.”

Skizz is a sitcoms guy. Scott is a musicals guy. This does not stop them from getting entirely too invested in the other’s preferred form of media.

Scott loves to take pictures of Skizz, but he always forgets to take pictures of himself. He’s very subtle about it. His camera roll is full of pictures of Skizz, both photogenic ones and not. When Skizz is gone at night, whether working late or on a trip, and Scott can’t sleep, Scott scrolls through his favorite pictures of Skizz.

Skizz tends to be an “in the moment” guy, but, when Scott is particularly photogenic and in amazing lighting, Skizz yells “STAY RIGHT THERE. DON’T MOVE. DON’T CHANGE YOUR EXPRESSION.” Scott will freeze, but his face will do that thing he does where he’s smiling like everything’s okay, but his eyes are wide and unsure and looking around frantically. Skizz will then spend over five minutes trying to find his phone, which is in his pocket the whole time.

Skizz gets frustrated when he has bad days. He sighs a lot and gets more pessimistic than normal and gets angry about little things. Scott’s response is to cup his face press his forehead head to Skizz’s and take deep breaths until Skizz leans into him. Then, they talk about Skizz’s day.

Scott gets teary eyed and anxious on his bad days. He frets about things he usually doesn’t, and he over analyzes every little interaction he has with everybody. He bites his nails, does chores, and grabs onto Skizz more often. When Skizz starts seeing these behaviors, he hugs Scott really tight for several seconds and then softens the hug as a way of releasing all the tension in Scott’s body. Scott melts every time, and he usually falls asleep ten minutes later, exhausted from all that stress.

Scott’s hair is naturally blue. Skizz didn’t know this until he wanted to dye his own hair the same shade just to get a reaction out of Scott. When he couldn’t find Scott’s hair dye, he confronted him about it like a kid who just found out that their parents put the cookie jar on a shelf they can’t reach. Scott laughed so hard.

Skizz is an outdoors person. Scott is not. Scott does it anyway, because you can’t keep your outdoor dog (Skizz) inside all day. It’s just not healthy. He tries to release bugs back into the wild, but he screams every time they move. It always makes Skizz laugh.

Scott has a playlist for absolutely everything. He has never played his Skizz💙 playlist in front of Skizz. He has absolutely played it in front of Cleo, Joel, Gem, Lizzie, and Martyn to the point where they are so sick of it. They unwillingly know every song on that damn list. Joel and Martyn are working together to play it in front of Skizz. It will never work.

Y’all, Skizz has angel wings and Scott has snow owl wings from Empires SMP Season 1. They can preen each other. Their bed is specifically made for people with wings. Also, both of their wings come from divine sources. I’m sure there’s some kind of holy oil or something that Scott washes his wings with once a week that Skizz knows nothing about. Skizz’s wings are so messy. Scott is appalled. He has to teach Skizz proper wing care.

Thank you for reading my ramble!! I wrote a lot because I didn’t want to give you like three if you were expecting more, but then I couldn’t stop💙🩵

[scribbles-here]

Sweeter Than Chocolate

You decide to try a game with Cove with a familiar sweet treat; pocky.

tags: established relationship, step 3 Cove, fluff bc we all need a little bit of love

pairings: Cove Holden x F! Reader

note: this has been sitting in the drafts for WAYYY TOO LONGGG and I totally forgot about it also shout out to my friend on discord who didn't know I was scribbles-here and loved my work, this one's for you (´°ω°`)

Now matter how long you and Cove have been together; he has and will always be shy to kiss you first.

Don’t get him wrong! He loves kissing you! It’s just... with how close you are, how your perfume invades his nose, the shampoo you use mixing in, your warm chest pressing against his as you wrap your arms around Cove’s shoulders. 

It’s heaven for him. 

“Cove!” You shout, giving the boy’s front door a few firm knocks. “I bought something, and I want to try it with you!” 

Waiting, you heard the thumps against the wooden floor come closer and closer to the door. Cove opens swings open the door with a surprised expression written on his face. 

“(Name)? Did something happen?” Cove questioned in a concerned tone, quickly darting towards you, ocean blue eyes scanning you from head to toe for any injuries.

