#NOT SEVERE ENOUGH TO BE PRUNED

[delicatefury]

Look. I have literally no horse in this race when it comes to the WGA/SAG Hollywood strike. I do not watch enough TV or movies to be affected and I’m not a part of the industry. I really haven’t cared.

As a lawyer and orchardist, however, I am now utterly entranced by the fact that some Universal Studios exec thought it was a good idea to cut down city-owned trees in the middle of summer.

There is no way to get around the absolute clusterfuck they have brought down upon themselves.

First, the ownership question. These trees are not owned by Universal. They’re the City of Los Angeles’ trees. That means the responsibility, and the right, to maintain them belongs to the city government. If you want to touch city property like that, you better have their permission. If not, you’re looking at anything from fines, to replacement/maintenance costs, to jail time.

Now, I don’t know LA, and I’m not licensed in California, but a lot of cities also require permits for any massive trimming like that that can affect public property (like the roads and sidewalks).

Second, they have zero excuses that can even remotely minimize the trouble they’re in. Anything that justifies that kind of pruning at this time of year would have likely required the full removal and destruction of the trees.

Because that level of pruning? You don’t do that in summer. You absolutely do not do that in summer unless the trees are dying or infested with something. Why? Because summer is healthy growth time. Summer is when your trees need all the energy they can get so they can grow and strengthen their branches and roots.

It’s also when they’re susceptible to diseases. Various bacteria, fungi, and insects strike during the summer and can cause severe damage. By trimming those trees so severely, not only are there a ton of gapping wounds for diseases to enter the tree, they’re now stressed by trying to replace that lost growth, which makes it even harder for them to survive any further damage.

Basically, Universal Studios might end up accidentally killing the trees. Which will make everything so much worse.

So, yeah. Now I’m invested.

#fury’s a lawyer #wga strike #sag strike #universal studios #tree law #it’s like watching a train crash real time #I don’t even practice tree law #but I know it’s reputation is well earned

[percheduphere]

I wanted to find and gather some lesser appreciated Mobius moments from S1, and some thoughts occurred to me.

When we see Mobius drill into Loki about his choices, his thought patterns, whether or not he enjoys hurting people, Mobius comes down on Loki HARD, cruelly, goading, and manipulating (Sound familiar? Just wait...). He does so in a way that's confident he will get the answers he expects from Loki, which he does.

When we cut to the scenes with Renslayer, Mobius's truer, gentler side appears. The side that is kind and soft and believes in second chances. Notice, also, the difference in lighting between these scenes.

And then it hit me:

Mobius was using a carefully constructed persona--an illusion--with Loki to control the situation and get Loki into the headspace of self-reflection. He uses the very same technique Loki uses regularly to get the outcome that is beneficial for both of them.

Genius, really.

As we move into S1E2 and E3, the power dynamics are decidedly uneven, but once they are out in the field, Mobius's actual power and control over Loki is quite limited and actually banks on a LOT of faith. A ridiculous amount of faith, to be honest. Despite logical misgivings, Mobius makes a POINT of giving Loki freedom and trust because he has analyzed Loki enough to know that lack of trust perpetuates a destructive self-fulfilling prophecy.

So when Loki chooses to escape with Sylvie, all those centuries of belief and good will Mobius invested in him were thrown in his face. He's understandably furious, but the interrogation scene after both Lokis are captured simply does not read as normal without the additional lens of jealousy. If Mobius were not emotionally compromised in some way, he would have handled the interrogation clinically, and he would have sent Loki to be pruned without a thought.

Mobius doesn't do either of those things. Rather than asking Loki objective questions, he focuses on Loki's attention on Sylvie and verbally twists the knife where he can. His punishment for Loki after the interrogation is shockingly personal:

A word about the Sif loop scene: I really, REALLY hated that Mobius did that. It honestly made my gut churn. I think the writers tried to play it off for laughs because Loki gets kicked in the balls repeatedly, but the emotional undercurrent of Sif's words and everything that it means is just awful.

That said, I understand that this scene reveals not only Loki's vulnerability but ALSO Mobius's. This is a "passionate diagreement" through proxy. Mobius knows what would hurt Loki the most psychologically. But why would Mobius choose to hurt him this severely with these specific words?

Remember, this might be a memory, but Mobius is choosing to speak his feelings to Loki through Sif.

I think the answer is 4-pronged: First, Mobius put his career, reputation, and friendship with Ravonna on the line for Loki. The stress of the potential repercussions (which were HIGH) should Loki betray him was a constant heat on his neck. Despite this, Mobius chooses the riskier route of believing Loki would not betray his trust. And yes, within the context of what Mobius has done to advocate for Loki and what's at stake for Mobius should he fail, Loki absolutely betrays him.

Second, Loki told Mobius everything he believed about the TVA and his place in the multiverse is a lie. When was the last time Mobius reacted so violently?

When Brad called him a "nowhere man".

Mind, there is guilt beneath this anger. Not only has everything Mobius believed in been revealed as a lie, it is revealed he was complicit in the genocide of multiple timelines for which there was never any ultimate good. YIKES. That's a lot to take in, and Mobius at his core is a deeply empathetic person. The guilt of this horror, at his hands, is probably why Mobius does not defend himself when Sylvie tears him a new one in S2E4.

Three, I think Mobius may have wished for a friendship with Loki long before his intervention. I've written elsewhere that his intervention appears to be premeditated. Mobius was only waiting for his chance to come along. Who knows how many centuries that took. I believe he may have rationalized away his emotional attachment as a means to help the TVA succeed. Mobius is adept at suppressing not only his emotions but his wants.

Four, by S1E3, Mobius came to love Loki to some degree, platonic or otherwise. I think it's very difficult to not develop love for someone or something you've been tasked to be an expert on. Having Loki actually beside him, engaging with him over lunch and work, no doubt added some much needed color in Mobius's life. It's hard not to become infatuated with someone fun and exciting.

The jealous rage that overwhelms Mobius doesn't last long. When it comes down to it, Mobius can't help but believe in Loki. Doubt in the TVA takes root once his immediate anger dissipates. So Mobius steals Ravonna's TemPad, verifies Loki's claims, and immediately self-corrects. Mobius could have dug his heels in with more denial, but he doesn't. Why? Because Mobius ultimately cares more about Loki than himself.

When Mobius returns to Loki, he asks a few other questions that I can't share images for because of the 10-image limit. Those other questions include but are not limited to:

Do you care about Sylvie?

Do you really believe you deserve to be alone?

I should point out these questions are not at all tied to the well-being of the TVA or the multiverse. They are specifically tied to Loki's well-being. Loki's happinness.

Why does Mobius ask these questions? Because, in my opinion, Mobius was preparing himself to let Loki go, be with who he wants to be with (Sylvie), and fight the battle he wants to fight. Mobius will not be the obstruction to Loki's path to personal success even if that means letting go of the TVA, letting go of Ravonna, letting go of Loki himself.

All of this is a selfless act of love. What kind of love that is is up to the viewer, but it is very much there. It's real and integral to the story.

Classic Loki points out that this is a high cost. In response, Mobius takes the crux of his belief in Loki and directs it to himself.

The beauty of the goodbye scene in S1S6 is that the emotional thrust of selfless love is echoed and amplified in Loki's own self-sacrifice in S2E6. Loki lets go of the TVA, lets go of Sylvie, lets go of Mobius himself. Ouroboros.

#loki #mobius #lokius #loki season 2 #loki series #loki spoilers #loki meta #my meta #loki season 1

[ghouljams]

can we hear from konig and fetch? I love her powers and how konig actually READS the manual first unlike ghost boy smh

mwah much love

Of course! I love them, they're so silly(I say as I'm about to write Blacksite prison shit)

You perch, nice and pretty on the edge of the table, watching the man in front of you sweat. König is looking over a tray of surgical instruments. He rubs his chin through his hood, picks up a corkscrew and sets it down. You swing your feet while you wait, at least the man you're interrogating is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. It's no fun if they get started begging too early.

"Schöne, where are the curved scissors? The snippy ones, not the wiggly ones," König asks you. You summon a pair of pruning shears and hold them out to him. The metal blades are just starting to rust from the poorly cleaned off blood. König looks at them and you can see his eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles under his hood. "Thank you, those will do nicely."

His gloved hand takes the shears gently from your outstretched palm. The subject of your stalled interrogation thrashes against the ropes binding him to the chair. "What the fuck did she just do?" He asks, eyes wide on you. You flash him a smile with all your teeth, let's your horns burn into visibility, just to hear his panicked heartbeat.

"Go on and show off," König hums, watching you, "it might make this faster." You push yourself off the edge of the table and lean close to your victim.

"Don't worry," you tell him, pressing your fingers over his heart, "this won't hurt, but you'll remember it the rest of your life."

You push your fingers in, feeling the skin and cloth give way to your insistent push, ribs bend out of your path, and you feel the rapid inhalation in the man's lungs as your fingers brush past the organ. You wrap your hand around his heart and extract it, careful not to sever anything important when you rip the still beating organ from his chest. The heart drips blood onto the man's lap as you hold it in front of him, it squeezes and pumps, continuing its thankless work even outside the body. It picks up pace, anxiety and fear spiking it into a rapid race of desperation as the man stares down his own life.

"You should really take better care of this thing," You turn the heart over in your hand, examining the stress markers on it.

"That's my-"

"I think I'm going to start with the fingers," König tells you, cutting the man off.

"What?" The man transfers his panicked stare to König as he grabs his hand, holding the shears open around his pointer finger.

"Keep monitoring his vitals, I want to see how many I can get off before he starts talking." König holds his hand still with an iron grip as the man thrashes and struggles to free himself. The blades of the sheers hardly touch the man's skin before he's begging.

König dots his pencil against a small notebook, large hands dwarfing the writing instrument, his gloves resting on the blood stained table between you. Your victims heart is still beating in your hand, though the body is slumped in the chair. As far as you can tell the intel supplied is good, and though it's a bit of a stretch to say you can "fetch" the truth out of people, you pride yourself on being able to get the information you need.

"Good work Colonel," you purr. He looks at you with heat in his eyes, you know he likes when you call him that. Now isn't the time or place and you both know it, but teasing him now means more fun later.

"Have your snack Schatz," König says, going back to his notes. He flips a page back and forth with his fingers as you tip your head back and drop the heart into your waiting mouth. You're careful to bite through the muscle, sharp teeth slicing clean through your victims last lifeline. You swallow both halves to keep the blood from squinting everywhere as the corpse in the chair spasms with its last dredges of life.

König shuts his notebook and goes to bang on the metal door three times. You're quick to jump in his shadows as the latch clicks and the gears start turning to let you both out.

"I don't know man, it's just weird that's all," one of the cleanup crew grumbles. You cling to König's back, his hand reaches back to brush up your thigh, dragging against unseen flesh.

"Just do your job," the other advises, "Don't think too much about it, I mean, you've heard the rumors right?" You smile, press your lips to König's hood over his ear.

"They're talking about you," you whisper. Their eyes follow him as he walks past, their footsteps avoid his shadow.

"They're talking about you, Miene Liebe," König mumbles, turning his head to make sure its only you the hears him, "they're always talking about you."

