#they’re canon to me and all their cookie crumbs

[doublel27]

So we all agree that something happened between Tattoo and Aran based on the “You’ll blow them away” awkward looks “I mean when they see the product.”

Yes? Yes!

[lasatfat]

Blessings of the Hearth

written for Sera Week 2024. It's intended to be read as platonic, but if Sera/Lavellan is your jam, far be it from me to rain on your parade. Kali isn't an Inquisitor, but she is a clanmate of my canon Inquisitor, Gideon Lavellan.

“What are those?”

Sera looks down at the plate of cakes in Kali’s hands. They’re lumpy, craggy things, speckled with dark brown dots, and covered in a crisp layer of baked sugar crystals. “Well, the official name is Sylaise’enaste,” she begins.

Sera blows a loud raspberry.

Kali ploughs on. “Literally, Sylaise…”

Another raspberry.

“What do you want me to do?” Kali blurts. “That’s her name!”

Sera shrugs. “Give her a different one.”

Perhaps she ought to be offended, but the exchange is so ridiculous that Kali can’t help but laugh. She seems to do a lot more of that when Sera is around, either because their senses of humour line up so nicely, or because Sera is prone to being completely ludicrous when the mood takes her. “Do you want the gift or not?” she manages, eventually.

Sera takes a little longer to stop snickering. “Sorry. You were saying about Shy Gays.”

“Sylaise.”

“Ppbbbbbbhht!”

“Oh, for…!”

Sera practically howls with laughter, complete with leg-kicking and knee-slapping. All of this makes it highly contagious, apparently, because it doesn’t take long for Kali to start laughing again too.

“They’re hearth cakes,” she says, finally. “Sy” – she fixes Sera with a warning glare, and the latter withdraws her tongue into her mouth – “laise is the Keeper of the Hearth. The cakes are her blessings.”

They’ve been Kali’s favourite treat ever since she was a girl, recovering from a long battle with the White Plague. The first time she bit into one, still warm from the fire, she had thought for the first time in a long time that everything could be alright. She doubts it will do the same for a grown woman, but Kali hopes she could impart some of that optimism into her baking.

“What are the brown things?” asks Sera, and then she wrinkles her nose. “They’re not raisins, are they?”

“Oh, goodness, no.” It seems they share a distaste for raisins. “Traditionally, you would use dried fruit, but I thought you would like chocolate chips better.”

Sera smiles, a softer expression than her usual impish grin. “You changed them for me?”

“Well, it’s you I wanted to share them with,” she answers. “It would be silly to make them in a way you didn’t like.”

Without further ado, Sera snatches the topmost cake, and turns it over in her fingers, caring little for the crumbs that trickle from it. She doesn’t nibble experimentally, as Kali might when trying something new. Instead, she bites the cake almost in half. More chunks of it crumble away. She manages to catch most of them in her free hand, but several pieces slip through her fingers, scattering over the floor and under the eclectic mish-mash of furniture.

“Oh, Sera! You’ll get mice!” Kali says, apologetically.

Sera ignores her worries. “This is good!” she says.

That jogs Kali out of her anxiety. “Really?”

“Yeah!” She shoves the rest of the cake into her mouth. “Diff’rent to coogies,” she adds, thickly.

Kali nods. “They certainly are different to cookies.”

“But they’re good, right?” Sera swallows her mouthful. “Maybe when I’m bored of cookies, I’ll make some of these.”

Elated, Kali jumps on the opportunity. “I can teach you how!”

“Not now, though.”

“Oh, no, of course,” Kali babbles. “When you’ve run out, if you want some more, I can…you know what I mean.”

Having run out of things to blather about, she hands the plate over to Sera, laden with the rest of the hearth cakes. She eyes them, hungrily, and asks, as if struck by sudden worry, “can I share ‘em?”

Kali blinks. “Of course. They’re yours. I’d be surprised if you could eat them all by yourself.”

“I bet I could!” Sera declares, proudly. “But Nanna would like ‘em. Blackwall too. And you should have one!” she adds, hurriedly. “You made them.”

“Oh no, thank you, I have already licked the spoon and the bowl,” Kali insists. “I think they’re better shared, though. If only because eating that many would make you sick.”

“Maybe. Still could, though.”

And Kali could happily stay here and just talk, but the Inquisition won’t stop to let her spend the afternoon with a friend. “Anyway, I have to go,” Kali says. “I have a lot of things to be getting on with. Especially since I spent the morning in the kitchen.”

“You can’t skive off?” she snickers.

“Afraid not. Lady Montilyet says there are some rich tits that need buttering up.” She had used more polite terms, of course, but the message was there.

Kali expects Sera to laugh again. Instead, she puts the plate down, and punches Kali lightly on the shoulder. “Thanks, yeah?”

“You’re very welcome.”

Kali isn’t expecting anything in return, as such – it would defeat the point of an unexpected gift. The drawing she finds on her pillow that evening, of two enormously fat versions of herself and Sera surrounded by empty plates and pieces of cake, comes as a surprise in itself. A really very wonderful surprise. She tucks it away into her own sketchbook, and there it will stay.

[carry-on-every-neverland-magic]

Thirteen and Yaz are a tragedy they had no time left no time.  Yaz coming to terms with her sexuality was an amazing thing, loving the doctor was an amazing thing and knowing she felt the same in return...but their story was cut short. 

I love so many of the moments in POTD and Thasmin has some great emotional ones (carrying her bridal style HELLO KJFDGSDJBGDSJ) BUT I feel robbed and its not just because they ran out of time its more like missed opportunities for an extra scene or two, another conversation, another heartfelt truth.

Look I didn’t need a kiss (I hoped for it I even expected it honk honk) and I am the FIRST person to vouch for platonic love (most my otp’s are actually platonic soulmates in canon and I value that SO much) but Yaz and thirteen were no longer platonic, they were romantic. You don’t compare someone to your wife or go on a date with them if they’re not. 

So yes I was expecting more (even though Jodie and Mandip and most of the cast nailed their performances) and the ep overall wasn’t bad at all and some of it made me feel things but the way Yaz moved on seemingly so easily and so fast felt wrong, the way thirteen clearly loved her but wrapped that up in sentences with Graham and Ryan and Dan (and again I love platonic love more than anything but girl thasmin was romantic) Dan saw it, WE saw it. So why did they do barely anything with it in the finale? 

Its weird because I don’t hate the ep nor the thasmin beautiful crumbs we got but I do feel that it was rushed that Yaz would never leave so easily even if it was out of love and being strong to move forward with her found family and acceptance of who she is. I didn’t get enough of Yaz and Thirteen. Maybe that was the point. But I’m still sad and kinda crushed even whilst holding onto those moments tonight where their love for each other was clear (and thats kudos to Jodie and Mandip)

Anyway join me in my AU where Thasmin kissed, got married, got to live a long life together (Dan as best man ofc) in some Rose/Ten kinda deal anything to just give them that time because I’m happy here and also have cookies.

[tllgrrl]

Head Canon / Sketches for Prologue of Upcoming One-shot Fic: “Formal Introductions”

“Momma?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Momma! I’m a big kid now. If you’re gonna call me baby, you have to add Wolf to it.”

“You want me to call you Baby Wolf, AJ?”

“Well…yeah!” He grins around the mouthful of sugar cookie he’s devouring.

She knows where all this came from. She’s not exactly mad at it.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Bucky Barnes is a 107 year old White yankee from New York, a US Army Veteran and former POW, former international Russian assassin/HYDRA spy and Wakanda warrior, she’d consider him and her 8 year old Black son to be two peas in a pod: White Wolf and Baby Wolf. Both tender-hearted and kind. Both fiercely loyal to family and friends. Both sometimes stubborn as mules. Both happiest when snuggled up on her. Both owners of her heart.

“Ok. Yes…Baby Wolf?”

“Now that you and Uncle Bucky are, like, going steadily…can he come with us to visit Daddy?”

“It’s going steady. Did you ask him if he wanted to? And where did you hear about going steady?”

“Uncle Sam said Uncle Bucky gets all smiley when he thinks about you when they’re at work, and that he acts like you guys are goin’ steady. He said Uncle Bucky’s fixin’ to ask you to go to The Prom. What’s The Prom?”

“We’ll talk about all that later, sweetheart. You and Cass can definitely ask Bucky if he wants to come with us to visit your father. But…don’t be disappointed or sad if he says no. Ok? The cemetery might be an uncomfortable place for him, because of all the people he…remembers and have passed. But I’m sure he’d be happy if you guys asked.”

She takes a dishcloth and wipes the cookie crumbs off of her child’s mouth.

“And…” she murmurs and tries to hide her grin, “I’m gonna smack Sam upside his head next time he’s here. Goin’ steady….”

As Sarah is rinsing out a glass, AJ looks over and sees her smiling to herself. He can tell by the way she kind of glows, that his Momma is blushing.

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

A quick wave to @pickwick12 over at AO3 for the nickname “Baby Wolf”. Because of their lovely “Bucky and the Wilsons” series, that nickname is ensconced into my headcanon too, until AJ tells me otherwise.

I highly recommend this series.

[amerrierworld]

Naughty List

request: Hi! Can you write something with dom carol and sub reader?

note: A bit of the same AU as ‘Tea, Mrs. Aird?’ where you’re the babysitter, and Carol likes you. Basically this is the NSFW parallel of that fic :)

Summary: Carol invites you over for some, ahem, Christmas wrapping.

Characters: Carol Aird x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,723

Warnings: SMUT, Dom!Carol, also cheating cause this is pre-canon, pre-divorce!Carol, naughty Christmas shenanigans.... (KIND OF a mommy kink vibe?? ahskfhskjhg i’m so sorry don’t @ me ;-; )

It was just a few days before Christmas, and Carol had invited you around to help with some last-minute Christmas activities. Harge had to go to a Christmas work function, and Carol needed help to keep a certain three-year old at bay who was most excited about Santa Claus visiting. 

You were about to knock on the door when raised voices came from inside,

“Your own bedroom? What the hell, Carol, what sort of nonsense-,”

“I just figured, with your schedule, and you getting so angry so quickly, some time apart might help-”

“Help what? Jesus, woman, next you’re going to tell me you want a divorce? This is bullshit. A woman’s place is in a man’s bed.”

“Oh, and that’s all a woman is good for, right?” Now Carol’s voice rose louder than Harge’s, defiantly. You wanted to tear away from the door, but couldn’t. 

“Yes.”

A deafening silence.

“Don’t come back tonight.”

“..Carol-”

“No. I don’t want you in this house. How dare you say something like that? With Rindy just in the other room no less?”

“She’ll have to learn too, just like you.”

“Get out.”

“This is my house.”

“I don’t care! Go away, don’t come back until tomorrow, otherwise you won’t see me ever again!”

You gulped, and in the brief pause that followed, you quickly knocked on the door, not wanting to intrude any longer, and hoping your arrival would calm them.  

“That’ll be Y/N,” Carol sighed. 

“Hm, at least she knows her place around here.”

The door opened and you were faced with Mr. Aird, who’s face was still angry and red. You clutched your purse in front of you.

“H-hello, Mr. Aird.”

“Y/N,” he grunted, before brushing past you. Then, in an instant, he turned  around and said,

“If my wife comes onto you because of her hysterics, you have my permission to call the police,” he spat.

“Harge!” Carol screeched in anger, but he had already jumped in his car and drove away.

There was a very light snowfall, and a few flakes collected on your hair and eyelashes. Carol looked to be on the brink of crying, and you frowned,

“I don’t know what he means-,”

“It’s fine, forget about it,” she waved her hand dismissively, her breathing  heavy, “come in. I’ll go get Rindy.”

You let her walk ahead of you, seeing the tension in her shoulders as she went down the hallway. Tentatively, you followed, hearing Carol say,

“Rindy, guess who’s here?”

“Y/N!” The toddler screamed as soon as she came into view, rushing over to you.

“Hello, sweetie!” you laughed, picking her up to set her on your hip. 

“You’re just in time for cookies,” Carol said as Rindy laughed and played with your hair. She pulled open the oven and the warm, sweet smell of freshly baked goods washed over you. 

Carol approached you, bent her head towards your ear, and whispered, “I have a few more presents left to wrap, but I can’t let her out of my sight alone. Will you distract her and decorate the cookies together?”

A warm flush rose up your neck at the low, whispery tone of her voice and her sweet perfume filling your nose. Afraid you couldn’t reply a coherent sentence, you simply nodded.

She squeezed your hand in thanks and disappeared into another room, and you reminded yourself to breathe. 

There were small tubs of icing on the counter and you grabbed one of Carol’s well-worn aprons to protect your clothes from the incoming damage. Rindy giggled and began pulling at a small stool for her tucked away in the kitchen corner.

