#where are all the croissants and baguettes?

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

Achievement Unlocked: Feeding the hungry - Find a lunch for Hugo

[transrevolutions]

french revolution dashboard simulator

🐀 ami-du-peuple Follow

uh actually man has the right to deal with his oppressors by devouring their beating hearts. hope this helps.

🎩 departicle Follow

Hold up. Okay. Actually, fuck this. This sort of violent rhetoric should not be tolerated on here. Do you seriously think this sort of thing is going to make the nobility give you more rights???? You must be out of your minds! Reported.

🧵 seamstressproud Follow

reblog to devour this guy's beating heart

#username checks out lmao #politics #everybody point and laugh #common adp w

6,178 notes

organt-deactivated06151792

update: new canto out now!!! go check it out 😈😏🥀 (remember don't like don't read <3)

📜 sacredhostreceipts Follow

@centuriesandskies this you?? not such a great look for a convention rep ngl

🌄 centuriesandskies Follow

listen. I wrote this a long time ago, before I went into serious politics. the account is deactivated for a reason.

I was twenty. I did poorly. I can do better.

#sj.txt #if this is the worst dirt you can dig up on me #i'm way less corrupt than half the people in the convention these days #at least i'm not doing fucking. embezzlement. #also sacredhostreceipts if you're who i think you are #don't you have better things to do rn?

231 notes

🌎 landscape-showdown Follow

🌎 landscape-showdown Follow

why the fuck is everyone tagging this with french??? political figures?

#what the hell is going on over there #also maybe cool it with the death threats #I don't want this blog to get taken down #what's a girondin #is this some joke I'm not french enough to understand #showdown update

5,012 notes

⛪ progressivepriest Follow

Unpopular opinion but why is everyone so up in arms about the new Civil Oath? Literally all it's asking is for you to promise not to commit treason just because the Pope tells you to? I can see where people are coming from with the whole violation-of-religion deal, but can you blame the Assembly for trying to make sure the people aren't forcibly subjugated by the wealth of the nobility?

faith-first-alwaysdeactivated03011791

Sounds like something a heretic would say. To betray the Pope and king is to betray the will of God and your eternal soul! You should pray for forgiveness and pledge loyalty to the monarchy or have fun burning in hell. Sorry not sorry.

⛪ progressivepriest Follow

L + ratio + iirc the Bible says "it is easier for a rope to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven" (Matthew 19:24)

🎻 lacarmagn01e Follow

occasional based catholic moment, go off OP!

🌊 sea-of-revolution Follow

looked the faith-first-always guy's blog, he's like a massive anti-huguenot too 🙄 why is it always the prot-exclusive radical catholics smh

🌊 sea-of-revolution Follow

LMAOOOOO HE DEACTIVATED

#religion tag #percs fuck off #anyways op makes a valid point #reblog #percs dni

3,719 notes

🛌 virtuous-bedtime Follow

she committee on my safety til I can't go public

🍊 springtimeofgovernment Follow

I don't understand the joke, can someone explain please?? 🙂 Thank you!

🧵 seamstressproud Follow

is that fucking MAXIMILIEN ROBESPIERRE?!!?!?!?

🛌 virtuous-bedtime Follow

oh my god citizen robespierre I'm so sorry this was not meant to break containment lol I didn't even know you were on this site please forget you saw this

#this is the most embarassing moment of my life #literally sobbing rn #the original post is /j i prommy #i cannot be known as the citizen who had to explain this to the government

19,853 notes

🪓 indulgentsfuckoff Follow

fabre d'eglantine is NOT your poor little meow meow citizens he literally falsified decrees from the national convention and embezzled money to line his own pockets. I don't care how uwu babygirl you think he is he is a CRIMINAL who should be ARRESTED

💛 i-give-people-bread Follow

🥖🍞🥐

#baguette #loaf #croissant #i-give-people-bread #indulgentsfuckoff #silly

2,011 notes

🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow

fucking fed up with the constant threat of the swiss guard, I think it's time we got some gunpowder and weapons and took things into our own hands yknow what I'm saying

🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow

I'm no longer joking about this btw

🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow

update:

hopital

🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow

ok bc I've gotten like 50 asks about this: I am not injured and I am not in need of medical care. the punchline was that we stormed the fucking hotel des invalides to get guns and powder. didn't want to clarify the joke before now for security reasons but everyone knows about that and the bastille thing by now. please direct your money to people who actually need it.

#shouldve clarified the last post was /j #however I assumed yall knew this joke already #anyways #revolution #personal #500 #1k

1,930 notes

🌾 nopain-nograin Follow

got so high at the festivial 2day i thnk i saw hte suapreme being

#robespiere speech was prboably 🔥 #unforntuately i camt rember any of it #grainposting #oipum ehre is somtehing else thes days #memes

8,256 notes

🎨 jldavid-real-moved Follow

incredible speech from @springtimeofgovernment today at the jacobin club. nobody should be permitted to use their positions as civic leaders to commit crimes against the people, even under the guise of revolutionary fervor. if it comes to it, I too will drink the hemlock with him. for france. 🤝🤝

🍊 springtimeofgovernment Follow

Thanks for your support, @jldavid-real

The situation over here is deteriorating really quickly, the representatives are getting violent and abandoning due process entirely. Anything you can do to stand with us now would be very appreciated. You do a lot of great work for the revolution, and I trust you completely.

🍊 springtimeofgovernment Follow

@jldavid-real are you still there? We could really use your help right now.

🌄 centuriesandskies Follow

boosting @springtimeofgovernment here, can confirm he's been injured in a skirmish at the hotel de ville, they're passing summary death sentences without trial, @jldavid-real where is the help you promised us??? the people of paris are our only hope now.

edit: of course he moved blogs. coward.

#sj.txt #disappointed yet unsurprised #marat would be ashamed of you #9 thermidor #update

15,794 notes

🎻 lacarmagn01e Follow

DNI if you support any of these groups/people or their actions: m0narchists, f3uillants, br1ssotins/g1rondins, th3rmidorians, b0napart1sts, h3nri du v3rgier (also goes by c0mte de r0chjacquelin), charl0tte c0rday, or lafay3tte

(h3bertists and dant0nists you're on thin ice. behave.)

#censored so they dont show up in the tags #dni #get your nasty ass ideologies off my page #won't hesitate to block and/or report any violators #pinned

52 notes

gracchus-babeufdeactivated05271797

reblog to make the directoire choke to death on their stupid fucking outfits

🌊 sea-of-revolution Follow

hey staff. yeah you. where did this blog go?? notfishgoujon and prairial-95 are gone as well?? cowards too afraid to show your faces lmao especially after the fucking mess the directoire's made of the country. bet you anything that staff are on their fucking payroll too iykwim at least the republic didn't tolerate fucking bribery

#this site's gone to the dogs since thermidor yr 2 #following the trend of the rest of the country tbh #i'll probably get nuked for posting this #if so i'm not making a new account #i'll just make a paleocities or smth #politics tag #reblog #don't play with me ik full well gb didn't delete his blog of his own free will #they also zero note glitched it #just when you think they can't stoop lower

0 notes

📕 spectrehauntingeurope Follow

it's been 50 fucking years since gracchus-babeuf (and the other CoE blogs) were deleted without warning and still no response from staff, the govt, or anything. the site's gone through a fuckton of ownership changes and still nothing.

we're working on a bit of a project (some of you might know abt it already), it's gonna be out prob in the next year or so. remember '89. remember '93 and '94. remember '97.

the people will rise again. it's only a matter of time. 🚩

-mod karl

[satoruhour]

Nanami, who bakes fresh bread at least once a week probably subconsciously kneads your ass when you cuddle, sometimes even in his sleep. You'll give each other massage often and he'll spend tad longer literally kneading your breasts and ass fghj

a/n: PAUUUUSEEEEE THIS IS SO CUTE !!!! made it a little n*sfw too

warnings: fem!reader, making out, dry humping, p -> v sex, slow morning sex, n*sfw under the cut

bread has always been part of nanami’s life. whether it’s the hindbærsnitter and direktørsnegl his grandparents made him when he was young or when he’s mellowed out into a buttery croissants and cream puffs and now, when all he’s got time for is simple cinnamon bread and sourdough. he’s not complaining — it’s not like he doesn’t have the money, he’s already making bread once a week.

not to say that it’s expensive, but it does take up a lot of time; in the time where it takes him to properly knead everything, he could’ve already made two trips to the bakery and buy his baguette sandwich.

but nanami likes organic when he can afford it, and so ever since he tries his best to make weekly bread on sundays. it’s a habit even after successfully asking you to be his partner with red cheeks, an annoying gojo holding up a boombox and a yuji shaking a banner in the background, and you’re saying yes whilst keeping in your laughter. later they both agreed it was because of them that you said yes, while nanami only asked the older to shut the fuck up.

that habit garners other habits, like how he purses his lips when he needs to get the exact measurements. he does it all the time now when he’s focusing on some sort of task, twisting his mouth here and there. the other relates to the gathering and pushing of dough, having kneaded so much these few years that it’s the only way now to work out the kinks in his body. and yours.

you realise it after date night at home, ignoring every single piece of dialogue in the movie to make out with your boyfriend. you’re sat in his lap, grinding slowly into his clothed bulge as his lips work wonders on yours. you’re sinking more and more into his embrace, leaving him breathless at your hips.

“sorry, i only ever invited you under the ruse of watching a movie,” you grinned, brushing the sweaty blonde locks from his forehead, “i was hoping this would happen.”

“i’ve got a scheming one on my hands, huh?” nanami’s smile is relaxed, letting his hands trail over your ass, but not before he asks and you’re putting them there yourself (“you don’t have to ask every time, kento.”). your ass is so plump and full, he just can’t help but pull and push at the flesh as your lips meet his again. you pull at his hair as the kiss deepens, feeling his hot breath every time you both come up for air. his hands move subconsciously, nudging you deeper into his arms via your ass, but you don’t say anything.

that next morning you’re awoken from the same thing, groggily stirring and blinking through the brightness of the sun, but something else pulls you from your state of unconsciousness — that is, nanami’s hand upon your bare chest, kneading at your breasts. you have to stifle a laugh because you can hear him rouse from sleep, too.

he continues on for a while, grinding his pelvis into yours and now you struggle to hold in moans. you feel dizzy from the bare morning wood pressed into your ass, trailing a hand to your clit to relieve some of the frustrations. you’re wet within seconds, paired with the hand on your chest and the feel of his shaft against your back—

“already in the mood?” nanami mumbles against your neck, pressing feather-like kisses there as he continues to buck his hips into your ass. without much effort, you’re lifting your legs and grabbing his half-hard cock.

“y . . yeah,” you moan softly. with your boyfriend’s help, he pushes past your cunt and in. the feeling overwhelms you as much as it does him, shown in the way his hand squeeze your tits, “f-feels good, kento . .”

where nanami likes to get ready quick in the morning, he likes to take his time when he has you around, hips moving slowly and stretching you out so early in the morning. he flips you over gently as his thrusts stay slow. too slow for your liking, because you’re already fucking yourself back onto him.

“patience, little lady,” he sighs, loving how your ass moves each time it meets his pelvis and the sheer coat of your juices gets him hypnotised. he grabs onto your ass, not sparing you one glance as his hips meets yours halfway and a drawn out moan leaves your lips.

“do you know— you do that . . by the way?” your eyes are scrunched up but you aren’t left to pleasure just yet. you turn your body just right so you could meet nanami’s eyes.

“do what?” nanami grunts out, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“that.” you nod towards his hands, soft pants leaving your mouth at the two contrasting sensations of the gentle morning and your lewd actions. they’re kneading your ass again and nanami doesn’t seem to know what you’re talking about until you voice it out plainly. “you like to knead my tits and ass quite a bit, don’t you?”

he hums, leaning forward over your body to line his chest up to your back, “yeah. yeah i guess i do.” and he laughs, grinding his cock into you and you gasp; he takes the opportunity to kiss you deeply, hands sneaking back onto your tits and he kneads more knowingly, now, smiling into the kiss.

“can’t blame me with how soft you are.”

“not you comparing me — shit . . — t-to bread,” both your laughter mingles even as his hips speed up and your eyes roll back into your head, wrapping an arm around his neck to feel all of him and he whispers possibly the cheesiest line you’ve known to date, making you both clench around him and giggle uncontrollably.

“it’s true . . i need you daily.”

[monster-disaster]

[wolf-shifter] Oliver

wolf-shifter!Oliver x human!male!Reader Good to know: malexmale, rut, smut

Summary: You are worried about your friend so you visit him.

A/N: Shelby's story can be found on my Patreon.

"Need a hand?" you ask, scratching the back of your head while eyeing the boxes piled haphazardly in the middle of the street. Screws glint in the early morning light, scattered across the ground in a mess.

"No, it's fine," the young woman replies, waving you off with a forced, tired smile. "You've got more important things to do than clean up someone else's screw-up."

A huff escapes your lips as you try to suppress a laugh, but a grin spreads across your face anyway. "Screw-up," you repeat.

"Go back to your buns," your neighbor from the hardware store chuckles. Her once-tense posture slowly relaxes as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"You sure? Looks like a real pain," you offer again, casting another glance at the chaotic mess of supplies.

"Yeah," she nods, but her smile falters for just a moment, replaced by a brief, tight grimace. "It's not the first time," she mutters.

You want to press her a bit more, but a quick glance at the watch on your wrist reminds you that if you don’t get back to the bakery soon, the croissants will soon be smoking in the oven. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

The sound of her shuffling the boxes lingers behind you as you head back to your shop.

_

"Hello," you smile. "What can I get for you?"

"Just the usual, please," comes the reply, and without even thinking, your hand is already reaching for the bagels neatly displayed beneath the glass counter. The warmth from them seeps through the paper bag as you hand it over.

"Thanks. Have a good day," they say, already on their way out.

"You too," you call after them, but your voice is swallowed by the steady hum of the shop. Behind you, the espresso machine hisses, adding to the busy chatter all around.

The bell above the door jingles again, a soft chime that blends into the rhythm of customers coming and going. The line at the counter never seems to shrink. It seems like it stretches with each passing second, and you have barely any time to catch your breath between the orders.

"Mornin'," the familiar deep voice draws your attention away from the counter. The rag you use for cleaning is forgotten as soon as you see the man standing in front of you.

"Hello," you smile, straightening your posture without your noticing. "What can I get for you?"

"Two baguettes, please," Oliver replies, and you nod, turning away from him to reach for his order, yet keeping an eye on him the whole time.

The man you have known since kindergarten looks disheveled, more tired than usual. His hunched posture and the light sheen of sweat on his forehead under the bakery's bright lights make you frown.

"Are you okay?" You ask him.

"'m fine," he mutters, leaning against the counter like he's struggling to stay on his feet.

The wrinkle between your brows deepens. "Oliver-"

"I'm fine, Y/N," he grunts with a frustrated edge to his voice. "Don't worry about it."

Don’t worry about him. You almost scoff. Ever since he left Ironridge to join the military worrying about him is all you do.

"Sure," you say quietly, biting back the questions crowding your mind. The line behind him is growing, and you don't have the time to dig deeper, no matter how much you want to.

He takes the bag from you while already turning to leave. "Thanks."

"I'll call you later," you nearly shout after him, and even though he doesn't react as he makes his way to the exit, you know his sensitive werewolf ears hear you.