#cod x reader #fetch just unhinges her jaw like a snake lol #könig x reader #könig x oc #könig fanfiction #könig cod #könig call of duty #x reader #x oc #oc: fetch #demon!darlings au #tw gore #tw torture #i love how clingy Fetch is #shes so playful and fun and absolutely insane #they are in fact always talking about König having a demon #hes not hiding it but hes not not hiding it yknow

[oftidheard]

hi ml! can i request a mentor reader x coriolanus snow where they’ve both always been so close as friends until the tributes were assigned and reader starts distancing herself from him? the rest is up to you, just something on the lines of that! thank you; love your writings.

ty!! it makes me so happy to see people enjoying my writing ♡ reader is coral's mentor, and distanced from coryo because they didn't see a benefit in allying with him/lucy gray! this can be read as romantic, but reader only refers to coryo as a friend

❄ watch the stars when they fall ㅤ⠀coriolanus snow x reader ㅤ⠀↳ 1.3k ↳ angst ↳ gender neutral

the courtyard encircled by expensive penthouses used to be populated no matter the time of day. you have photos from before the war, when you were barely starting to walk and your parents had sat you next to an equally chubby little coriolanus snow on one of the pristine marble benches. you're told you'd cry whenever your friend had to leave.

you remember a fleeting memory of the greenery that used to grow boldly in neat planters and flowers lining footpaths. all else you can pull out of the mirky memory is the sun glaring in your eyes, and the smell of fresh roses.

now, after the war, the garden is a mimicry of its old beauty, flowers no longer meticulously planted nor the plants kept pruned as neatly as they once had been. you can tell which families are struggling through whether weeds have started climbing up the walls of their buildings, or if they have the money to pay a groundskeeper to keep the vines at bay.

no one rather enjoys coming out here anymore either; you don't remember the last time you caught a couple of kids making out behind the benches or a family having a picnic by the fountain. nowadays, it's just you, coriolanus, and the moon.

but you suppose some things never change, such as the distant but always present smell of roses, and coriolanus himself remaining a pillar in your life.

the thought strengthens the stiff line of your lips, and the breeze feels just a little bit colder. maybe the only thing you have left is the scent of roses.

coriolanus sits beside you on the edge of the fountain, where the two of you have always met late at night ever since you could form a sentence. you used to sit with your sides glued together, where you could feel the other's clothes scraping against your skin at the slightest shuffle, where you could be close and not have to explain it to anyone — not even yourselves.

now, if you were to stretch your hand out to him you wouldn't be able to even graze his knee. he's still wearing his academy uniform, the bright red less jarring now that the sun is down, and he sits as though the cold doesn't bother him — you think you know better than to believe that.

you're wearing several warm layers — as you'd been getting dressed you'd been torn between visiting your tribute one last time before the games, or just taking a walk to clear your mind — complete with blue gloves and a scarf that was gifted to you.

you're certain coriolanus must be freezing; the cold wind biting at his skin and seeping into the gaps between his clothes. it's a wonder his teeth aren't chattering and his skin isn't turning blue.

once upon a time, you would've closed the gap between the two of you and curled into his side. you would have wrapped an arm around him, tucked your head into his shoulder and offered him your gloves — and he'd grumble but accept the offer if you insisted enough, but he'd still hold your hands in his to make it fair.

now, your hands rest neatly in your lap, as do coriolanus's. yours are perfectly warm and still, unbothered. his unconsciously fiddle and fidget, no matter how far ahead he blankly stares, he is still sat here with a deep unease writhing inside him.

you don't truly know why he's here — well, you do, in the sense of being well aware of the rift between the two of you — but you're left confused in the way that your growing distance from him has been so natural, your smooth departure from his life has changed nothing for him; or so you thought.

maybe, he's realised why you've stopped visiting the zoo with him and no longer suggest working together. maybe he's here to convince you that his lucy gray wouldn't weigh your tribute — coral — down like you're certain she would; maybe he's here for purely professional endeavours.

but then arises the circumstances. it can't be far off from midnight, and coriolanus had admitted to you once — half asleep, he'd later claimed he was just delirious — that this was a sort of safe place for him, held in your arms and shrouded by familiarity. either he's breaking your unspoken rule of not ruining this pocket of the world with undesirable discussions — or hoping the comfort of this space may ease you into hearing him out.

or, though the thought feels implausible, he may simply miss you.

in the past, you would have claimed you'd miss him too if he had done what you'd done — withdrawn from even the politest of conversations in favour of one's own gain, all because of an entirely separate person you're connected to — but now that it's happened, you find your life is no more empty and no less sorrowful without your lifelong best friend's present.

you wonder if it's some sort of spell of his, the same one that fools everyone else into thinking he's a statue of rich strength and indifference, while hiding all that resides beneath layers of ice. maybe he can't trust you to care for him now you've voluntarily left, so he must ensure you regard him as warmly as you would a stranger passing on the street — lest emotions sprout.

though as you wonder, you don't try to conceal your glance to the boy across the chipped stone. and when his eyes — a picture of a conflict beneath his surface — meet yours, it's almost as if there is still a doorway that, though it is slowly closing, still remains ajar just for you.

coriolanus watches you, and you're not sure whether you regret it, or whether it needed to be done, when you offer him a polite — almost pitiful — smile, and the door slams shut.

his gaze that only seems to grow colder remains on you, and you finally let out a sigh.

"are you going to say anything?"

his eyes bore into yours noiselessly still. if you hadn't already decided your friendship was beyond salvaging, you may have found yourself reading his body language and understanding the stiff look in his eyes.

but it's no longer your place to try to understand coriolanus snow, so you grant him his time to silently brood as much as he pleases. that, however, does not mean you still hold the patience to sit here and wait for him to even speak a single word — that, he is going to have to learn to do on his own.

so you push yourself up from the cold stone, and for a moment you let the wind graze past your skin, eyes closed and breaths even.

you open your eyes once more to watch the prettier weeds that almost look like flowers rustle in the breeze, "we could still be friends," you say. it's not an offer — you're not going to pursue this friendship if coriolanus won't too — but rather an opening; you're leaving the door unlocked, letting him know that if he reached out, you wouldn't slam it in his face.

you wonder if he gets that same message — he knows you well enough to read you like a book, but something ingrained deeper into everything he does is constantly searching for people pitying him, and preparing himself to deny him.

perhaps that's answer enough for whether this is all over or not, that he might jump to the assumption that you intend to belittle him rather than something kinder that you've proved you held for him time and time again.

he stands up too, and you meet his eyes once more.

"goodbye," his voice emotionless and eyebrows no longer drawn in almost imperceptibly, leaving a face you know no longer trusts you.

you nod, "goodbye."

the last you hear from him is his feet against the gravel at the same moment you too turn away. then, silence; it's as if coriolanus snow were never in your life to begin with.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #thg x reader #❤︎ — the mockingjay sings

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Detour 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You leave the table almost as soon as you clear your plate. A single course is well enough to tide you over. After the day you’ve had, your fatigue is more pressing than your hunger.

You retreat up to your assigned suite and check to be sure the door is locked. You sigh as you pull sleeping clothes from your suitcase and take them into the bathroom. If you must be here, you will get what little benefit can be found.

You pour yourself another glass of wine and set it on the corner of the tub as it fills with steamy water. You ease yourself and soak in the rising depths, muscles coaxed free of tension. You shut off the faucet and recline, closing your eyes as you bask in the heat. You move only to sip from your glass, draining it as the water cools.

You get out, pruned and suitably drowsy. You pull on the satin shorts and matching camisole and slip into the fluffy linens on the bed. You moan as you sink beneath the down and the hazy night closes in on you, head foggy with the aid of wine. Just one night and you’ll be rid of this forsaken village.

Your sleep is uninterrupted as the alcohol seeps from your veins. You wake, with the shadow of a headache and a gurgle in your stomach. You get up to pluck a bottle of water from the small fridge and scroll through your phone. You have no signal.

You set up the single brew machine for a coffee and as you wait for your fare, you use the room phone to dial the mechanics number. It takes several attempts to get an answer. You are already agitated and painfully more awake by the minutes.

You give your name before you begin, “I’m calling to check on my car.”

“Ah, yes, hm,” he replies buoyantly, “miss, it is bad news–”

“Bad news? Can’t you just patch it so I can drive to the next city? Please, I’m certain they will have the part there–”

“Can’t be patched,” he says plainly, “you wouldn’t make it up the first hill.”

“Well, then, why don’t you drive into the city and retrieve the part I need? That sounds like a solution. I’ll pay for your gas–”

“Miss, I’ve called to all the shops in the county, they don’t have the right axel. It’s being shipped–”

“Shipped?!” The exclamation reverberates in your skull, “shipped? How long will that take?”

“Er, best case, two to three days, worst, a week–”

“A week? That’s the last of my vacation,” you cry, “it isn’t fair! It simply must be fixed–”

“I’m sorry, miss, it’s bad luck,” he drawls.

“Bad luck? Bad luck!?” Before you can explode, you stop yourself and slam the phone down. You do so several times before letting the receiver rest in the cradle. Blast this place!

You forget the coffee waiting for you and tear open your suitcase. You furiously go through your entire routine; makeup, clothes, hair. You might be stuck in this backwoods but you won’t let it rub off on you. You slip into a pair of heels and storm out with the room card clutched in your fist.

You nearly tumble down the staircase and grab onto the banister to keep yourself upright. You stomp, with echoing clicks, across the lobby to the front desk. You cross your arms against the edge as… Dana? Smiles back at you.

“I must speak with your manager.”

“My manager?” She tilts her head, “I… you mean Thor?”

“Whoever is in charge, I don’t care,” you insist, “it is urgent.”

“Um, sure, I’ll just radio him,” she chirps. You turn away before your agitation gets the best of you. Her chipper demeanour, her curved lips, you could claw her damn dumb eyes out. You hear a crackles as she speaks into a hand radio, “Thor, when you have a moment, can you pop up to the front?”

There’s a pause before she gets a response, “certainly, sweetheart, you got something special for me?”

She giggles and the radio beeps again, “Thor, it’s a guest issue.”

You shake your head and pace around the airy space. You wouldn’t call it hideous. It’s antiquated but refined. The plinthed vases, the statues better suited to a romanticist aesthetic, and the intermingled runic markings clash yet not egregiously so.

“Ah, I knew it would be you, lady,” Thor boisterously bounces in from behind the staircase, “have you a chance to try our continental?”

“I am not here to talk about burnt bacon,” you chide as you face him. He approaches, stopping a bit too close for comfort.

“Alright, your wish is my command, what is it now?” He crosses his arms and you mirror him, raising your chin defiantly.

“You are going to drive me to the city. Now.”

“Me?” He scoffs, “and why would I do that?”

“I have money. I will pay for your gas and even a gratuity for your time. I’m certain you haven’t anything too important calling for you here–”

“Can’t,” he rejects you simply.

“Can’t?” You repeat, “you must.”

“I run a hotel, I’m not a valet,” he shrugs and drops his arms.

“You–” you stop your true thoughts from spilling out, “Why not?”

“Well,” he raises a thick finger, “I do have obligations here.”

“Oh, sure, you must,” you peer around at the empty lobby.

“A party. It’s my birthday,” he announces proudly, “so I can’t just up and drive to the city. I have things to do. But, since you’re stuck here, you’re welcome to attend–”

“A party? Aren’t you a bit old?”

“Never too old for fun,” he counters, “let your hair down, there’ll be lots of wine… and me.”

“I’d rather drown myself,” you hiss.

He booms with laughter and claps his hands, “oh, you are… delightful. Now, as much as I enjoy our banter, I do have a long list to get through. As it is, invitation stands. We could even make a game of, see who might dislodge the iron rod from your ass.”

Your hand flies out before you can think. You very nearly miss for how tall he is but your palm strikes his cheek hotly, the strike tingly in your palm as you rescind your arm. You stomp your heel down and snarl.

“How dare you, sir!”

He blinks and slowly brings his fingertips to his pinkened cheek. His brows lower and his blue eyes glow, the smile falling from his lips.

“You don’t speak to a lady like that,” you snip.

“If I see a lady, I’ll try to remember,” he retorts.

You scoff, several times. Your nostrils flare as you jut out your chin, “you are a beast.”

His face creases again as his grin slowly blooms. He winks, “oh, I certainly can be,” he growls.

You shake your head and twist on your heel, strutting away as you ball up your hands. You cannot believe him. Absolutely abhorrent.

“If you didn’t want me to notice your ass,” he calls after you, “you wouldn’t wag it around like a bitch in heat.”

You gasp as you stop at the bottom of the staircase. You glare back at him as he chuckles. You’re speechless. You’ve never been spoken to so grossly.

“Charming,” you sneer and turn yourself straight.

You don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t be stranded in this bodunk hole. You should be in the city, at the museum, at brunch! You surely shouldn’t be accosted by this animal who calls himself a man.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #drabble #au #backwoods au #series #the detour #avengers #mcu #marvel

[inairbinad]

sweet enough on the vine

🌸 affectionately known as Steve the Botanist 🌸 Steddie | Rated T | 6k | cw: language, making out, and some grinding Read on AO3

Eddie was running late.

That was nothing new, strictly speaking, but after last year’s traffic debacle he swore he’d never be late to his standing dinner date for Chrissy’s birthday again.

And yet there he was, scrambling to find somewhere to buy her a present on the way from his apartment to their favorite restaurant. Eddie was already cutting it close, but if he managed to actually land on something to get her in the next three minutes he was pretty sure he’d be fine.

He’d dodge that same smug and mildly amused Chrissy face this year. There would be no groveling. Eddie was gonna make it.

Stopped at a red light, Eddie’s eyes started drifting. They landed on a vibrant little florist’s shop that sat right up against the edge of the park—the same one that Eddie always looked at fondly from the gay bar across the street without ever actually going inside.