You put on a Christmas record as the two of you worked, helping Rindy spread red and green icing over the cookies, covering with sprinkles. Somewhere along the way, you snuck a cookie into your mouth as Rindy dipped another in icing and accidentally dropped it in, clumsily pulling it out. 

Soon your hands were covered in it as well, and Rindy somehow had gotten some icing in her hair. You cleaned it out as best you could, while Rindy giggled, standing by the sink.

“What are my girls getting up to now?” Carol asked as she came back into the kitchen. You blushed at her words, gesturing to Rindy apologetically,

“We got icing in her hair.”

Carol’s eyebrow raised, “Oh? Well, then it’s high time for a bath. I’ll have to wash your clothes too, Rindy, look at all the sugar you got on yourself.”

Rindy giggled, gleefully like only an innocent child could. She then pointed at the cookies,

“But Mommy, look!”

“Oh, they’re beautiful, sweet pea, every one of them. Come on, it’s bath time now.”

“Nuh-uh,” Rindy protested, pointing firmly. “One’s gone!”

Uh-oh...

“Y/N ate one!”

Your face flushed red, not thinking Rindy would have kept count, and your mouth dropped open. Rindy was perched on her stool, pointing at the plate and then at you.

“That’s bad! You’re on the naughty list!” she giggled, “Santa’s not gonna give you gifts!”

“I- wh-.. I...” you were shellshocked, flabbergasted. You glanced at Carol, expecting a scold, like you were a child who’d been caught, but she was smiling, her eyes looking at you intently.

“It was only one,” you protested.

“Oh, but that doesn’t matter to Santa,” Carol said, teasingly, and you felt a chill run down your spine, “Santa doesn’t look at how many cookies you steal, Y/N. Only that you did.”

Rindy bounced towards you, tugging at both your skirts, giggling, “you’ll get coal for Christmas!”

“Now, Rindy, be nice,” Carol tutted, scooping her up, “you still have to be good up until Christmas, right? So that means having your bath and going to bed on time.”

Rindy pouted, but didn’t protest, and Carol carried her upstairs without much fuss.

As Carol busied herself with getting Rindy to bed, you chucked a new log onto the dying fireplace in the living room, watching the sparks fly and hoping the heat would hide the actual flush on your face.

You stayed on the carpet a little longer, legs tucked under you as you watched the flames dance.

“Out like a light,” Carol sighed, making you turn around and look over at her coming into the living room. She sat down on the couch and lit up a cigarette. You watched the blue-grey haze surround her and it wasn’t until her eyes locked with yours that you realized you were staring.

You turned back to watch the fire, your hands resting delicately in your lap. Something crackled in the air. 

“She’ll be a feisty one when she grows up,” Carol said, puffing cigarette smoke into the air. 

“Just like her mother,” you smiled. “The world needs more feisty women.”

Carol let out a dry laugh, “Harge wouldn't agree. If he had his way, I’d be locked away in this house, like any other old, problematic housewife.”

There were stern lines in her face as she watched the fire, and you stood up from where you were sitting, hand grabbing your opposite elbow awkwardly. 

“You’re beautiful, you know,” you blurted out. Carol looked over at you, surprised. “And what Mr. Aird said was- was wrong. About a woman’s place, I mean. He’s lucky to have you.”

“So you heard that,” Carol grimaced. You rubbed the back of your neck, shy.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“It’s alright,” she sighed, glancing you up and down, her head tilting in curiosity. “But what is?”

“What’s what?”

“A woman’s place. Where do you think that is?” Carol’s eyes were piercing you, ripping every bit of your soul open to her.

“A woman’s place...” you trailed off, because now she was rising up, approaching you, cigarette in the ashtray, with the grace of a hungry lioness, “a woman’s place is wherever she wants it to be.”

Carol smiled, “I agree. You’re very thoughtful, Y/N.”

“Not really,” you muttered.

“No, you are,” she said, tilting your chin up with her fingers to meet her gaze. Her face was lit beautifully by the flickering fire, “you’re wonderful. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am for spending all this time with a cranky lady and her daughter.”

“You’re not cranky!” you protested with a laugh, pulling her hand down from your chin and clasping it in yours, “you’re incredible.” 

Carol smiled, her cheeks rosy, and looked down at your joined hands, “are you trying to make up for stealing one of my well-baked cookies?”

You sputtered indignantly, “I didn’t steal-”

“Last I checked, there was another one missing,” Carol winked, pulling a cookie out of her pocket and waving it in front of your face. You gaped. What was she trying to do?

“Now, I don’t know about you,” she said, biting into the cookie, “but I suspect the previous culprit may have taken it.”

“What are you- you’re eating it right n-”

“Can you prove that?” Carol purred, finishing the cookie. “Rindy won’t believe you, will she? Because I rarely ever eat sweets.”

“You- you...” 

“Really, Y/N,” she said, bending her head low and brushing her lips along your cheek, making your breath stutter, “you already got caught once, and now again? You seem like you want to be on the naughty list.”

“P-please..” you stammered, your body rising up against hers in response to the growing heat between your legs, “Mrs. Aird...”

Carol’s head snapped back, eyed you closely, hesitating, wondering. You took the chance, and surged up with your mouth to hers, tasting a few crumbs and the sweetness of icing along her lips.

As soon as you realized what you were doing, you tore yourself away and stumbled back, panting.

“I’m s-so sorry,” you yelped, eyes wide.

“It’s alright,” Carol muttered, her hands clenching by her sides. “I don’t mind.”

“B-but.. you have a husband-”

“Hah! Barely.”

“And- and I’m a girl,” you said, dumbfounded. Carol merely grinned, wide and excited, moving towards you and wrapping her arms around your waist, meeting your lips,

“Exactly.”

You melted in her arms, whimpering softly as her full lips moved along yours. 

“Sh-shouldn’t I go home soon?” you gasped breathlessly as her mouth moved to your jawline and neck. “It’s so late..”

“Oh, no, darling,” she grinned, “Unless you want to?”

She pulled away briefly, saw the desire in your eyes, brushed her nose against yours, “I think you need to be taught a lesson first, hm?”

“A.. lesson?” you repeated in a small voice.

“Mhm,” she smiled, “a naughty girl like you needs to know what her place is, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your mouth hung open, oh...

“Now, I’m no Santa Claus, so I can’t give you any coal.. I’ll have to be creative, I suppose.”

She looked at you through her lashes, “would you like that?”

You nodded without thinking, and she chuckled, arm circling your waist and lips pressing against your neck again,

“I w-would..” you whimpered. 

Carol groaned at the sound, tugging you closer, moving her hips against yours. Your hand tangled in her golden locks, feeling weightless, untethered, and the only thing grounding you was Carol’s hot mouth, moving over your skin like fire.

“Go to the kitchen,” she ordered. You blinked in surprise, but did as she asked. Once there, you stood awkwardly, wondering what she wanted, what she had in mind.

Carol grasped your hand and tugged it to one of the tubs of icing. You dipped a finger in, taking out a generous amount, the red colour vibrant in the dim lighting.

Keep her eyes locked on yours, Carol leaned forward and wrapped her lips around your finger, sucking and licking the sweetness off of your skin. The groan that came out of you seemed barely human, and your knees trembled.

Her skilled tongue swirled around your finger slowly and sensually, watching your resolve breaking, your breathing pick up. She released your hand and blew softly on the wet skin, making you mewl.

She chuckled darkly, “would you like some too, sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically, feeling the pulsing heat between your legs. But Carol had other plans as she pushed you up against the edge of the countertop.

“Before you get anymore sweets, you have to prove that you’ve been a good girl, okay?” you nodded again, tugging at your lower lip with your teeth.

“Are you sure you can handle that, princess?” Carol growled, fingers digging into your hips. You gasped, body arching. Carol looked at the way you quivered, the way your pelvis rose towards her, and she pushed her hand down, creating a sweet, sweet pressure in your lower belly.

“Don’t misbehave,” she muttered. Then, her eyes wandered up and down your body, seeing how you trembled and strained against the countertop, your legs nearly giving out. Taking pity on you, she pulled you away from the kitchen, kissing you sweetly.

She lead you down the hall, walking quietly on the carpet to the guest bedroom. You were relieved that she didn't take you to her main bedroom. As much as you enjoyed the thought of Carol naked under those sheets, you also couldn’t ignore the thought of Harge in that bed with her.

“Why are you frowning, darling?” Carol muttered, pulling you closer once inside the bedroom, brushing her lips over your forehead, then your eyes and mouth.

You shook your head, blinking the thoughts away, and a sultry smirk appeared on your lips again, instead focusing on the Carol, naked under the sheets bit.

You kissed her, taking charge this time, much to Carol’s delight. You put your hands in her hair, tugging until a sweet moan escaped her. 

“Not so fast,” she grunted as your hands began pulling at her dress, wanting it gone. “Which one of us was on the naughty list, hm?”

Then you found yourself on your back, on the bed, Carol stripping your clothes with ease, an eagerness behind her gaze that made you blush and your breath catch in your throat. 

“I th-think you’re very close with getting your own name on that list, Mrs. A-Aird,” you gasped as she kissed down your naked body. 

Carol grinned against your abdomen, licking a stripe towards your centre. She could smell all of you, and she enjoyed pulling your thighs apart and see you shiver, just watching your sex throb, glistening with arousal. 

Then she put her mouth on you, and you shuddered.

Carol relished this, the feeling of you bucking up to her mouth, chasing her tongue, howling and whining with pleasure.

You let out a shout as she hit a particularly sensitive spot and she smacked your thigh as a reprimand,

“Quiet.”

You panted ragged, airy breaths as you tried to do what she said, but her tongue kept pressing against that sensitive spot and you felt your body give in.

You let out low groans and pleads, begging,

“P-please... m-more..”

Carol raised an eyebrow, “more, darling?”

“Yes, yes, oh.. Carol,” you said, her name like a prayer on your lips.

Oh, Carol could hardly stand it anymore, her stockings had gotten wet with her own arousal running down her thighs. She pushed herself away from you, grinning as your body went limp in shock as the pleasure left you.

“C-Carol..” you begged again, reaching for her. She shushed you and began to undress. That got your attention very quickly, and you rose up on your knees to watch her.

As every piece fell to the floor, you felt your pulse quicken. Her body was beautiful, far too beautiful for you to handle. The way she flicked her hair over her shoulder and beckoned you with one finger nearly made you come on the spot.

“How about something else that’s sweet?” Carol murmured. You almost fell off the bed as you moved towards her. She kissed you, forced your mouth open and entered you with her tongue. You gasped and let yourself be touched, let yourself be held. Her hands wandered, stroking and caressing every inch of your body with a warm touch.

Then, they settled heavily on your shoulders and she pushed you down to your knees. You were afraid you wouldn’t know how to please her, but the sight of her standing before you and the irresistible smell of her sex made you swoon and lean forward anyways.

The first lick made Carol’s head drop back, and she immediately brougt her hand up to bite into it to stop the lustful noises threatening to escape.

Your head was dizzy from the taste of her, and you licked again. And again, and again, until you needed more and brought your hands up to help.

You pushed her legs to stand a little further apart, and then dipped your tongue between the folds.

“Oh!” Carol sighed, a heavenly sound, “that’s a good girl..”

You whined into her sex, tongue flicking ardently. You trailed upwards, finding the small bundle of nerves that always felt good on your own body. As soon as you found it, Carol’s hands landed in your hair, pulling sharply.

“Yes!” She gasped, “oh, goodness- yes. Just like that.”

You kept licking and then sucking, letting her rock her body and cunt against your mouth. The lower half of your face was covered entirely by her juices, and your hands reached to grasp her ass, palming the supple flesh, helping her steadily move against you.

“Oh,” she breathed, “oh, yes- yes, yes, keep going. So close- oh, baby girl you’re doing so wonderful..”

Her words made it hard to focus, your cunt throbbing, your hips rocking involuntarily. But you breathed deeply, steadied yourself, and pressed Carol fully against your open mouth, tongue rocking with her hips’ movements.

Carol arched, gasped, and curled over you as she came, holding your hair and shaking all over. More wetness spilled from between her legs, trailing down your cheeks and into your mouth.

You moaned at the taste and she gasped weakly at the vibration it sent through her body. Her legs were shaking so violently you thought she might collapse.

But then she regained her composure, and looked down at you with blown pupils before pulling you up to your feet.

Her lips and tongue attacked your face, kissing your cheeks, sucking your lips, tasting herself on your skin.

“Good girl,” she said, making you shiver, “I think you’ve proven yourself.”