The usual morning rush slowly fades, and when you finally have a moment to yourself, you pack a small bag and fresh coffee to take over to your neighbor as a pick-me-up for her tough morning.

The streets are now bustling with activity; stores are open, and people move about their day. The sun shines down over the rugged mountains and woods surrounding the town, yet the air still carries a crisp hint of the approaching autumn.

The bell in the hardware store jingles as you push open the door, your gaze lingering on the boxes still piled outside. "Y/N—Oh," your greeting falters when you notice she is not alone. Shelby throws you an unimpressed glance, but you don't take it personally. You aren't sure if the orc has any other expressions.

"What are you doing here?" your neighbor asks, putting back something on the counter before turning her full attention on you.

You lift the paper bag and plastic cup with a smile. “Breakfast. On the house. Looks like you've earned it.”

"Oh, thank you!"

"Are you sure you don't need help?" you ask, placing the bag and cup on the counter. Your eyes flick to the boxes stacked near the window. "They look heavy, and I've got time."

Before she can answer, Shelby's gruff voice slices through the conversation. "I will take care of it," she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She points at your neighbor. "You, eat."

"Shelb—"

"Eat," Shelby insists, then steps out to tackle the boxes with determined strides.

You stand there, trying to hold back a chuckle. "She's in a good mood today," you tease. "But if I'm not needed, I should probably head back to the bakery."

"Bye," the young woman hums, still a bit dazed by the sudden turn of events, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from teasing her further.

When you get outside, you grin at Shelby while nodding her way, but she scowls back at you without a sound. Typical. She hoists the boxes effortlessly, barely noticing the bustle of people flowing around her. The town is now fully awake, with traffic picking up and the stores on the main street open for business.

Back inside the shop, you pull out your phone, sending a quick text to Oliver. Are you okay? Just as you tuck the device away, the clock strikes twelve, and a fresh wave of customers begins to pour in.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of baking and filling orders, each task blending seamlessly into the next. Before long, you are locking the shop door while the sun is already sinking behind the distant mountains. As you settle into your car, you suddenly remember the message you sent, but when you check the phone, there is no answer from the other man.

"Okay," you huff under your breath. "Change of plans."

Oliver lives in a small cabin in the woods. He bought the place after he came back from the army. He needed space and privacy, and his wolf was calmer so close to nature.

A narrow, hidden path leads you into the forest. The green of the trees looks tired now with the fall in the doorway, but the canopy above is still thick, barely letting any silver of light through the branches. Your car stumbles up on the dirt road as the wheels fight with the bumps and pits on the way.

By the time you reach the small wooden building, the sun is behind the horizon, with only thin rays of light painting a slight blush on the otherwise clear sky. Among the tall, towering trees, the cabin is old but well-kept, with fresh renovations here and there. There is a porch with only one chair and empty flower boxes on the windows.

Leaving your car next to his, you grab the small bag of pastries you intended to eat for dinner. The crinkling of the paper bag sounds unusually loud in the quiet evening air. You knock on the front door, but after several attempts with no answer, a frown tugs at your lips. You are almost entirely sure he is home, and there is no way he can't hear you. You test the handle, and to your surprise, the door swings open easily. It’s unlocked.

"Oliver?" you call, stepping inside. The house feels too quiet, a strange stillness clinging to the air as if it’s holding its breath.

"Are you home?" you try again, your voice echoing slightly in the stillness. No answer. Not even the faintest sound of movement.

"Oliver!" Stepping into the house, you close the door behind you and leave the small paper bag on the kitchen table. "I brought you food." Your steps creak on the stairs as you make your way up to the second floor.

"Oliver?"

A frown pulls at your features as you near his bedroom. Muffled groans and labored breaths filter through the thick wooden door, growing louder with each step you take.

"Oliver?" you call again, your voice softer this time, a mix of concern and hesitation. There's no response, only the strained, irregular sounds from beyond the door.

The doorknob is cold in your hand as you turn it and push the door open.

The sight of him takes your breath away.

He lies in the tangled mess of his bed, naked and spread across the sheets. A thin layer of sweat glistens on his flushed skin, and beneath, his muscles twitch and flex, caught in a rhythm between agony and release. His chest expands with every ragged breath, and your gaze from the tense plates of his muscles wanders down across his stomach to the happy trail leading down your attention between his thick thighs. His cock juts out, hard and leaking onto his lower belly.

Oliver is caught somewhere between human and wolf. His triangular ears twitch at the sound of your footsteps, tracking your approach even as his glazed eyes remain half-closed. A heavy, furred tail sways lazily beneath him, brushing against the sheets. The slow movement is in contrast with the violent changes rippling through his body. His usually toned, muscular frame is hairier now, with dark fur creeping across his chest and shoulders. His back arches off the bed, and a low growl escapes his lips as his body convulses. His muscles bulge, stretching and thickening with each passing second. You can see his fingers elongating, transforming into claws as his hands dig into the bed. His face, once familiar, begins to morph, the bones cracking audibly as his mouth stretches into a long muzzle.

"I—" Oliver wheezes between ragged breaths, his voice rough and strained as his body continues to betray him. "I forgot the pills."

Oh

Werewolves without partners rely on suppressants to dull the intensity of their heat or rut. These pills help manage the unbearable desire, easing the physical and emotional strain that comes with it. Without it, however, the experience shifts from manageable to agonizing and tense, turning what should be a few days of discomfort into a feverish nightmare that can stretch into a week or longer. Without the suppressants, Oliver is left to endure the full force of it. His body burns from the inside out in a constant state of arousal that offers no relief, only exhaustion, no matter how many times he relieves himself. The fever takes its toll, leaving him trapped in a haze of desire, weakened and drained by the time it finally passes. His usual control is gone, replaced by raw instinct, and a deep, aching hunger burns and only grows in his stomach. His wolf claws to the surface, pushing his boundaries and testing his limits.

"What can I do?" you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, though the thick fur covering his body makes it impossible to feel his skin.

Oliver's long mouth opens, but the words blur into a drawn-out whine as his fingers curl around your wrist. His grip is shaky but enough to keep you close.

"Please," he whispers, heart racing. His hips buck upward, his cock bobbing beneath its own weight. The sight leaves you breathless.

"Oliver-"

"Please," he whines again with desperation.

Before you can process what’s happening, he pulls you onto the bed beside him. You tumble onto the messy sheets, and in an instant, his arms are wrapped around you, dragging you against him with an urgency that sends a thrill down your spine. His hips grind against the rough fabric of your jeans, a rhythm fueled by the fire burning his veins. His hand slips beneath your shirt, claws grazing over your stomach and up to your chest. The tickling sensation makes your muscles jerk, and a shocked moan escapes your lips when his fingers find your nipple, teasing and pulling until it's hard under his impatient touches.

"C'mere," he huffs, propping himself on one elbow to bury his face into the curve of your neck. You can hear every deep breath he takes, sniffing you and letting his nose run along your skin and pulse.

"Oliver," you gasp, fingers raking through the soft, brownish hair on his shoulder. You feel his muscles moving, tense and alive, as his hips continue to thrust against your hips, leaving a dark patch on your pants.

The sight of this powerful man becoming a begging, whimpering mess under the delirium of his rut sends a rush of heat through you. Arousal floods your veins, and the zipper of your jeans presses painfully against your own erection. Your reaction to this big male so desperate and pathetic is automatic. At this point, you aren't even sure if you have the will to say no to him.

"I'm here," you tell him softly, trying to ground him amidst the chaos. Your hands move up and down on his back, letting your fingers glide through his fur. "'m here."

"Please."

You hesitate. Uncertainty swirls in your mind as you open and close your lips to say something. "Oliver..."

As if he’s reading your thoughts, his arms go still around you, and the air thickens with tension. His whole body goes rigid, afraid you will get up and leave him like this. "Don’t," he growls. "Don’t stop."

"Oliver," you murmur his name again. The weight of his desire hangs heavy between you, and you can’t help but feel drawn to him despite the sane part of your mind trying to stop you.

You met Oliver in kindergarten. It all started when you slid down the slide, and he happened to be on his way up on the wrong side. Before either of you realized what was happening, you both ended up in a heap at the bottom. You both groaned as you sent him tumbling onto your stomach, elbows first.

From that moment, you accepted him as your best friend, and he had no choice in the matter. You became a pair through thick and thin.

You were there when he enlisted in the military, and you were there when he came home to visit. And eventually, when he came back for good, you helped him find solace in the woods, away from the noises of the world.

And now, it's you and him again.

"On your back," you instruct gently, turning him until you are above him. His long arms are still holding you close. "It's okay. Let me take care of you."

He growls low in response, the sound vibrating through you as you let your hands explore his body. Beneath the warmth of his fur, you feel the hard contours of his chest and the thin layer of softness that has settled in since he left the army. He’s buff and thick, a blend of strength and comfortable softness that awakens a new desire in you. For a fleeting second, you forget about his leaking cock just a few inches away from you and almost let yourself rest on him, snuggling close.

Sliding down his tall body, you settle down between his legs. Your shoulders brush against his thighs as your hand wraps around his erection. The warmth radiating from your palm makes a thick bead of pre-cum drip down his shaft. Your fingers curl around him, moving your thumb up and down while exploring his length.

"Fuck," Oliver cries out. His hips instinctively buck up, and the pink tip brushes over your lips, emitting another growl from his throat.

"I'm here," you reassure him softly, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

Leaning in, you take a deep breath of his warm, musky scent and let your mouth envelop the sensitive head of his cock. His warmth fills your mouth as you suck gently, lapping at the small opening. He is heavy and salty on your tongue. As you explore him further, your tongue swipes over a vein bulging underneath his skin, brushing over the outline while you maintain a steady grip. You can feel his body reacting to each movement. His muscles tense and relax, and his breathing becomes more erratic with each passing second. His chest is heavy with need and desire.

“God, you feel so good,” he grunts, his voice hoarse with desperation.

Glancing up at him, your lips curve upwards as much as it's possible with this thick girth in your mouth. He looks like a proper mess, spread out on the bed, breathless and half-delirious. So, you deepen your efforts, taking him a little further until he hits the back of your throat, and both of you moan at the new sensation. You can see your voice rippling through his body, making him shake and tremble.

“Just like that,” he encourages breathlessly. His fingers tangle in your hair, guiding you gently up and down on his leaking cock and keeping you around his base every now and again.

His breaths become ragged, and a low growl escapes his lips as he nears the edge. His chest heaves, and his back arches until his muscles grow tight and hard.

“Please,” he whispers, strained. “I’m close.”

Increasing your pace, you match the rhythm of his breathing. You can feel his pre-cum and your own saliva dripping down your chin as you move up and down, letting your tongue swipe up across the underside of his length and linger around the tip of his cock.

The air thickens as he goes tense and rigid beneath you, and with one final thrust, he lets out a low groan. The sound resonates deep within you, throbbing down straight to your cock. His body shudders in the next second as he reaches his peak, and you brace yourself, feeling the rush of his release. He is thick and salty in your mouth, and you gulp around him as much as you can, but the long spurts of his cum leave a mess on your face and around his cock anyway.

As Oliver recovers from the intensity of his orgasm, a new spark ignites in his eyes, and before you know it, with a swift motion, he flips you onto your hands and knees. His movements are both commanding and careful. The sudden change of position sends a rush of adrenaline through your body, making your nerves buzz with a thrill that heightens your senses.

You kneel at the top of his bed while the wolf behind you tugs down your clothes hurriedly, ripping into the thin fabric of your shirt as he gets rid of it and throws it onto the ground carelessly.

"Hey," you groan, half-laughing, but your friend is too busy to reply.

His attention is on the shifting muscles on your back and the straight line of your spine that lead him down to the tight curves of your ass. A low rumble escapes his throat at the sight, and suddenly, his large hands are on you. His long fingers dig into your flesh, kneading and groping your cheeks to his heart's content.

"Fuck," Oliver groans. "I will take care of you."

You huff, letting your weight rest on your elbows. "I don't doubt it." Your lips are open to say something else, but the words blur into a loud wheeze when you feel him spreading you open, letting his thumb brush over your exposed hole. Your body reacts on instinct, pushing back against him for more. Your back arches, and your muscles tense with impatience.

His next words make you forget how to breathe for several seconds. "I can't wait to taste you."

Without waiting for an answer, Oliver leans down and lets his tongue swipe a wide, wet path between your cheeks. He teases and prepares you slowly, curling his long tongue before slipping past the tight rim of your hole to soak you in his saliva. Every lap and grope on your ass punches a new sound out of your chest you barely recognize as your own.

"Oliver," you breathe out his name, pressing your forehead against the messy bedsheets underneath you. "Fuck me. Pleasefuckme!"

"Soon," he growls back, slipping a finger inside you slowly and carefully. He watches you open up to him while you moan and groan at the other side, rocking your hips back and forth to make him hurry.

You burn and stretch around his finger, but every fiber of your body begs for more, driving you half-crazy with the need for the wolf. Your mind is dizzy. The world shifts and swirls around you several times until you close your eyes.

Oliver nips at your flesh, letting his sharp canines brush over your skin while adding another finger to make you wheeze and jerk at the new sensation. Your cock, between your spread thighs, bobs with every relentless movement of your hips and leaks onto the bed, hard and sensitive. You know one touch would be enough to make you cum, but your senses are so focused on the wolf behind you that touching yourself doesn't even cross your mind.

By the time Oliver is done stretching you, you are nothing but a drooling, moaning mess under him.

"Hold onto something," the male warns, but it almost makes you laugh. There is just enough strength in you to keep yourself in position, you seriously doubt you could hold onto anything.

"Just fuck me finally," you croak, pushing back when you finally feel his cock rubbing and prodding at your hole.

Soon, the bedroom is filled with the sounds of your moans blending into his low, desperate growls. His breathy grunts fan over the nape of your neck as he rocks into you, edging you closer and closer to your orgasm without touching your cock even once. Your whole body is on fire and ready to burst with pleasure. The base of your spine tingles, sending ripples through every twitching muscle that rocks back and forth against the other male's rhythm.

"Fuckfuckfuck," you chant airy, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen.

"Cum for me," Oliver almost howls, hips stuttering as he feels his own pleasure building. You feel like a glove around him, tightening and fluttering as you writhe and chase your orgasm. One of his large hands from your shoulder, slips down on your side and down between your legs. His fingers barely have any time to curl around your raging hard-on when you cum with a shout.

White-hot pleasure strikes through you, igniting every nerve with a force that leaves your muscles taut and trembling until they slowly melt under the intensity. The rush overwhelms you. Your mind swirls, and your body convulses around the male behind you. Oliver holds onto you as if his life depended on it. You feel him shudder, his breath ragged as his restraint snaps only moments later. His low, guttural growl fills the air, and the sound only pulls you deeper into the blissful haze.

When you open your eyes again, you’re lying on your side, cradled against Oliver's chest. His arms are wrapped around you protectively. His heat seeps into your skin. His breath is steady and warm against your neck, but you feel the tension still humming in his body. Your limbs feel heavy and weak to do much more than nestle into his hold.

"Sleep," the wolf hums behind you, pressing his nose against your pulse. "I will need you again soon." His words carry both a promise and a warning, and you feel a lazy smile tug at the corner of your mouth as your body surrenders to rest.

The following days blur together. Time loses meaning as Oliver’s rut consumes you both, and everything beyond the two of you fades away. Food, water, and even coherent thoughts seem secondary. You try to call your friend to manage the bakery, but even that feels distant as the wolf’s insistent presence dominates your world.