Weathertop Nursery and Florist, the sign out front read, and Eddie wondered if that was meant to be a Tolkien reference.

“Motherfucking duh,” Eddie laughed at himself before pulling over to park.

Was a bouquet of flowers the most original thing he could get Chrissy for her birthday? Not exactly, but there was no denying that Chrissy loved flowers. At the very least Eddie could bide his time with them and buy her dinner, then surprise her with something more thoughtful later.

It wasn’t like Chrissy didn’t know Eddie was forgetful, but she also knew he cared a whole lot, regardless of if his gift-giving skills were lacking. And this time he wasn’t going to be late, so he took a little bit of pride in surpassing expectations as he made his way inside the shop.

It was even more charming than he always expected it to be.

The walls were painted an earthy green color that instantly managed to soothe some of Eddie’s manic energy. Plants and flowers populated every shelf and surface, their happy and well-cared for petals and leaves seeming to greet him as he walked in. There were enough windows and natural light that Eddie almost felt like he was still outside, except for the fact that it was wonderfully cool inside.

There was a big greenhouse connected through a door on the left hand side of the shop and a garden out back, which the sloped windows behind the counter overlooked like a dream. A few people were milling around in both, enjoying the extended daylight now that the first day of summer was so near.

Eddie wished he weren’t in such a rush to get in and out. He thought he might’ve liked to linger in this place for a while and let its cheer sink into his bones. Even more so he wished he was at all good with plants so he’d have an actual reason to be there. Eddie wondered if maybe he could learn as he made his way towards the counter for help.

The guy working had his back turned, the broad slope of his shoulders hunched over what looked like a potting bench. Based on the steady sound of clipping, the man must have been pruning the stems of the pile of pink roses he had sitting beside his right elbow.

Eddie impatiently drummed his fingers against the countertop beside the register, hoping to make this a quick one and done stop. Even in a hurry, he couldn’t help but notice that he liked watching the way the man’s muscles moved beneath his t-shirt even more than he liked the whole vibe of this place.

“Excuse me,” Eddie piped up, probably a little too impatiently. He heard one final snip, and the man finally turned around.

Whatever nerves Eddie had to get out of the shop as quickly as possible died on the spot.

The man that stood before him was an absolute dream—tall, tan, with a full head of chestnut hair that Eddie immediately wanted to run his hands through.

He was pretty sure his jaw dropped, especially when he noticed the guy was wearing a black graphic tee with several plants printed across the chest, each of their pots a different color to make up the rainbow. Almost like it was for Pride.

The way the shirt was probably a size too small didn’t hurt matters, either.

So this guy was dorky, hot, and potentially queer? Eddie wondered if he fell down in his haste to get inside and smacked his head on the pavement. He had to be hallucinating, or at the very least getting ahead of himself. It was June, after all. The dude could just be trying to be supportive.

“Can I help you?” he asked, a friendly smile playing at his lips—which looked perfectly kissable, just to add to Eddie’s distress.

Eddie snapped his jaw shut, trying not to overheat when the other man looked him up and down.

Act normal, dipshit, Eddie told himself as he sucked in a deep breath that smelled like some kind of floral paradise. You’ve talked to pretty people without dying before.

Maybe none so pretty as this guy, admittedly, but Eddie thought he could try. For Chrissy’s sake. Remembering the reason he came in here at all snapped him back to reality a bit.

“I need a birthday gift for a girl who will roast the shit out of me if I show up to take her out to dinner empty handed,” Eddie said, feeling a tad frantic about having waited this long to get Chrissy something.

“I think we can manage to avoid getting you roasted,” the absolutely fucking delectable man who worked there said with a low laugh. He leaned on his elbows on the counter and looked up at Eddie through his lashes, and Eddie nearly swooned. “Are we talking a gift for a girlfriend, sister, friend, or…?”

“Just friend,” Eddie said, then realized how ridiculous it sounded to call Chrissy just anything, and course-corrected. “Best friend, actually. Why? Do you have certain flowers that mean certain things?”

Really, Eddie hoped this guy was just fishing for information about if he might be single.

“I mean, sure,” the man shrugged. Eddie wished he was wearing a name tag. He wanted to feel this beautiful creature’s name rolling around on his tongue. “I’m a firm believer in buying people flowers based on what they like, or what you do, but I can ramble on about symbolism if you want.”

“I’d probably listen to you talk about just about anything,” Eddie admitted freely as he leaned his hip against the countertop. Stopping to flirt would make him late, but Chrissy would get it. He hoped she would get it, anyway, because the smile he got in return made Eddie weak in the knees. “But I know next to nothing about flowers.”

“Seems like a perfect match, then,” the man said with an easy smile. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

And oh, Eddie was definitely done for. He’d be lucky if someone came along to scoop him up off the floor from the puddle he was surely turning into in time to make it to dinner.

“Eddie,” he replied, somehow managing to sound the slightest bit normal. His face had the muscle memory to remember how to flirt, it seemed, because it flashed Steve a dimply grin of its own accord.

“Well, Eddie,” Steve said, still smiling as he made his way around the counter. “How about I show you some cut flowers to start?”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Eddie said, instantly fascinated by the way Steve ducked his head in reaction to the pet name. Eddie didn’t bother to hide the way he tilted his head to admire how nicely Steve’s jeans hugged his ass as he walked them down an aisle overflowing with colorful plants, either.

“Do you know what your friend likes?” Steve asked as he pulled up and idled near a refrigerator full of already cut flowers.

“In movies? Or women? Yes. In flowers? Not so much,” Eddie shrugged easily. Steve barked out a happy little laugh

“I can relate.” Steve barked out a happy little laugh, then turned to point at a container full of flowers Eddie couldn’t identify if he tried. “What’s her favorite color, then?”

“Pink and green,” Eddie said, almost rote in his recitation. Chrissy’s favorite colors hadn’t changed since they were fifteen.

���Perfect,” Steve muttered under his breath. He turned towards the left hand side of the fridge and plucked out a pretty, soft pink flower with a bright, verdant stem and leaves. To Eddie’s untrained eye, at least, he thought it kind of looked like a rose. “Peonies—my best friend’s favorites. And she has great taste in plants and women. Usually.”

Steve offered out the peony, and Eddie stepped closer to examine it. He felt Steve’s eyes on his face as he delicately reached out to brush his fingertips against the velvety edge of a petal. Each petal curled along the edge, folding in on each other in what looked like an endless cascade of feathery clouds towards the center.

They reminded Eddie of Chrissy instantly. They were pretty, sure, but they also had a little bit of extra personality to them.

“They’re perfect,” Eddie murmured, turning to Steve. He was standing a whole lot closer than Eddie realized, and Eddie wondered if there wasn’t a little bit of magic living in this place. “How did you—”

The next in a series of reminders Eddie had set on his phone sounded in his pocket and interrupted him. He groaned, and pulled it out to read his note to himself.

Your ass better be outside that restaurant if not already in it, Munson, it read.

“Shit,” he grumbled. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Maybe get two dozen, then,” Steve said with a teasing grin. “Make it up to her, Munson.”

Eddie felt himself flush as he realized Steve must’ve been reading over his shoulder. It only made him want to shove Steve up against a refrigerator door and kiss him more, somehow. Eddie realized too late that he’d probably buy the moon if Steve suggested it.

“You’re an excellent salesman, you know?”

“Only when I have such handsome customers,” Steve volleyed back without delay. And god, if that smirk wasn’t going to be what finally did Eddie in at the tender age of thirty-one, he wasn’t sure what would.

“Okay, okay, I’m buying the flowers, no need to keep laying it on so thick,” Eddie lamented, nodding towards the container of peonies Steve was already pulling from for him.

“Who said it was about getting you to buy flowers?” Steve asked with a wink. “Come on, I’ll check you out.”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing this whole time,” Eddie said, thrilled at how it drew another laugh out of Steve.

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded before leading them back to the register. If Eddie noticed a little bit more swagger in Steve’s gait as he walked, he kept as much to himself. Instead he just watched, utterly entranced by another human after only knowing them for a matter of minutes. Eddie wasn’t sure how or why, but it felt like getting hit by a meteor.

Desperate to do something with his hands or his mouth other than ogle Steve as he dried and then delicately wrapped the flowers in paper, Eddie glanced around the front counter a little. It didn’t take long for his eyes to land on a little display of what looked like handmade jewelry.

“Did you make these?” Eddie asked, zeroing in on a bracelet in particular that he thought Chrissy might like. He did spend enough time listening to Chrissy talk about crystals and rocks to know that the delicate little gem wrapped in silver was moonstone.

“Nope, can’t take credit for those,” Steve said, sounding a little proud when he realized what Eddie was looking at.

“The best friend?” Eddie guessed, and Steve nodded. So he made a decision on the fly and plucked the silver bracelet from where it hung on the rack. “Then I’ll take this, too.”

“Gift wrapped?” Steve asked.

“Definitely,” Eddie said, glancing at the time again. He was already late, so sloppily tossing an unwrapped gift at Chrissy would probably only look worse.

“I’ll be quick,” Steve promised, and Eddie honestly wished he wouldn’t. Instead of admitting it aloud, though, Eddie opted to dig out the cash he owed while Steve boxed up Chrissy’s gift.

“How the hell do you keep all of this alive?” Eddie couldn’t help but ask, still looking around in wonder. There weren’t just flowers on display, but plants of all sorts, and that was just from peeking into the greenhouse without getting started on all the stuff also growing outside.

Steve took the question in stride with a low laugh. “Not a plant guy, I take it?”

“Unless by ‘plant guy,’ you mean an incredible capacity to kill everything I touch?” Eddie asked, shooting for innocently hopeful. He was rewarded for it with another crooked smile out of Steve, which was rapidly approaching the top of Eddie’s list of favorite things to see.

Steve just shook his head and handed Eddie his change. The time to actually leave was suddenly staring Eddie in the face, and he desperately didn’t want to. Eddie decided to admit as much aloud. “Which is a shame, because I really could use an excuse to keep coming back here.”

“Like what you see?” Steve nodded towards the shop in general, but Eddie wasn’t gonna let the implication slide.

“You have no idea, gorgeous,” Eddie practically crooned, feeling sparks light in his chest when Steve flushed just in just the slightest. It was adorable, because surely people had to flirt with this man all the time. But every compliment or pet name Eddie threw in his direction only seemed to affect him more.

“Well why don’t you come back tomorrow?” Steve suggested with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll show you some plants that even you can’t kill.”

Eddie took the promise of seeing Steve again and ran with it, practically floating as he made his way out the door.

“Happy birthday, favorite person of mine!” Eddie said cheerfully the minute he finally laid eyes on Chrissy. He spread his arms for a hug, making sure to hold her flowers and bracelet out prominently. Chrissy accepted the hug and well-wishes with a smile, but Eddie knew there was more coming just from the way she tilted her head.

“You’re late,” Chrissy drawled with her arms crossed, visibly unimpressed from her perch at the table she’d kept waiting for them.

“Chris, you’re gonna forgive me—” Eddie tried as he scrambled to sit down, passing her gifts to her right away.

“That’s a bold assumption,” she interrupted, but brought the peonies up close to her nose with a small smile. “Pretty flowers aren’t enough to forgive you for being late to my birthday dinner.”

“Well sure, but that’s not the only gift I got you!” Eddie pointed out the small jewelry box next with his most charming of smiles. It wormed a slight twitch of the lips out of her, but she narrowed her eyes at him without opening it.

“Being late just so you could buy me stuff seems a little backwards, don’t you think?”

“Well that’s not…” Eddie bit his lip and paused, wondering if Chrissy would forgive him for this after all, “…entirely why I’m late.”

“Aha,” Chrissy hummed with a knowing sparkle in her eye.

“There was this guy—”

“Aha,” Chrissy was all but gloating now. “I assume he was pretty? Dark haired? Athletic?”

Eddie pursed his lips, not exactly loving how he was being called out with such little effort on her part. Eddie figured fifteen years of being best friends would do that, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely necessary. He’d never been happier to see a waiter in his life, who gave him some time to collect himself while they took drink orders.

“Did you get his number, at least?” Chrissy asked before Eddie got a chance to defend himself.

“No, but I’m seeing him again tomorrow,” Eddie preened, and Chrissy finally cracked a smile.

“That sounds promising. Tell me about him,” Chrissy said, settling back in her seat with an expectant look on her face.

“Well he picked your flowers, for one,” Eddie said.