She grinned at you and you wanted to smile back, but the arousal still coursing through your body made it hard to focus. Carol noticed, she always noticed.

“How about a reward then?” She asked softly.

“Y-yes, please, Mrs. Aird,” you answered almost instinctively. She chuckled at how needy you were, kissing you deeply.

“Call me by my first name,” she said.

“Carol...” you were rewarded by nibble of her teeth along your neck. “Oh! C-Carol..”

She smiled and pushed you down on the bed again. Instantly, her body covered yours, warm and soft, and her lips closed around a nipple. Your back arched.

“Carol!”

Her hand found your sex, and she pulled back in amazement, looking down at how wet you were.

“Oh my... baby girl, you’re positively soaked.”

She rubbed over your cunt, gathering wetness all over her fingers and prodding gently at your entrance.

“P-please...” you said again, the word having lost all meaning at this point. You couldn’t help but keep saying it, because Carol liked it when you begged, and you liked what Carol gave you when you did.

She pushed inside, marveling at how tight you were, and her thumb pressed against your clit.

It wouldn’t take long, you knew it. Your body was ready to explode at any moment, and you clawed at Carol’s arms, pulling her down to  you.

“C-Carol, kiss me,” you begged. Her lips founds yours instantly, but she couldn’t help but pull back just a bit, simply to tease,

“Does it feel nice, princess? This is what good girls get, when they’ve been on the nice list,” she growled, pressing harder and faster. “When they don’t take cookies that aren’t ready to be eaten yet.”

“Oh G-god.. Carol,” you whined in defiant protest, “I wasn’t.. I didn’t mean...”

“Shhhh, be a good girl and take it,” Carol said, taking your lower lip between her teeth and biting gently.

You came as if a tsunami had erupted. Distant at first, and then thundering down all at once. Carol kept moving, not stopping her motions until you were bucking up and thrashing at the overstimulation of her fingers, whining and pleading.

Only then did she relent, releasing her grip on you and letting you catch your breath.

You were shaking, Carol’s taste still present in your mouth, an ache between your legs where her fingers had been. Then her mouth and tongue, lapping at your lips, opening you wide so you could breathe all of her in.

“Fuck...” you whimpered. Carol’s eyes opened and she smiled,

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear,” she chuckled.

“You can’t swear around a three year old,” you replied, “otherwise you would’ve fired me.”

Carol grinned, kissing your nose, “No, I don’t think I would have.”

You turned your head to glance at the clock and your stomach plummeted.

“I should call a cab,” you said. Carol pulled you close.

“No, you shouldn’t. Stay a while,” she pleaded in your ear. “Let me hold you.”

“But Harge..”

“Isn’t coming back until morning. I’ll call a cab just before six, alright? He never wakes until eight, at least.”

Your stomach churned and she gave you a pointed look. You didn’t want to be caught, or fired, or worse, having Carol be blamed for everything.

"You merely spent the night, darling, because you were so tired after being here,” Carol arched an eyebrow, “gosh, whatever could’ve made you so exhausted? Maybe all those cookies..”

You lightly slapped her arm and giggled, “you are by far the worst employer I’ve ever had, Mrs. Aird.”

She pressed a finger to your lips and said, “Nuh-uh, princess. What’s my name?”

You trembled under her gaze, eyes drooping with both sleep and lust,

“Carol.”

A/N: I think this may be one of my longest one-shot fics... idk what that tells you about me as a person lol but ohh well :) AND this is my 200th post! Wow! 

[akampana]

im the anon who asked for obscure artoria ships - tysm for answering! i knew you liked kojiro/artoria from early tpof, but ozymandias/artoria was unexpected! ozytoria sounds interesting from the way you describe it - ive always sort of seen it as an almost-giltoria dynamic minus the hostility and antagonism. i think that modern au idea sounds incredibly sweet 😭 honestly i like the idea of them but there is virtually no fancontent OR canon content of them (besides that one lartoria comment in ozy's interlude?) so its a half-built ship for me as of now. and yes, please talk about kojiro/artoria for the ship game! i'd love to see more of your thoughts on them. on nobu/artoria - YES nobu is incredibly beautiful its crazyyy. i got into shipping them because of mastoria/nobu in koha-ace, interactions in fgo and a user's thoughts on them here on tumblr (you can find them if you search up nobutoria).

Hi, @glowingarchive! good to see you in the inbox. :)

Oh, no way, really? Thought I was being subtle with Kojirou apparently not XD. And your thoughts on Ozy and Arturia, I totally agree. If you want, I made art for them a while ago, but didn't end up posting it.

*cracks knuckles* Alright, let's go.

Kojirou Sasaki X Arturia Pendragon - SHIP IT

What made you ship it?

This is gonna sound strange, but do hear me out.

My love for this ship evolved from the first time it caught my attention, but to be completely honest it all started with another ship: Diarturia.

After re-watching and re-reading FZ, FSN, and UBW, something kept coming up for me. We all know FZ is an incredible prequel sequel, created with stunning precision to fit the already existing narrative, which is why, even when consuming the series as a whole based on the timeline of events, Arturia's character still makes sense.

Their expert craftmanship made the fact that the 5th HGW is Saber's second attempt a lot clearer. Why? because it brings to the table a theme that was already there and yet not too fleshed out:

Deja vu. Or, in Saber's case, a double deja vu.

For example, this line:

Before Zero, it only means 'oh cool so she's fought spearmen before.' but after Zero, you finally know exactly who she's talking about.

But why do I say it's a double deja vu for her?

Let's begin with the obvious one. The parallels between Cú and Diarmuid are pretty clear. Like you just know Zero Lancer's character was patterned after the existing Lancer, but given another purpose. There are gifsets all over Tumblr that illustrate their similarity too.

BUT Cú and Arturia (ooh it kills me to say this) only just fall short of the borderline flirtatious "I wanna have a glorious fight to the death with you because you're worthy" energy. Furthermore, they meet only briefly.

So where did they get that?

Kojirou bloody Sasaki

More below the cut.

It's parallel time. (there are a few more but hnggg tumblr limits)

THEY PROTECC. THEY ATTAC. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY THEY WANNA FIGHT HER BACK.

No, but seriously. I don't think this is a coincidence. Diarmuid must have been some sort of amalgamation of Kojirou and Cú, the best of both. And that is also why the previous deja vu point hits harder.

Honestly, when that realization came, I was totally not expecting it. I was supposed to be looking for Diarturia crumbs and instead I found myself another whole-ass cookie. And one that unjustly has barely anything in the fandom, even if we have more straightforward lines like this:

Which is, by the way, one of the answers to the next question.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

So, now that you know how I got into shipping this, unorthodox as it seems, I think it's time to move past the parallels and into more solid ground.

Unlike other relationships that are more ambiguous and rely on potential, Kojirou's attraction to her is so in your face, it's refreshing.

Their banter is *chef's kiss*

It's only overshadowed because he so quickly became a gag servant, and ofc because the focus of the anime was Shirou. (Why did they do him like that though, he's actually so cool??? I mean, did Saber truly even beat him?? like???)

Saber comments on his skill with the sword, going so far as to say he outclasses him in swordsmanship. bruh, you can't take that lightly

They both see each other as worthy opponents. She literally tells him he's worthy of her full attention.

Kojirou sees her as the fulfillment of his wish, and Saber bloody actually gets to grant him the fight of his 'life' (FSN and UBW, not HF ;n;) when she couldn't do the same for a certain former rival. She even promises their fight's resolution because it is so important to her to see it through (UBW).

Kojirou really wants that fight, and fairly, without interruption. Which is why in FSN he goes as far as to stop the fight before Rider can spy on Saber's sword. And then later on, literally tells Shirou and Rin he doesn't give a shit about them, he just wants to fight Saber.

When he calls her out on holding back, especially since they're both running out of time, she apologizes and reveals Excalibur so they can fully face each other at full strength. UGH THE CHEMISTRY HGNGNGNGNGN. Also, since he knows this is their last fight, he's giving off "look at me, focus on me, don't think about anything else" vibes.

Also, man, Kojirou Sasaki really be out here serving up blatant eye smex every time they share the screen I swear to god.

Like let me give you a line from UBW 23, 19:08, right after Assassin notices she's damaged his katana

Arturia: Our positions...Assassin...are you... (that's what the subs say but Saber says "kisama" so I read it as "you bastard")

Kojirou, smirking: Is it wise to pull your blows? In this position, I could send you flying.

*Kojirou steps forward pressuring their locked swords and causing her to shuffle back a bit*

Arturia: Is that why you deliberately entered my range?

Look, Sasaki, we all see what you're doing, ya ain't slick.

Taken out of context and heck even *in* context that's sexual tension right there.

You better bet if he had the chance he'd be sticking that long-ass sword in-

Is there an unpopular opinion you have about your ship?

It's...baffling how unknown this ship is like...look at all that material. I mean of course it's going to be trounced in popularity by Shirou x Saber, GilArt, and Diarturia , but it should at least have accumulated enough of a following like Cuturia, for example.

Thank you for the ask! Hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed constructing this. :) feel free to share to gain more fans mwahahahahah join the dark side we have cookiessss

[gale-dragon-writer]

Hijinxs for Cookies

~}i{~

Why are the Zodiac Warriors going through this crap? Well, most of them anyway. What's going on? Well... Sharyū's making cookies.

}i{

Ushii was sitting in an armchair, reading a book as the chaos around him went on. The Warrior of the Ox turned a page and wondered why the other just can't wait for the cookies to be done and not pester the Monkey while she's baking them.

Niwatori suddenly flew over the Ox's head. The only thing Ushii did was read as he thought, 'He is a very good guard. Wonder if it's because of his Zodiac or if he moonlights as one when needed.' The Warrior of the Ox peaked out from behind his book to see Dotsuku clapping his hands as if he was clapping off the dust on his hands.

From what Ushii could figure out, Sharyū either asked or hired Dotsuku to prevent the other Warriors from entering the kitchen.

Not a bad choice in the Ox's opinion, especially considering the situation at hand. Uuma was out on a job and won't be back until later and when the cookies were done, Nezumi was sleeping on one of the couches, Hitsuji was with his family, and Ushii was patient and could wait for the cookies. The only problem would've been Inounoshishi and her guns, but Sharyū already told her, "Ino-chan if you fire even one bullet, you're not getting even a crumb of cookie. And the same goes for all of you. If anyone uses their weapons, no cookies, period."

To Ushii, it was a fair notion, but sadly the others wanted cookies... Well, at least they're not using their weapons. That the Ox could appreciate.

}i{

As the day wore on, the impatient Zodiacs tried just about everything to get passed the Warrior of the Dog, but to no avail. Dotsuku had planned for pretty much anything the others would think up.

He had a device that emitted a sound that kept Niwatori's birds away, had water-soluble paint bomb to use on Inounoshishi (he tosses them on the Boar's clothing because there was no way she would walk around with soiled clothing), he already handcuffed the Twins to each other which limited their movements (plus Dotsuku could sniff out those two easily), and Usagi was distracted by a treasure hunt that Dotsuku created for him to do while to cookies are being made.

Ushii turned the page of his book and wondered how the Dog was able to plan out that treasure hunt in such a short amount of time.

Tora's turn came up, and Dotsuku was able to incapacitate her. Not with violence or something along that line, but with a giant, hand-made, mouse toy stuffed with cat-nip. Ushii looked up from his book to see the Warrior of the Tiger happily playing and pouncing on the toy as if she were a real cat.

This made the Warrior of the Ox wonder how long it took the Warrior of the Dog to make that. Ushii looked at Dotsuku, who in turn stated, "What? Sharyū told me to keep every one outta the kitchen while she's baking."

Ushii simply replied, "I am aware of that, I am just curious to know how long did it take you to, I guess, prepare for everyone you needed to..." Dotsuku raised an amused brow at this.

Suddenly, Dotsuku's ears twitched. The Warrior of the Dog eyes narrowed at the doorway and told Ushii, "Hold that thought for a second." And then walked out of the room.

Ushii went back to his book while he waited. He turned the page to the next chapter.

BOOM!!!!!

The room shook a bit. Ushii dropped his book, Nezumi bolted awake, Tora poked her head over the couch, and Sharyū came out of the kitchen.

"What was that?!" Sharyū nearly shouted. Tora and Nezumi shrugged.

Ushii picked up his book and stated, "It sounded like it came from outside."

Dotsuku walked back int to the room, ears twitching as if to test them. "Is everyone all right? That explosion was pretty loud," the Warrior of the Dog asked the group.

"Michio, what happened? What was that explosion about?" Sharyū asked the Dog Warrior.