You giggle. He can be so cute sometimes but right now, you cannot wait any longer to ask him something.  Cove’s expression turns into a relieved smile once he realizes nothing bad happened to you. 

Noticing the plastic bag you were holding, his expression turns curious, tilting his head to the side to try and peak inside. "What did you buy?"

Hiding the bag out of your boyfriend's view, you walk inside his home, Cove trailing behind you, and set the bag of goodies on his kitchen table.

Watching you carefully take out the items and placing them in front of you, Cove grabs the box. "Pocky?" He read out loud, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Yeah, have you tried them before?" You questioned, grabbing a chair and taking a seat in front of Cove. He copies you, settling his chair next to yours, knees touching.

"No, but I've seen them in stores." He shrugged, placing the treats back down. "Never got the chance to try them."

Beaming at this, you place your hands on Cove's knees and lean forward, noses grazing. Cove flinches at the closeness, cheeks turning into a nice shade of red. "Well today's your lucky day because we are going to be playing a game with this."

"A game?"

You nod, opening the packaging and pulling out a biscuit. "Yup, a totally easy game."

Crossing his arms, intrigued at the information. "Sounds... interesting. How do you play?"

"First we each hold onto the end of this pocky," gesturing to the pocky stick to which Cove nods. "Then we each get a turn to take a bite; whoever backs out loses."

Cove nods at your explanation, eyeing the biscuit. "Sounds easy enough."

"Great! Let's start!" You placed one end in your mouth, leaning forward for Cove to do the same. Cheeks burning, Cove leans forward and hesitantly bites down on the other end.

Cove watches you take a bite, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

Taking a bite, Cove has a thought. Wait, if we keep taking bites and don't back down, eventually we're gonna... Oh my god!

Zoning back to reality, Cove notices how close you both were. A small whimper leaving his lips, cheeks burning red. He blinks rapidly, but he's too late to stop himself. He takes the last bite and locks lips with yours.

Shutting your eyes, you lean into the kiss, reaching over to grasp Cove's hands in yours. Squeezing them, Cove relaxes his shoulders and flutters his eyes close, thumb rubbing your knuckles.

Pulling away from each other, you gauge at his red and flushed face, biting your lip to hide a smile growing on your face. Cove pouts, rolling his eyes at your reaction to his internal freak out.

After sitting in silence, Cove was the one to speak up.

"So, I won."

You gasped. "Yeah, no, I obviously won."

Cove scoffs, throwing you a smug look. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Retry; winner picks where our next date is."

Snatching the pocky at the speed of lightning, you place a biscuit in your mouth. "YOU'RE SO ON!"

My tip jar! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

i have been overthinking what buck’s baking and why for too long to not throw my thoughts out into the world, so. here you go.

baked alaska: a fiddly details/impressing people dessert. i bet bobby suggested this as a date night recipe, and since he’d already bought everything buck decided he might as well make it for madney. (imo the kitchenaid was acquired for meringue-whisking purposes, if he didn’t own it already.)

the many loaves: ah, quick breads. some of the easiest baked goods to throw together without investing in fancy equipment or ingredients upfront, just mix and bake! my thought: buck realized that the hours working on the baked alaska were the first he hadn’t spent thinking constantly about tommy, so the first loaf was an experiment to see if that effect was replicable, and then, well. it’s easy to put together another bowl of batter while your first loaf is baking.

baked brie: we have a canon explanation for this one, lol.

garlic bread, baked ziti, bread pudding: by this point, buck clearly thinks the oven is the common element when it comes to not-thinking-about-tommy. (presumably he has been cooking as usual and that had no impact on his tommy thoughts.) i can’t see him having the time to make bread from scratch at the firehouse on shift, so i suspect the breads were store-bought and then enhanced with buck-made garlic butter & custard.

cookies: also very easy to make with little prep time or downtime! sure, you can let the dough chill or rest if you feel like being fancy, but it isn’t necessary to get something edible in the end. the most waiting you have to do before the actual baking is wait for your butter to soften—and as buck says in 8.08, he started out his baking craze using melted butter, so buck was not doing any waiting, not allowing himself any downtime. cookies have similar main ingredient volumes to a quick bread but require less moisture and smaller amounts of mix-ins/flavorings; probably buck switched when he ran low on pumpkin/lemon/etc.