“No shit, you know nothing about flowers,” Chrissy laughed and finally reached for the box with her bracelet. She carefully untied the ribbon with an amount of grace that Eddie wouldn’t have afforded it, then popped off the lid with an expectant smile. That smile only grew when she saw what was inside. “Aw, Eddie! I love it!”

“I picked that. Because I know that moonstone is one of your birthstones,” Eddie bragged, before reaching across to offer to put it on her wrist. She took him up on it happily, so Eddie added, “And I know enough about flowers to know those are peonies.”

“Oh wow,” Chrissy breathed, sounding surprised. “You really must be smitten.”

Eddie opted to look at his menu rather than trying to deny it.

“He was so pretty, Chris,” Eddie whined, two drinks and an appetizer platter later. “I wanted to cry.”

“You should let me come with you tomorrow so I can see him.” Chrissy’s smile was a wicked thing, and Eddie only whined again. Until he remembered something.

“Ohhhh but that won’t be necessary, my dear friend,” Eddie crowed as he dragged his phone out of his pocket. He went straight to the camera roll and stopped at the last photo he took. It was a clandestine, somewhat blurry photo taken in haste so no one would notice him pressing up against the glass of the flower shop like a complete weirdo. There was a glare on the glass that reflected Eddie’s already yearning face rather unflatteringly, but Eddie didn’t really care.

The important part of the photo was the easy way Eddie had captured Steve’s smile as he talked to another customer, and the long line of his tanned forearm as he handed a small potted plant across the counter.

Eddie thrust the phone across the table for Chrissy to see how utterly pathetic he already was, and exactly why.

Chrissy picked up the phone, careful not to touch the screen and disrupt the photo Eddie had queued up for her. The amusement on her face when she finally took it in was palpable, and Eddie had half a mind to hide behind his hair.

“Do you ever get tired of me being right all the time?” Chrissy beamed.

“I admire your consistency, if anything,” Eddie said drily. He was mildly afraid of the way Chrissy’s expression shifted into something curious and appraising next. “What?”

“Just…” Chrissy bit her lip, like maybe she wasn’t sure she wanted to bring it up at all. Then she shrugged and continued. “Please don’t tell me you were late because you went back to work and tattooed his face on your ass already?”

She said it like getting faces tattooed on his ass was some kind of regular occurrence.

“Jesus Christ, that was one time, Chris,” Eddie grumbled. It could hardly be considered his fault that he and the boys got drunk after work one night, and Jeff convinced Eddie to get Gareth’s cute little mug inked into his left butt cheek. And it certainly hadn’t been anything romantic. 

Eddie hadn’t gotten a stupidly impulsive tattoo since (though he was pretty sure he’d given people a few).

“You can’t blame me for asking!” Chrissy argued with a little too much glee in her voice.

“I did not get Steve’s face tattooed on my ass,” Eddie deadpanned for the record. “I haven’t even tried to find his Instagram yet.”

“Oooh!” Chrissy lit up even further with excitement and scooted her chair closer to his. “Let’s do that now.”

By the time Eddie got to the shop the next afternoon, he’d thoroughly convinced himself the beautiful man he’d met the day before had been a mirage. Surely no one was that pretty, just up and walking around this town looking like that while subtly signaling that they’re queer. And they certainly didn’t so blatantly flirt with Eddie while also helping him pick out flowers.

Especially considering his and Chrissy’s resolve to find Steve’s social media had ended up being a big flop. Without more than a first name to go by, all Eddie could find was the flower shop’s official Instagram—which obviously didn’t have much more than plants on it.

It was a great page to promote the business, with very professional looking and tasteful photos. But Eddie couldn’t help but think they neglected to highlight the biggest draw for the place: Steve. There wasn’t a picture of him to be found, and after a cursory glance of the shop’s followers he couldn’t find any usernames or photos that seemed to match the man he’d met either.

If it weren’t for the photo Eddie had taken himself, he would’ve been completely convinced that Steve was a heat-induced hallucination on his part. But that photo did exist, which meant so did the man inside. So Eddie squared his shoulders and made his way into the little store at the front of the greenhouse once more, this time wearing his Iron Maiden crop top for good measure.

“He’s around back,” a woman with a strawberry blonde undercut told Eddie the minute she laid eyes on him. Eddie wondered if she was the best friend Steve had mentioned. She pointed towards a door at the back of the store from her perch behind the register.

Eddie didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the fact that she’d clocked that he was looking for Steve immediately made him hope that maybe Steve had mentioned him. Just like Eddie had spent the night before gushing to Chrissy. 

“Uh, thanks?” Eddie said, already making his way towards the door. “I’m—”

“Eddie, yeah,” she laughed lightly as her bored expression receded. “He told me. I’m Robin.”

“Right,” Eddie felt his heartbeat kick up into a higher gear. “Thanks, Robin.”

She went back to reading a book with a small smirk on her face.

Eddie found Steve out back without much difficulty, trudging around in the dirt in a patch of purple flowers with vibrant green leaves. Today Steve was in cutoff denim shorts, crouched on the ground with his back to Eddie, and giving a perfect view of how the curve of Steve’s ass rested back on his heels. 

And yet somehow, that wasn’t the most interesting thing about the scene. 

What had Eddie most captivated was the way Steve was looking up into the branches of one of the trees bordering the garden and squawking. Eddie followed the line of Steve’s gaze upward, but he heard it before he saw it. A raven was perched on one of the lower hanging branches, apparently talking back at Steve.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said after making a series of croaking noises at the bird looming in the tree line above. “You don’t need me to help feed you, my guy.”

“Are you talking to a bird of death?” Eddie finally asked, and Steve startled. He turned around slowly, with a dirt-covered hand clutched to his chest. He didn’t bother to stand up right away, apparently relaxing when he saw it was only Eddie. 

God, he looks pretty on his knees, Eddie couldn’t help but notice.

“Is that a problem?” Steve asked with that same adorable, crooked smile Eddie had been daydreaming about since the day before. Then his eye’s landed on Eddie’s exposed abdomen and lingered there in the most exquisite of pauses. 

So it had all been real, then. What a fucking trip.

“No,” Eddie shrugged before deciding to let his mouth run away with him. “It’s really fuckin’ attractive, actually.”

The raven croaked again (in agreement, if Eddie had to guess), and Steve ducked his head as he laughed. Then he pushed himself up off the ground and made his way over towards another little potting bench and outdoor sink beside the door Eddie had just come out of. 

Eddie watched Steve wash the soil from his strong hands and swallowed thickly. “Don’t you like wearing gardening gloves?”

“More fun when you can get a little dirty, I think,” Steve smirked over his shoulder before grabbing a towel off the bench.

Eddie’s breath caught, and for a split second he thought he might’ve completely forgotten how to flirt. But somewhere along the way, his innate must-chat-up-the-pretty-person hindbrain kicked in and took over for him.

“Don’t have to be a gardener to agree with that, sweetheart,” Eddie replied, delighted at the way Steve’s shoulders hitched once the remark hit him.

Steve kept his expression smooth, but his perfect lips still quirked up into a self-satisfied little smile. Eddie wanted to skip the pretense and kiss it off his face.

“I’m glad you came back,” Steve said as turned to face Eddie fully again. Eddie matched his stance, stepping just a little bit closer as he did.

“Well, you promised to work miracles, if I recall,” Eddie teased. “Or you just really underestimated how bad I am at keeping plants alive.”

“Let’s go with miracle worker for now,” Steve said, confident yet hopeful in the way he appraised Eddie’s face. Once again, Eddie felt entirely tongue-tied, which was mildly frustrating for someone who usually considered himself a smooth-talker. “Should we find out?”

“Lead the way, big boy,” Eddie said as if he was at all interested in plants. 

Steve looked like he might have a retort for the nickname, but instead he bit it back and smiled. Then he inclined his head in a way that screamed maybe I am, and Eddie felt himself start to sweat a little. 

The feeling only heightened when Steve led them into the greenhouse, which was practically blistering inside. On instinct, Eddie reached for the hair tie on his wrist as Steve led them over to what looked like a whole section of cacti populating a raised bed along the far wall. Eddie pulled his hair up into a loose bun just to get it off his neck as he looked around. There were all kinds of plants in here, including a whole lot of vegetables, and something that with almost shiny leaves seemed to reach out and tickle him when he walked by.

It startled Eddie into looking back at Steve, whom he caught staring in just the nick of time. Eddie wanted to punch the air in triumph as he watched Steve shake himself and drag his eyes away from the curve of Eddie’s jaw. 

“You okay?” Steve asked, voice remarkably calm. Eddie was impressed.

“Yeah, it’s just warmer in here than I expected,” Eddie said, tamping down a smirk. Based on the way Steve wouldn’t quite meet his eye, he didn’t tamp it down all that well. 

“Yeah, well,” Steve scratched the back of his neck and nodded at a cactus. “The succulents like it hot.”

“The succulents and I have that in common,” Eddie winked, doing his damnedest not to make a dirty play on the word succulents. 

Steve’s lack of response other than a faint flush let Eddie’s hearing work in earnest for the first time. Before, his brain had been too busy chanting Steve, Steve, Steve! to really hear anything else from his surroundings, but now the sound of Hungry Like the Wolf finally filtered in through Eddie’s ears. Instinctively, he scrunched his nose. “Do the plants like Duran Duran, too?”

“Well, I like Duran Duran,” Steve corrected, “and I like to think they like what I do.”

“And just when I thought you were perfect,” Eddie sighed, both dreamy and with feigned disappointment. 

“Don’t you like 80’s music?” Steve asked with a playful roll of his eyes. Eddie was relieved he took the jab in stride instead of being insulted.

“I like good 80’s music,” he said, leaning forward to give Steve’s shoulder a nudge. The muscles he felt as a result were solid and delicious beneath his fingertips.

“Excuse me,” Steve laughed, then eyed Eddie’s shirt again. “I’m sure you only listen to very cool rock bands, then?”

“Cool is subjective, Stevie,” Eddie said with a lazy smile. “Some people think plants are cool.”

“That they do,” Steve hummed, and Eddie wanted to sink down into the cadence of his voice like a hot bath. He’d meant what he’d said the day before; he’d listen to Steve talk about just about anything. Even Duran Duran. Thankfully, Steve took the cue to start rambling on about his plants instead of music, though. He patiently explained how he thought Eddie could surely handle something called a snake plant because they were “almost indestructible,” and Eddie sort of drifted off into the lull of Steve’s expertise. 

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring like a buffoon at Steve’s lips as they moved, but at some point Steve apparently stopped talking. And Eddie had no idea how long ago. All he knew was that Steve had a cute little confused tilt to his head and he was—for some reason—staring at Eddie’s neck. Again.

“Sorry, what?” Eddie asked, trying to blink the love struck veneer from his eyes. He thought maybe he could use the heat in the greenhouse as an excuse for being completely out of his wits. Really he was just rapidly falling for someone he barely knew, and yet was desperate to know more about.

“Sap,” Steve said, and Eddie’s heart clenched. Was he being so obvious that Steve was calling him a sap already?

“I’d hardly say I’m a sap,” Eddie tried to sound casual about it. 

“No,” Steve chuckled. It was such a warm sound that Eddie thought he started sweating harder. “You’ve got sap on your neck. Looks like from the rubber tree.”

“Oh, I—” Eddie stuttered and started pawing at his neck to try and get it off. Steve just laughed again, and stepped a little closer. 

“Here, let me,” he offered. Before Eddie could exhale a sputtering breath, Steve’s tongue darted out to lick the pad of his thumb. Then he delicately dragged the same rough, damp skin against the side of Eddie’s neck and wiped the sap away. The cool wake of Steve’s spit left a trail of shivers racing down Eddie’s back, and yet he felt like he was on fire. Steve pretty deliberately traced the slope of Eddie’s lips with his eyes before meeting his gaze. “There.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get himself in so deep in less than twenty-four hours, but there was no denying it now. Then something slotted into place in his mind, a little too late and a lot too dirty.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie scoffed. “Did you just say there’s something called a rubber tree?”

Steve snorted and Eddie knew he’d gotten the joke, at least. Robin poked her head into the greenhouse just as Steve poised himself to reply, though. 

“Hey, I’m outta here, dingus,” she said with a mock salute towards Steve. She spared a smile for Eddie that felt like she saw right through how smitten he was. Eddie wondered how much of that little display she’d been watching through the windows.

“Okay.” Steve didn’t really look at Robin as he spoke, Eddie noticed. Instead his eyes stayed stuck on Eddie. “Can you—”

“I’ll lock up on my way out, like I always do,” Robin finished for him. Her tone was annoyed, but her smile was fond as she ducked back out in a flash.