"Ah, the Twins and that birdbrain thought about using a canon, Boar somehow got the canon," Dotsuku explained. He then added as he folded his arms, "I just moved the canon so they would be launched into the forest nearby. I honestly don't understand why they thought a canon would help them and it's pretty extreme plan to just get some cookie."

No one knew what to say about that...

}i{

After the cookies were finished, Sharyū set them on the table. Usagi got back from his treasure hunt right as this was happening, the albino thought it was the best treasure ever.

The Twins, Niwatori, and Inounoshishi were the next walked through the door, all looking worse for wear. To put it simply, their moods brightened immediately.

The blissful moment of the cookies was shattered when Sharyū asked Dotsuku if he would guard the kitchen next time she baked cookies. The Warrior of the Dog agreed with a snaggle-tooth smirk.

'Perhaps I should get another book,' Ushii thought as he took a bite out of the cookie.

~}i{ End }i{~

@juseki-taisen

@jazminetoad

[diazevans]

BUDDIE FIC REC: 3X11

CANON CONTINUATION 

The Family We Choose by tabbytabbytabby

Eddie and Buck have an important talk.

just know you're not alone (cause I'm gonna make this place your home)  by diazevan

“Did I tell you that Maddie forced me to bring something?” He can’t help but sound a bit offended still, mostly because it seemed incredibly unnecessary. “She said that’s what guests do so I just told her that…” “You are not a guest” “Exactly”

Home by buckleysdiaz

“Everything has changed and yet it feels like nothing has changed at all in a matter of months.”

A fic based before and after one of the final scenes from 3x11, where Eddie decides to host a last-minute make-up party for Chim at Buck's insistence and Buck and Eddie share a moment after the party that shows that they are well and truly home when they're together.

Perspective by DoneInLove

Or, Albert thinks Eddie and Buck are together and it forces Eddie to get some perspective.

finding out by smartbuckley

After the party, Maddie learns some startling truths about Buck and his relationship with Eddie. Post episode coda/tag to S03E11 - Seize the Day. 

Unnamed by @datleggy

“Ooh are these from Kroger?”

Buck nods enthusiastically when Eddie holds up a pack of cookies. “Yeah, and Maddie didn’t even put them out. Can you believe that? She said something homemade would’ve been nicer.”

Unnamed by @no-anchovies-please​

So Maddie gets curious, right. Just how much time does her brother spend at Eddie’s house? Maddie still brings something to Josh’s when they get together for wine and terrible movies, and besides her brother and Chimney, that’s her best friend. So how much time, exactly, is Buck spending in the Diaz house?

Unnamed by @lobotomite​

“What are you doing?”

Buck spins around guiltily, bringing his hands up to cover his too-full mouth.

“…Nuffin’,” he manages, spitting only a small amount of crumbs down his front. A win in his book. Not so much in Eddie’s, if the quirked eyebrows are any indication.

AU BASED ON

paninis and... pain? by Bookreader525: 

Buck slips into the café and immediately, as if his eyes are little gadgets programmed to pinpoint hot hazel-eyed hunks, he finds his crush standing at the counter already waiting for his order.

OR: the "lovestruck assistant" scene from 3x11 reimagined with Buck and Eddie.

This list is in constant updated!

[dgcatanisiri]

Sometimes I really want to divorce myself from the BioWare games, because even if they are giving me SOME crumbs of genuine queer content, it is always obviously born more of obligation than anything else, particularly for mlm - they’re known for it at this point, removing it entirely is impossible, but... I mean, how often do you see the various BioWare accounts reblog/retweet fan art that actually features the M/M pairings? Like I’ve seen FemShep/Liara stuff appear, but M!Shep/Kaidan? BroRyder/Gil? Hell, even when Dorian stuff appears, what I have seen is more Dorian solo, or Dorian in groups, rather than Dorian and M!Inquisitor. To say nothing of the shit surrounding Jaal.

You know, it’s the “here, you can lick the spoon while everyone else gets the cookies.” It’s something, but it’s clearly disproportionate, and yet if you complain, there’s a very real sense that you might lose even this little bit you get.

And, you know, the fandom doesn’t help, given the rabidly protective nature of some Dorian fans I’ve come across who take any critical take of him/his story as personal attacks. Not just that, though, but also the foaming-at-the-mouth anger and hostility if a queer fan effectively says something to the tune of “yeah, the canon same-sex pairing doesn’t appeal to me, so I’m gonna mod/headcanon the straight characters as bi to get what I need.” Queer fans say “the representation I have doesn’t actually do anything for me, I need more and varied representation,” these assholes respond “well fine, if I have to share one of MY countless toys, you have to share the single one you were given, because THAT’S equality!”

On top of the fact that a lot of the fan content tends to proceed to give the short end to these pairings - like I acknowledge that no one is mandated to offer any of this, these artists - “artists” as in both drawing artists and writers, meaning people who make art - are either doing it of their own love for certain pairings/characters or on commission, but... I mean, money, time, and talent aren’t offered in equal measure, a single person can’t match the output of the most popular pairings and we’re all strapped for cash, so the money that might be spent on a commission ends up having to be used for something else more necessary. So I understand the limitations, but... When it feels like you’re hitting up against them EVERYWHERE, it gets tiring.

Thing is, the other hand is... If I cut out BioWare games, where exactly am I getting alternatives? What else is there? Because the only company that’s putting out anything in the ballpark of what queer content there is in BioWare games at this point is Spiders, who... There’s a lot to unpack with how their last effort went (y’know, with implying that a romanceable character was raped by someone in his past and that is why he is not a same-sex romance option, or just the broad fact that in 2019, the best we got in terms of representation in this game matched the BioWare output of 2009, indicating that ten years hasn’t made much improvement if that’s as far as the needle’s moved). 

You know, if I turn away from them on this basis, then what am I left with in the search for any representation? Assassin’s Creed’s super shallow one night stands? Fallout’s “all bi, but no actual romance interactions beyond a declaration of love” approach? The isometric games that lack the full 3D models and, by extension, anything beyond text to portray said romance? Refuse to pay for anything, an absence of money that none of these companies will notice or understand what it is for? What are the options here? Cuz from where I stand, everything I’ve got sucks. 

[philipronans]

okay so this is actually part of something that’s gonna be way longer (hi post canon florist!mickey fic how are you?), but 1) it was too cute not to post + 2) it works by itself too so why not post it + 3) it’s the first draft so it’s gonna change at least a little bit anyway

Mickey lets himself in through the front door,  careful of the grocery bag hanging from one wrist. He kicks his boots off as he takes his jacket off and hangs it up. The house is quiet, which isn’t all that strange these days, but no matter how much time passes it will never feel right. This place is meant to host the collective hurricane that is the Gallagher family.

He moves through the empty living room and into the equally empty kitchen – there’s an open textbook on the table that tells him Liam is around somewhere. After flicking the light on, he dumps the bag of groceries on the counter and immediately starts putting things away. There’s a box of Liam’s favourite cereal in his hand when he hears the giggling. His lips are twitching as he pulls open the cupboard and shoves the box in the general direction of a shelf.

The giggling gets louder the longer he stands there and when he eventually turns around, Franny’s head is poking around the edge of the fridge. She grins when he raises his eyebrows at her.

“Uncle Mickey!” She cries, charging towards him and wrapping her skinny arms around his shins.

He carefully puts the box of off brand Cheerios back on the counter and lets a hand brush over her hair. The ponytail that Ian had managed to tame it into this morning is barely hanging on.

“What’re you doing, kiddo?”

She releases his legs and holds her arms up. Mickey makes a show of sighing dramatically before lifting her up and settling her on his hip. Her hair tickles his cheek as she settles her head on his shoulder.

“Hiding.”

“Oh, yeah?” He jostles her a little, and then goes back to putting the last of the groceries away. “What’re you hiding from?”

“You!”

“Great job.” He says, quirking an eyebrow at the top of her head. She laughs again and pats at his shoulder. “Where’s Liam?”

Franny lifts her head and points at the ceiling.

“You down here by yourself?”

He shifts her around so he can sit her on the counter. She grumbles a little but quickly settles down when he opens a pack of cookies and hands her one. They’re triple chocolate – he’d learnt how to get into her good graces early.

“Hey, Orphan Annie, I asked you a question.”

Franny takes a huge bite out of the cookie and chews noisily. She doesn’t answer him until she’s managed to get cookie crumbs everywhere. The look she gives him is all Debbie, telling him he’s an idiot for even asking.

“You’re here!”

He sighs, but his mouth twitches. “Not exactly what I meant.”

His line of questioning is cut short when Liam appears at the bottom of the stairs. The orange t-shirt is damp around his neck, so Mickey doesn’t do anything but nod at him.

“Hey.” Liam says, eyeing up the pack of cookies. He must decide better of it, though, because he slips back into his chair at the table and pulls the textbook closer.

“You okay with spaghetti for dinner?”

Franny claps, forgetting the cookie still clasped in her hand and sending crumbs flying all over the place. She giggles at the unimpressed look Mickey gives her and squeals out something that kinda sounds like “Sketti!”

“I get a choice?” Liam asks, not looking up from his textbook.

Mickey shakes his head. “Not really. Just wanna know how bitchy you’re gonna be about it.”

Liam glances up at that and offers him a level look. He cracks a smile when Mickey snorts. “It’s fine with me.”

Mickey rummages around in the cupboard for a few minutes to find the saucepan he wants. Once he’s found it, he stands back up to find that Franny has helped herself to a second cookie. He raises his eyebrows at her, and she at least has the decency to look a little ashamed.

“It’s a good thing you’re cute, kid.”

Franny beams at him.

Ian comes in through the backdoor almost twenty minutes later. He pauses long enough to shrug his jacket off and put it away, and then he’s placing an obnoxious kiss to the top of Liam’s head just to hear him groan.

Mickey glances up from where he’s stirring the pot of pasta sauce and smiles. “Hey.”

Franny, who had been relegated to a dining chair, darts for Ian. She laughs when Ian catches her and easily lifts her into the air. She smacks a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you.” He says, carrying her over to Mickey so he can press a kiss of his own to Mickey’s temple. “Hey yourself.”

Mickey stops stirring long enough to study his husband’s face. They aren’t dark enough to be worried about yet, but there are circles under his eyes and his cheeks are looking a little gaunt. He lifts a hand to stroke a thumb over Ian’s cheekbone.

“Have a good day?”

Ian catches his wrist and brushes his lips over Mickey’s palm, before stepping back. He pretends to drop Franny, smiling when she shrieks and wraps her arms tight around his neck.

“No one puked on me, so that’s something.”

“If that’s all it takes, I’ve had a coupla good months.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be as lucky as you.” Ian smiles and stoops to put Franny back on the ground. Thankfully, she doesn’t make a fuss about and instead just goes back to her seat at the table. “You need any help?”

“Yeah, actually, grab me some bowls? This is almost done.”

Ian does as he’s told, and Mickey goes about dishing up. He grabs two bowls and carries them over to the table, Ian not far behind him.

“Eat it slowly.” He aims at Franny, knowing she won’t. She nods solemnly but digs in the moment the bowl touches the tablecloth. He turns to Liam. “Better move that book of yours, Einstein, unless you want meatball juice all over those fancy pages of yours.”

Liam snaps the book shut and carefully places it on the empty chair next to him. He murmurs his thanks when Mickey places a bowls in front of him and picks up his fork.

Mickey sinks into his own chair and immediately hooks his foot around Ian’s ankle.

“Went to see Larry today. About findin’ me a new job.” He says, after he’s finished chewing a mouthful of noodles.

Ian stops twirling his fork and glances up at him. “How did that go?”

“Well, he’s definitely still Larry.”

“You doubted?”

“No, but I hoped. One of these days, Gallagher, my dreams of him being replaced by an alien will come true.”

Ian snorts. “So, what’d he say?”

“About an alien kickin’ him outta the job? Not a lot.” He grins at the unimpressed look Ian gives him. “Nah, he said he’d look into it, but he’s not promising anything.”

Liam sets his empty bowl aside. “May I be excused?”

Mickey shrugs and Ian murmurs an agreement. Liam pushes away from the table, snagging his book on the way.

“You still got homework?” Ian asks.

“A little. Math.”

“Let me know if you need help, man.” Mickey says, kicking Ian in the shin when he notices the sappy smile he’s trying to hide.

“Thanks.”

Mickey nods and turns back to his food. He huffs when Ian doesn’t stop smiling at him.

“Shut the fuck up.”

 Later, when the dishes have been put away, Liam’s finished his homework, and Franny’s been tucked into bed, Mickey all but faceplants onto the mattress. It’s barely eleven o’clock but he is beat. He yawns audibly.

“Are we getting old?” He asks, flipping over so he can watch Ian get undressed.