the 8.08 basket of baked goods is not super easy to identify, with the crinkly plastic wrap and all, but it looks to me like a few quick bread loaves, some scones or biscuits, and a larger, yeasted bread loaf. this suggests to me that buck is attempting recipes that are more complex, including some which require ingredients a home cook wouldn’t typically have on hand (e.g. yeast; the loaf-sized bags and twist ties are also pretty specific to baking vs the plastic wrap of the 8.07 loaves).

is his expanding repertoire because the basic recipes aren’t holding off the tommy thoughts as well now that he’s getting good at them? because the people he’s foisting his baked goods off on are getting bored of the same old thing? because he’s getting bored of making the same things over and over again? i’m not sure. i think any of these is a valid interpretation at this point, honestly.

[shamm-rokz]

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･ biscuit stimboard .ᐟ𓈒⟡₊⋆∘

˗ˏˋ ★ self indulgent stimboard of my stuffed friend, biscuit ! c:

: 🦴 || 🍞 || 🥧 :||: 🦴 || 🐶 || 🦴 :||: 🥧 || 🍞 || 🦴 :

˗ˏˋ ★ p.s., center gif is mine + i know that this ty plush was originally named ‘patches’, but i found him at a second hand store before i learned his name after i bought him, so i gave him the name on the spot and thought it stuck, so biscuit it is !! zᶻ ૮˶- ﻌ -˶ა⌒)ᦱ

[queenofcats17]

I would actually love to see Sammy being an amazing baker as a story, if you're able to and ok to. I love the idea of him quietly mumbling "it's just brownies.." as he watches the workers lose their shit over the last one!

Oh yeah, sure!

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Sammy could bake.

It was a skill he'd learned from his grandparents when he'd been young and was something he'd kept up ever since in the comfort of his own home.

However, no one at the studio was aware of this skill. At least, not until the fateful potluck.

The potluck had been to celebrate their 100th episode. Joey had wanted it to be catered, but Grant had politely informed him that they didn't have the budget. So, potluck it was. Many people still brought store-bought dishes, but many also tried cooking. Shawn had brought a pot of beef stew, proudly proclaiming that it was his gran's recipe, Bertrum had brought in some British-style biscuits, and Norman had prepared a dish of sweet potato casserole that made everyone's mouth water.

When the potluck kicked off, a veritable treasure trove of food was assembled in the break room. And tucked in between a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of cookies was an unassuming tray of brownies.

No one had noticed it being brought in or being set down and no one paid it much attention, not with so much food present. At least not until someone tried one of the brownies for the first time.

"Holy shit!" Wally yelled, spraying brownie crumbs everywhere.

"What?" Shawn looked over, putting down his plate of food to rush to Wally's side. A few others also approached, drawn by Wally's sudden exclamation.

"These brownies are incredible!" Wally gestured from the brownie in his hand to the tray on the table.

Shawn scoffed. "You say that about everything you eat," he said. It can't be that good."

"They are!" Wally insisted. "You gotta try one!"

Shawn rolled his eyes but took one of the offered brownies and bit into it. As soon the treat hit his tongue, his eyes widened.

"Fucking hell..." He whispered. "You weren't joking. These are amazing!"

Those who had been drawn by Wally's yell also took brownies to try, each, in turn, expressing amazement when they tried the treat. This drew the attention of more and more people until soon, everyone was trying the brownies and expressing their admiration. Even the people who didn't like chocolate had to admit the brownies were really good. They'd never tasted a brownie this amazing.

"Who made these?" Norman asked, scanning the crowd.

"I did." Sammy calmly raised his hand.

The room went dead silent, everyone staring at Sammy with barely contained shock and awe. Then they erupted into whispers and shouts.

"Sammy can bake?"

"Since when?!"

"Husband material right there."

"I wonder if he can cook too."

Sammy seemed unfazed by the reaction, calmly sipping his glass of punch.

"I can make cake too," he said.

This prompted more whispers.

"Now you're just teasing them." Jack playfully nudged Sammy in the ribs.

Sammy just smiled.

In the weeks that followed, he began to make it a habit to bring in some baked goods on Fridays. Often it was just store-bought things. But sometimes... Sometimes he'd make them himself. On those days, everyone clambered to get a piece. Things got heated. People were bitten. And Sammy watched the chaos he'd created with pride.