It took Eddie a moment to catch up to what Robin had actually just said, but he got there eventually. He realized the absolute dearth of other people that were around since he’d walked in. “Wait, you’re closing?”

“Always close earlier on weekends,” Steve said with a shrug.

“So why am I here?” Eddie asked, wondering if maybe he’d gotten his wires crossed or showed up later than Steve had wanted.

“Because you want to be, I hope,” Steve said simply, with more earnest want in his eyes than Eddie had ever had directed towards him before. Despite the fact that Eddie was nearly certain they were about to kiss, and despite all the flirting that led up to it, he still felt floored by it. “Thought it’d be easier to talk without customers around.”

“Aw, if you’d told me this was a date I would’ve dressed up, Stevie,” Eddie trilled, unable to help himself. Steve didn’t shy away though, rewarding Eddie with a roguish smile for saying exactly what he thought again.

“You look pretty good to me,” he murmured, inching ever-closer and brushing the faintest of touches against Eddie’s bare stomach.

Eddie was never happier to have decided to wear a crop top in his life.

He also wasn’t willing to wonder what kissing Steve was like any longer—he needed to know. He reached out and hooked his fingers through the belt loops of Steve’s little shorts and pulled him in until their hips were flush, then Eddie tilted his head just so. 

Steve dove in the rest of the way, his lips hot and searching against Eddie’s own in an instant. Eddie hummed into his mouth happily, and Steve moved to cup his face with those strong, capable hands of his. 

Eager to get handsy as well, Eddie squeezed the curve of Steve’s hip with one hand, then trailed the other right up the front of Steve’s solid chest and around the back of his neck. The faint sheen of sweat Eddie felt beneath his fingertips only served to rile him up further, and he pressed in impossibly closer, until he could feel the steady beat of Steve’s heart reverberating through his own chest. 

Steve shifted just enough to slot his thigh between Eddie’s, and Eddie hissed out a needy little noise that would have been embarrassing if Steve hadn’t swallowed it down with a greedy gasp of his own.

It wasn’t enough somehow, even though it was probably too much too soon by most people’s standards. But Eddie wanted to be entirely overwhelmed by Steve, caught in a tidal wave of taste and sound and smell and want. Eddie prodded at Steve’s bottom lip with his tongue, delighted with the soft, wet swell of it. Steve opened up for him shamelessly, swirling his tongue against Eddie’s in a delicious twist that left Eddie grinding down on Steve’s bare thigh.

“Shit,” Eddie panted, grateful to come up for some air when Steve moved to trailing kisses against his jaw. “Any chance that rubber tree could help us out?”

Steve laughed, his hot breath fanning out across Eddie’s neck like a dream. “Not that kind of rubber, sadly.”

Eddie thought it was sad, too, especially when he could feel the bulge in Steve’s shorts pressed against him, and even more so when Steve maneuvered Eddie until his ass rested against the edge of the raised planter with enough force to send soil toppling over onto the floor. 

Eddie slotted his fingers into Steve’s soft, perfect hair while Steve went back to sucking what promised to be a delectable hickey into the column of his throat. Eddie moaned aloud, not caring how desperate a sound it was, and rutted into Steve again.

“That mouth of yours is showing a whole lot of promise,” Eddie hummed. 

“Just my mouth?” Steve asked just as he rolled his hips against Eddie’s again. He didn’t move his lips from Eddie’s throat, and when Eddie moaned again, he felt Steve’s smile against his skin. 

Eddie tugged Steve back from his neck by the hair, his dick twitching when Steve let out a pleased whimper at the pressure Eddie used. 

“How about you let me take you out to dinner before I have to go home and change my pants?” Eddie asked, unabashed by how turned on he already was.

“I don’t know,” Steve smirked. “You needing fresh pants sounds pretty fun.”

“Stevie,” Eddie whined, completely disbelieving of how this was already going. At best he’d hoped for some more flirting and an exchange of phone numbers, and here he was ready to drag Steve back to his apartment just because that was where the condoms lived. 

Eddie was a little mad at himself for failing to be properly prepared in the first place, if he was being honest. He diverted the subject in an attempt to hold onto a little bit of sanity before he started giving out handjobs to someone he’d just met.

“You don’t even know what I do,” Eddie pointed out with a pout.

“You’re a tattoo artist at the shop a few blocks over,” Steve shrugged, then very deliberately ran his tongue along the tattoo that peeked up above Eddie’s collar and curled around his neck. Steve must have heard the surprise in Eddie’s groan, because he huffed out a little laugh. “Don’t pretend you weren’t also stalking my socials last night.”

It took a long pause for Eddie to remember that Steve already knew his last name, but to be fair he didn’t have much blood flow to his brain at the moment.

“Just the shop’s Instagram,” Eddie grumbled, annoyed that Steve undoubtedly had a whole lot more info on him than the other way around, now. “I couldn’t find yours, but I did try.”

Steve laughed at Eddie’s obvious frustration, low and dark, then went back to teasing his knuckles against the zipper of Eddie’s jeans. “Where did you wanna get dinner?”

“Somewhere we can curl up in a corner booth,” Eddie said, dropping his hand to dance his fingers along Steve’s collarbone. “Where you can sit there, half-hard and thinking about finishing this while I run my hand up your thigh.”

“Eddie,” Steve groaned, a delightful sound that Eddie wanted to hear every day going forward. “Now who’s being a tease?”

“Definitely me,” Eddie smirked as Steve finally pulled away, giving Eddie’s hip a little squeeze as he did.

“C’mon then, I know a place,” Steve said with a wry smile. “If you behave maybe you’ll even get to find out if you were right about the whole ‘big boy’ nickname.”

“Uh, I could already tell, sweetheart,” Eddie said around a laugh, adjusting himself in his jeans as he did. Steve bit his lip and watched, still putting that mouth to good use even when it wasn’t on Eddie. “God, you’re trouble, aren’t you Stevie?”

“You have no idea,” Steve said, eyes full of promise and mischief. Then he held out his hand in offering, and Eddie didn’t hesitate to take it. “Place we’re going has good food and fast service.”

The little wink Steve gave him was nearly enough to make his heart stutter to a stop.

“Excellent,” Eddie cooed, albeit weakly, before allowing Steve to lead him out into the dwindling summer sunlight of the back garden. As they rounded the side of the greenhouse towards the street, though, Eddie heard another familiar croak. He thought he might’ve been hallucinating, but it was a throaty syllable that distinctly sounded like the word sluts.

“Did your raven just slut shame us?” Eddie asked, whipping his head towards the sound, aghast.

“Robin may have taught him a few words…” Steve admitted with a sheepish grin. Then he squeezed Eddie’s hand and kissed his cheek, before leading them off down the street.

Eddie realized he didn’t much care for the commentary of birds—or the fact that he hadn’t actually bought any plants—when he was already having the time of his life.

taglist: @stobinesque @starryeyedjanai @patchworkgargoyle @steves-strapcollection @scoops-stevie @spicysix @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @bifuriouswaterbender (Just everyone who's previously expressed interest! There will probably be more bits of this AU in the future, so just holler if you want to be added or taken off!)

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfiction #dani's drafts

[whiskygoldwings]

Anecdotes of a Guard Life: Oh honey, honey

Senate Galas were one of the... Less interesting parts of Fox’s job. Stand around, look imposing yet approachable and pretend he’s not sneering behind his helmet at all the drunken Senators. Other then the approachable part, it’s a cakewalk.

That isn’t to say they don’t have their perks. One being that he’s not doing datawork. The other... Well...

The internal comms crackle to life. “The Prune’s approaching the soapbox, operation Flavour’s a go.”

Fox calmly turns and walks towards the podium, placing himself in full view to the left. He tucks his arms neatly behind him, grasping wrists and sets his feet perfectly apart in parade rest. The Chancellor passes him with a “Commander! How lovely to see you!” and Fox salutes crisply, before returning to position.

“Decoy in place,” he reports, and gets a “Received!” in return.

The rest of his role in the operation is simple. Stand there and be obvious. It’s not hard. He’s well aware of what he looks like. White painted chest armour a beacon against all the red. Helmet sticking out amongst all the uncovered faces. There’s always a few Senators who dismiss the Guard along with the rest of the serving staff, but if one is looking for them, he draws their attention.

He’s also strategically placed himself under the slightly brighter light near the podium. Carefully orchestrated by their best engineers.

He’s pretty sure this is not what the Kaminoans intended when they flash-trained them in Infiltration methods. But fuck ‘em. They also debated engineering out their tastebuds so they would eat basically anything. Instead they just fed them that anything and expected them to like it anyway.

This is their own fault, really.

Thorn casually walks around the crowd, helmet facing out, checking for any signs of trouble. The hand facing away from the crowd twitches in a series of handsigns and Fox sighs.

“Thorn, comms work just fine.”

Thorn’s sigh is heavier. “Fox, have a little fun once in a while.”

“No.”

Several different snickers come over the internal comms and a noise that is very clearly Thorn blowing him a raspberry.

Fox rolls his eyes, safe in the knowledge that no one around him can tell.

“You did get that we’re halfway done though, right?”

Fox groans, just managing to keep from tipping his head back in exasperation. “No, I forgot how to read hand signals.”

“It’s all that caf, rots the brain.”

Fox doesn’t even dignify that one with an answer. Not all of them can be all flowers and sunshine first thing in the morning.

Actually, he has absolutely no idea how any of them can be like that. Thorn is a freak of bioengineering. Somehow they got away with their blonde hair, but Fox isn’t sure how the Kaminoans missed the disgusting morning cheerfulness.

Clearly something had critically failed in their tube before decanting.

He nods absentmindedly at a Senator who’s approached and is drunkenly thanking him for his “fine service”. A click of the tongue sets his helmet to circulating internal air, but it’s not quite quick enough to prevent the stench of expensive red wine from getting through the filters. Great. He’ll have to sit with that for a while.

The man is just slurringly getting to the point where he’ll ramble about how his planet’s taxes are funding the Coruscant Guard’s efforts when Thorn speaks again.

“Fox, Taa on route to point Alpha.”

“Apologies, Senator,” he has no idea what the absolutely kark-faced Senator’s name is, but the title always works. “I am required for an internal matter.”

He doesn’t wait for the man’s wide-eyed enquiries, simply turns away and walks towards the buffet table at the other end of the hall. He can already see Senator Taa weaving his way towards the buffet table, taking advantage of the other guests being distracted.

There’s a saying. One about smart minds thinking alike or something. Fox is a little less then impressed to find Senator Taa thinking along the same lines as them. He would not bet on Senator Taa against a Kowakian monkey-lizard.

“Senator, may I have a moment?” He slides infront of him, standing like a barricade in the path of the man’s assault. Senator Taa actually jumps a good inch off the floor.

Fox probably shouldn’t be amused at that. He is though. He was also recording it. That’ll make for good viewing on a rough Senate duty.

“Ah, Commander, must it be now?” Senator Taa looks anxiously over his shoulder, and Fox calmly sidesteps to block his view of the buffet table.

“I apologise sir, this won’t take a minute.” Fox clicks his tongue at the end of that, switching the outward going comms off.

A crackle of internal comms then “Understood, troops, one minute.” from Thorn.

They could be efficient and professional, when the need was high.

What followed for Fox, was an excrutiating minute of going over security plans he was already very certain of, and manouvering himself to prevent Senator Taa from slipping round him. The Twi’lek Senator was... Persistent, would be a good way to put it. Fox was the taller of the two of them, which was fortunate, as the Senator kept rising onto tiptoes to try and look longingly over his shoulder. He’s never tilted his head so much in conversation and frankly, his neck hurts. He actually resorted to raising up on his own toes at one point.

The things he does for his troops. Force damn the little fuckers.

He can see them in his peripherals though. Casually moving towards the long table set with food, as if on a floating patrol. He’s pretty sure he spots Thire carrying away a whole roast bird of some sort, and if that’s actually the case he might have to promote the cheeky little shit...

Finally, FINALLY, Thorn walks up behind Senator Taa with a “Sir!”. The Senator jumps again, and sadly, Fox wasn’t recording that time. He’s not entirely sure how a man can be so completely oblivious to everything going on around him, but it works for their purposes.

“Commander?” Fox enquires, and as the Senator turns to face Thorn, flashes a slightly-more-emphatic than he intended THANK YOU hand signal.

“The Chancellor has requested a further perimeter sweep.” Thorn intones, voice carefully modulated to project bored professionalism.

“Understood,” Fox looks back to the Senator and nods at him. “Apologies Senator Taa, we can discuss this matter further later.”