Ian, now only in his underwear, climbs onto the mattress. He waits until they’re both comfortable and his hand is buried in Mickey’s hair before answering. “Nah, we just got responsibilities and shit now.”

“Fuck, I think that might actually be worse.” Ian gives his hair a quick tug. Mickey presses a smile into the hollow of his throat. “Don’t start shit you’re too tired to finish, Gallagher.”

As if to prove his point, Ian yawns. He’s quiet for several minutes.

“You think Larry’s actually gonna find anything?”

Mickey groans.

“Fuck sake, what have I told you about bringing our P.Os into bed?”

[linchxpin]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻

repost, don’t reblog ! 

BASICS.

full name. natori shrugs listen he’s a cat, he has One (1) name

nicknames. natty, babe, probably one from his sisters but i haven’t decided on it yet

height. about 2’7” 

age. Old™

zodiac. libra

languages. ??? It Is A Mystery, but probably at least japanese 

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair fur colour. very cool grey, almost just downright blue. darker, more neutral grey markings scattered across his coat, including two half-circles right under his eyes just so he always looks as Tired™ as everyone assumes he is

eye colour.  reddish brown. in certain lighting, they probably do look legitimately red 

skin tone. n/a

body type.  thin, slender, kind of a lanky cat. it’d be most obvious if he were to walk on all fours for once, but he has long legs and relatively fine bones thinking emoji 

accent. no real accent, but he does have a rather distinctive. uh. cadence?? it’s not entirely native to him, either, but it’s something like a habit now

posture. noticeably more steady on his feet than his peers, but i’m not sure why lmao IC-wise, i think he’s just practiced more or something. who knows. otherwise, he tries to effect a more straight, stately posture, but he’s a cat, and they’re slouchy creatures so nature is against him in this particular instance tbh

tattoos. none

most noticeable features. he’s a changshan-wearing cat standing on his hind legs what more do u want :v IN ALL HONESTY… his ears are probably just a tad larger than many of the other cats in the kingdom, but. again, noticeably

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. verse-dependent-- the cat kingdom in most verses, and earth in the manga verse 

hometown. the cat kingdom seems fairly well-contained, and tho i like the idea of other ‘realms’ filled with cats connected to it, natori probably did grow up around the particular kingdom we see. in the manga verse, it’s somewhere in the ehime prefecture thinking emoji possibly the small town of ikata, but i haven’t 100% decided yet

birth weight / height. ………..cat-appropriate :v

first words. i’m not entirely sure, but it was probably something nonsensical strung together while ‘singing’ with his grandmother

siblings. two sisters, both younger. manami (middle) and sachiko (youngest). in the manga verse, it’s anyone’s guess

parental involvement. fairly involved. he was the only child for like five years laughs. there also would have been involvement from his grandparents on both sides, i think, tho all but his maternal grandmother would have eventually passed on by the time he was nine or ten. this maternal grandmother is also who would have ultimately raised him and his sisters from the time he was about eight years old

ADULT LIFE.

occupation. royal advisor in the main verse. in the post-canon verse, he’s officially retired but. well. old habits die hard 

current residence. has a relatively modest room in the castle somewhere 

close friends. do coworkers count 

relationship status. single 

financial status. again i ask-- does the cat kingdom have an economy

driver’s license. n/a

criminal record. i doubt it, but lbr he’s probably done some Shady things in his position squints

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. idk, probably somewhere on the ace spectrum tbh

romantic orientation. i lean toward homoromantic

preferred emotional role.  submissive | dominant | switch  | unsure

preferred sexual role. submissive |  dominant  |  switch |  sex repulsed | unsure 

libido. what is libido

turn ons. did you just show him a crumb of genuine appreciation? swoon

turn offs. bad hygiene, crass behavior and poor etiquette, swearing. but obviously this is all relative bc despite all this he still has a great deal of affection for mr. cat king himself so like. take it with a grain of salt

love language. most likely acts of service. and. quality time, that probably fits in there somewhere

relationship tendencies. he’s never had one, so it’s honestly anyone’s guess ¯\_(ヅ)_/¯

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. this entire first verse is sung by natori and no one can convince me otherwise

hobbies to pass the time. camping and fishing (tho he rarely gets the opportunity to indulge rip), tying decorative knots, singing/music, visiting with family, caring for pets. he’s somewhat embarrassed to admit that filing papers and organizing has a certain pleasure to it. newly-acquired hobbies in the post-canon verse include pastry making, board/card games, and honestly he strikes me as a bonsai kinda guy lmao

mental illnesses/disposition. none other than stress, but even that’s considerably abated in the post-canon verse

physical illnesses. mild presbyopia and myopia. also mild photophobia 

left or right brained. [raises finger and opens mouth] i! ...i’m actually not sure. probably left, i guess

fears. the cat kingdom burns to the ground when he takes his eyes off the cat king for a literal second, the cat king blows himself up, natoru blows herself up, cars, the fact that the kingdom has literally one single heir to its name and he almost died saving a box of cookies, that yuki ever confronts her new father-in-law about his first reaction to hearing lune wanted to marry her

self confidence level. typically relatively high. while he fears failure and perhaps berates himself rather harshly when he feels he could have done better, it’s not something that Sticks Around, if you will 

vulnerabilities. he has that pesky devoted streak, which means he will go to at least some extreme lengths to protect the ones he loves and/or feels responsible for (and the list of those he feels responsible for to some degree is perhaps a more populated one than even he realizes). physically, well. i’ll just take this time to remind everyone of that one point in the movie where he’s tossed aside like a wet towel by the cat king. he also has about 10% of the stamina he should have, thanks to inactivity lmao

[cruelangelstheses]

to be loved

fandom: dragon age rating: G characters: sera/female inquisitor words: 1.6k additional tags: canon compliant, self-esteem issues, fluff description: rana lavellan teaches her girlfriend sera how to make dalish hearth cakes. a/n: hello!! :D i wrote this for @serappreciationweek day 2: ships!!

read it on ao3

—

Sera furrows her brow as she reads over the recipe. Looking back up at her girlfriend, she says, “Elfy cookies?”

Rana shrugs. “They’re the only cookies I know how to make,” she says. “Although technically they’re called hearth cakes.”

Sera sticks her tongue out and passes the paper back to Rana. “Whatever. More than I can make.”

“Not for long!” Rana says, setting the recipe down on a crate. “Besides, think of it this way. At least you can admit that you don’t know how to make cookies. That already makes you better than some people.”

Sera pretends to be uninterested in Rana’s “elfy cookies,” but she can’t stop herself from glancing over at the table where the ingredients are already set up. “How’d you get halla butter?”

“Remember that Dalish clan we met in the Exalted Plains?” Rana says as she ties an apron around her waist. “I traded them for it.”

Sera doesn’t quite know what to do, so she just watches as Rana measures the flour. She’s beautiful when she’s so focused, completely ignoring the brown hair that falls into her eyes from its messy, boyish cut. Lifting the sifter above a large bowl, she turns her head toward Sera and says, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Sera blinks a few times in surprise. “But I’m not…”

“Not what?” Rana says as she starts to sift the flour. “Not ‘elfy’ enough? Screw that. I got these ingredients because I want to bake cookies with you. I want us to make our own ‘us cookies.’ Together.”

At that, Sera gives in and allows herself a smile. “Frigging weird, you are,” she laughs, grabbing an apron of her own and joining Rana at the table, where she’s finished sifting the flour and has begun adding hardwood ash and salt. Meanwhile, Sera grabs the recipe and skims over it to find the next step.

“I’ll do the spices,” she says, grabbing a spoon. While she measures and mixes in the spices, Rana prepares the butter. It feels kind of nice, actually, being able to do something helpful and productive, but she’ll reserve judgment for when the cookies—hearth cakes—are actually finished. Maybe they’ll turn out tasting terrible, and it’ll be all her fault. That seems more likely.

“Okay,” Rana says. “Now we have to rub the butter into the mix until it all starts to look like crumbs. I recommend using our fingers; it’s easier.”

Sera smirks. “Mess! That’s fun stuff.”

Rana flashes her a snaggletooth grin, a smile reserved only for those she cares enough about. Sera counts herself lucky to be able to see it. “I knew you’d like that.”

Rana tosses the hunk of halla butter into the bowl, then presses it into the mixture. The yellow-white mush quickly covers her long, tan fingers, and after a moment, Sera sticks her own hands into the bowl and starts pushing the butter into the mix. Their hands constantly bump each other, and they giggle as their hands go from buttery to coated in thin crumbs. Sera savors her girlfriend’s giggle, another rare joy from a woman mired in bitterness and exhaustion.

When they’re nearly done, Sera takes her index finger and draws a swirly design around Rana’s right eye and down her cheek in sticky crumbs. “Now you match,” she says, referring to the black vallaslin that adorns the left side of her face, though it’s much more intricate than Sera’s last-minute crumb drawing. Rana snorts and kisses her on the cheek.

Sera handles the next step, stirring in the sugar and dried cranberries, while Rana beats the egg in a separate bowl to pour into the large one. They take turns mixing everything together until the dough actually starts to look like it’s supposed to.

Rana gets an excited gleam in her bright purple eyes, eyes that have captivated Sera since the moment she first saw them glowing in the darkness. “This is where they actually start to taste like cookies.”

They sprinkle some flour on the table and dump the dough out. Rana presses her palms against the lump and starts to knead with both hands, her movements strong and sure despite her tiny frame. She looks like she doesn’t need much help, so Sera stands and watches, admiring the subtle ripples of muscle in her arms and shoulders. Finally, when the dough is about as thin as it’s supposed to be, Rana grabs a goblet, turns it upside down, and says, “Cookie time,” before planting it firmly into one corner of the dough, cutting a perfect circle.

They fall into a pattern: Rana cuts the cookies, Sera pulls them out of the dough and sets them on a plate for the time being. When they run out of room to make another round shape, Rana rolls the remaining dough into a ball and flattens it out like she did before, until it’s so small that she can’t cut it with the goblet anymore. “What do we do with that, Inky?” Sera asks.

Rana picks up the little dough ball and rips it into two. Handing one half to Sera and popping the other into her mouth, she says, “We eat it.”

Sera laughs a little and shoves her piece into her mouth, chewing cautiously, prepared to hate it. It’s sweet and flavorful, and she likes the way the cranberries mix with the pastry dough.

Rana watches her expectantly. “Well? How is it?”

Sera shrugs and smiles awkwardly. “I...I like it.”

Rana grins again, and again, Sera feels blessed to witness it.

The final step is to actually bake the hearth cakes over a flame. Rana grabs a flat iron griddle and lets it heat up over the fire in the corner of the kitchen. Per her request, Sera tosses a pinch of flour into the griddle, and they watch as it turns golden brown, signalling that it’s ready.

Rana pulls the griddle out and sets it back on the table, while Sera carefully places the hearth cakes around the edge—“If we put them in the middle, it’ll blacken them,” Rana explains. She can’t fit them all in, so they’ll have to do a couple rounds.

They stand next to each other, watching the cookies get larger. Rana still has the crumb design on her face, and Sera leans down and rests her head on Rana’s shoulder. “You’re fun, Inky,” she says as she stares into the fire. “And you’re sweet, underneath all that ‘Grrr, look at me funny and I’ll knife you.’” They both giggle. When Sera first met Rana, she thought she’d never hear a sound like that come out of her mouth. She seemed too distant, too hostile, too bogged down with responsibility and hurt. For her to open up, to let loose, means more than Sera could ever put into words.

When the first batch of cookies is done, Sera helps pull them out of the griddle and onto the plate from earlier, while Rana replaces them with the unbaked half. Sera grabs one and pops the whole thing into her mouth, even though she knows she should wait until they’ve cooled down.

To the surprise of no one, the cookie burns her mouth, and she has to chew with it open to get some relief. “Piss!” she yells, but she’s smiling, too, and Rana shakes her head in mock disapproval.

“So? How are they?” Rana asks, keeping one eye on the griddle. “Besides the ‘burning your tongue’ part.”

Well, besides the “burning her tongue” part, the baked cookie tastes even better than the raw dough, which shouldn’t be too surprising, but it kind of is. It’s like she was still waiting for the cakes to turn bad somehow.

“They...they’re good,” she says. “I thought they’d be terrible. I thought I’d make them terrible. Not elfy enough to make elfy cookies right. Maybe that’s stupid, but ‘til now, it’s all I knew how to feel. ‘Not allowed to be elfy, Sera, elfy is bad,’ but ‘not elfy enough, Sera, try harder.’ So instead of feeling like a human or an elf, I just feel like...a failed elf.” She frowns and sighs. “So it’s good. This is good. Because now cookies make me think of you and how much I like you, instead of frigging Lady Emmald.” She grabs another cookie off the plate and takes a bite out of it, smiling spitefully. “And now I can make cookies better than she ever could. So she can eat it.”