"You're evil," Jack informed him as they surveyed the mayhem.

"I know." Sammy did indeed look rather proud of himself.

Eventually, Joey had to ban Sammy from bringing in his baking due to the commotion it produced, although that didn't stop people from still asking in secret for Sammy's confections. Sammy didn't fight the ban, quietly distributing his baked goods only to those he deemed worthy, something that led to a great deal of the Music Department doing their absolute best to get on Sammy's good side. Admittedly, Sammy did take advantage of this just a little bit.

Sometimes he just liked to cause chaos. It kept his coworkers on their toes.

[2treez]

“With no supermarkets and almost no money back in the day, it was "root hog or die" if we liked to eat. Food? We grew most everything we ate. For instance, sausage, ham, tenderloin and fatback? (bacon to us moderns) Yep! Along with all the other foods we grew, we grew those too and never ever did we go hungry, come winter time.

Come spring of the year, Pa bought a small pig; we fed it well all summer and by fall of the year, it had grown quite big. On a frosty November morning, Pa built a fire under the scalding vat, shot the hog, (right between the eyes with a .22,) we hauled it to the scalding vat on the sled and rolled it into the hot water to loosen the hair so we could scrape it off. We then hung it upside down from a tree limb, Pa cleaned it out, cleaned it up and lowered it to some planks he had laid on the ground.

What did he do then? With a butcher knife and axe, he made magic right there on the spot: ham, shoulders, side meat, tenderloin and other good things. (He was mighty good at doing that.) Meanwhile inside the house, we ground up meat in the meat grinder, Mama mixed in red-hot pepper and other stuff, we rolled it into balls, she canned it in fruit jars and stored it in the cellar. (Come breakfast time on cold winter mornings, home canned sausage was the best stuff on God’s Green Earth, bar none.)

Meanwhile, the whole house smelled of raw meat and by the end of hog-killing day, fresh meat was the last thing I wanted to eat. BUT, come next morning, Mama fried a stack of buckwheat pancakes that reached the sky, made white-sop gravy, (sauce, you all) home-made biscuits, perked coffee on top of the wood stove, and best of all, fried up a whole bowl of fresh tenderloin. Was it good? Best stuff I ever seen; bar none.

After hog-killing day was done, it was comforting to know, that (with firewood piled high, the cellar and meat box full to the brim) no matter how rough the coming winter, we would be warm and fed.”

🌳🫶🏼🌳

By Wayne Easter resident of the Appalachian mountains

[idontknowreallywhy]

Another instalment of dinky Scott at School - I think there are (as yet unwritten) scenes in between these but I figured I’d get the key ones down then have a look and decide if it’s actually a story to flesh out or just a series of snapshots to leave as is.

Apologies to any actual teachers who may notice I am playing fast and loose with how such things might work in real life.

Disclaimer: Teeny Scooter does not actually appear in this bit, but is much discussed…

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THE Jeff Tracy.

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t spent most of the night revising the 6 bullet points she wanted to cover in that one 12-minute parent-teacher conference. She’d quietly ensured the slot immediately afterwards was unbookable just in case things… overran.

None of the other teachers had met him, only the mother, who by all accounts was very pleasant. She hadn’t expected him to come, assuming he was probably on the moon or something equally intrepid. But the little box next to the number 2 had been ticked on the form so unless it was a grandparent or something…

The fancier biscuits she’d picked up from the store had just been a whim… sometimes she wanted to bring a bit of luxury into proceedings, that’s all it was…

Oh heck she’d bought fancy biscuits. Just like the hopeless fangirl she was. As if he’d notice anyway?

The first parent had noticed and seemed to enjoy their chocolate dipped Viennese finger biscuit. So it was worth it.

The second set of parents hadn’t turned up at all which left her with an agonising 18 minute wait.

It was fine. Just another PTC with some totally normal parents hoping to hear what a delight their precious offspring was. And she intended to thoroughly emphasise that part right at the outset because he really was.

The other notes she had would also be fine because she had considered every possible way of delivering them and had figured out the most persuasive.

All. Fine.

She needed another word for fine.