“Yes yes, mustn’t keep you from your fine work, good job Commander,” the Senator waves dismissively at him, then heads over to the buffet table with an air of victory.

Fox watches him go, then turns back to Thorn.

“Do you think he realises you’re the one who stopped him?” Thorn asks, a thoughtful tilt to their helmet.

Fox just sighs, and walks away to the sound of Thorn’s snickers in his ear.

------

He’s only able to review their proceeds after the Gala is completely done and over, made sure everyone has left for their own homes, and checked Senator Deechi isn’t, once again, comatose drunk under a table somewhere. He marches back to the barracks (alone, because he isn’t making any of his troopers stay at one of these stupid events any longer than necessary) and makes his way straight to the second rec room.

The sound of laughter and joy hits him as soon as he rounds the corner to the hallway, and he lets go of the tension with a grateful breath. Pulling off his helmet, he strides into the room, where troopers in various mismatches of bodysuits and armour are sprawled around a lumpy pile covered in a white sheet with CG stamped in red in the corner.

“Took your time!” Thorn waves at him, grin wide and delighted. “Deechi wasn’t passed out again, was he?”

“Thank the Maker, no,” Fox rolls his eyes to chuckles from the others. “You waited for me?”

Thorn rolls their eyes right back. “Duh, get your shebs over here.”

Fox goes and sits next to them, then promptly gets back up when Thorn tries to side-arm him into a hug and goes to sit next to Comm who snickers at the pair of them. Thorn pouts. It’s a good pout, full and wide-eyed, but Fox has developed immunity to their banthashit and graces the attempt with a middle finger.

Thire sighs loudly and exasperatedly. “If the two children would kindly settle down, the adults would like to check out the spoils of battle now please?” He glowers at the pair of them, and Fox glowers back, showing him how it’s done.

Thorn reaches forward and grabs the edges of the blanket. “My friends, my family, my wonderful idiots! Enjoy!” They whip off the sheet with a flourish, and there’s gasps and noises of joy as even Fox feels his eyes widen.

They’ve outdone themselves. There’s little squares of delicate crisp bread with curls of meat pate. Glistening honey-coated carrots roasted to perfection. Candied nuts and fruit sitting powdery in a bowl. The roast bird he’s going to have to make Thire a commander over. And even...

“Is that sugar?” Fox breaths, picking up the beautiful ceramic bowl filled almost to the brim with beautiful, wonderful, white crystals of perfection...

Someone passes a steaming hot cup of caf over his shoulder and holds it out for him. “Commander,” Stone murmurs, a warm smile on his face as Fox turns to him. Comm holds out a small spoon, and Fox is not an emotional man, but he kind of wants to kiss the whole kriffing room at this point.

“Thank you,” he sniffles, taking the proferred mug (and decidedly doesn’t care that it’s the pink one with a Fox-head that Stone got him as a joke) and places it in front of him. With gentle fingers, he takes the spoon from Comm, gets himself a hearty heaped spoonful of sugar, and stirs it into the inky-dark liquid in his mug.

Reverently, he lifts the mug to his lips, tilts it gently and... Oh...

“Mesh’la,” he whispers, eyes closed and lips curving into a smile in the wake of the sweetened nectar of the little Gods.

There’s laughter all around him, and he opens his eyes to the sight of his family, all taking carefully selected pieces of food and trying them out with noises of glee and excitement.

Fox sits, sipping his delicious cup of caf, and thinks life doesn’t get much better than this.

#Mesh'la = beautiful #shebs = arse #I headcanon Fox having a sweet tooth #And sweet coffee makes life bearable #His troops always make sure to get him some #one way or another #marshall commander fox #coruscant guard #coruscant guard as family #star wars: the clone wars #fanfiction #my fanfic

[sandytree1]

Criticism of Blue Eyed Samurai

Well, I just watched Blue Eyed Samurai. Been spotting several positive clickbait thumbnails of it, so even though I didn't have high expectations based on the trailer, I gave it a go. And well, it was what I feared it was. I still enjoyed it though! And it's an engaging story, just not what I wish it was. Anyways, I wrote a comment on Reddit about it, which I thought I'd repost here.

Edit: I ended up going in and reordering some paragraphs under headings, as people on Reddit replied to by comment. Noticing people are nitpicking the historical accuracy of my commentary, which wasn't really what I was concerned about. It's more that certain cues in these stories make me expect certain things.

The main point of much of this text is to look into what makes Blue Eyed Samurai a noticeably American story, by comparing it to other jidaigeki stories with a similar setting made for and by Asian people, and stories set in Asia made by Americans (for Americans).

🚧 NB! I'm still working on the text. Text marked in cursive are just notes, so please ignore them for now! 🚧

Overall verdict

I did also think of Ghost of Tsushima while watching, but in the sense that Blue Eyed Samurai lacks what I liked about it. Ghost of Tsushima did a great job with its Japanese localization, and referenced actual bushido conduct, although a little bit off still. Blue Eyed Samurai throws around words like samurai and honor, but doesn't appear to actually understand what these words entails, and only focuses on the superficial badassery of it (...)

But overall, great choreography and compositing, engaging story and characters ... Blue Eyed Samurai is good, but does veer into the uncanny valley for me, which I know was an issue Asians had with ATLA. Guess I felt it a little bit more with Blue Eyed Samurai due how much (unrealistic) violence and (meaningless) sex is glorified, and made me question what exactly the overall moral message of the story was supposed to be beyond simply "revenge plots are cool but also destructive." As somebody else said, it's giving "guts and tits for the people."

Glorification of the badassery of revenge

So, somebody replied that they thought we should be careful about romanticizing bushido, and provided examples of samurai being deceitful. This is my reply.

You missed my point. I did not want Blue Eyed Samurai to romanticize bushido, I wanted it to discuss and explore it, exactly because it throws around words like honor and samurai. A first step towards this is to acknowledge that Mizu is not a samurai.

What is Mizu?

We could argue that she is a ronin, but then she'd technically must've been serving a lord as a samurai in the past, and should be at least be a tiny bit concerned with chivalry (at least enough to discuss or talk about it), which we know isn't the case. Mizu is closer to being a shinobi/ninja, since her goal is to assassinate her 4 maybe fathers. Another thing Mizu shares with shinobi is that both are often criticised by samurai because of their penchant for ambushes and lack of concern for bushido / warriors code. Yet she breaks the mold of being a shinobi, since she doesn't really sneak around in (civilian) disguise and will openly brawl her way through a dojo and into a fort.

Mizu has a lot in common with the titular protagonis of the manga Azumi. Both are female assassins with foreign blood (bluish eyes) fighting during the Sakoku policy. While Mizu's motivation is simply revenge for the injustice she and her mother suffered at the hands of the gaijin faction, in Azumi the motivation is to prune the country like a bonsai tree off individuals which may threathen a new age of peace, and prevent the country from slipping back into the Sengoku period of civil war.

But where characters in Blue Eyed Samurai is heavily protected by plot armor, allowing Mizu to be an almost invincible pin cushion, no one is safe in Azumi and injured characters requires months to recover and heal from cuts.

While writing this, I recalled that in episode 5, they interjected a story about a samurai marrying and fathering a child with a woman who descended from an enemy clan. He kills both her and their son, which turns her into a onryō. Mizu being an Onryō works, but I am left questioning how this fits into the story beyond its symbolism, as there's been no explicit supernatural elements in the story. Mizu is bullied for being the (devil) spawn of a quote "white devil" in childhood, I think it would be more interesting if they called her a "white ghost," since onryos (which could represent Mizu) are a type of vengeful female ghost. Furthermore, Taigen often compares Mizu to a dog, esp. when she does not live up to the samurai standards he holds her to. Not sure where that fits in either..

Orientalism

So the statement about samurai criticising shinobi was called out as orientalist. This was my reply:

As for orientalism, I guess Blue Eye Samurai is being orientalist then, which I was kinda feeling while watching but didn't really put into words. It's pretty stereotypical to connect Japanese with honor and samurai after all, contributing to why I felt the show was very American.

In the sense of samurai simply meaning warrior, then we can consider Mizu a samurai. But Taigen (and Akemi) connects being a samurai with honor and complains about fair play. By making this connection, he invokes bushido/chivalry and excludes people who ambush others like assassins from the definition of being a samurai, and by extension criticises assassins like ninjas for not shying away from "dishonorable" ambushes. To restore his honor, Taigen wants to arrange a formal duel and even writes up a challenge letter (hatashijou), which makes sense in terms of the dojo trope. But well, the series does contradict itself a lot in favor of cool one liners, and what it means to be a samurai or knight has changed throughout history.

"Glory" in Azumi

As I said, the manga Azumi is what I was hoping Blue Eyed Samurai would be. Azumi is a gritty look into (among other things) both shinobi and samurai that does not romanticize either, and has won an award for its exploration of these concepts in relation to buddhism. In fact, everyone in Azumi suffers. The only one who is perhaps glorified is Azumi, who many critics compare to a boddhisattva.

Throughout the story, Azumi works to not become too attached to earthly comforts, but still suffers because of her attachment to her companions. As Azumi completes her pruning missions for her boss (the Buddhist monk Tenkai), she accumulates a lot of bad karma in the form of endless waves of people pursuing her for either revenge, the bounty on her head, the thrill of defeating a master swordswoman, etc. Because of it, 90% of her closest companions SPOILER die, and many of her friends are raped or permanently maimed, and has to deal with the trauma and practical inconveniences of it. Often because they are caught in the crossfire between Azumi's targets or those who pursue her.

By the end of the story, Azumi still ends up making new companions like usual and her boss continues wanting to send her on pruning missions. But she decides to leave them all behind, so that those she cares about will not be affected by her bad karma again. She knows she will have to stay on the road indefinitely and will never really be able to enjoy the comforts of settling down, because of her pursuers. The series makes the buddhist argument that earthly attachment in general causes suffering, and Azumi is enlightened by abandoning those attachments and by facing her karma, although that does not mean she will not end up with a violent death. The story ends openly with Azumi wandering off into obscurity.

Time period

Some people began nitpicking the historical accuracy of my commentary, which wasn't really what I was concerned about. I am open to artistic liberty. However, with BES it was a little bit harder, since they made so many historical references and leaned into the jidaigeki genre, but then broke it in ways that came off as uncanny to me. Looking back, I guess this uncanny feeling was the orientalism letting itself be known, though I couldn't put it into words back then.

As jidaigeki is a subgenre of historical stories, certain cues does make me expect certain things. Like when I see an English-speaking gaijin as the antagonist, I would make the connection that this story is probably set sometime after the Americans forced Japan to open up for trade in the 1800s. Yet this expectation is then contradicted when I learn that no foreigners are allowed in Japan yet due to the Sakoku policy, which makes me wonder what this Irishman is doing here all alone centuries too early and how he even managed to climb to such a powerful position while being so isolated.

Gaijins as antagonists

Why an Irishman as the gaijin antagonist? It'd make more sense if it was a portuguese or dutch. If Blue Eyed Samurai is set in 17th century Edo Japan, it's a long time off when the Americans forced Japan to put down the sakoku policy, and even then, why Britain/London? If anything, Japan and Britain liked each other enough to form an alliance for their shared fear of Russia.

Why not other colonial powers who were actually active in Japan and Asia overall at the time (the Dutch) or the ones who caused Christianity to be banned during the sakoku (the Portuguese).

My first thought of a precedent goes to Konishi Shizune, the Christian revolutionary leader in Azumi who's also mixed race like Azumi, which is based on the historical Amakusa Shiro.

(Depictions of Gaijins: Americans during postwar Japan in Hajime no Ippo. Senator Armstrong in Metal Gear Solid)

Japanese in Europe

With Mizu heading to Europe, I came across people discussing the plot armor and how Mizu wouldn't stand a chance against the guns nor London police. It came off as kind of white supremacist, and the entire thread was locked because of unsolicited opinions from outsiders.

To be fair, Japan had guns too at the time. According to Netflix themselves, Blue Eye Samurai takes place in the 1600s. If that's the case, it means that the guns were mostly muskets, rifles and pistols which took time to load, so people did still use swords even in Europe. And only a century earlier in the 1500s, when Dreamwork's El Dorado is set, people would still use firearms and crossbows side by side, and Oda Nobunaga also used firearms in his own warfare during the sengoku period.

Also, the police didn't exist yet, since the UK police were created in the late 1700s. As for the London battalion or royal guards storming her, it'd either amount to when she was stormed by the hand claw guys. The plot armor in the first season was a lot imo even then though. But sneaking up on them depends on the terrain and context, so I can see it happening.