Rana’s gaze is soft and warm, like a comforting light. “I’m glad, ma vhenan.”

Usually Sera doesn’t like hearing Elvish—her inability to speak or understand most of it serves as just another reminder of her supposed brokenness. But when Rana calls her vhenan, it’s different. It has a certain weight to it; it swells with everything Rana feels and can’t express. It’s a word that Rana shouts in desperation when Sera falls on the battlefield, and it’s a word that she whispers against Sera’s chest when they’re alone at night. It feels right for once, to love and be loved by her.

It’s Sera that breaks the trance between them when she smells the burning. “Inky! The cookies!”

Rana jumps and quickly pulls the griddle out from the flame and sets it on the table. The cookies aren’t on fire, but they’re significantly darker than the first batch.

“Ugh,” Sera says, wrinkling her nose. “See, that’s what happens when you get too lovey-dovey.”

They stare at each other for a short moment, and then they both burst into laughter.

[tenderdorks]

Sugar

Notes: Howdy, folks! It’s me, @justapalspal / @ryoubandwagon, taking a crack at writing some tendershipping on a sideblog I’ve finally given purpose to just now.

And y’all know me, I live, breathe, and eat goofy tendershipping, so have some post-canon tenderdorks while I stretch my writing muscles! Bakura buys Ryou cookies, then pretends he didn’t.

Word Count: 2722

Warnings: Save for two vague innuendos and Bakura having a semi-sailor mouth, nothing that goes above a T rating.

Ao3 Link: Here!

Oh, gods, I hate sugar, Bakura grumbled, fourth cookie crammed in his mouth. He wasn’t going to touch frosting for a month. Two months. Four was enough of them, he figured; that would be convincing.

Everything in his mouth was too creamy, though; Bakura made it to their floor and grunted, when he wasn’t crushing his teeth together. His jaw burned. His cheekbones stung a little from the force of it, too. By the time he made it to the door he was almost ready to swallow the damp lump, and he paused a second to give himself enough time to do so and scrub crumbs off his face so it wouldn’t look bad. Or suspicious.

Okay. Cool, cool.

Bakura stuck the key in the lock and pushed the door in. “Hey, Ryou.”

No response.

“...Ryou?” Bakura called, louder.

“Huh?” Ryou’s voice was loud, airy. Sounded like he was in the craft room, too; probably working on miniatures again.

“I’m back,” Bakura called, shutting the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and pushed them into some semblance of order next to Ryou’s, just lying about. Messy, but hell, the rest of the place wasn’t any better.

He shrugged his jacket off—as much as he could, anyway, while keeping the box clutched to his chest. The jacket he threw on the couch. He stared at it. He stared at the walls, the unfolded laundry strewn about. He stood there.

“From work,” he said, blankly. Gods, he sounded like a damn fool.

A few clunking sounds, a door creaking, and Ryou poked his head out the hall, breathing just a bit hard from the rush. “Ah, right.” Holy shit, Bakura was going to die. Ryou was casual as hell and yet—his face? Rosie-red? His dark eyes glimmering a bit? His torso, all fluttering with life? 

“Some idiot left cookies at work and I thought you and your whole sweet tooth syndrome would devour these if I brought them home.” That idiot being Bakura and work being a euphemism for I bought them on the way home from work to give to you because I am a sap holy fuck.

He held out the box. Four were missing. It would totally look like Bakura just grabbed them from the break room, he was sure.

Ryou only cocked his head. Then, walking closer, he snorted. “Did you steal someone’s food?”

“No, it was—” Fuck. “They left it for people to take, so I took them.”

Ryou flashed a toothy grin at him. That didn’t stop him from reaching out to pop open the lid.

Bakura’s heart jittered a little, inside him. “Really.” Was that too firm? Too desperate?

“I know, I know, relax.” He held it in some, but not all, of his fingers. The cookie, that is. Ryou did. “It’s just usually when someone leaves food around it’s a ‘take one’ type of deal, not the whole thing.”

Fuck, fuck. “Ryou, five people work there, tops.”

“Take two, then.” Ryou didn’t even nibble; he went straight for cramming it into his mouth, and Bakura had no idea how he managed to make chewing with his mouth open look attracting. Or reaching for another when he hadn’t even finished that first one yet.

Take two, take two. Cocky little—

Bakura didn’t want to think too hard about the warmth twittering up in him. Twirling, and flowing, like warm smoke, seeping into his ribs. So he just watched Ryou, and in watching him, realized he had been watching Ryou far too long. Much too long to be a normal, in-passing look.

Eyes lit up, Ryou grinned at him, with that damn cookie partially obscuring his teeth. “I’m messing with you.”

Hell. “Yeah, sure.”

“Did you have an alright time at work, at least?” Ryou crunched some more, the sounds soft, and took the box out of Bakura’s numb grasp. “Tolerable, intolerable? Yay, nay?”

“It was something, I guess.” Stay cool, stay calm. Everything had gone good. It’d gone great. It was okay, Bakura, really, Bakura, why were his fingers and toes so fidgety, his head so seepingly bleh—

He clenched his hands and then his toes. Ryou hummed as he walked to the kitchen, and without thought, Bakura followed him. It was as natural as being, this mindless tug toward him. So when Ryou set the box down and opened the fridge, Bakura sat down in a chair, filtering the mechanical buzz of it out.

“Is it a good something?” Ryou didn’t turn from the fridge’s contents; his head did, though, skim and flick about, and Bakura really needed to stop watching him this much, fuck.

“Uh.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good something.” The milk carton, ah. Bakura should’ve expected that. He just didn’t expect the chocolate one to be the one Ryou wiggled by the handle, and pop open with that crispy crack—  

“I—oh! Fuck that noise, my legs are ripped from all the biking. You wanna see?” Bakura grinned so wide his face burned, and reached for his pant leg—pulling it up before smacking his leg on top of the table. “Look! Feel my calves, Ryou, they’re rock hard.” 

Ryou burst into snorty sounds. “Bakura.”

“Seriously! Feel my legs. I could crush a man’s head with my thighs.”

“What, and you have men’s heads there often enough that you’d need to?”

There was no way he’d heard that right. Bakura blinked blankly, still smiling. “Y—what?” 

Good gods, at this point, Bakura couldn’t tell if those doe eyes were Ryou playing clueless or messing with him. “What?”

“Uh.” Cup. Ryou had a cup in his hand now, he was coming toward the table, he had that—the milk—Bakura’s eyes darted to the cookie box and his brain jolted hard to connect straws together. Anything together. “You. Oh, hell, are you—”

“Am I what?” The chair made a small, skidding yell as Ryou dragged it back to plop into. His cheeks tugged up in a lopsided grin. Bakura groaned, shutting his eyes.

“You are. Why do I even…”

The milk glugged and popped and dribbled noisily as Ryou poured it. When Bakura opened his eyes again, Ryou had a brow cocked up at him. And a grin. Cocky—

“Yes?”

Bakura’s nostril twitched. “No.”

Ryou laughed, and it bubbled through his chest. “What, Bakura?”

“Oh, you know what. You’re disgusting. You’re mixing chocolate milk with frosting?” 

“Yeah?” Ryou dunked that half-eaten cookie into it, not even blinking. “And? Coward.”

Bakura scoffed. He scoffed loud, hard, enough to send his nose high and his head shaking, but it flittered into a quiet giggle, a smothered grin. Grunting, Bakura rubbed his fingers along his brow, down his eyelids. “You’re an absolute monster,” he muttered. “Gods.” 

“You’re telling me this is worse than pepperoni pizza and chocolate chip ice cream.”

“I’m saying I get you sweets and you wreck them beyond any recognition.” And—okay, Bakura couldn’t help it. He giggled, and snickered, skin tingling so warm that it blazed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Ryou kicked him from under the table. “You eat raw garlic. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“We’ll see when I don’t have tapeworms and you do.” Bakura kicked him back. Then he leaned far over, hunching on his elbows and arms. “You wanna try garlic, if you’re going to be nasty about food?” 

Ryou jerked back like he’d been physically startled. “What? No. You are not making me eat that again.”

“It’s good.” Bakura licked his own teeth, very slowly. Very deliberately. “Zingy.”

“You look like a buffoon.” Ryou pushed his head away hard, and Bakura snorted. Maybe cackled a little. Fell back in his seat, even, giddy, as Ryou gave him a deadpan look and said, “Your tongue’s supposed to stay in your mouth.” 

Bakura stuck it out at him.

“Imbecile,” Ryou muttered, dunking his cookie again.

And without a single ounce of filter Bakura tipped his own chin up and grinned and said, “If you want it to stay there so badly maybe you should make it stay, nedjeb nefer.”

”I’m...” Ryou’s eyelashes fluttered fast from how many times he blankly blinked. “I’m not sticking my hand in your mouth, what?”

Hand. Bakura snorted, lightly, out his nose. “You’re not?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes?!” Ryou’s torso jerked a moment, before sputtered, half-muffled sounds spewed out. Laughter. What a fucking dork.

“You’re really sure.”

“Yes I am really sure.”

“‘Cause you can kiss me anytime you want, I’m not gonna bite.”

“What?” 

“What?” Oh holy—well alright then. For a second, Bakura lost the ability to feel. Then everything throbbed at once, shooting into a nauseating spike that made him want to get up and jig and shake his fingers and feet out until they undeniably hurt.

And all Ryou could focus on was that dang word. “Did you just say—?” 

“Stuff your hand in my mouth? Yes, I did.” Put it right next to Bakura’s whole-ass foot, gods be—

“You said I can kiss you anytime I want.” Was Ryou red? Was that a flush on his face going down his neck or was Bakura hallucinating from the lightheadedness? “You did, I heard you—”

“No shit, really? How’d you get that from ‘stuff your hand in my mouth please, Ryou, just smash your fist into my esophagus?’” 

Leaning in on his elbows, Ryou squinted and said, “Do you want me to kiss you?” 

Yes?! “Pff—ha! Ha!” Bakura contorted into some sort of human spring, legs going one way and torso the next. “No? Why would—it’s a joke, holy crap, people joke about stuff all the ti—”

“Because here I was,” Ryou said, head cocked now to one side, “about to give you want you want and smooch you, maybe. You know. If you wanted.”

Bakura had to choke down a squeak; it sounded like some odd, aborted burp. And then he went very very quiet. 

What was—what was happening? 

“And I finally looked up nedjeb online,” Ryou went on, swirling cookie in chocolate milk concoction like a tea party guest might stir a spoon. “Have you really been calling me ‘sweetie’ this whole time and expecting me to think it was an insult?” 

Dry, thickening throat. Bakura had to swallow the gunk away to speak. “Uh.”

“‘Cause I thought you were calling me pretty boy or something at first, but.” Ryou shrugged, eyes rolling upward, head making a few idle movements. He nibbled on his cookie thoughtfully. “Eh? That’s a bit sweeter, I guess.”

“I—uh—r… right.” Right. Some of the tightness was his spine locking up, Bakura realized. Ah, that was it. He sunk down in a vain attempt to relax it. Then he just plopped onto his arm, leaning all his weight on it. Buzzing fingers started tapping. 

And kept tapping.

Tap tap, tap tap.

All he could hear was Ryou’s chewing.

“Maybe a peck on the cheek,” Ryou mumbled, sounding aimless. “Take this nice and slow.”

“They got nedjeb up online?” Bakura didn’t usually squeak, but this one was a bit hoarse, so it didn’t count. At all. He winced and sunk lower anyway. 

Ryou puffed a laugh out his nose. “One of the few words from Ancient Egyptian they got up that’s easy to find, yeah.”

“Fuck.” Bakura dug his face down into his arm, then the table. End him. End him now. He felt too exposed, like eyes bored into his back, like every ounce of his skin had attention on it and he was a tingling display— 

“It’s a cute word, now that I know what it means, not gonna lie.”

Bakura breathed deeply, noisily, in through his nose. Okay. Okay. He rocked a bit, trying to psych himself up, because come on, holy crap, he could deal with this, what was even happening though he could deal with this—

He shot his head up, blinking the imprint of lights from his eyes. His vision wasn’t blurry, per se, but he could definitely feel his ability to process it wither.

“Are those—any good?” Bakura flapped a hand at the box. Good, yes. Carry on like nothing happened.

Something about it made Ryou’s brows furrow. “These?” He turned his head to eye them. One side of his mouth tugged up. “Would I be eating them if they weren’t?”