It’s only when you wake one morning and find his side of the bed empty that you know the fever has passed. The sheets are cool where he once lay. With legs still shaky, you drag yourself into a quick shower, borrowing one of his worn shirts and a pair of pants before making your way downstairs where you hear him moving around.

"Just in time," the man says, putting two glasses onto the table when you appear at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm sure you are hungry," he grins at you wolfishly, motioning to the food laid out on the table.

You groan, rolling your eyes. "Shut up."

He laughs but motions you to sit down.

For a while, the only sounds are the clinking of utensils and the soft stirrings of nature outside. The sun filters through the window, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene.

You clear your throat, searching for words. "About the last few days..." The unfinished sentence hangs in the air, awkward and uncertain. You don’t know exactly what you want to say, but the need to address it lingers.

Oliver interrupts before you can find the words. "How about a date?" he asks suddenly, his tone casual but his eyes watching you closely. "At your favorite place."

You blink in surprise, caught off guard by the suggestion. A smile slowly forms as you meet his gaze. "Yeah," you say, a little more softly than you intended. "I'd like that."

Oliver isn’t one to openly share his feelings, but this- this is a good start.

[604to647]

Safest with You (The Epilogue)

3.2K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: You and Din welcome a new member to your family.

Warnings: All fluff - just the way we started this series! Established relationship, nicknames as usual (Pretty bird, baby).

A/N: A cute little glimpse into the lives of our happy couple around two years after the series finale. 112 Carlota Galgos is a real Galgo rescue in Spain! I won't go into the circumstances that make the rescue work they do so important, but many of you know that I have a greyhound, and the plight of the Galgo is well known in the sighthound community. These dogs deserve the world!! If you have an opportunity to check out organizations that aid Spanish Galgos or even help - I promise these gentle giants deserve it. Lisette is a real galgo I knew! She passed last year and this epilogue is dedicated to her (cute pics included at the end!)

I’m posting this on the one year anniversary of Chapter 1!! I can’t believe it’s been a whole year of writing these bbs 🥹 Thank you thank you everyone who has supported and followed along with this series - you are all as dear to me as Pretty Bird's garlic knots are to Mayfeld 🥹🥰 (I still plan on publishing that recipe!)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always! 🥰 / Series Masterlist

Just before your finger is about to press down the call button on the outside of the closed metal gate, you retract your hand and look questioningly at Din.

“How many am I allowed to get again?”

Din stares at you for a second to ascertain if you’re kidding and when he sees you’re not, a little panic sets in on his face, “One, pretty bird.  Just one.”

“But…”

“We only made arrangements with the airline for one, baby.”

You pout a little, but know Din’s right, “Okay. Fine. One.”

Somewhat dejectedly you press the button, though the chorus of barks and yelps from the other side of the gate resulting from the chime of the bell perk you up immediately, and by the time the gate is buzzed open with a loud brrrrzzzt, you’re giddy with excitement again.

This is the last planned destination of the European trip you and Din have been on for the last three weeks, both of you looking forward to flying home in just a few days.

The vacation has been an absolute dream.  You and Din have eaten your way through Amsterdam (Stroopwafels! Bitterballen!), then Paris (Steak frites! Macarons! Croissants!  One, sometimes two baguettes a day!), followed by Rome (Gelato! Pasta until you exploded!), and then finally Barcelona (Paella! Bombas!) before ending up where you are now: Andalucia, Spain, outside the gates of the 112 Carlota Galgos dog rescue.

The happy and excited woofs from the still unseen pups remind you so much of Alfredo.  Gosh, you miss your best guy so much – although, if the daily photos and videos you’ve been receiving are to be believed, he might be hard pressed to leave Paz’s when you get back.  By now a minor celebrity in Din and Paz’s neighbourhood, you’re happy to see that Al’s been making the rounds at the local shops (and accepting generous samples everywhere he goes), enjoying fun road trips to nearby hiking trails, and most importantly, helping Paz cement his image as an attractive, eligible bachelor about town.  You’re sure if you were to peek at Paz’s dating app profile, you’d see it updated with copious pictures of him fawning over your dog. 

Originally, you had been hesitant to have Paz take Al to his place for three whole weeks, wondering if it was better if instead, Paz could come and dog-sit at your and Din’s place – but Al does seem to be adjusting to being away from home just fine.  Though Alfredo is generally super easy going and adaptable, you nevertheless recognized that it had been quite a year of transition and multiple upheavals for your pup and worried about how he might cope with yet another change in scenery. 

Nearly a year ago, you and Din moved in together and Al had been uprooted from the only home he’s ever known.  Though it wasn’t without some understandable disinclination that you left your beautiful and much-loved apartment, both of you agreed it made perfect sense for you to move into Din’s place above Mando’s.  Of course you loved your old place – you had poured so much of your heart and soul into making it your refuge and the perfect home for you and Al, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to regret leaving – Din is your home now, as you are his.   The only safe haven you need is the one with him, and though you’re sure he would have moved without hesitation if you had asked, the idea of Din leaving a residence right above his place of work, in a building he already owned, was too silly to even entertain.

To try and make the adjustment as smooth as possible for his pretty bird, Din had given you free reign to redecorate, bring in your furniture, and make whatever changes you wanted in order to make his, now your, apartment feel more like home.  The third floor of Mando’s would always hold his most cherished memories of his childhood and father – he didn’t need it to look a certain way or have it maintained as some kind of physical shrine in order for that to be true; Din was ready to make a home and new memories with you.  It was sweet and you appreciated the gesture prodigiously, but aside from adding your own bookshelves and swapping out a couch, the only thing you had asked for was a bigger kitchen.  Din had readily agreed and even suggested he build you an expanded closet and turn the second bedroom into a home office-dog den for you and Al.  Din’s enthusiasm and eagerness for the project was enough to have you agreeing to his considerate suggestions.

What had followed was seven months of renovation chaos, living out of and tripping over boxes as a slew of tradespeople and workmen paraded in and out of what was supposed to be your new sanctuary. 

You love Din with all your heart, and one of the things you love most and find endlessly attractive is just how good he is at the things he does: taking care of you and Al, supporting the community, running Mando’s – to say nothing of the skill and prowess he displays in his work in and out of the ring; just the sight of Din running drills with his boxers or deftly commanding the Mandos gets you weak in the knees. 

But elaborate home improvements and remodelling?  Unfortunately, not part of Din’s impressive skill set.  Nor any of the Mandos for that matter.  For two weeks, every Mando on payroll seemed to be over at your place “helping” with measurements and the demolition of the kitchen and the wall between the two bedrooms.  Only after a burst pipe and the subsequent three weeks of living with drying fans running 24/7, did Din concede it was time to call in professionals.  Then came a parade of contractors and their respective plumbers, cabinet guys, drywall, tile and marble contacts, electricians, etc. – who all seemed to owe some kind of “favour” to Boba.  The good thing about that was they were committed to doing a good job; the bad thing was that no one was particularly dedicated to doing a fast job.  For the next five months, you, Din and Al lived in a construction zone of various partially started and finished projects with different strangers coming in and out of your place at all hours of the day – it had stressed Al out endlessly.

A little over half a year after moving in with Din, you hit a breaking point and, with Din’s encouragement, packed a suitcase and took Al to stay at Bea’s until a firm completion deadline could be negotiated with the various contractors.  Din had insisted on staying behind to lead the "negotiations" and "supervise" the follow through; lo and behold, everything had been completed to perfection and cleaned up thoroughly two weeks after.  Upon seeing the beautiful finished space, you finally felt at home – though frustrated, you hadn’t ever been terribly mad about the whole situation, but it had been a very confusing time for your pup.

Din had felt awful – this wasn’t the symbolic big step and storybook start to your lives together that he had envisioned.  You either, if you were being honest, but it genuinely mattered very little in the grand scheme of things; you reminded Din, as the two of you christened every surface of your brand new kitchen, that your lives together had really started a year before moving in together, when he had taken his own big step and shown up outside of your office, making you the promise to be open and honest about everything.

And he had.  Din had forgiven himself and won you back, and these last two years have been the happiest of your lives, even with the renovations. 

In that time a lot’s happened.  Jimmy won another two division championships and moved up a weight class.  Cass announced that her and Rikard were expecting.  Rory’s bridal boutique expanded to a second even more successful location and to her chagrin, she was promoted to manager.  The second book in Bea’s series came out to amazing reviews and the anticipation and hype for the third (due out later this year) was through the roof.  Poe decided to pursue and then successfully obtained his pilot license.  You went up in his Cessna just once – the views had been unforgettable, Lisa getting sick in your lap no lesser so.  Katie guest starred on Law and Order – twice (two different characters).  You met the Mods.  And Al finally settled into his new home, overseeing his new kingdom from the plush and cozy dog den that his dad lovingly built for him.

And now you and Din are about to take another big step together.

Greeted enthusiastically by one of the women who runs the Spanish hunting dog haven with whom you’ve been conversing with over the past few months about adoption, you and Din take a tour of the facility before being led out back to meet the dogs.

Per Elenna’s guidance, you sit in a chair near the water bowls and let the galgos come to you on their own terms.  Some, understandably, are shy and timid, wary of strangers – tentatively, they come and investigate you with their snoots, eventually accepting your gentle pats and scritches once they feel comfortable enough.  Others have no such hesitation - tails wagging, curious and excited, they enthusiastically crowd you, nosing in for pets and try to sniff out the treats you have in your pocket.  Your chest expands, heart nearly tripling in size to see these dogs get to be dogs again, as you rub their little faces and coo endless words of deserved praise at them for their bravery.

Maybe the plane will have room for another crate, you think, or two?  You can’t stop giggling as your face is licked and poked with wet noses, or when those same noses goose your tummy and legs, competing for the attention of your busy hands – you’re in heaven, nearly overwhelmed by all this furry cuteness.  Surely Din cannot possibly expect you to limit yourself to one! Knowing the marshmallow squish that resides beneath his hard and steely frame, you’re willing to bet that Din has already softened his stance on taking home multiple pups.  You crane your neck to see over the dogs, looking around the property to see if you can locate your boyfriend.

To your surprise, you find him not being surrounded by enthusiastic, bounding galgos, but alone - crouching near the ground and gently scratching a smaller fawn coloured dog who’s laying on her side, her slender head lifted just slightly off the ground to lean into Din’s hand.

“That’s Lisette,” Elenna says when she notices you looking at Din and the fawn girl, “she’s just come to us after this last hunting season - we found her in the street with a broken leg.  She’s all healed up now but is still quite skittish, especially around men.  This is actually the first time I’ve ever seen her let a man touch her, never mind a stranger.  Your husband must have a very calming touch.”

“Oh, he’s not my husb-” your voice trails off as you watch Lisette continue to happily receive Din’s attention.  Walking over, you hear him speaking quietly to her in Spanish.

“What are you telling her, Din?”

Din looks up, eyes soft and shiny, “Just telling her what a good girl she is.  That’s she so brave and sweet.  And that she doesn’t have anything to be afraid of anymore.  She’s safe now.”

There is no question as to which (one) dog you’ll be adopting today.

Lisette settles in quickly when you and Din get her back home, especially with Al immediately taking up his role as big brother.  Lisette falls into the easy comfort of following his lead, regularly looking to Alfredo for guidance – he never leads her astray and the two of them become inseparable.  With growing pride, you watch Lisette tentatively explore her new environment and slowly over the next few months, becomes more and more comfortable in her forever home: first your and Din’s apartment, then the gym, whose enthusiastic occupants always greet her like the princess she is, and eventually the entire neighbourhood where she’s never without her protective brother by her side.  When she’s ready, you and Din take her and Al out on further away adventures: to your and Din’s favourite farmers’ market, Poe and Lisa’s (where you learn in their pool that Lisette can swim!) or to Boba and Fennec’s where she can run and play with Mochi and the other Daimyo Dogs.  Your heart positively kvells as Lisette’s confidence grows and she becomes the happy pup she deserves to be, putting her less than ideal start to life behind her.

The only thing you wish you could change, though you would never push, is that Lisette won’t cuddle with you - she only ever cuddles with Din.  You know she loves you, but she’s very much a daddy’s girl and he’s the only one with whom she feels safe enough to have in such close proximity while sleeping or relaxing.  You don’t begrudge Lisette at all for feeling this way; Din is her protector, she trusts him to keep her safe - you understand the comfort of that feeling better than anyone.

And in truth, you love watching them together – seeing your sweet girl so at ease and your strong, formidable warrior melt into a puddle of goo when she burrows into the warmth of his lap.  Din talks to Lisette in Spanish all the time, repeating what he told her back in Andalucia: she’s safe now, she doesn’t have to be scared anymore - this is her home.

Your home feels complete now – there’s nowhere you would rather be than cuddled up on the couch with Din, each respectively loving on the pups that have curled up against you: you, Al and Din, Lisette.

Then one day, you’re on the couch tapping away on your laptop when Lisette saunters up to you.  You rub her little head and give her a little smooch on her snoot as she walks by, fully expecting her to wander away but she surprises you to no end when she hops up on the couch and curls up by your feet.  Terribly delighted but not wanting to spook her, you pretend like it’s no big deal – your heart, however, is doing jumping jacks; looking up with a big smile you see Din nodding encouragingly at the both of you.

And then she does it again.  And again.  At first still staying arms length from you, she inches closer and closer, little by little.  Though your chest is exploding and you want to shout with joy, you always remain calm and give Lisette copious amounts of quiet praise after she’s settled.  To celebrate this progress, Din will eventually come over to shower Lisette with additional treats and Spanish words of adulation that she happily accepts.  Sometimes you even catch him encouraging her before she comes over to you or see her looking back at him for reassurance before she climbs onto the bed or couch to sit with you.  Always her protector, her safe space.

It's slow going, but worth it.

Today, you’re on the couch having just finished a book, funnily enough it’s the most recent in the fantasy series that Din had bought you and your friends on that first day you met nearly four years ago, when you see Lisette moseying on over to you.  You swing your legs off the couch and pat the spot next to you, and to your delight, she hops up and starts to do her little nesting circles, prepping for her laydown spot.  When she finally settles, she lays her little head in your lap and you think your heart might burst.  You look up and see Din, handsome and relaxed, leaning against one of the bookshelves looking at the both of you with an adoring expression on his face.  You beam back - yep, the two of you are his girls.  The ones he takes care of.  Looks after.  Loves.

Lisette nuzzles her furry little face deeper into your thigh and you can’t help but giggle at the sensation.  “Okay, okay,” you chuckle, as if you needed any invitation to pet and love on her.  Dispensing gentle scritches all over her head and little ear rubs, you notice that your sweet girl has an extra collar on.  Normally Lisette wears just a martingale and sometimes nothing at all when she’s at home, but today, she’s got a thin rope collar encircling her neck as well.  Rubbing it between your fingers, you say to Din, “This is pretty!  When did she get this house collar?”

“Got it for her a while ago, but thought I’d wait for the right moment to put it on.  Do you like it?”

Lisette lifts her head and you take the opportunity to take a closer look at the pretty pink collar; admiring the delicate metalware and the luxurious feeling fibres of the rope, you run your fingers over the collar until you get to the small clasp in the front and feel something you don’t expect.  Rotating the collar around Lisette’s slender neck so you can get a better look at the thin object, you gasp when it comes into view.