Furthermore, it's not unrealistic for Japanese people to travel to Europe, because there's historical precedence for this. In 1613, Hasekura Tsunenaga was sent on a diplomatic mission to negotiate with the pope and the king of Spain, and some of his men even stayed behind to form the Japon clan in Spain. The expedition took 7 years, and ironically enough, once he returned, christianity had already been banned in Japan. The people who still kept the Christian faith in spite of this came to be known as kakure kirishitan.

Debauchery means it's for adults ..

The way characters (esp. Mizu) will throw out badass oneliners as if on a treadmill, only to contradict exactly what she said as short as 5 seconds later does mess with my suspension of disbelief.

The story also goes into protitution and patriarchy, though it also felt superficial to me. If anything it feels like an excuse for fan service, similar to Game of Thrones in a sense. Like they know that sex sells, and that's what "the audience really wants." That said, again I enjoyed both GOT and Blue Eye Samurai, even though some may laconically break the former down to "dragons and tits" and the latter to "guts and tits".

Token representation

Mizu's apprentice was born without hands, which could have brought about an interesting exploration of disability. But instead, he's relegated to being a quirky sidekick and comedic relief..

BES is an American story

Blue Eyed Samurai has all the visual motifs of a Japanese samurai story (jidaigeki), but the tropes and logic is extremely American. It does get the artifacts and set dressing of a jidaigeki story right (surprisingly accurate at some points), which is why it triggered the uncanny valley for me sometimes. When certain artifacts and set ups appeared, I expected it to follow certain tropes I'm used to from jidaigeki, but it didn't really do that.

Kung Fu Panda

In contrast, Kung Fu Panda is also in the same boat. It has the artefacts of a Chinese wuxia story, but it is ultimately based on Chinatown (a theme park-esque idea of China designed by and to cater to white people, as a Chinese American defense mechanism). However, where Kung Fu Panda is an American love letter to Chinese kung fu films, Blue Eye Samurai isn't really a love letter to jidaigeki, and caters rather to white people's idea of the stereotypical samurai.

My understanding is that Kung Fu Panda is pretty popular in China.

Yes, Kung Fu Panda is popular in China. I also enjoyed Kung Fu Panda, which is why I used it to compare what I felt was lacking in Blue Eyed Samurai. If I had to choose one to rewatch, I would rather watch Kung Fu Panda.

That said, Accented Cinema points out that although Kung Fu Panda is often used as an argument of successful orientalism, it's rather about China's own failure in representing themselves. In my opinion, Kung Fu Panda's perhaps saving grace was that it didn't take itself too seriously, yet still delivered on the serious bits when it needed to.

Patriarchy and gender roles

While I understand and appreciate your critique, I don't think the narrative is grounded in realism. It's more like expressing the need that women do have to see themselves in the shoes of a physically invincible protagonist. Also the motivation isn't simply revenge - what has happened to Mizu has convinced that her very existence is suffering. She's internalized the hate to an extent that it no longer matters whether she lives or dies. She will slowly change as a person and her motivations will also change, which I hope we get to see . All the characters are somewhere trying to rebel against their gender roles, and that I feel is the 'message'. Also as far as the right antagonist to show goes, Fowler seems an indictment of British colonialism a few centuries too soon, but his attitudes aren't unfamiliar. At all.

Blue Eyed Samurai doesn't explore the concepts it references or markets itself with, but seems to throw them around because samurai and honor sounds cool and is a stereotypically Japanese/Sinosphere thing. Instead it'd rather explore gender roles and patriarchy. And the character Blue Eyed Samurai primarily uses to explore these themes with isn't the titular protagonist, but rather Princess Akemi.

But Akemi's struggles with patriarchy, also comes off as more a Western suffragette story than a Sinosphere one.

The Princess as a Caged Bird

Other stories about gender roles and patriarchy in ancient Japan to which we can compare this to is probably Isao Takahata's Princess Kaguya, though this one is probably set long before BES in the Heian period.

Like in Kaguya, the ohaguro set is presented as a symbol of oppression for Akemi. However, instead of being explicitly oppressed by outside forces like Akemi, Kaguya is instead pressured by societies and her father's idea of what a princess should be to become happy. Throughout the film, Kaguya questions what it is all for and even counters against her governess that "a princess is not a human then!"

Princess Kaguya as a roadside flower. To be plucked in a moment of fancy, and neglected once savored and bored. Merely a trophy to be won and stowed away in a display cabinet.

The film explores what makes life worth living, by exploring the difference between humanity and moon people.

Filial piety. Fulfilling your own dreams through your offspring. Showing off achievements to relatives (accumulating merit).

Geisha and maiko in contrast to the Oiran of the red light district. Streetwalkers. Prostitution - the world's oldest profession.

Oda Nobunaga's younger sister in Nobunaga Concerto and Azumi.

Hypergamy. Tradition of men being adopted into the wife's household. The Fujiwara clan of the Heian period, who continuously married their women into the imperial family for generations. Attitudes around cheating and monogamy (Genji Monogatari).

The Fallacy of the Stereotypical Asian woman

Oshin - Resilience and endurance.

Asian women as firecrackers. There's a reason why the stereotype of Tiger Mom even came to be, because Asian women and people in general are not weak and strictly submissive, although they are often mistaken as doormats.

Honne and tatemae

Yamato Nadeshiko

While writing about this, I ended up going on a tangent about Asian women, which you can read here: The Fallacy of the Stereotypical Asian Woman.

Gender roles in Genderbender

Kaze Hikaru

Ryou

Torikaebaya Monogatari, where a brother and sister in the Heian period is gender mixed at birth, to fulfil gender roles they're more "suited" for according to societal expectations. Another Heian period text about a guy who crossdresses as a woman to get close to a woman he has a crush on.

Gender fluidity has been the norm throughout most of history.

A wolf in sheep's clothing

I guess the show is more concerned about gender roles and patriarchy. I'm actually not all that concerned with historical accuracy, but I couldn't help but be thrown off by how it felt like vastly different time periods (and thus different expectations in terms of jidaigeki tropes) were meshed together. I still stand by that the show is a very (overseas Asian/) (Asian) American narrative, which made it uncanny how accurate it still was in terms of getting the artefacts etc. of a jidaigeki right. Sort of like a "wolf in sheeps clothing," though that doesn't make it a bad thing. For example, Akemi feels more like a Western suffragette, rather than an Asian feminist. Yet the ohaguro set etc. may be a reference to Isao Takahata's Princess Kaguya, which is about feminism.

The story came off as stereotypical to me. Yet it does get the artifacts and set dressing of a jidaigeki story right (surprisingly accurate at some points). I did cringe at some points or feel the uncanny valley, but again overall the show was engaging and enjoyable.

I've enjoyed other orientalist stories before, such as Kung Fu Panda and Avatar the Last Airbender. I've also enjoyed occidentalist stories like mohuan and isekai. Yet something with Blue Eye Samurai made me cringe sometimes. Comparing it to the others I've mentioned, perhaps it's because it's set in a more non-fantastical setting as opposed to a jianghu of sorts idk. Blue Eye Samurai is still entertaining though, and may be the start of a new genre.

It's hard to explain what it feels like for people who don't have the same cultural references, so here's an example of occidentalism. I noticed that when Genshin Impact (a Chinese game) released the new Fontaine region where they decided to mix Britain, Italy, France etc., which people claimed is just plain weird haha. But Fontaine has still been well received regardless it seems. On the other hand, I still cringe every time I see Senator Armstrong in Metal Gear Solid.

Historical references

Random, but here's a list of different artifacts and set dressings that appeared in the show. The little theatre play about the ronin and his wife uses kurogo (black clad actors) to manipulate the dolls, which was novel to see. Previously I've mostly watched kurogo being used to manipulate perspective such as in this Matrix Ping Pong skit and the Tokyo 2020 pictogram opening ceremony. Traditionally, Kurogo is used in Kabuki to create special effects and are supposed to be invisible to the audience.

Mizu's husband uses a naginata, which is basically a spear. Although also used by warriors in general, it was often used by women.

#Blue Eyed Samurai #Netflix #review #criticism #Azumi #Kung Fu Panda #Ghost of Tsushima #Avatar the Last Airbender #samurai #bushido #shinobi #ninja #onryo #gaijin #Sakoku #karma #revenge #uncanny valley #kurogo #feminism #orientalism #occidentalism #decolonization #blog

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

I really want to see your drawings of the Kaiju AU, I can’t stop thinking of Ragebloom as a giant hedgehog with lots of flowers and mushrooms on his back. Maybe with large sturdy nails that helps him create burrows and pick stuff up.

And he IS JUST THE CUTEST

I am so sorry this took me so long to answer, but I am finally feeling confident in my arting ability to attempt to draw giant Kaiju bois! I'm currently working on each design, so expect to see more soon enough!

Since you really wanted to see Ragebloom/Riddle's Kaiju form, here's a concept I was finally able to narrow down!

Since he is part plant, this means that Ragebloom/Riddle's "tail" continues to grow, wilt, and experience the same issues as any other plant. Here's some little headcanons on our boi here~!

When he sneezes or shakes his body, there's a chance that some of his quills will go flying and may accidentally stick one of the other kaiju. Shellshock/Trey is the only one who doesn't have to worry too much about this due to his shell.

Prunes his "tail" with his teeth to get it at a decent length that can still defend while still retain his regal status as pack leader. Rarely lets anyone else touch it except for Shellshock/Trey, Crystalflayer/Vil, Crewelfang/Crewel, and Yuu. Smells like grass trimmings and sap when he's pruning the leaves.

His "tail" can hide thorns and vines that can be used to strike like a flail/whip or restrain his target.

When he's feeling sick, his colors fade and his "tail" turns brown. Major pruning is needed if black or white speckled leaves are found to prevent him from getting severely ill.

Rarely ever gets caught in the rain, but he does enjoy a good soak in a pool of water to rehydrate himself. He is part plant, after all, so he has to maintain the proper amount of hydration to survive. When he's done soaking, though, he smells like damp earth.

Uses his long claws to dig holes in the earth, using it as a "nest" so he can circulate nutrients from the soil into his body. He never beds down in the exact same spot for longer than a week before he moves to ensure the nutrients have a chance to replenish.

He can grow mushrooms on his body, though he rarely does these days after a run-in with Heartbinder/Floyd terrorized him while he was trying to give some to Heartshocker/Jade. These mushrooms can serve a variety of different purposes, ranging from creating medicine to creating noxious poisons.

Ragebloom/Riddle is the only kaiju besides Echofang/Lilia who is immune to most paralyzing agents and poisons, as he's able to absorb said toxins into his system and create the very plant/fungus that produces it.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland kaiju au #twst kaiju au #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #vil schoenheit #lilia vanrouge #jade leech #floyd leech #hoping to flesh out the design more once I figure out how to properly do it

[shyvioletcat]

Oh hi! Yes, This is something a little new and different, especially for @sjmcrackshipmonth. For Pirate Day my wonderful friend @sassyhobbits​ and I came up with a little idea, she came up with this wonderful artwork and I wrote a fic and we had so much fun. So, without further rabbling here is my first official Aelin x Fenrys work. 