“You eat shit combinations and then have the gall to say you can cook.” The itchiness spread up Bakura’s neck. Behind his ears, tingling, buzzing. He scratched at it hard, digging his nails into his roots. “But. You like them.”

“Yeah?” Ryou punctuated this by reaching over for the whole box.

“Cool. Cool, good, right. Yeah.” What the hell. All this nodding was going to snap Bakura’s neck in two, he was sure.

“Thank you, I don’t think I said that.”

“No problem.” Bakura rocked his chest a bit with the nodding, now.

Ryou laughed a bit, definitely awkward; not meeting Bakura’s eye; turning his head one way, then back the other while putting his mouth into his palm. His arm balanced him just barely on the table. “No, really. That was really nice of you to think of me, when you saw the—”

“Eat the goddamn cookies,” Bakura wheezed. 

Ryou scoffed. It stayed muffled in his palm. “Well alright, sourpuss.” 

And then they… sat like that. Nothing special. Perhaps too much nothing special, even with the hum of the air conditioning blaring, and the faint chatter in the background from other apartment goers drowned out by the walls and halls. 

Eventually, Bakura’s foot started running a mile under the table, bouncing so hard his ankle burned.

“Bakura, do you like me?” Ryou asked, out of absolutely nowhere, except only a little not, and Bakura couldn’t even fathom how to respond anymore. “Because I’m absolutely oblivious, most of the time. I used to think crushes mean basically stalking because of my high school fanclub, and I don’t always pick up on the cues—” 

“Holy crap, what do you think I mean by getting you sweets when I hate them but you don’t? Gah!” Bakura scrunched his face up. His eyes crushed shut.

“Oh! Good.” Through the numb pounding in his chest, Bakura cracked a slow eye open. Ryou smiled at him, lips closed, mouth full, crumbs on his cheek. “I think I like you too. You’re fun to be around now.”

Oh. Oh, well okay. Bakura eased up the rest of the way, but a layer of tension kept him stiff.

“Especially with how funny you are when I tease you.” Ryou leaned over to pinch his cheek and gave it a good tug. All Bakura felt was the soft stinging yank at his gums and cheekbones, and Ryou jiggling it again, again, and Bakura stared—well, gawked—the whole time, because Ryou’d just said— 

“Ahh yuu—fuhk, leggo!” Bakura scrunched up as much of his face as he could then, which was just his nose really, and shook him off. 

And Ryou just giggled, low and bright and giddy. “Awww, but your cheeks are so cute!”

“Are you serious? I’m going to—fuck!” Bakura stomped once, twice, three times with all his weight and both feet, before throwing his head up and back. “Aaaaaah!”

“Neighbors, Bakura.” Now Ryou spoke in faux-whispers. Cheeky ones. He smirked, lopsided and just as goofy as any time he did. “And save that for later.” 

He was one hundred percent messing with Bakura. Those doe eyes were a farce and Bakura balked at him anyway, body burning, face tingling, the skin of his nose buzzing—and damn it all to hell, he reached over and yanked Ryou in by the shirt so he could get a kiss for himself.

Ryou’s mouth was soft; his hands warm, and getting warmer from how they started patting frantically at Bakura, before settling down steadily on his chest. Ryou kept laughing out his nose and puffing air on Bakura’s face. Fucking hell, Bakura thought, leaning into that smile. I can do sugar, if Ryou’s the one tasting like that.

“Did you—” Ryou muttered, not even breaking away. Fucker just talked right on his mouth. “Did you eat some of these? You taste like them—”

“Please just kiss me, oh gods.” It was wonderful, how Ryou’s laughter filled his mouth and ears.

-

[seenashwrite]

Hunters Roasting On An Open Fire

Status: Complete Word Count: 1.1K Category: One-shot, Holidays, Christmas, Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant, Humor, On-the-hunt Characters: Dean, Sam, special holiday guest star Warnings: None Author’s Note: Pseudo-entry for @atc74 ‘s Cards Against Christmas with the song title prompt "__ Roasting On An Open Fire", and yes, we're aware the actual title is "The Christmas Song" but I wanted to light things up, so here we are; “pseudo” because I went over word count allowed and I edited like a sweaty bitch, I swear; but hey, you got some, ah, charming gifs, too.😈  Overall Summary: They come at night... by the dozen.

Dean and Sam edged toward the door of the old, stately home. The crunches called out from under the hunters' boots with every step, sharp like screams. It felt as loud to their ears as the crack of the shotgun had been moments earlier.

"Creepy little suckers," Dean muttered.

Sam eyed a misshapen snowman just off the porch, and he shivered in the frosty, sleet-packed gusts, though it wasn't for long - as the door opened on its own with an ominous creak, the furnace-like air in the house practically slapped them in the face. 

The brothers shared a look, then continued on.

As they crossed the worn welcome mat, the door slammed itself shut, the heavy bolt lock clicking into place, causing both men to whip around, Sam's blade at the ready, Dean giving the shotgun a preemptive pump.

The house moaned a greeting. The enormous fireplace roared, popped off sparks for good measure. Giggles ricocheted off the walls. And then, the whispered singing began.

Run, run, fast as you can...

"Where is that coming from?" asked Sam.

Dean pointed with the barrel of the shotgun to the entirety of their surroundings, implying everywhere; the uptick of skittering - in the walls, across the ceiling, up the stairs, and under the furniture - confirmed it.

"Guess the ones outside had a lot of friends," Sam noted.

"What, a baker's dozen?" Dean asked with a crooked grin; Sam's raised eyebrow ushered it away.

Down the darkened hall, a tiny house rested near the wall, perfect from graham eaves to gumdrop trim, barely illuminated by the moonlight pushing through a snow-caked window. Dean didn't hesitate to fire into it, shells filled with a rock salt-rock candy combo, turning the structure to chunky bits. Sam tossed a vial of blessed pine oil, followed by a lighter, onto the pile. 

No sooner had it gone ablaze, five of the creatures came out shrieking, running, lighting up the shadows. Dean nailed three in one shot. Sam's blade, coated in a poinsettia tincture, pinned another to the wall. And the mostly-scorched fifth scrambled away.

The next part happened quickly. Blade retrieved, Sam was right behind Dean when he burst into the huge dining room. A glow, not unlike that coming from the candles atop the table, flickered from an unlit corner. The song had turned chant.

RUN! RUN! FAST AS YOU CAN!

And there it was, the escapee, coming right at them, head flaming, raisin eyes melting, determined expression in check, but it went to shock in a hot second.

Blast hit target. Crumbs flew. The night went silent, and the brothers took the moment to note what was on the table. Laid neatly were innumerable tiny carving knives, and in the center a giant silver platter, all glinting in the candlelight.

"So they're cannibals?" Dean asked.

"Technically not cannibals, or they'd be eating each other---"

"Fine. They're frikkin' carnivore gingerbread men!"

A crash from the next room, another shared look, and through the open pocket door they went. In the kitchen, gingerbread men spilled from the flaming oven, all of them crispy, blackening in the fire, perhaps in some sort of solidarity with their fallen brethren, and they quickly met the same fate, those not succumbing to the burn meeting their end by shot and stab. The last, a quite bold one, sharpened candy cane shiv in hand, leapt into the air right at Sam when his back was turned, and Dean had none of it, pulverizing the creature mid-flight.

They did the same to the houses, some mansion-sized, that lined every counter, every surface, until there was no sign of more, no skitters, no giggles, no songs. But now, rooms checked, back in the den, ready to leave, they hesitated. Breaths of iced crystals floated from their lips, stifling heat be damned. The cavernous fireplace seemed to widen its maw, enough to where they saw the broiled skeletons with their picked-clean bones.

"The owners?" Sam whispered, and Dean answered with a nod.

An old woman in an apron sticky with dough and sprinkles appeared, more of her cookie army sneaking through vents, crawling out of drawers, slinking from under cushions, herding their enemies to the fire, ready to roast their meal. 

The ghost witch cackled, her transparent form glitching, then turning solid. "Fools!" she cried. "You think you've beaten me! My plan has worked for centuries, luring hunters to a remote home each year when the solstice is---"

Sam's blade sailed right into her forehead, a touch of a cranberry scent wafting from the wound, and the wee men fell to sugared dust.

"Man, I hate exposition," Dean commented, then added, "Heh. I guess that's how the cookie crumbles."

Sam rolled his eyes.

Quick work was made of the house, a little Latin said as they watched the flames grow tall, and they left, satisfied. Back at their motel, the typical post-hunt celebratory beers were eschewed, instead falling into bed for their much-earned long winter's nap. But at precisely midnight, when it was officially Christmas Eve, tinkling bells and a familiar melody filled the air. 

They each turned in their respective beds, facing one another, frowning. Sam slammed his hand atop the clock radio on the bedside table a few times. The carol stopped. Shrugs were exchanged. Eyes were closed. Blankets were pulled tighter. Pillows were hugged. The hum of the heater was the only sound.

Until.

....nipping at your nose, Yuletide carols being sung by a choir....

"Nope," Dean announced, sitting up and turning, banging a fist against the wall. "Pipe down!" he yelled.

"Dean, nobody's in the next room - we're on the end," Sam reminded him.

Dean began to get out of bed to bang on the opposite wall, but stopped - it was quiet once again. But this time when he laid down, he stayed on his back, didn't burrow, didn't get comfortable. He was prepped to pounce, merely resting his eyes.

It was the smell of smoke and drips of frosting glopping onto their faces that caused them to stir, the return of the chant which woke them all the way.

Run, run, fast as you can...

Dean and Sam gasped in sync at the sight of the human-sized gingerbread on the ceiling, flames surrounding it, glaring down at them, baring its glittering teeth as it hissed.

...you can't catch me - I'm the gingerbread man!

Scrambling for their weapons, Dean suddenly just knew, and he shouted, "Nice touch, you sonnuvabitch!"

As the shots and groans and punches rang out, the horned, cloaked figure leaning against the Impala finished off his cookie. "Hot damn, I love these guys," Krampus said to himself with a laugh; and then, louder:

"See you next year!"

A/N #2 - The top gif’s an edit coupled with a bit from the same movie the bottom one is from, which is “Krampus”. Watch it, it’s a hoot.

See Nash Write : Master  /  See Nash Write : Mobile

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[littlecrookedheart]

Imagine • Prompt Request One Shot

Prompt : “You come to my room and wake me up at 4am, to cuddle?” / “You’re getting crumbs all over my bed”

Requested by some anons!

Pairing : Maxwell x Farrah

Rating : None! Pure fluff.

Word Count : 2,561

Author’s Note : This variates from canon but...most of my stuff does? I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer : I do not own these characters. I’ve added a bit of a flare to them for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

Typically, during these hours the castle was still, even the staff remained quiet as they dozed off sitting upright at their stations, security being the only select few ridden with energy. But tonight, as it had been for nearing a week, one man roamed the halls, clanking around the kitchen for a late night snack, slipping across the polished floor on the balls of his feet.

At the foot of the staircase, just before the turn into the kitchen, a stout man with graying hair and a long moustache sat at his position, shining a row of shoes.

"Lord Beaumont," he nodded, his nose whistling as he breathed.

"Just Maxwell, Grover. No formalities necessary."

"As you wish, 'Just Maxwell.' May I suggest something?"

Maxwell raised an eyebrow and smiled to the man, who looked up to him over thinly rimmed copper frames.

"If you'd like to continue these midnight walks through the halls, perhaps you'll wear shoes. You slide so quickly 'round the corners, I fear you'll knock your head into the wall."

Maxwell chuckled softly, sticking one foot into the air, admiring his doughnut printed socks.

"They're so fashionable, though."

"It would be more so a tragedy if their owner could only wear them while in an infirmary, yes?"

"Good point, Groves," Maxwell said, giving him a small salute. He peeled his socks off, leaving them in a bundle at the bottom step, making his way into the kitchen.

"What's for breakfast, Marjorie?"

Marjorie, a young girl with braided blonde hair, blushed from behind a large bag of flour, slowly peeking around to see his face. She was small and likely ten years his junior, but there was no doubt she awaited his company each day. She never said much, and neither did he, but he made it a point to share a smile with her as often as possible.

"Can you believe it, Maxwell? Queen Mother has requested berries and waffles yet again."

Maxwell hopped onto the counter, grabbing a handful of chocolate chips from a nearby tin.

"I don't mind that, so long as I get some, too."

Marjorie's lips curved into a small smile, looking away as she said, "Yes, but you aren't the one who leaves for the day smelling of frying oil."

"You fry the waffles?"

"Yes?"

Maxwell's forehead creased, a grin spreading across his face as he shrugged. "You learn something new every day." He slid off the counter, walking over to the pantry doors. "But you know why I'm here. Do you mind, Marjorie?"