A diamond ring.

Din, with Al by his side, starts to walk towards you, the look in his eyes clear and so easy to read: Devotion.  Adoration.  Love.

“Pretty bird…” he starts.  Din has an entire speech planned.  He needs to thank you for coming into his life and showing him what true strength and power is.  Grace, honesty, and compassion have been your gifts to him, and he’s a better man, a stronger man, for your kindness and generosity.  He wants to promise you that your faith in him will never be misplace – that he will cherish you and your heart to the very last beat of his own and beyond.  He loves you, admires you, trusts you, is in awe of you, and remains forever grateful for you.  Grateful for every smile you throw his way, every laugh you pull from him and allow him to draw from you, thankful for all the ways you’ve woven yourself into his life and made it better.  And above all, grateful for your acceptance and love for him and all that he is, was, and ever will be.  He needs to ask you if you will allow him the honour of spending the remainder of his days showing you his gratitude and loving you the way you deserve.

Din’s heart is overflowing and he has so much he wishes to express; he’s not entirely sure he’s going to be able to make any sense.  But Din’s not nervous - the radiant smile on your beautiful face as he approaches already telling him everything he needs to know.

Real life Lisette!! 🥰🥰

Very last tag for this series!! Thank you all forever for your support 🥹😘

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

@bebsjo @yopossum @cartonkid1200 @rav3n-pascal22 @sjc7542

@xxx-silhouette-xxx @pedroswife69 @kilamonster @mandoshoney @joelalorian

@syd-djarin @moonlessnight14 @lucienofthelakes

[dotieeee]

A Small Act of Kindness

A DARK one-shot

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x you, afab reader

Warnings: dark!Morpheus, obsessive behaviour, dark!Dream won't take 'no' for an answer, disturbing themes like kidnapping, imprisonment, isolation, etc, 18+ only!!

Inspired by this ask for @roguelov See: https://www.tumblr.com/roguelov/721739134130143232/this-isnt-smut-but-dream-has-strong-miette?source=share

Summary: You were at the cusp of making a life for yourself when you bought a loaf of bread for a stranger, who seemed a little bit too taken with such a nice gesture.

When you were a kid, everybody around you seemed to think you got a great life ahead of you. You kept hearing them comment how bright you were, how talented, how lucky your parents were to have such a behaved, wonderful child - and for a time, it got to your head.

Until life proved you weren't really any of those things.

It started creeping in when you went away to college. You had a taste of freedom, of zero expectations, and a glimpse of a world suddenly leagues beyond yourself. It was one class at first, then another, until you started dropping out of every class and left college altogether.

Many therapy sessions, and a couple of therapists later, you found out what it was called: burnout. It just so happened it plagued you a little early in life.

In retrospect, perhaps you could've tried harder - if you had just snoozed your alarm off a little less; if you had just grit your teeth and stomached your way through a few more algebra periods instead of sitting alone in that little corner of the library, reading whatever, hidden from a world you barely knew - perhaps it all would've been different.

Perhaps, you wouldn't be stuck in this small, glass cage floating in a vast chasm, in a place you hadn't thought existed even in your wildest dreams.

It was a day like any other, you supposed: the day you met him. You had to go to work, to a desk job that you actually liked, writing for a local food magazine. You were quite good at it too - it's a skill you had when you were quite young and had not had a chance to cultivate until late. Sure, you were barely making ends meet and had very little time to spare, what with taking a certificate course at a nearby university and recently moving out of your parents' house to rent your own little apartment, but you were feeling optimistic for the first time in a long while. Your boss just let it slip the other day that you were due for a well-deserved promotion soon. It was a slow process, but you were finally on your way to getting your life back together. You had a future you looked forward to.

Having already established your morning routine, you were on your way early to the office and decided to stop for coffee at this corner bakeshop you had once featured in one of your articles. The smell of freshly baked bread distracted you from a mental draft you were making for an article due tonight, so on impulse, you asked the cashier for a plain butter croissant at the counter. You looked to your right where the pastries were to see whether you wanted something else (the danishes looked scrumptious). You opened your mouth to ask the other lady behind the bread counter for a cherry danish, but her attention was already on the man beside you, clad in a thick, woollen black coat, collar upturned, his chiselled jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly at the question the lady posed for him.

"Uh, sir? I asked what you'd like to have?"

He tilted his head imperceptibly and for a moment, you thought he couldn't speak, until he opened those pursed lips, and finally, came out the most velvety, alluring voice you've ever heard: "I'd like some bread, please."

"Well, we've got quite a lot of them," the lady replied slowly as if she was trying her best not to be snarky at the stranger. "Might I recommend the baguette? It's fresh out of the oven."

The man nodded curtly as the lady picked the steaming bread from the basket display using a pair of tongs and placed it inside a brown paper bag.

"That'll be one twenty-five, sir."

The man made no move to shuffle in his pockets for money. In fact, he stayed still, stiff as a board, staring at the lady behind the counter who was getting rather irritated at his dawdling, probably keeping her from attending to the growing line of other customers waiting to get their breakfast. Perhaps, he didn't have money? Perhaps, just like your first few weeks out of your parents' house, he was struggling and he had no one else to depend on?

"I-I'll pay for it."

You didn't know what it really was that compelled you to say it - maybe it was that draft you were itching to get to, maybe you found empathy in his situation, whatever it was - at that time, you had no regrets. Seemingly surprised by the gesture, the man in the black coat, with his dishevelled hair and his pale countenance, stared at you intensely through those long eyelashes of his, and for a few moments, you held his gaze.

His eyes. They were a nice shade of ocean blue. They were the most beautiful pair of eyes you had ever seen.

You would later discover they could bleed to depthless black - ruthless, vindictive, inhuman.

The cashier handed you your change and your croissant, effectively breaking the spell the stranger beside you had on you. The cherry danish all but ignored, you flashed the man a small smile and headed out of the bakeshop, going about your merry way to the office with nothing but that article in mind.

And for the next two weeks, you had already put the rather bizarre incident (man) behind you, having been assigned to another place to visit and write about.

The man, however, never forgot.

The place you had been assigned to, called the New Inn, actually belonged to a professor in your university. You've had quite a lot of fun in his classes, so this was a gig you were pretty excited about.

It was a little over five in the afternoon when you stepped inside Professor Gadling's pub. He was already there in the corner booth, grading several essays. He put them aside as you arrived and asked a waiter to bring you both coffee. You were in the process of bringing out your digital recorder for the interview when you heard a voice so familiar it sent shivers down your spine.

"Hob."

Completely taken by surprise, you dropped the recorder to the floor, and it landed just a few inches from a pair of black boots. You tried to reach for it, but a pale, bony hand picked it up and wordlessly handed it to you. You looked up, only to get lost in a pair of ocean-blue eyes focused entirely on you.

It was the stranger from the bakeshop.

You took the recorder, muttering a flustered 'thank you,' before Professor Gadling greeted him like an old friend. He then introduced you to the stranger, who oddly enough just stared at you the entire time.

"She's interviewing me for the pub. I'll be featured in a magazine, can you believe it?" Professor Gadling said to the stranger who stepped inside the booth, intending to take the empty seat directly across from you. Turning to you, he stated, "This is my friend -"

"You may call me Morpheus." The man interrupted, a ghost of a smile visible on his usually blank features. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

It was unnerving the way he held your gaze without blinking, but perhaps it was just your imagination - after all, you hadn't had anything to eat since that leftover Chinese noodles this morning.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” was all you could come up with.

You were grateful when the waiter arrived with two cups of coffee and a dessert platter, and the interview with the professor went well and without interruptions. You both had so much fun, you ended up having dinner and drinks at the pub, and while it struck you odd that your third, silent companion did not partake in any single morsel of the food, by the time the evening ended at half-past ten, you had enough material for your article and were in great spirits. You thanked him for being such a gracious host and politely bid your farewell, as you were anxious to get a headstart on the draft.

The three of you simultaneously got to your feet - Professor Gadling to walk you outside, and the odd man named Morpheus trailing behind.

"Do come by again, my dear, and good luck with the article. I know you'd do a fantastic job." The professor said as he waved farewell outside the pub. He turned to Morpheus, who stood just a few feet away, watching the interaction, and gestured to him inside - presumably for them to continue their conversation - but as soon as you waved goodbye, he made a beeline for you, stopping just a few inches away and towering over you.

Too close, you thought. Wait, were his eyes twinkling? It must’ve been the streetlamp, the lights outside were pretty dim.

"I would like to accompany you on your walk home."

His words threw you off because they were so unexpected. He had no reason to do so, after all. Shyly, you beamed at him and replied, "I'd appreciate it, Morpheus, but I wouldn't like to impose...weren't you meeting with the professor?"

Professor Gadling, who apparently was in earshot of your conversation, waved you away.

"No, it's fine, dear. Besides, a young lady such as yourself shouldn't be walking alone at night. I'll see you some other time, my friend," he added, winking at Morpheus, who just tilted his chin in reply.

The professor had a point. You lived nearby, that was true, but the streets weren't safe on a Friday night, especially at this hour. You chewed on the insides of your cheek, nervous at the fact that you have not had anyone walk you home in a long while.

It's just a walk home. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

"Okay."

You would come to regret your response.

***

Inwardly, Morpheus rejoiced at the thought of you lowering your guard with him. He motioned with a hand to let you lead the way, not that he needed it - in two weeks after your fateful encounter at the bakeshop he had gotten to know every little detail he needed to know about you, including where you lived, of course. He had seen the little apartment himself when you were out at work, and while it irked him that you had to live in such a humble abode, he knew through your dreams that you had filled the apartment with love and considered it your sanctuary. It wouldn't matter once he took you home to his kingdom as his lover - for you, he'd craft an entire palace carved in precious stones in the blink of an eye, and it would be your sanctuary, just as much as this tiny home.

He did a fine job, too, of luring you into the place his centuries-old friend now owned. It took him only one dream, planted during your boss’s deepest slumber, for you to get sent right where Morpheus wanted you to be. All this planning and you were right there, with him, just as the fates would have it.

He had to ask you tonight. He has waited long enough.

***

You were just a few blocks away from your apartment building when you finally gained the courage to break the awkward silence between you two.

"Thank you for walking me home," you said quietly as you eyed him sideways. Your eyes widened at the sight that greeted you: he had a genuine, warm smile on his face you'd never seen on him before, and if his demeanour is anything to go by, you knew this was a rarity.

He looked like a prince, even with his hair sticking out in all directions.

"It is I who should be thanking you for your kindness to me at that establishment," he spoke with conviction. "I have not forgotten."

Surprised, but overall glad that he remembered, you matched his expression as best you can and replied, "You're welcome."

Nothing was ever exchanged until you reached your apartment door, but he seemed to draw closer to you, your shoulders almost touching.

Your hand was already at the keys to the doorknob when you asked him if he wanted to come in.

"For tea, perhaps?" You added. "I couldn't help but notice you didn’t eat at dinner, so…”

It was a last-minute decision, seeing as he was kind enough to ensure you got home safely. He could do with a few biscuits, too, in your opinion, judging by his pallor and his refusal to eat anything at the pub.

There it was again - that captivating smile, but behind it, you see a flash of something else entirely. It was gone even before you could fully take it in, so you shrugged inwardly. The hallway’s lighting has always been too dark to see a damn thing.

“You need not concern yourself over me, I am much stronger than I look,” he said in a light, teasing tone. “However, your effort would be appreciated.”

“Oh, it’s no problem!” You waved him off and pushed the door open to your home. “I just hope you don’t mind tea without milk, I haven’t done any grocery shopping yet…”

Morpheus followed you inside, closing the door behind him, as you went off to your room to drop your bag on the bed and set up your laptop on your work desk. As soon as you got out of your room, you found him with his back to you, rummaging through the copies of the magazine you wrote for.

“Nothing interesting in those, I’m afraid. Still, not bad for a would-be writer, don’t you think?”

Chuckling to yourself, you made your way to the tiny kitchen to put the electric kettle to boil, then rummaged through the cupboards for a mug you were saving for when you had guests over. Not that you’ve ever had any - so far, he was the first you’ve had since you moved in.

“‘A would-be writer?’”

The proximity of his voice startled you, seeing as you thought he had still been reading back in the living room. It’s admittedly only a few steps away, but you hadn’t heard him approach. He was at the kitchen doorway, casting a long shadow in the dimly lit space. You had forgotten to turn the lights on, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“You give yourself very little credit for such riveting work,” he said as he closed the distance between you. The kettle had just turned off by itself, so you concentrated on pouring the boiling water on the mug and dropping a Ceylon tea bag inside. Leaning on the tiled counter, you watched the tea leaves bleed into the water, turning it to a lovely amber colour.

“I don’t know about that -”

Your sentence was cut short as you felt his fingertips subtly stroke your elbow, giving you goosebumps all over your arm.

He’d gotten so close…

Scooping up the mug with both hands, you turn around to hand him the mug, only to find yourself inches away from him you almost spill the hot liquid on his woollen coat.

“Your writing has soul. I should know: I have read every word you have ever written.”

Blinking up at him, you saw him dip his head closer to yours as his pale, warm hands enclosed around yours, still holding the tea.

You were trembling, it seemed, but he stilled it.

“Th-thank you," you whispered, unable to avert your gaze from those piercing blue eyes that seemed to pin you to place, as was his tall, imposing form enclosing you between him and the kitchen counter. He was so close you could feel the heat emanating from him. "That means so much to me.”

Or was it the heat from your cheeks you felt?

Seemingly oblivious to your increasingly flustered state, Morpheus made a deliberate move to extricate the cup of tea from your grasp so he could set it back down behind you (it was probably already over-brewed, you thought), while you try to compose yourself and ignore his fingers softly grazing your knuckles. You didn't have much time, however, because the next thing you knew was those same hands cupping your cheeks and his soft lips brushing over yours in a chaste kiss that stole your breath completely.

You felt him release his hold on you, perhaps to observe your reaction. Perhaps, you could’ve pushed him away right there and then; screamed at him for touching you and thrown him out of your home; but you couldn’t summon your limbs to respond. He took your momentary lapse of judgement to crash his lips on yours once more - it was a more heated, more insistent kiss, and as if to seal you to him, his hands travelled to your back to encase you in an embrace and pushed you further into the counter.

This was wrong.

It was all your instincts could tell you. So you heeded them and pushed against the lapel of his coat with all your strength. It was like pushing against a wall, but you managed to wriggle free from his grasp, so you made an effort to put as much distance between you and him as your tiny kitchen would allow. You glanced immediately at his face to gauge his expression, and to your utter shock, his eyes had gone entirely black. One blink, and it was blue once more, maybe even a tad regretful.

It’s the lighting in this damn kitchen, you assured yourself.

“I understand I may have been too forward,” he began, “But I assure you, my intentions are pure. I have waited for this since our fateful meeting.” He took slow steps towards you, and unconsciously you backed away until your back hit the fridge. There was nowhere else to back into. He halted as soon as he sensed your guard up.

“Morpheus, it was just a loaf of bread, really…”

Morpheus’s eyes softened visibly at your words and simply continued, “And by that selfless act, you have saved me in more ways than you could ever understand. I have held you in my heart since, my precious little saviour.”

“I-I'm sure it's nothing...” you stammered.

“Allow me the honour of courting you, and in turn, you shall know of my gratitude, and my love, until the end of my days.”