A gentle tap-de-tap and the door cracked open to reveal a waterfall of red hair and a very friendly face. Behind, even taller than he looked on tv, towered the man from the all those documentaries she’d binge-watched as a student.

Definitely just a normal PTC.

Felicity Miles, teacher, champion of tiny people, competent human, took a breath and greeted the couple with professional confidence and a welcoming smile.

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In the last five years she’d broken similar news to four other sets of parents, and observed her mentor do similar in her training year. Not a big enough sample to be conclusive but the fact the reaction had been the same each time had lulled her into a complacency about what to expect.

It went something like - shocked faces, initial denial, possibly a little anger, guilt that they hadn’t known, 3 of the mothers and 2 of the fathers had cried. Then, usually, she could see a little relief creeping in…. The hope that it hadn’t been something they’d got Wrong after all.

And then a brief conversation about what could happen next and arrangement of a meeting to discuss further when they’d had time to think. She’d hand them the department of education-approved info leaflets and smile and promise it would all be alright.

This one wasn’t going the way it should.

To start with there was zero surprise. Not even a flicker. In fact they’d looked at each other and smiled, before patiently listening to the rest of her little monologue. Right up until she started outlining the stages in the school’s neurodiversity support pathway at which point Mr Tracy had lifted a hand and cut in:

“There’ll be no need for anything formal. He’ll learn to manage his difficulties and he’ll overcome them.”

Felicity did her best to ignore the calm tone in his voice that simultaneously commanded she agree with him, advised it was a done deal not worth fighting against and reassured her that he was obviously right and it was all for the best. She pictured the desperate little human curled up in the Octopus House and tapped into the protective rage it generated:

“I don’t think you understand, Mr Tracy. A diagnosis would mean he could get that little bit of extra support he needs, perhaps a Teaching Assistant to keep him on track and help with refocussing when he gets distracted. He could have occasional time out on special programs to develop his interests, as I said he really does excel at maths and…”

“Ms Miles, please stop there a moment.”

She did so.

A few seconds later she remembered to close her mouth.

“Are you aware of what Scott wants more than anything in the world?”

She clenched her jaw in an effort not to snark back “a glimmer of self-esteem?” and thought about what seemed to make her zoomy little friend the happiest. The answer left her mouth before she was aware she knew it:

“He wants to fly.”

It was his mother who sighed and spoke next, the slight unevenness of her voice probably undetectable to someone who hadn’t spoken to a LOT of exhausted parents:

“He does. He always has from the moment he realised he couldn’t. Even before he really understood what airplanes were, he’s been fascinated by them and has been determined to reach the sky to join them. He seems to view gravity as a personal insult…” she chuckled then added “Being a parent to Scott Tracy is 90% catching him as he leaps from places he shouldn’t according to all the laws of physics be able to reach.”

Her husband reached over and squeezed her hand with an affectionate smile and added in a much softer tone:

“In his pram he watched the birds, it was the only thing that settled him. You won’t be surprised to learn that all of his bedroom decorations are aircraft-related. He’s not even remotely interested in space travel or what his mother and I do other than that we both flew planes first.”

Felicity could see it all but felt the conversation had gone off on a tangent. She took charge again and tried a different tack:

“But to achieve his goal he is going to need to have decent grades at the end of his education and the foundation of that starts here. He has so much potential and… look, I couldn’t give a damn about the class interruptions, please don’t think that is what this is about. I can handle all that, it’s what’s going on in his head, how he sees himself and I think we need to have something in place so that he and all his future teachers understand that… I hate to say it but for some, a formal diagnosis is the only way to persuade people that a child isn’t deliberately…”

“Ms Miles.”

The sigh escaped this time.

“Yes, Mr Tracy?”

“Do you happen to know the criteria one must fulfil to train as either a commercial airline or a military pilot?”

“Offhand? Not, precisely, no.”

“There is also an exclusionary list. Certain conditions, diagnoses, other events on a medical record that may prove to be a barrier to acceptance. Many people in the field don’t agree with everything on the list, but at the moment it exists. You’re clearly a smart woman, Ms Miles, and I can tell you’ve already worked out one of the conditions noted on that list.”

He wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t released her breath since the word ‘exclusionary’. But it forced its way out now in a quiet groan and then a whisper:

“ADHD.”

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