"Of course not. Just be sure to let King Liam know to clear my panel so I'm not accused of stealing."

"Have I ever forgotten?" Maxwell smiled, grabbing a plate of saran wrapped cookies from a higher shelf. "Are these fresh?"

"They're from this evening, yes."

"I'll take these. Thanks, Marj. Gotta take these to Farrah."

"Lady Farrah is up so early? Today's festivities don't begin for six more hours."

"She's an early riser," he lied, rushing out of the kitchen and up the stairway, handing Grover a cookie as he passed by.

Farrah's room was second to the end of the hall, a far walk, one that socks helped speed up. The sound of Maxwell's feet on the floor made him cringe, but he didn't care enough to back track to his own room for slippers. He knocked four times, nearing a fifth before the door flew open, Farrah's face riddled in confusion.

"Morning, sunshine!" He said, squeezing in through the crack in the door. Farrah rolled her eyes, locking the door behind him and flipping on the switch to her bedside lamp. Maxwell had already propped himself in her bed, unwrapping the cookies.

"What time is it, Max?"

"Late. Or early, depending on how you'd like to see it."

"What I'd like to see is me asleep in that bed."

Maxwell smiled at her, gazing at her in awe. He adored the way the waves in her hair scattered across her shoulders, a few flyaway strands poking up from her head. She always seemed to glow in the morning, so soft and beautiful he couldn't believe it.

"Come sleep, then." He patted the bed beside him. "Or have a cookie. I grabbed these for us."

"What did you need, Max?" She asked, climbing into bed next to him.

"The truth or a lie?"

She glared at him and he laughed, ruffling her feathery locks in his hand. She grabbed his arm, reading the watch fastened around his wrist.

"I just kinda...wanted to cuddle."

"You come to my room and wake me up at four in the morning...to cuddle?"

He nodded, eyes widened like a puppy dog, lower lip pouting. Farrah drowsily smiled, handing Maxwell the plate of cookies and sliding over to him. She lay her arm across his chest, head on his shoulder, lulling herself to sleep to the sound of his heart beat.

And then a crunch, cookie crumbs raining down his shirt and onto her sheets.

"Aw, damn it, Max. You're getting crumbs all over my bed."

"Sorry," he mumbled, holding a hand to his lip.

"Bite it?"

He nodded, wincing. Farrah got up and made her way to her en suite, gathering a warm washcloth and healing salve from the cabinet. She sat next to him, soothing and tending to his bloody lip.

Maxwell caught the hazel reflections in her eyes, holding in a dreamy sigh as she softly dabbed his lip with the tip of her thumb. Her lips looked like roses, supple with morning dew, shining in the lamplight as she spoke to him.

"Next time, come to bed with me, and you won't have to sneak around so late for a cuddle."

"Maybe I like the sneaking," he teased, pulling her to him.

"I mean it. Come to bed with me."

"Farrah...you know the castle will be in talks the moment the lock clicks."

"So let them be," she whispered, drawing his lips to hers in a tender kiss.

"We aren't in New York. Cordonia...expects...more from us."

"Can I be honest?" She asked, Maxwell's hand caressing her hair.

"Of course."

"I hate that."

"Me too." Maxwell sighed, breathing in the fresh coconut scent of her hair. "If I could write our story, there would be so many nights where I just held you."

"Why can't we? I mean.. I know why. But convince me to believe it."

"There's nothing that can convince you. Nothing convinces me. But we do what we have to."

"Don't you get sick of playing by these rules?"

"I'm sick of anything that prevents me from loving you to the fullest."

Maxwell held her close to him, draping a knit quilt around her shoulders.

"Let's play the imagine game," he whispered, leaving a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"You first."

His fingers ran along the length of her back and to her neck again, gentle yet secure.

"Okay. Imagine...we could skip festivities today."

"Oh my god, please. What would we do?"

"Play cards in the sitting room at the Beaumont estate. You could teach me how to bake. I could give you my best Jerry Maguire impression."

"I've seen that impression, I think."

"Would you say it's...impressive?"

"Well, now I'm not going to."

"Wow! Sometimes, Farrah, I don't know how I fell in love with a bully like you."

Farrah laughed, nuzzling her face into his neck.

"Imagine we could buy a little house somewhere far away. Somewhere on the beach, maybe."

"We could watch the turtles."

"And eat so much ice cream."

"In fairness, I already eat a lot of ice cream," Maxwell said, reaching to grab another cookie. This time, Farrah grabbed it away from him, shoving the whole thing into her mouth. Maxwell bent his brows and burst into laughter before saying, "They're really good, right?"

"Does Marjorie still have a crush on you?" She asked, leaning to her bedside stand for a drink of water.

"Are you still jealous?"

"I've never been jealous, you goon, just observant. I think she made these cookies for you, they might be perfect."

"I've never met a cookie that I didn't like."

"True," Farrah smiled, "This could be pre-made dough and you'd love it."

"What?"

"It's a joke, Max."

"Pre-made?"

"You know, the tube kind."

Maxwell looked into space, a confused expression on his face.

"Tube cookies?"

"You can't be serious! You've never seen pre-made cookie dough?"

"What does that even mean!" Maxwell cried, dramatically chomping two cookies at once.

"Imagine a life where my fiancé didn't litter my silk sheets with cookie crumbs."

“Imagine a boring life, why don’t you?”

Farrah took the plate of cookies and walked them to the other side of the room, jumping on the bed, Maxwell’s strong hands catching her mid air. She pulled his shirt off and nestled her head on his chest, meeting his gaze.

“Hi,” he whispered, kissing her forehead sweetly.

“Hey,” Farrah sighed, filling the spaces between his fingers with her own.

“Imagine sitting in a cute little café where nobody recognized either of us.”

“Or how about…adopting a sibling for Chance?”

Maxwell’s face lit up at the idea. “How about two?!”

“Dare I say three?”

“Dare. But not four, that’s so much puppy love. I don’t know if I could keep up.”

“I have no doubts. Hmm, what if we went in one of those underwater tunnels to watch the fish swim all around us?”

“We could order pizza and watch reruns of Fresh Prince all day.”

“That sounds like a dream.”

Farrah listened to Maxwell ramble off ideas for while before drifting to sleep, the sound of his voice carrying her off like a lullaby.

Maxwell looked down, hazily brushing fallen strands of hair from her eyes before closing his as well.

–

In the morning, a quiet, repetitive knocking sound came from the door. Maxwell clamored over, opening it to reveal Marjorie.

“Maxwell, you’ve missed all of your morning calls, breakfast, and your ride. Your brother was so preoccupied with a phone conversation that I’m not so sure he noticed. I’ve let you sleep a bit, but I thought I’d try to let you know.”

“What? What time is it?”

“Nearing noon.”

“We slept…two hours…past time to leave?”

Marjorie nodded, a solemn look on her face.

“Thanks, Marj. You’re the best.” He closed to door, hopping into bed next to Farrah.

Her eyes opened slowly, becoming more alert when she noticed the amount of sun soaking through the curtains.

“What time is it?”

“Time to skip today’s festivities.”

“Good one. How behind are we?”

“Farrah, I’m serious. We’re not going. I have a better idea.”

Farrah sat up, checking the time on her phone, swiping through dozens of missed calls and messages.

“Max, what have we done?”

He was profusely padding away at the keypad on his phone, grinning as he looked up.

“We overslept. And I hearby decree that today we have an imagine day.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Never had one to begin with, baby. Put on your best pajamas.”

–

Marjorie handed Maxwell and Farrah each a small packed linen bag, nodding toward an empty hallway.

“Head straight out. Just beyond the trees.”

“Thank you, Marjorie,” Farrah said, a warm smile on her lips.

Maxwell took her hand, running out the door and past the trees, surprised that no security had returned to their postings yet. There was a parked car with tinted windows and civilian license plates, a set of keys tucked under the driver’s side tire. He unlocked the doors and got in, Farrah’s face lit up in excitement as he started the engine.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Farrah connected her phone’s output to the radio, playing a throwback playlist from when they were growing up.

“Oh, make sure our locations are turned off,” Maxwell suggested, knocking his knee gently against the center console.

“You’re brilliant.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

–

After belting out ‘Bye Bye Bye,’ and a few handfuls of other classic 90s songs, Maxwell turned down an unmarked road. Farrah straightened her posture as they approached a modest yet grand looking house with old Victorian architecture.

“Whoa,” she exlaimed, looking to Maxwell with curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

“Welcome to tiny House Beaumont.”

“What? What is this place?”

“Come on,” he chuckled, elbowing her playfully. He walked to her door, opening it for her and taking her hand, unlocking the entrance with a small iron key from his pocket.

The foyer was dark but inviting, like a cozy house you’d see in a film. The wallpaper was ancient but beautiful, colorful florals strewn with vines and hummingbirds with more detail than anything you’d find in modern time. Maxwell locked the four steel locks on the door, turning into the sitting room and drawing two sets of curtains hanging over large bay windows. Along the walls were built in bookshelves, a dark oak shade, the scent of antique pages lingering in the air. Farrah sat back on a large sofa, its high back comforting her bones after the car ride.

“Maxwell, this is incredible.”

“Wanna know a secret? It’s mine.”

“What?” She leaned forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to her. “How?”

“I bought it during an auction a few years ago. I was sick of Bertrand and needed a break.”

“And it’s just been empty since?”

“I came here a few times since then. But there’s a staff that tends to it bimonthly.”

“How does nobody know about this?”

“I know how to cover my tracks when needed. Plus, the staff doesn’t know I’m who owns the place. They think the guy’s name is, 'Reed Starling.’”

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Not necessary, baby. Sometimes we all need a break. Plus, I did promise you an imagine day.”

“There will be chaos at the castle when they realize we aren’t there.”

“I called in a favor. Liam…he gets it. He will keep this a secret for us.”

“How long do we have?”

“Until morning. It’s as good as I could do,” he said, frowning.

“That’s perfect. So which one are we having, then?”

“Hmm?”

“Imagine day. What are we doing?”

“Well…Reed Starling may have placed an online order for pizza delivery.”

“Don’t tell me-”

“And my collection of Fresh Prince happens to be in that bag Marjorie packed for me-”

“Maxwell!” Farrah shouted, climbing onto his lap, scattering kisses over his face. She met his lips with intensity, fingers in his hair and happiness in her heart. She could feel him smiling against her, which made her do the same, leaning into the couch as they gleefully held one another.

“You deserve this, Farrah.”

“We deserve this. There is no 'me,’ when it comes to my happiness.”

“Maybe our life won’t be like this every day. Maybe when we marry and we reside in the duchy, things will be a little bland and a lot busy. But you’ll be with me and I’ll be with you, and that’s the happiest thing I’ve ever realized.”

“As if anything could be bland with you next to me,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Imagine being so in love you didn’t know how to comprehend it. So in love your heart could burst.”

“Imagine being in love with someone who loves you even more than that.”

[alexbaxterscot1]

BSTARxWHITE DIAMOND, or BStarxBlank Sphene (crack/not canon, lmao)

Send me a pairing and I’ll wrote 4 headcanons for them

Why not both!? 

Thanks to Black Star, White now has a stash of cookies in the desk in her office! Whenever she’s nervous or on edge she nibbles at a cookie constantly, Blue is always aware of this because White gets crumbs on her suit! She shares them with Black Star a lot when she’s couped up in her office!

White often takes time away from Homeworld on “missions” just so she can go to Black Star’s house and play with her kittens, White’s now totally fallen for the tiny ones and will fight to protect them!

Thanks to Black Star, she lets out her corrupted Sodalite and attempts to train her with Black Star, while the little healer favours the softly gentle approach, White isn’t used to that. The Sodalite is what White regards as Black Star’s pet while she’s away from the cats. 

White is prone to giving Black Star piggy backs, but when they’re alone, the best thing White likes to do is dancing with Black Star, lifting her off the ground and making her lover feel weightless, capping it all off with a kiss!

Blank is prone to using Black Star as a resting stand or a table, leaning on her a lot when conversing with another victim. She calls Black Star her cute little night stand and gives her a pat across the face. 

Given Blank’s usual attire consists of a shredded, ruined and colourless version of the Sphene service uniform, Black Star would often try and dress her up in more practical and less “ugly” cloths, Blank usually loathes the idea but a few things have worked for her!

Black Star practically forces Blank to brush her teeth, which she also detests doing, finding the minty freshness so gross! Black Star doesn’t give her a choice and gives her such a thick ear for it!

When it comes to killing victims, Blank always has Black Star go into the kitchen to make her something sweet, it’s not uncommon to see Blank emerge from the basement covered in blood, washing her hands and dipping her finger into cake mix!