Your heart sank at his declaration. Somehow, you knew in your heart he meant every word he said. You couldn’t have this, not when everything in your life was just starting to fall into place. You put on the kindest smile you could muster and spoke slowly as you chose the right words, hoping he wouldn’t be too downcast with what you were about to say to him.

“I'm sure you're a wonderful man, Morpheus. I just…I don't think I can make that commitment right now. I mean, I just met you, and all I know about you is that you’re Professor Gadling’s friend.”

“That can be rectified.”

You let out a sigh. This was going to be difficult, but you really didn’t like the idea of egging him on. “I know that, but…I don’t think I have time for that, you know?”

“How so?” he asked in a low voice, tilting his head slightly.

“It's been a struggle just to get to where I am today… I have my work, which I love, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm doing something right and…one wrong move could make me lose my footing. I’m sorry.”

Morpheus seemed unconvinced, taking a few steps forward to close that gap between you. “You need not worry yourself over such trivial matters. I know what you dream of. I can give you the recognition you deserve, the stability you crave and more… Come with me and I can show you.”

He offered an outstretched hand, urging you to take it. But if you were being honest, you just wanted to crawl into bed, the draft be damned. Exhaustion was starting to creep up on you.

“‘Come with you…?’ I'm sorry, please don't take this the wrong way, I'm sure you mean well…but-but-th-this isn't really a good time for this…” you stammered as you crossed your arms to make a point, which you hoped he’d finally take. “I think I'd like to be alone now, please. I-I have that…thing I want to finish, and it's getting late…I’m sorry, Morpheus. I really am.”

Morpheus’s hand lowered steadily, but all the softness he had in his expression was gone without a trace, replaced with cold, hard eyes and furrowed brows. The warmth you have loved your apartment for all but disappeared, replaced with a clammy air that seemed to come from…from him.

“You have no idea what you've just turned away…nor who I am, and what I can do,” came Morpheus’s voice, lowered to an unrecognisable timbre. “I will give you this final chance to amend your answer, my little saviour.”

“E-excuse me?” you said, fighting the urge to run away from him and hide. This was your home, you had no reason to. Who the hell was he to threaten you in your own home? “I'd like you to leave, please, or I'm calling the police…”

He was only a few feet away from you now, and the wind somehow grew stronger, you could feel its rough caress on your skin.

Sand.

The light in your kitchen turned on without a warning, and your eyes widened at the sight of the man you had so carelessly allowed into your home:

A dangerous man - now a being transforming right before you - with chilling black eyes, a heavy flurry of sand circling him, and waves of black smoke emanating from his growing form…

Paralyzed in utter fear, your heart pounding in your ears, all you could do was hold on to the fridge as you watched him approach your cowering form on the floor. Gone was that princely face you shared a gentle kiss with, replaced by a bony, skeletal mask with hollow cheekbones, his mouth contorted in a snarl that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

His voice echoed as he spoke, raspy and deafening:

“I am quite disappointed in you, my precious saviour. No matter: I am not unmerciful.” A pale hand, now with blackened, sharpened nails, made an appearance before you. “Take my hand, my beloved, and I shall forgive your error.”

In your terrified state, all you could muster was an adamant shake of your head.

This can’t be real. It couldn’t be.

“I’m dreaming, I'm-I’m dreaming this, this can’t be real, you’re no-not real…” hunched on the floor, hugging your legs, you muttered to yourself.

“Very well,” he thundered. “You have made your choice. ”

You would later discover just how real dreams could be, and that they weren’t that much different from the nightmares.

***

Morpheus released a small sigh as he watched you in your spherical compartment, deep in troubled slumber. He had not meant to frighten you that much with his nightmarish form. Admittedly, he could’ve done a much better job with reeling himself in, but the pain of your rejection felt to him like a thousand daggers being plunged into his heart. All he wanted was for you to be happy with him. He could’ve given you everything he had seen you dream of - he still could, but not before he heard from your sweet lips an admittance of your guilt, and a vow never to spurn him again. 

He held the tiny sphere that contained your form in his palm and drew it closer to his face to get a better look at you. He had fashioned you a dress that brought out the colour of your eyes and soul: you looked ravishing, even in imprisonment. In his mind, he had played the memory of the kiss you had shared with him in your home a thousand times over. You were intoxicating, and the thought of kissing you again and finally marking your skin cemented his decision of keeping you in this space he crafted in his kingdom. You needed time to consider his proposal, that was to be expected. He would allow you the time you needed. All he had to do was assure you of your safety and well-being, seeing as scaring you even further might prolong his wait.

He knew you would wake soon, and he would explain his actions when you do. You would have no reason to refuse him, then.

***

You woke with a start, rubbing the sleep off your eyes, just to sit up and think.

You had lost count of the number of days you had spent in your glass enclosure, and there was nothing much to do except to observe your surroundings - nothing but a vast space, where distant stars glittered in the black tapestry that was space, with a single source of light in sight, like the sun, only that it offered no warmth. That, and to ruminate on the events that led you to this situation.

You remembered when you first came to, locked in this glorified cage. You still thought you were dreaming then, so you did everything you could to try waking yourself up, only none of it worked. That was when he appeared.

Dream of the Endless, he had called himself. The King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realm.

He claimed to rule the place he had taken you to, which he called the Dreaming. He had then explained that everything humanity (‘your kind,’ you recalled him saying) had ever dreamed of in its sleep was as real as everything it sees, hears, and feels in its waking hours and that he presided over them since the first living creature dreamed, and will do so until the end of all life.

He had revealed that he had watched over you, your dreams and your waking hours, since your first meeting, and that he had not meant to scare you, only that he wished for you to accept his advances.

That was the first of his many attempts to get you to say ‘yes.’

He would ask in many ways: a long walk in this garden he called the Fiddler’s Green; a sumptuous dinner in one of his many grand halls; an adventurous tryst in one of the humans’ dreams. He had promised that if you agreed to be courted by him and be with him, he would take you out of your enclosure and release you, allow you to roam his kingdom as his lover, forever wanting nothing and lavishing in all the riches and trinkets he could offer.

From then, you knew you would never be allowed back into the life you had worked so hard to build, humble as it may have been.

At first, your response to his attempts of coaxing you into a relationship with him was a string of incoherent curses and screaming. After a while, they were plain ignored - his face would remain blank every time, if not a tad disappointed, or hurt.

You didn’t care.

But you were also lying if you said it hadn’t worn out your resolve. This day was one of them.

You missed food. Not that you were ever hungry - he had removed hunger from you in your imprisonment. He had given you the gift of dreamless sleep as well, but in your time alone with nothing to do except wake and sleep, you’d give almost anything to have dreams again. You had no other company except him and the vast, endless space beyond your cage that he had conjured for you. You being sealed away from everything was driving you closer to insanity every day, and that was his design: to make you desperate enough to submit to his will.

Without warning, your hair stood at the back of your neck, your senses on high alert.

Dream of the Endless had arrived.

“My precious little saviour,” he greeted in that deep, velvety voice you had grown to hate and find comfort in at the same time. “I have come for you.”

Your captor had a warm smile on his regal features, one that didn’t match his true intentions. You stared at him with a blank expression and let his greeting go unanswered.

“Will you join me for a walk in my garden?”

He kept his eye contact with you as he waited for your response. It unnerved you to no end, the way he held your gaze with those ocean-blue eyes of his, knowing a single ‘no’ from you would instantly turn it to the black ones you have known to fear. When you opened your mouth to speak, it actually hurt your throat - you hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Will you be locking me up again, after?”

He grinned at you and tilted his head slightly. “If you behave and do as I say, I will not.”

Only a single tear that escaped from your eye betrayed that gnawing feeling of defeat in your gut. Finally swallowing whatever pride you had left, you made a decision.

“Yes.”

You should never have bought him that damned loaf of bread.

***

Just a little one-shot I wanted to write to get myself out of a writing rut I've been stuck with wanting Comatose to be perfect it stressed me out too much :// I will still work on it, I promise! I just need to get this out the way to get my writing mojo back :D

PART II here!!!!

Thank you for reading!!!! Please engage and all that it's really appreciate iiiit

***

[moonchildstyles]

jealous vamp h bestie?

wordcount: 3.5k+

—————

(Y/N) couldn't help the sigh she let out from where she stood on the terrace of Harry's Parisian penthouse. Her hands were hooked around the railing, keeping her from toppling over as she leant forward in a dreamy haze with her gaze attached to the Eiffel Tower bathed in morning light. Maybe she was trapped in her daydream, influenced by the ambiance of the city, but she swore she could smell the butter melting as croissants were baking in the shops below, sparkling water spritzing with sweet scents, and fresh baguettes being spread over with fancy cheeses and swirls of honey. 

"Not tired of this place, yet?" Harry asked with a gentle tone as he wrapped his cool arms around her waist from behind. The point of his chin settled into the curve of her neck, sighing into her scent. 

"Never," she smiled, settling her hands on his own as they folded over her middle. "What time is the showing?" 

The whole point of the trip out here instead of their usual time in Italy, had been so Harry could show her a chateau he was planning on potentially purchasing. He hadn't shown her too much of the listing online as he had declared he wanted it to be a surprise when he finally took her, but he had promised it was beautiful. Smaller than what he was used to, but he said it reminded him of her. Delicate and cozy, he'd described it as. A home. 

"Not until noon. We have time." Harry's murmured tone floated between them, joining the buttery warmth (Y/N) swore was wafting up to the terrace. 

"We have time for what?" She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle the grin that wanted to stretch wider on her lips. She knew exactly what he had in mind, exactly what he had made time for this morning. 

"Come back inside, and I'll show you, puppy." 

Spinning her in his arms, (Y/N) was greeted by the sight of Harry, bare-chested and warm after cuddling her through the night. Faint beams of sunlight dared to broach their daydream on the balcony, tracing the lines of his muscles in fans of a golden glaze. Having bit from her the night before after a decadent dinner at one of (Y/N)'s new favorite spots in the city, his cheeks were warm with a rosy color, skin tan, and eyes bright with curling strands of hair falling over his forehead. She could have melted under his gaze alone, the caress of his hands on her hips being the cherry on top. 

"Can we keep the balcony doors open?" she whispered, allowing him to lead her back into the mussed bedroom.

"Y'sure y'want everyone to hear you, puppy?" Harry dropped his head to press into the soft of her throat, the blooming bruise on the curve welcoming him as he remembered sinking his teeth in to the delicate skin.

"I'll try to be quiet," she got out, voice soft between them. 

Sucking in a deep breath of her scent, Harry could have swore his heart warmed and fluffed up just like the croissants he was trying to perfect for her. 

"Don't." 

—————

Harry couldn't keep the smug smile from spreading across his face as he caught his petal's reaction from the corner of his eye. When he started correspondence over getting a showing for this Parisian chateau, and seeing every photo of the estate, he had hoped her reaction would be something like this. The wonder in her gaze was something he would never grow tired of. 

"What do you think, m'petal?" he asked, pulling into the gravel drive of the home. 

"It—I—Harry," she floundered, her voice a sigh. 

"'S beautiful, isn't it? I thought you'd like the ivy," he murmured, finding a space to park beside the realtor's own car. 

While the chateau was gorgeous by anyone's standards, it was small to Harry. He'd grown very comfortable with sprawling estates full of rooms that he had no idea what to do with, multiples of every amenity, and more than enough space between himself and anyone who wiggled their way into his house. But, since (Y/N) entered his life and his heart, he felt no need for all of the cold space. There was no reason for him to be anywhere else other than close to her. This cottage was perfect for the existence he wanted with her. 

Even with the clouded sky, the charm of the chateau was not lost on him as Harry rounded the front of the car to help (Y/N) out of the passenger seat. Her warm palm in his was enough to get his smug smile melting into something genuine, the grin only stretching when she tucked herself into his side. 

"Harry, look!" she bubbled, bouncing in her spot, "There's roses!" 

Following the point of her finger, he saw the same rose bush that had been described in the listing that was emailed to him. Bright blooms stuck out against the forest green of the bush, thorns prickling down the stems, tipped in and inky black. The sight bordered on gothic compared to the hazy filter the sun left on the romantic view. "I know. They're gorgeous." 

"Do you know what kind they are?" she asked, floating closer to the rose studded bush with Harry in tow. 

He lent over her, peering around her shoulder to gauge the blooms with his own eyes instead of through the lens of photos. Noting the deep color of the blooms alongside how large the unfurled petals stretched, it didn't take him long to decipher the flora growing beside (Y/N)'s potential new home. He watched as she reached out to seemingly grab for one of the stems to bring the flower to her nose. Grabbing her just before she could cut herself on a thorn, Harry threaded his fingers between hers in a distracting squeeze. "I think 's a Lady In Red, my love." 

"How do you know?" she prodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes as he lead her towards the front doors. 

Harry shrugged with a lopsided smile on his lips, reluctantly letting her hand go so he could twist the knob on the unlocked door. "I've had a lot of time to learn," he told her, looking down at where she stood at his side. His own little rose. 

Before (Y/N) could offer any response, he pushed the door open with a flourish. His relator, Charlana, should be around here somewhere, but he was sure she wouldn't mind if he allowed his love to take a look around the space before seeking her out. "After you, m'love." 

A twist panged in the pit of his stomach as got to watch the way she swept through the room. Even vacant from the sunny rays that filled every photograph on the listing, (Y/N) looked like a dream twirling through the space. She gazed around with those glittery eyes, taking in the small room filled with bouquets of flowers that had been pruned from the garden bordering the grounds, and cozy furniture that Harry would purchase alongside the chateau if she so wanted. 

He stayed back as she bubbled about the space, keeping an affectionate eye on her as she bounced into the kitchen and down the halls, exploring the place he would hopefully get to make her home. Harry listened in on the ramblings she let out, babbling about one thing before getting distracted with another. He knew she had been excited about being taken along to this showing, but he hadn't anticipated this level of enthusiasm.  

Allowing her to have her space and not feel like she needed to like the place just because he was there, Harry lingered in the staged living space, awaiting Charlana's presence. He could hear her heartbeat in the upper level, surely she'd heard them enter along with (Y/N)'s twirling. 

Soon enough a pair of feet started down the stairs, though the pattern sounded much heavier than what he recognized of Charlana's. With his arms folded across his chest, Harry leaned heavily against one of the walls, eyes fixed on the landing to the stairs. 

Just as he expected, someone who was not his relator appeared on the landing. Shiny blonde hair, navy suit, and a too big of a smile to be something of a natural expression was the first impression of this newcomer. While Harry was much harder to impress now that he'd become so accustomed to (Y/N)'s scent, he held a particular distain for this man's stink. 

As soon as the structure of his features could be seen around the megawatt smile on his lips, Harry had to put effort into keeping his features neutral. He was not expecting to be working with this realtor. He was someone Harry begrudgingly recognized, being apart of the same company as Charlana, but there was a reason he stuck to his typical contact. She never looked too hard at the paperwork and didn't ask questions that Harry wouldn't want to answer, and was decidedly less annoying that this man already was without saying a word. 

Bright blue eyes widened at the sight of his client, the man quickly schooling his features while Harry stayed stoney. "Mr. Styles! I'm so sorry, I didn't hear you come in," he beamed, striding through the space with a power that didn't match his presence, "I think we've met before, but I'm Rhys."

"Nice to meet you," Harry grumbled out, aware of the way his petal was wanting him to lessen on how bitter he was to anyone but her. It wasn't fun to be grumpy, she'd said, but it was hard to keep the distaste off his face at the touch of someone other than (Y/N) on his skin.

Though he tried to keep his expression in that neutral pleasantry, Harry was still able to catch the small wince he gave—from the temperature of his skin or depth of his grip, he didn't know. "Charlana wasn't able to make it out today—a last minute family emergency, she told me," he started after the small recovery, his hand going directly to his pocket, "but I will be forwarding her any decisions we make today and she'll be back to taking care of you after this." 

While he was sure he was overreacting only because of the change of plans he wasn't aware about, Harry still had to unclench his jaw to speak. "Okay. Thank you for coming to help."

Before any response could be offered, (Y/N) came twirling through the hallway, a bright smile on her face. "Harry, did you see the bathroom? There's an—Oh, sorry I didn't know anyone else was here." 

She deflated once she saw Rhys, looking nonchalant as if he were the one this space called around and not Harry himself. Rhys's eyes seemingly lit up the second he took in the sight of Harry's beloved, something in his grin angling differently in the light. He liked what he saw, that much Harry could tell. And, he hated it. 

Taking large strides towards her, Rhys offered her his tanned palm out for a shake. "It's alright, I wasn't aware we would be having a guest, either," he tried to soothe in a tone too strong, Harry watching the way his fingers wrapped too smoothly around (Y/N)'s. "I'm Rhys, filling in for Mr. Styles' regular realtor." 

He watched as she gingerly gave her hand, a polite smile on her face as she gave her own name only to be cut off when her hand was swept up by the tanned palm and brought up to Rhys's mouth for a kiss. 

For a split second, Harry saw red. If not for the fact he knew he wasn't in complete control, he would have lunged forward and shoved him out of her space, protecting her behind the broad of his back. But, with the way his mind went white blank, he knew that if he even attempted that, Rhys would most likely end up dead. His petal wouldn't like that. 

Instead, he focused on his beloved, gauging her reactions while he tempered himself down. She took the odd gesture with grace, offering a demure smile before slipping her hand out of his grip before much more contact could be made. He saw the way she peered over the man's shoulder, making eye contact with Harry with the smallest widening of her eyes. She tried to flit around Rhys blocking her, but before she could get much further, she was stopping by an offending hand on her bicep.

"You were talking about the master bath?" Rhys prompted, megawatt smile pasted to his face, "I can show you some of the extra amenities. Come with me." 

"I'm sorry—um—" Another glance over his shoulder had Harry striding towards them, decidedly forgoing his control in favor of pulling her away from this man, even if he left some broken bones in the wake. 

Rhys gave a dismissive wave over his shoulder, "Mr. Styles can come too, but he's already seen the listing. I want to show you some of the renovated features." 

Using that grip on her arm, Rhys twirled (Y/N) around, hand landing on the small of her back to lead her where he wanted. That had Harry reaching out to grab the offending arm, hopefully to break the bones underneath, but he was stopped by the look his bonded gave him. 

It was the curl of her brows and soft set of her mouth that told him he needed to calm down. As much as she would love to not have this man's hands on her, there was no reason for Harry to hurt someone so detrimentally. His hands fell into fists at his side, fuming as he fell into stride behind them, just barely realizing Rhys had been chattering away about what kind of tiles lined the shower. 

Taking a deep and unnecessary breath, Harry condemned himself to lean into the threshold as he saw (Y/N) being led into the bathroom, having successfully shook her arm out of Rhys's grip and out of his reach without him making it obvious he was trying to put his hands on her. She hummed and acknowledged whatever was coming out of the realtor's mouth while Harry made sure to gauge every minute detail of her reactions. More than anything, she looked bored. If for even a second he saw a tinge of panic or her comfort being taken, he was going to step in. He'd pay for whatever damage he made to the chateau. 

"What do you think? It's a little small than I'm used to working with, but it's very Parisian without dealing with the city," Rhys tried to sell to her, leaning a little too close into her space than Harry would have liked. 

"I—It's really nice," she told him, looking to Harry, "What do you th—" 

"Mr. Styles usually likes much bigger estates," Rhys interrupted, as if (Y/N) wouldn't know, "Besides, he's a very nice friend for gifting you the chateau, but its up to you and what you think." 

Maybe Harry should have stepped away for a moment. (Y/N) was more than capable of taking care of herself and putting a stop to this stupid conversation, but in that moment he could have sworn his feet were rooted to the floor. While Rhys's prodding could have been deemed innocent naivety, Harry knew better. He was prodding for information, wanting to know where he could wedge in next to (Y/N). 

"Oh, he's—uh—he's actually my—" 

"She's my wife." 

Harry's deadpan voice broke through the bathroom, causing Rhys to swivel around as if he didn't know there was a third in the room. Knowing he was caught, a flush rose to his skin, arms folding behind his back. Rhys shied away from Harry's eye contact, especially so as he stepped over the tiles towards (Y/N). 

"Oh, I didn't know. She's not wearing any ring, my—" 

"Does it matter?" Harry didn't have time to listen to floundering excuses. Of course, she wasn't wearing a ring, she was bonded to him by the soul. The technicality of a human marriage wasn't needed to make it clear they were entwined. A silly ring wasn't needed. (Unless she wanted one, of course, then he'd take her to his jeweler immediately). 

Rhys flicked his eyes between the two of them, finally acknowledging the way (Y/N) fit herself effortlessly into Harry's side once she could flit herself away from the space he'd wedged her into by the wall. Harry's arm fit perfectly around her waist, a gentle squeeze being given to the curve—a touch that reassured him more than her in the moment. 

Harry looked right into the pale blue eyes he decided he hated, feeling a little too smug seeing the way the man squirmed. ((Y/N) would have to wear that pastel hue again to get him to forgive it, but until then he vowed to hate it). "We've seen enough. Tell Charlana I would like another showing, and if she's not able to make it, to reschedule until she can. I would also like it to be very clear that this is the one and only time you will attempt to do business with us." 

With that, Harry led her out of the space with a flourish, reveling in the way (Y/N) cuddled into his side with ease. 

"Are you alright?" he asked once they were in the safety of his car, the gravel driveway crunching under the tires as he tore out of there. 

"Yeah, I'm okay. I didn't like how he was touching me, but he was just more annoying than anything." Her voice was quiet as she settled into the leather seat, a sigh pushing out her chest before she deflated into the folds of her sweater.

"I didn't like how he was touching you either," Harry grumbled, reaching across the center console and fitting his hand in hers. A delicate squeeze was given along with the brush of his thumb over the back, just where Rhys had dared to kiss. 

"Are you okay, H?" she peeped, twisting in her seat to give him the full of her glittery eyes, "I'm sorry I let him bother us—" 

"No, do not apologize," he grumbled, "You were only being kind, do not tell me you are sorry. I am alright, I just think I hate him." 

That had a peal of laughter falling from (Y/N)'s lips. "I can tell," she smiled, pulsing her hand around his, "I still really liked the chateau, though. I was hoping we could just explore it ourselves." 

"I know," he softened, relaxing into the fine leather of his seat with the distraction of driving easing him along with the touch of his love, "I am going to tell Charlana we want it." 

"Really?!" The way she bounced in her seat was well worth the annoyance he went through. 

"Yes," he said, reciprocating her smile, "And while what he said bothered me, he is right that this is your space. This is for you more than it is for me. I will only accompany you if you so invite me." 

"Wait," she sighed, sinking down with her mouth dropped into a small gape. Her heart had skipped a beat at his words. "Harry, you don't have to do that." 

"I want to, my petal," he cemented, "We have Italy and the manor together, but I realized you do not have a space all to your own. I want to give that to you." 

The soft of her lips pillowed against one another as she tried to find the words, a couple of moments passing as she opened her mouth only to close it once she didn't realize where she was going. 

"I'll always want you to come with me, though," she whispered, voice a small murmur between them and the hum of the engine. 

"You promise that?" he asked, a lopsided smile touching his features as he teased her. The more he heart the melody of her voice and concentrated on the baseline of her heartbeat, he lightened up. 

"Of course," she smiled, leaning closer to him as her own teasing smile bunched at her lips, "I'm your wife, aren't I?" 

He should have known she wasn't going to let that one go, even if she was attempting to feign it as a tease instead of something he could hear making her heart skip a beat. "And, I'm your husband. Formal ceremony or not, I believe our commitment warrants the title." 

"Me too," she agreed with a honey sweet smile, the bloom of her eyes warming him more than any bit of her neck could ever give. She softened some as she traced her gaze over his profile, feeling her linger over the angle of his nose. "Really, though. I don't want to be here if you're not with me. Thank you for wanting me to have my own space, but I want this to be our home. Wherever I go, I want you there, too." 

If his heart could squeeze and stutter, this would be the moment it would have pounded out of his chest in search of its lover. "Thank you, petal." 

As much as Harry was easily bothered by days like this, there was nothing that could soothe him like she did. All he needed was a quick glance in his passenger seat to see her gazing at him with adoration in her eyes, her hand in his, and his bite on her neck. 

He'd go wherever she wanted him.

—————

idk if hes all that jealous in this and its also significantly shorter than most of my stuff but I hope its alright!!! thank you sm for reading and to whoever requested this, sorry for any mistakes and if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!

[f1amboyant]

So many interesting titles, but would love to hear more about Baked Alaska 💜

-> in answer to this (ask me more about my WIPs)

Hi Mar! Hi @lafaerie 🩵 I didn't expect this title to pick your interests but I'm happy to talk about it a little 🥰

To be honest, this is all @drspleenmeister's fault (love you, dear 😘). Baked Alaska is a little fic battle between Spleen and me, featuring baker!carlos and ice cream shop owner!charles. No plot, just those two pining for the other from across the street 🤭

Can I offer you a little taste, maybe? 😋

Opening LEC Ice Cream has been a dream of Charles forever and it finally happened, in a small and beautiful street in the warm city of Madrid. The dream has begun.

(And it is not a small bonus that the shop owner from across the street is hot as hell.)

(Actually, it might have been one of the reasons why Charles chose this place between the several locations he visited. Not the only reason of course. But it definitely played a part. And Pierre has been mocking him non-stop since then.)

For five weeks, Charles has waved at the baker brightly every morning and received a side glance at best. But Charles is nothing if not determined. So when this morning, for the first time ever, Hot Spanish Baguette waved back (or sort of), Charles decided to take his chance.

If he had known what had waited for him in that bakery, Charles would have crossed the street way sooner.

Hot Spanish Baguette is hot as hell. But his croissant is even more delicious. The first bite is heaven, the second is pure ecstasy and Charles has to close his eyes to savor it. He can’t quite keep the moan that escapes his mouth. But lucky for him, his apron hides the semi in his pants.

Yeah. He’s getting hard eating pastries. Sue him.

It’s also totally Hot Spanish Baguette’s fault, being all sexy and handsome behind his counter. The black tousled hair and high cheekbones come straight from heaven (or maybe hell, tempting Charles in the worst best way). The big brown eyes have Charles’ heart hammering in his chest.

(Also, he wants to lick that little smear of flour on the man’s jaw and beard.)

“This is amazing,” Charles says in awe after swallowing down the whole croissant (and maybe he’s not only talking about the pastry). “I should bring one to Pierre. And you know, it would go so well with our crunchy chocolate flavor and you should–”

“I have work to do,” the man (Carlos) blurts out. His cheekbones look pink. “Sorry. There’s a lot of things to do before opening. I have work.”

“Oh.” Charles tries to hide his disappointment but the croissant suddenly leaves a bitter after taste in his mouth. What did he do wrong? He babbled again, didn’t he? People don’t like when he babbles and giggles. Merde. He fucked up. “Sure, sure,” he says with a nervous giggles (stop giggling stupidly, Charlie), “I’ll come back later.”

Carlos barely grunts an answer, before turning away and going (fleeing) to the back of the shop. Trying (and failing) not to take it personally, Charles walks back to his own shop where Pierre is already putting up the displays and setting up everything.

Charles slouches against the counter.

“So how did it go?” Pierre asks.

“He looks even more handsome from up close,” Charles sighed. His gaze pierces through the window, looking right across the street at the sweet little bakery. “And his croissants are to die for.”

[hannahssimblr]

“Jude,”

A small finger prods my cheek. My Forehead. My chin. “Jude. Jude. Judie.” I groan and pull the duvet over my face to stop the sun from searing my eyeballs. 

My voice is hoarse, “Did you open the blinds?”

“It’s eight. You’re supposed to get up.”

“God, why?”

My sister repeatedly slaps my head through the covers, “There’s no baguette.”

“No baguette?” What is she talking about? “Ivy, stop, stop,” I grab her little wrist and pull it away from me, awake now and not pleased about it. “Why did you come in here, huh? You’re not supposed to come into my room.”

She whips her arm out of my grip, “But it’s eight,” She says, “and there's no baguette left.” 

“Oh, for breakfast,” I rub sleep from my eyes, “Okay yeah, I get it. We’re out of bread.”

“You have to go to the bakery before they all sell out. All the old grannies get there first and they buy up the baguettes,” She throws herself down at the foot of my bed and kicks her feet up in the air. She’s dressed herself already, I see, in scruffy clothes that she’s usually only allowed to wear when she’s staying home. “And I think I feel like a chocolate croissant today.”

“A chocolate one? Since when are you a spoiled little brat?”

She sticks her tongue out, “Uh! You always sneak me a chocolate one when mom and dad are away.”

She’s right, I was just teasing. “Okay, get out of my room and wait for me, I need to get changed.”

She runs obediently out while I drag myself out of bed and into yesterday’s shorts, cursing every other teenage boy who will get to sleep in until midday and beyond today, blissfully free of all responsibility and all little sisters. And Jen too, in the guest room next door, probably sleeping soundly and won’t have to deal with anything like this, and will run free all summer, sleeping under the same roof with different rules to the ones I must adhere to. 

It’s a bright morning. The tide is in and the air is salty and fresh as seagulls circle over the strand. The beach cleaners are always out at this time, in their high visibility jackets and yellow rubber gloves plucking up the debris left over from yesterday's holiday makers. Ivy skips alongside me with her worn out sandals crunching on the sand that’s blown in over the ground, gleefully kicking the fallen palm fronds over into the low stone wall that borders the path. 

“What are you so happy about?” I say accusingly, though her joy is unfortunately contagious. 

“Everything. I’m going to kids club and it’s sunny today and mom and dad are working in Dublin for the whole week and I’m getting a chocolate croissant,” She sings that last word with glee and skips and spins ahead of me, flapping her arms around with free, unfettered delight like she could take off and fly. 

“C’mon, you’re hyper. Save some energy for the club. What are you going to be doing today anyway? Art or sports?”

“Yesterday was sport. We did dodgeball but with those soft, squishy balls.”

“The foam ones?”

“Yeah, and one of the boys took a bite out of one of them, it was disgusting.”

I laugh, “You know I used to take bites out of them too.”

She comes back and gives me a slap in the thigh, “You’re a smelly, disgusting boy too, then.”

“Yeah, I am, but I don’t care. Foam has an interesting texture, huh?”

“No it doesn’t, and it’s filthy and it’s all rolled all over the floor and had dirty old hands all over it.”

I shrug, when I was a child the last thing I cared about was whose dirty hands touched what, nothing like Ivy. I shoved everything I could find in my mouth with abandon, I didn't care. Honestly I still don’t really care, because at this point I’ve put the kinds of filthy, unregulated things into my mouth that make a foam dodgeball seem gourmet. “So if you did sports yesterday, does that mean you’re doing art today?”

“Yep.”

From where we stand in the queue outside the bakery, the smell of fresh bread and buttery pastry floats right toward us and makes my stomach growl, “So what do you think you’ll be doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Well… once, in school, we did paper weaving.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

She looks at me incredulously, “You know what paper weaving is.”

“No, I don’t.”

A scoff, “You already know everything about art, so you definitely know about this.”

“Well let's pretend I don’t and you can tell me about it.”

And she does, she goes into incredible detail while we wait, and then I buy a baguette and three chocolate croissants, one for Jen, and I get Ivy some juice for the hell of it and a coffee for me even though I’m not sure if it’s coffee I like or the idea of it. 

I’m happy to let her talk like that. It fills a gap, and I like it, because when she’s talking so much it means that she’s comfortable and not conscious about annoying our parents or saying something that they think is silly. I want her to be silly. It’s what seven year olds are.

Back at the beach house I even put on music while I make some breakfast, Low by Flo Rida, because our mom hates music like this and always turns the radio off when it comes on, which is all the time lately because it’s plagued the charts for months. 

“How can she have apple bottom jeans and baggy sweatpants?” Ivy wonders as she munches on her buttered baguette. 

“I guess she has four legs,” I say, and she flinches as I try to grab her nose, “you shouldn’t be listening to the words of this song anyway, they’re for adults.” Last week she asked me what ‘promiscuous’ meant after I let her listen to Nelly Furtado and then I had to pretend I couldn’t find it in the dictionary.  

“Why? Because of her big bum?”

“Ivy!”

The boat club is busy that morning with hoards of parents leaving their children at the kids club. Children and parents and me, a sixteen year old brother. I feel self conscious as we wait to sign her in. 

“Good morning Ivy,” the activity leader beams down at her with a toothy grin, “Where’s mammy today?”

“Home in Dublin. She’s working.”

“And daddy?” I want to laugh at the absurd impression this woman has that our dad has done anything meaningful or useful for either of us in his life. 

“He has to work too.”

“They’re very busy,” I explain, “They usually need to be at home during the summer for several weeks on and off so I’m just stepping in for now.”

“Well lucky that they have you to take care of it all.”

Yes. Lucky me. I pass Ivy off to her and wave goodbye, and as I’m making my way back towards the exit I pass the dining room. I stop and peer through the door curiously, just in case, and alas, in the bright sunlight from the windows, the sound of cutlery and glass and the smell of breakfast in the air, she crosses the room, a flash of blonde in tight black clothes.

“Hi, Clóda.” I say. I’ve caught her off guard. 

“Jesus chr- Hello,” She puts the tray she was holding onto an empty table with a clatter and tucks the two front strands of her hair behind her ears. “Where did you come from?”

“I was bringing my sister to the kids club.”

“That’s nice of you.”

I shrug, “I like to give my parents a break from parenting sometimes.” I peer into the chaos behind her, “You busy?”

“Yes, I-” She turns around anxiously, “It’s very busy at breakfast time.”

“Okay well I’ll leave you alone then.”

“No, I-” 

I stop, and she pats her silky hair, twisted into a bun at the top of her head, “Are you hanging out on the beach later?”

“Uh, no.”

“Oh right, well, that’s fine then I was just-”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I interject quickly, “I’m just looking after my sister all week while my parents are away, I can’t really leave her alone at night or anything so I won’t really be around.”

She blinks, “Your parents left you alone for a week?”

“Yeah they always do that,” I say casually, “It’s fine. Jen is staying with us so sometimes she helps, but actually, no, mostly she doesn’t, which is fair enough.” I move away from the door to let a patron pass by and Clóda comes to lean with me against the wall, “But if you like, and it’s not weird for you you could always come over and babysit with me sometime.”

“How old is your sister?”

“She’s seven.”

“Cute.”

“She’s not cute, she’s a brat, but she goes to bed at half past eight, so,” I shrug, again, attempting to be cool and casual, and it seems to be working because Clóda is blushing now. “If you’re free tonight? We can watch a film, or… something…” I trail off, privately delighted by her pretty smile, evidence that she’s forgiven me for not touching her boob last week. Maybe I’ll remedy that tonight if she gives me another chance. 

There’s a man behind the bar watching us now, “Clóda,” he says sharply, “you have to work faster, get busy please.”

“Oh, um,” She wipes her hands on her trousers and reaches around awkwardly to retrieve her tray. “That’s my dad. He gets annoyed when I chat too much. Especially to… non-customers.”

I grin at the older man and wiggle my fingers at him while he practically snarls, his face jowled like a bulldog. “Nine?” I say to Clóda.

“Yeah, I’ll try.” And she’s gone. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[rhinozilla]

Firstly, up front, I do not want any answers or explanations to this.

I parted ways with the Walking Dead many seasons before it ended. It was a slow decline in interest after Negan's intro episode and then an abrupt halt at a specific point in the same season when I called it quits.

Many of my beloved mutuals are mutuals because of TWD (and more specifically Caryl), and they held out longer than I did, so I still occasionally see blips of what happened between when I left and where things ended up. My eternal love to all of you. I empathize with all the suffering that this show put us all through.

Now...again I say, I do not want any context or explanation here.

But the idea that there is a spinoff where Daryl Dixon is in France...it is sending me. I don't know where it's sending me, but that sentence is so baffling and incomprehensible that I never want to know the how's or why's or logistics of it. I just want to sit in blissful ignorance and enjoy the absurdity of that sentence.

Daryl Dixon in France. Just roaming around. Attempting to build alliances with locals but things always ending in violence over how he pronounces "croissant." Daryl Dixon fishing in the Seine. French zombies. A French mime zombie. A French mime zombie carrying a baguette. Daryl Dixon killing the French mime zombie and stealing the baguette. Because Daryl Dixon is in fucking France.

I just...I don't...It doesn't...I hate absolutely everything about that premise, and yet it is somehow absolutely glorious. It sounds like the most outfield crack fanfic idea ever, and yet it exists??? Canonically???

(No hate toward anybody who likes the spinoff. Again, I have absolutely no context or understanding if said spinoff is good. It could be excellent and gripping and profound. I will never know, and I prefer it that way. I am but a fan of old who occasionally sees things like this and thinks "...huh?")

[live-laugh-lenney]

Can i have a headcanon or reaction for arthur tv with a veterinarian s/o pleaseeeeeee

this is so cute... like, i swear... him falling in love with a veterinarian when he has such a huge love for animals.. god, it's almost like fate.

-> it's almost like a chance meet that happens once...

-> and again... and again...

-> and then again until they decide to do something about.

-> there's no fancy party or dating app involved. no mutual friends who knew each other. his friend didn't set him up with her and her friend didn't even know of him.

-> it happens during her hour-long lunch break; a little bakery down the road from her place of work where they sell 'the best baguettes and do the best coffees in town' so she says. she still has her work uniform on, still has her name-tag hanging from her shirt, purse in her hand and her office keys/car keys dangling off her finger.

-> he just so happens to be standing behind her in the queue when she orders her baguette and her favourite coffee. having just finished on a football video shoot with chris down the road, the cupcakes and the croissants and the muffins caught his eye on his walk by, and he felt the need to make a pitstop on his way home to fill his stomach.

-> he notices her order before he notices her.

-> 'that sounds delightful'

-> 'it's delicious, you should try it'

-> 'you think?'

-> 'yeah, not that i was staring at you but you seemed to be a little bit overwhelmed with all the options up there so... try it and thank me later'

-> so he does and he thinks he has definitely found a new drink to fixate upon for the next week... but by the time he tries to tell her his opinion, she's disappeared and he has no idea where she went... his heart sinking in his chest.

-> neither of them thought they would bump into each other the next day... at the same time... except this time, she's behind him and he's ordering before her.

-> 'i told you that you'd like it'

-> 'you have an incredible palate to discover this. it's amazing'

-> he waits this time; he waits for her. he listens to her as she finishes off her order to the person behind the bar (who seemingly knew what she wanted before she spoke and he got the impression that she must have frequented this bakery for them to know her name and her order), almost standing with her as she orders her lunch of a baguette and a coffee at the counter.

-> 'i would stay but-'

-> 'oh, i wasn't waiting for you. i was just-"

-> 'it's okay. i would have asked you if you wanted to sit together but i have work to get back for.'

-> 'what do you do?'

-> 'i'm a vet at the centre down the road. this is a godsend for being so close and doing so many good lunch options. you should try their ham and rocket and cheese baguette. the rocket is a total game changer.'

-> she's walking towards the door and down the street before he realises and comes back to his senses; he's completely enamoured by her.

-> he's already in the bakery by the time she walks in the next day; and he's eating the baguette she told him to try. with the coffee beside his plate. and this time, he threw a curveball and got himself a little muffin that he wanted to recommend to her...

-> 'i feel like i should get a discount for getting new customers to start coming her more often'

-> he's blushing as he looks down at his plate, recognising the voice almost instantly, swallowing back his food and smiling warmly in her direction.

-> 'we must stop meeting here like this...'

-> he assumed she was waiting for his name and he spoke his name shyly. a grin on her lips. recalling his name before she introduced herself with her own name. and this time, she sat with him with her own order... in a bag and a takeaway cup... but he'd take that.

-> 'i have ten minutes before i need to be back. thought you could do with the company, arthur.'

-> and his name just rolls off of her tongue so perfectly. he loves the sound. loves how her tongue wraps around his name. loves how her mouth enunciates his name. loves how she spoke his name. his stomach filled with butterflies.

-> it becomes such a common thing.

-> sometimes she's there before him, sometimes he's there before her and yet, they still wait for the other and share one little fact or piece of information about one other as they get to know one another a little more than before.

-> she's interested in his job and how he gets to film all his fun times with his friends and get paid for it... and he's interested in her job and how she gets to be around animals all day and care for them in the best way possible.

-> she would have been lying if she said she didn't go home and google his name and find him on social media and follow him on his instagram and his twitter, finding him on youtube to watch a few of his videos whilst she ate her dinner or whilst she got ready for bed, stalking as much of his online presence to see what he was really like as a person.

-> 'this might seem forward and i love these lunchtime dates but-'

-> 'you think these are dates? i thought they were just coincidental meetings'

-> 'maybe we could try a proper date?'

-> 'like, drinks and dinner or?'

-> 'anything you want to do'

-> the last thing he expects her to say is bowling and the arcade that comes alongside it. claiming she wanted to do something fun and a little different and not anything boring like sitting down and getting to know one another. not having to be serious. being able to talk and laugh and be as silly as they wanted to do.

-> they exchange numbers. he drops her off home. she invites him in with the invitation of pizza from the local takeaway. she wasn't looking for love but... love definitely found her.

-> and from then on, their lunchtime dates move to her office and he'll always offer to grab them their lunch before meeting her at her work. sitting in the reception, talking to the receptionist (who happened to be her work bestie and wanted all the details), petting the dogs as they left with their owners, giving head scratches to the cats who were in their crates and waiting to be seen. he can always hear her through the close door; always so kind, so sweet, so soft and gentle with every animal she sees and so informative to those who bring their pets in.

-> she never takes her work home with her... but he'll always ask. he loves animals and if there was anything she ever wanted to speak about, especially if she had a bad day or had to deal with something that was really sad and upsetting to her, then he wanted her to be able to talk to him and use him as a shoulder to cry on so she didn't have to deal with it by herself.

-> 'you don't have to ask me.'

-> 'i know but i want to. you ask me about my day, i ask you about yours'

-> both of them are so interested in each other and it's something that starts off slowly.

-> something that they slowly work through; his schedule was always different from day to day whereas her's was always regular and the same everyday. a classic 9 to 5 job with the odd day off for her to use at her leisure.

-> they take their time.

-> they enjoy each other before they become something official. they like to be by themselves. without everyone else knowing about them. sharing the sweetest kisses, cuddling, sneaking around from their friends and family because they just weren't wanting to share each other just yet.

-> and when they've become boyfriend and girlfriend, after a few months have flown by of knowing one another, they slowly introduce the other to their family and then their friends... which arthur was always going to be nervous about. having friends of such a high social media influence, he didn't want her feeling out of place or like she was different to them or that she didn't belong...

-> and his friends never do make her feel that way.

-> fitting in perfectly with everyone... they love her and she loves them and they love having her around in their group nights. they love how she teases arthur like they do yet they can tease her and she knows they're being silly and she doesn't take anything to heart. it's like she's known them for years... especially george (who she ends up being the best of friends with)... and arthur finds it so endearing how they've just welcomed her and how he felt welcomed within her own little group.

-> a coincidence meeting... but the best thing to have ever happened.

[cliozaur]

Recently, I found a Valvert fanfic claiming to be historically accurate. I was so excited, anticipating a historically accurate setting as the author promised. I start reading, and I see that almost every detail is wrong. What and where they eat: French croissants that appeared in the early 20th century, baguettes that first appeared in 1837 but were ridiculously expensive, and, of course, tea, it goes without saying; modern cafes with tables outside (late 19th century phenomenon). The way police investigation is organized (practices of the late 19th century); modern work ethics. And of course, they speak and behave like emancipated people of the early 21st century. Painful. Actually, the only thing that probably makes that fanfic ‘historically accurate’ is the inclusion of one historical figure.

What I want to say: I am used to all these anachronisms in fanfics and can turn a blind eye. But just don’t claim it’s ‘historically accurate.’

[sarroora]

Omfg I literally just sent that last ask prematurely I only got like 3 hours of sleep last night 😭 that was embarrassing ANYWAYS 🤜🫳

✨🧚 Sleep deprived HC time

Dibble definitely pulls those kinds of pranks on the fellas where he'll secretly put a cucumber by them and try not to laugh as they jump/overreact or shoot a laser pointer out of his apartment window into the alley and watch them go crazy over it from afar

Related to the last one, I feel like all the fellas would jump from the cuke except Brain. I feel like he'd just stare at it for a little bit and then take a huge bite out of it. He wouldn't eat the rest, just that one bite.

I can only describe the way T.C. loafs as a somewhat stale baguette 🥖

I feel like Spook, Chooch, and Brain have to be the snorers of the group. Brain has a cutesey not-obnoxious snore, almost like a purr, Spook snores pretty consistently because ✨brachycephaly✨ and Chooch only snores when he's sleeping the wrong way but when he does it's LOUD. Like he snores like a freight train (get it cos his name's Choo Choo ahhahagagaghh)

Generally the fellas don't like stealing clothes off the overhanging clotheslines but I think Brain disregards the fact that it's stealing if it's a really cozy-looking sweater. LOOK HE CAN DO NO WRONG IN MY EYES GIVE THE MAN HIS SWEATER

Pedro definitely Irish step dances and he fucking kills at it. Occasionally he'll show off in the pizzeria and get a big round of applause. He did try to teach Dibble how to do it when they were kids but Dib twisted his ankle so bad he needed surgery so they never tried it again

I really love to think that Fancy either had stripes when he was a kitten and grew out of them or he still has stripes but you can only really see them when the sun hits his fur right

Similarly to the last one I like to think T.C.'s fur and eyes have an almost metallic glisten to them in the sun like gold (not like Gold Pelt though like his fur just shimmers like gold would)

Yeah uhhh hopefully I get this done today and uh yeah 🧚✨

-YO I'm glad we both agree Dibble is a prankster🕺💃. You wouldn't think he's the type but that's why it's extra funny and unexpected for his victims friends lol

-Hell yeah Brain's a tactile fella and that's kinda how his brain works - rarely takes anyone's word for something being dangerous. He'll touch/taste it first and decide (which is scary for the other guys for obvious reasons)

-T.C. may loaf like a stale baguette indeed but he makes up for it by sleeping like a bendy croissant🥐

-Brain bleps when he's sleeping too just sayin

-Oh yeah, T.C. needs to be vigilant about that - Brain can sometimes look at taking something as simply borrowing, coz he does intend to give it back eventually so what's the big deal? - not understanding that not everyone will see it that way and they could all get in trouble. So T.C. has to drill it in his head: "Anythin' you take from the gang is borrowin' - anythin' else without askin' is stealin'. We don' do that."

-Hell yeah I love the HC that Fancy has stripes. They're just not too differently colored from the rest of his pelt so they're not obvious in dim lighting

-Also, since Fancy is so darn charming and handsome, he and Benny tend to have the best luck getting food from strangers overall

-T.C. feels like Benny is the group's good luck charm. While yeah, the little fella can be a magnet for harmful freaks, he also attracts some kind and generous people who can't help but fall for his sweet looks and demeanor

-We need more Pedro and Dibble shinanigans asdgfkhflfsjl

-I always imagined T.C. and G.P.'s colorings to be opposites when it comes to their fur and eyes. T.C. has light yellow fur that is even paler in the sunlight, but has a nice shine to it when the light hits it just right. G.P.'s fur is naturally richer in its gold coloring even in dim lighting.

However, when it comes to the eyes, T.C.'s eyes are more richly golden and radiant, whilst G.P.'s are a lighter, colder yellow.

[sorathecookie]

Operation: Crescent Moon Chaos Chapter 4

String Gummy Cookie arrived in a timeline where the Dark Flour War was taking place in the Vanilla Kingdom.

Where did that Cookie go? he asked himself. He looked around at the ensuing chaos, then looked up at the crimson sky and saw the Cookie hovering and about to swing the Crescent Moon Scythe once again. There. He pointed his String Gummy Blaster at the Cookie. "Hey, you!"

The Cookie looked down at him. "Oh, you've found me!" the Cookie chuckled and swung the Scythe, opening a lunar time rift, and flew through it.

"Crumbs!" String Gummy Cookie grunted. He opened another time rift and jumped through it.

In another timeline, Lemon Cream Coffee Cookie, who was the TBD's only known bounty hunter, was face to face with Twizzly Gummy Cookie, the time traveling criminal.

"Ha! I've got you now, Twizzly Gummy Cookie!" he said proudly, pointing his spoon shaped staff at her. But before he could do anything, a lunar time rift opened, and a large Cake Arm picked him up and threw him against a wall, causing Twizzly Gummy Cookie to escape. "Aw, crumbs!"

The Cookie chuckled from above and escaped through another lunar time rift. The moment the Cookie left, String Gummy Cookie arrived and saw Lemon Cream Coffee Cookie.

"Lemon Cream Coffee Cookie, are you ok?" he asked, picking him up.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lemon Cream Coffee Cookie answered.

"What happened?"

"No idea. All I know is that I was about to arrest Twizzly Gummy Cookie, and some Cake Arm appeared out of nowhere and threw me!" He sighed. "I'm not hurt too bad though."

String Gummy Cookie closed his eyes. That Cookie must have been here, he thought.

"What're you up to?" Lemon Cream Coffee Cookie asked.

"I'm trying to catch a troublemaking Cookie," he answered.

"Do you need help?"

"I can handle it. You just keep going after Twizzly Gummy Cookie."

"Ok."

Lemon Cream Coffee Cookie opened a time rift and went through, continuing his mission of chasing down Twizzly Gummy Cookie, and String Gummy Cookie opened another time rift and went through, continuing to pursue the troublemaking Cookie.

In another timeline, the Cookie arrived in the Blueberry Yogurt Academy, which was seemingly empty. The Cookie took a deep breath, and exhaled.

"Ah, this place is teeming with Dark Moon Magic...and it's very strong too. Hmm...I wonder...." The Cookie raised the Crescent Moon Scythe, about to do something only the Cookie knew, but then, the Cookie was suddenly stopped.

"I don't think so."

The Cookie turned around and saw String Gummy Cookie, his String Gummy Blaster pointed at him once again.

"My, you're a persistent one," the Cookie said. "I've gotta applaud you for coming all this way." The Cookie bowed. "But...you're also quite annoying, so I'm afraid I'm gonna have to crumble you." The Cookie pointed the Crescent Moon Scythe at String Gummy Cookie, who flinched. "It was fun while it lasted, though!"

The Cookie swung the Scythe, and a Crescent Moon made of Dark Moon Magic was flying towards him.

"..!"

Mere moments before it could hit him, he was suddenly surrounded by a shield also made of Dark Moon Magic. He looked and saw Moon Lily Cookie, a new member of the TBD and assistant to the Director, and his good friend Croissant Cookie. Moon Lily Cookie, who had used her staff to create a shield of Dark Moon Magic, lowered her staff and turned to String Gummy Cookie, who didn't look too happy to see her.

"What're you doing here?" he asked.

"Baguette Cookie told me what happened, and I saw you jumping through time and having a hard time, so I came to help you," Moon Lily Cookie explained. "And I brought Croissant Cookie for backup."

Croissant Cookie turned to him and smiled. "You ok?"

String Gummy Cookie smiled slightly. "I'm fine."

"Oh my, it seems the gang's all here!" the Cookie said in a slightly mocking manner.

"Hey, are you the one who's been messing with the timelines?!" Croissant Cookie asked, pointing her wrench at the Cookie.

"And what if I am?" the Cookie retorted. "Are you really going to arrest me for having a little bit of fun?"

"Of course!" Croissant Cookie answered. "Messing with the timelines is a serious violation!"

"Quite frankly, I don't really care!" the Cookie laughed.

Ugh, this Cookie's like Timekeeper Cookie but more annoying, String Gummy Cookie thought.

"But enough about you two pipsqueaks, let's go to HER!" He pointed to Moon Lily Cookie.

"Me?" Moon Lily Cookie gasped.

"Yep! Finally, I can get a full glance at your face!"

Croissant Cookie turned to Moon Lily Cookie. "Moon Lily Cookie, do you know him?"

"Not from what I can recall," Moon Lily Cookie answered.

"Oh of course you wouldn't recognize me. After all, I have been sealed away in the Dark Side of the Moon for so long. BUT, I do recognize you, even though I saw a quick glimpse of your face! I recognize you as the Cookie who freed me from the Dark Side of the Moon, and for that, I can't thank you enough!"

Moon Lily Cookie, Croissant Cookie, and String Gummy Cookie gasped in shock.

[ticktockbuster]

GLASS JOE HEADCANNONS!!!

Let me explain before anyone thinks this is racist. Because we don't want that here, no!

In this little world, we have the WVBA, an association where you have to fight against stereotypical boxers from around the world. Before, these boxers were separated into three groups, the Minor Circuit, the Major Circuit, and the World Circuit, pretty much all of that changed after the new Italian-American boxer became the world's boxing champion, which encouraged the others to rise to the top just a little in order to prove themselves, while the rest just settled in to train and/or waited themselves to get their revenge. Now, all of our iconic boxers are in the World Circuit and are still living it up to it after Little Mac's retirement.

Everyone knows how each boxer is. All of them are all based on their stereotypical nationality (minus Mr. Sandman, even though the wiki has stereotypes of himself, is just not enough to be cartoony… except for the fact he destroyed a building with his bare hands. Like cheese and rice, dude chill). After reading the wiki, I thought of the idea that instead of the boxers being stereotypical, why not the background characters? I'm just adding that since I think it would make things more interesting and funny since I'm basing this on cartoon logic.

Glass Joe.

So let's start here. The first fighter we meet is a guy named Glass Joe, a french boxer straight from the city of Paris

The French don't like fighting.

For Glass Joe, it seems like he doesn't mind boxing. I think what it is implying here is that the French do not like hurting anyone or have a grudge against anybody. This mostly involves outside of the ring. If some random guy wanted to pick a fight with him for no absolute reason, he'd probably decline and try to settle things like a mature adult (if he's brave enough). And boxing? It's different, since you're not punching to cause harm to anyone, you're fighting because it's a part of the sport, and as long as his opponent is playing by the sport and doesn't mind getting damaged then he can carry on with the match.

The French love their own cuisine to an extreme level, often eating baguettes and croissants, and drinking coffee several times a day.

The French frequently visit the Eiffel Tower and Arc De Triomphe.

As the introduction slides go by, we see Glass Joe with a cup of coffee and baguettes along with the two famous landmarks of Paris behind him. He's proud of his nationality. Heck, his defeat ended with croissants and baguettes flying all over the ring. What's not more French about that.

The French are not skilled in what they do, but enjoy doing it anyway.

To make a point, he does seem to be well maintained at what he does despite him having about 100 losses. That 1 win in his boxing records is probably the one thing that gave him the determination to continue on.

(Fun Fact : Glass Joe's defeated Nick Bruiser. By accident. Like how the-).

The French are usually seen as cowardly and very weak.

Maybe he is. It all depends.

If he were in a bad situation, he would either stay quiet or be scared, but if it was really frightening, then he would panic, ALOT. (Sort of like shaggy from Scooby-Doo). But that doesn't mean he would hide in his house all day. his an independent man and goes out for important things to complete, also has appointments with his doctor to keep track of his health and if he's in a good mood, he will go to a nearby café and order his favorite. You guessed it, coffee and fresh French bread.

Glass Joe seems to be the guy who is clumsy at times but is also very cautious with his surroundings. He can also sometimes be critical to others. In Contender mode, the TV shows information about Little Mac and Glass Joe. You can see how he looks at Mac with some judgment in his eyes. He's probably thinking that boxing a teenager has to be absurd, but then again, we have magic and horseshoes and an islander with no proper information about himself whatsoever, and -

More surprisingly, he acts confident around Little Mac probably because he feels comfortable with him as his opponent. In Title Defense mode, he comes back with a more assertive attitude pretty much because of the helmet he was given. Little poised Frenchman. I would also like to add that when he gets angry, it wouldn't be all too intimidating, though it is enough to make you chuckle. Similar to how you'd Mickey Mouse angry. I'm pretty sure it sums it up. He would have enough courage to correct someone, but if it's to the wrong person, he will immediately regret it afterward, especially if the person appears to be stronger than him. The time he fears somebody is the way they present themselves, and if that person has all the red flags, then he's sure not getting near them. You can't be too sure people are friendly nowadays, and he makes sure to observe carefully. He observes people by their actions and their appearances whether they look tall and intimidating or are aggressive and violent or if they're just straight up spooky and just stare at you with empty eyes, he'll try to avoid them as much as he can, though he doesn't always succeeds as he keeps finding himself stuck in the place, and that would always result with him getting into a bit if a pickle, in other words, getting into the most chaotic of situations you could ever imagination. He feels safer back in his country, and being in America might not have been easy for him. Though he managed, he gathered up the courage to forge on, and he's determined to make his one dream come true and become the world's boxing champion!... somehow.

[im2tired4usernames]

@oceanlaceagate

Well ok you asked for explaining so I'm so sorry about the rant that's bound to happen I have beef with this woman like many many MANY homeschool co-op mothers I would like to meet her IN THE PIT

uh I guess trigger warning possibly would be like food diets and possibly eating disorders I'm not sure but I would rather be safe then accidentally harm you friend?

my mother was a crunchy homeschool nutter and her entire social group was crazy homeschool mom cultists.They were all obsessed with clean godly eating and losing weight they constantly kept repeating that they needed to treat their bodies like temples and it really wasn't healthy or good for so many reasons.

well one of the women in that group for as long as i can remember (I've know this lady since I was a lil kid) she believes it's impossible for European women to get fat because of *spins the wheel*

She just has some fucked up made up facts about Europe in general like WARNING SHE'S ACTUALLY ON PURPOSE STUPID

like she has for as long as I can remember believed with E V E R Y FIBER in her body (i have argued so much with her she will not budge in her world this is fact) no one once they hit preteens in france eats bread.

France home of the croissant, baguette and many other carbs bready bakery wonders...

Yeah no one there eats bread that is why French women are so thin and healthy they don't eat bread or any kind of sweets! (She and my mom then tried to make me do that for a bit they were always "suggesting" diets on me it sucked in expecting the thm diet and the melted butter+coffee+ apple cider vinegar diet to have fucked up my body somehow)

Apartly in her world no one in Ireland uses any kind of fat when I asked her to explain wtf that meant she said no one in Ireland uses oil or butter which like..

No that makes no sense where did she even come up with that?!I

Once I took a picture of like some fancy imported butter from Ireland at the store to show her and she and the other moms all straight up walked away and would not look at it. They would not talk to me kept actually doin the "talk to the hand" thing and covering their ears and telling me I'm wrong and stupid and to shut up they will not look at the evidence.

This woman is in her late forties to early fifties she has convinced half the homeschool mother cult that no one in France eats bread with no evidence other then she said so!!!!!

They honest to God believe it also!!!!

Recently she was trying to tell me that no one in the UK eats chicken that it's "looked down on as a disgusting poor man's food" she just went on n on on this long crazy rant that made no sense at all but she acted like she was very intelligent and cultured for knowing this.

My best friend and wife is from the UK and frankly i quickly asked them and they were able to point out this lady is just batshit insane.

Like my wife mentioned there's Nandos everywhere in the UK and that serves chicken mainly I have no clue where she's getting her info or ideas.

She got super angry amd defensive and has gone off saying she has two sources "two very reliable very real and very British people who totally aren't made up there her real Facebook friends that told her yup no one in the uk eats chicken only the USA makes fried chicken poor England is missing out on chicken because they're a bunch of snobs who think it's poor people food" so that's what she believes despite a lot of common sense and evidence to prove otherwise but "how dare I question an elder?!'

I really can't explain it like there's no logic or facts in it I myself don't understand it? I have gotten into many fights with this women.

So many fight

so so so many fights

Stupid amounts of fights

not just over this but like over everything under the sun I swear this woman is living a different reality then everyone else.

she just makes stuff up on a fly and then somehow convinces herself and like a dozen other women in they're 40s-50s that everyone in Europe is significantly skinner because they just happen to not eat the food that one lady dislikes...

like I can't really explain more then that this woman has no evidence, refuses to listen to evidence and has the firmest faith in stupidity I've ever seen it's truly kinda terrifying i wish i had her self confidence but also just wow....

I don't think that she's normal I think a lot of American children do actually learn about other countries? I learned about other countries when I was really young my mom would focus on one a month and then I'd have to do a lil presentation at the end of the month in front of my grandad and we'd cook a meal with some traditional foods from there if possible I had a lot of fun learning recipes from all over the world and we'd get a monthly cd with music from all over the world it was so cool! one of my favorite games when I was little with my grandad was he'd spin the globe point at random n then i had to say thw county, the capital, a famous food item from there and one history fact is famous person if I knew one and it was SO MUCH FUN!!!

maybe it's a new homeschool thing or a church thing or maybe this lady is just straight up purposely stupid I'm not sure? I have no fuckin clue this woman is insane I avoid her every chance I can.