CW: it’s smutty, like really smutty. Secondhand embarrassment 

FIND THE ACCOMPANYING ARTWORK HERE.

~~~~~

People told Aelin she was mad for running a tavern in a pirate port, and at times she would have to admit that they were right. Brawls were common, there had been damage to the ceilings from more gunshots than she could count, when things truly got out of hand there was an occasional stabbing. Aelin had threatened carousers here and there herself down the barrel of the pistol she kept stowed away in a dark corner of the counter. But for all its trouble the White Stag thrived under her charge. She could never be idle and a tavern in a pirate port like this was a lucrative business. And it wasn’t like she was without protection. 

Rhoe Galathynius was the most prominent merchant in Orynth, which made him a veritable king amongst men. Coin was the power in these waters, and their city on the river thrived under his watchful eye and scheming. So the fancy, looping gold lettering of her family name under the wood carved sign of the rearing white stag hanging above her door let patrons know who they were dealing with. It was an assurance for both her and her customers that serious misdeeds would be met with severe punishment, and that kept people coming to her fine establishment night after night. 

Tonight was busy, patrons filling nearly every space they could. It was good for business but it was running Aelin off her feet. Usually she was content to watch from the landing above the main floor or slip through the crowd mingling, leaving the bartending to those she hired. But tonight with a barmaid ill that’s where Aelin found herself—pouring pint after pint, the pockets of her skirts full of coin. The gossip was that a few ships had docked over the past few days, bringing an influx of commerce and bodies to the city. Aelin hadn’t caught the names of the ships, but from the energy the city hummed they must have been successful with their seaborn endeavours. 

“Lass, two more!” A man weathered by wind and salt called to her. From the way he swayed he probably didn’t need another, let alone two, she would have to cut him off after this. 

Aelin grabbed two tankards from below the bar and filled them with beer from the keg behind her. By the second the flow was slowing, a sure sign she’d need to send Ren down to the cellar for another. His main job was to provide muscle when things got out of hand as pirates and their affiliates tended to do. It was just convenient for her that his muscles were useful for other things as well. When she had a moment to breathe she’d have to track him down.

“All clean,” Luca said, setting down a clean crate of tankards. “And more to wash I see, my hands will be shrivelled as prunes by the end of the night.”

“My apologies, but I’ll be sure to compensate you accordingly,” Aelin took a handful of her green overskirt and shook it enough that the coins in her pocket jingled. 

Luca’s eyes lit up as the crate of dirty tankards was set in front of him. “I’ll get these cleaned up right away.”

Aelin smiled then started unloading the clean drinkware that would be dirty again all too soon. She didn’t bother to make the arrangement look tidy, on a night like this no one would notice. Feeling sweat gather on her brow Aelin dotted it away with on her sleeve. It wasn’t a particularly hot night but with the amount of bodies in the tavern and how busy it was, her temperature wasn’t surprising. She was glad of the stray breezes that would brush over her shoulders, bare from the way her blouse draped off them. 

“Spare a drink for a poor, weary sailor?”

The question came from behind her, smooth and sensuous, the words were nothing but a tempting caress over her skin. Aelin knew that voice and knew its full intent, even though it had been missing from her tavern for months. As pleased as she was to hear it she made sure her smile was hidden away as she turned around slowly, a hand on her hip conveying her feigned displeasure at being interrupted. This is how they would start the game, and if he played along they would both win. 

“Fenrys Moonbeam, what brings your sorry arse into my tavern,” Aelin drawled.

Fenrys’ smile was pure taunt and flirtation. “The rum and the company of course.”

“So the rum takes precedence over the company then?” Aelin said, stepping up to be just a little closer.

“Ah, Princess,” Fenrys said, leaning his elbows on the counter that was still between them and not bothering to hide the appreciative sweep his eyes did over her. “You know what the truth of it is.”

Aelin couldn’t help it, she felt the corner of her lips tilt into a crooked smile. But she also wasn’t about to concede, “Do I, though? Nary a word all these long months, for all I knew you had found a more favourable port and run off with a prettier girl.”

“Prettier than you? I think I’d be hard pressed to find someone as lovely as you, Miss Galathynius,” Fenrys said.

“You’re flattering me for a free drink,” Aelin accused.

Fenrys tipped his head back and laughed. “Is it working?”

There was a thunk as the short glass hit wood, and then Aelin was pouring out a measure of her best rum. “Yes.”

Their fingers brushed as Fenrys took the glass and he downed it. While he was occupied Aelin took the opportunity to peruse over him. First she looked for any sign of injury, pirating had its many dangers but from what she could see there were no noticeable hurts. Fenrys looked good, he always did. His golden sunkissed curls were tied back from his face showing off the perpetual smile that seemed to grace his lips. The blue coat he wore was very dashing, with the cut of it accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. Ever the flaunter he’d chosen a white shirt that dipped low, the white of it contrasting the deep bronze of his skin made deeper from the hours he spent in the sun. He’d been gods’ blessed with handsomeness that could only be dreamed of, and an ego to match. Some found him insufferable, mainly those who lacked a sense of humour or any idea of fun. For Aelin, he was an utter delight. 

She was called away before they could continue their conversation, but Fenrys didn’t go anywhere. He lingered at the bar, claiming a stool when one became available. 

“The next one will cost you,” Aelin said, wiping down the counter so it looked like she had a reason to stop.

“Always such a hard businesswoman.” Fenrys didn’t protest and dropped two coins on the worn wood. 

Aelin slid them off into her and then her pocket. “What will it be?”

“That sweet Perranth wine if you have it,” Fenrys requested. 

“You’re in luck, my supplier just brought in a delivery yesterday,” Aelin wasted no time, because she didn’t have it, and poured Fenrys a tankard of wine. Glasses were for quiet gatherings, not an overcrowded tavern where it was likely to be knocked out of an unsuspecting hand and shattered on the floor. 

“My thanks,” Fenrys tipped his drink at her.

Aelin left him to his wine and tended to the never ending flow of patrons looking for food and drink. Fenrys just stayed sitting there and making sure to catch her eye whenever she passed by. There was no question as to why he was here. 

One evening a year or two ago Fenrys had come in with the crew of the Maeve. That night had been vastly different to this, with Fenrys and his crewmates nearly the only customers for the evening. That had allowed an easier night for Aelin with more than enough opportunity for conversation with the charismatic man—not with the others because they were a sullen and broody bunch—and eventual flirting. As the night wore on, she and Fenrys ended up on a low couch by the fire. Along with his staggering handsomeness, he was also highly entertaining. His ludicrous stories had Aelin’s sides hurting with laughter and he was kind enough to ply her with enough compliments to keep her by his side. And when it was just the two of them left basking in the fire’s warmth and Fenrys leaned in, she’d let him kiss her. Which led to Aelin guiding him up the stairs and to her room where they kept each other company in other ways. 

Since then, whenever he was in port Fenrys appeared in her tavern and they spent what time they could together until he was called away to the sea again. His captain was a hard bastard and didn’t see the point to lingering on land. The first mate wasn’t much better. Aelin had more than her fair share of run-ins with Rowan Whitethorn—none of them ending well. Their arguments had become legendary. She was more than sure that she hated him and that the feeling was mutual.

Fenrys couldn’t be more different than those men, vivacious and brash, he was more than enough a match for her when it came to wit. It was hard to find a flaw in the man. With so much in his favour, Aelin was still unsure whether or not she was in love with him. He was gone too often and for too long for any real emotion to take root. But at the very least they were friends, and they had fun. Without Fenrys her life would be far more dull and the unexpectedness of his arrival always gave their trysts a thrill. If he ever gave up seafaring maybe she could love him more than she did. There was a wildness to Fenrys that only the sea could soothe. Life on land just might bore him to death. 

Despite the lack of attention, Fenrys remained, his thumb running over a loose nail that was poking out of the wooden counter. Aelin made note to fix that, she didn’t need the complaints of an unobservant patron who hurt themselves or ripped their clothing. She had to commend Fenrys for his patience, a lesser man might have run off by now. 

“How has your day been, Miss Galathynius?” Fenrys asked when Aelin stopped near him to pour out a measure of rum for another customer.

“As you can see, I’m very busy tonight,” Aelin told him, watching his eyes shine as he sipped.

He didn’t look away as the tankard lowered. “I can wait.”

Aelin wanted to sigh in self pity, but she didn’t. “It’s going to be a long night.”

“You can bet on it,” Fenrys said, his words a sensual promise. 

Aelin passed off the tankard to the patron who gave her the money in exchange, when there was a call for more beer it reminded her of the impending problem. “Make yourself useful and I might think about it.”

Fenrys’ head titled, the beaded lock of his hair swaying. “How so?”

“I need another one of these,” Aelin said and slapped the keg behind her, “brought up from the cellar.”

Finishing off his wine far quicker than it deserved Fenrys got up from his stool. “It would be my pleasure.”

Aelin pulled out the ring of keys that she tucked into the wide belt around her waist and handed them over to the pirate. “Do not cause me more trouble than you're worth down there.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Fenrys said with a wink, fingers grazing over the outside of her palm and up her fingers. Despite the heat of the room and the busy fluster Aelin had worked herself into she shivered. That was the first time they had touched and that soft caress had her craving more. 

She didn’t have long to dwell on that as she was summoned again and was more than occupied while Fenrys was gone. Drinks were poured one after the other, bowls of Emrys’ chowder went out from the kitchens, the way this was going Aelin wouldn’t be done until the sun came up. Gods knew if Fenrys would be around that long. Aelin groaned, cursing her bad luck. The one night Fenrys would be assuredly in Orynth she would be run off her feet and too busy and too tired to enjoy his company. 

Before too long the Fenrys was back, keg on his shoulder to keep it out of the way of the patron’s heads—very considerate. He stepped behind the counter, easing the fresh beer onto the empty stand and expertly fixed the tap. With his job done Fenrys grabbed himself a tankard and helped himself to the first serving. Aelin didn’t bother to stop him, she just gave him a crooked smile and a playful roll of her eyes. He stayed where he was, even though he shouldn’t. Aelin ignored his antics and grabbed two tankards for her own uses. As she leaned over to fill them with beer a broad hand rested on the small of her back, deft fingers tucking her keys back into her belt. With two tankards full, Aelin straightened, one in each hand, and found her path blocked. 

“Out of my way, please,” she huffed and then blew at a loose strand of hair. She had tied a scarf around her head in an effort to keep her hair out of her face. The flustering conditions and the humidity weren’t helping the intent. 

“Where are you going?” Fenrys asked, standing a little taller but not leaving for where he should be as a paying customer. 

Aelin took advantage of the space she could, easing through the small gap Fenrys left between his body and the counter, careful not to spill the beer. “To those people in the corner, I promised I’d bring it over once you had done your job.”

She thought she was free and clear when troublesome hands on her hips stopped her progress. “Do I get a thank you for that?”

The annoyed smirk that lacked the needed irritation was already on her face when she looked up at him. Fenrys was a good head taller than her, his face was full of mirth and all but begging for a kiss as he looked down at her. But Aelin wasn’t ready to give into him just yet. 

“Have you bathed since making port, or was the allure of my company too compelling?” She knew the answer, she had noticed the lack of braids he wore while at sea, and she was sure his hair was wet when he first walked in. 

That smile fell, an affronted look filled his face. “I’m offended that you would assume that, Aelin.”

“I’m offended that I wasn’t worth skipping a bath over,” Aelin told him. 

That was enough of a distraction and when Fenrys laughed Aelin took her chance and stepped out of his hold. Over the commotion of the tavern she swore she could still hear his amusement chasing her through the crowd. Aelin set the foaming tankards down and accepted the generous contribution to the establishment in return. Her pocket was starting to get severely weighed down, she might have to duck up to her rooms to empty it into her coffer. 

Her return to her task as barmaid was slower than anticipated, many patrons stopping her for greetings and snippets of gossip. Aelin liked to know what was going on in her city so she listened to all of it, tucking away bits of information that might be useful to herself or her father. Rumours were buzzing that the Maeve had been quite successful on its latest voyage and promised more profit. A hoard of treasure maps was cited as the reason. She might have to ask Fenrys about it. 

Eventually Aelin made it back to her post and was surprised to see a small woman with dark hair seated next to Fenrys. They chatted, and the woman laughed at something he said, even touching his forearm that rested on the bar. If Aelin didn’t recognise the woman she might have been jealous. The golden, smiling man was not the company her friend preferred to seek out.

“Elide, hello,” Aelin said, resting her elbow on the other woman’s shoulder. 

Elide was dressed in a simple lavender gown, nothing gaudy or to draw attention. She preferred an inconspicuous life where she was the one who made the rules. Her family winery in Perranth was her’s once her parents decided to retire. In the meantime she set about proving just how capable she was.

“I was just chatting to Elide about her wonderful wine,” Fenrys said. “Amongst other things.”

Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“There was a request for a barrel to be sent to the Maeve and I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting the captain who was the only one left on the ship,” Elide explained. “Such a sullen bastard. I could barely get three words out of him before he disappeared back into his cabin. Luckily before he did he threw some coins at some boys on the dock and they carried it up the gangway.”

“I don’t know why you don’t find yourself a new captain,” Aelin directed at Fenrys.

The man just shrugged. “He’s good at what he does and I get the benefits. It’s not like I have to talk to him. I leave all that up to Whitethorn.”

“Whitethorn? Isn’t he the one who you threw a glass at that one time?” Elide asked.

Aelin huffed, the sound full of aggravation, and then went back to being behind the counter. “The very same.”

One evening for some reason beyond her, Rowan Whitethorn had graced her tavern with his insufferable presence. Nothing had been to his standards, not the beer, not the music and he had been very vocal about it. Aelin had told him to go elsewhere if the current surroundings were so offensive, he ignored her and chose to stay. When he claimed the beer was cheap and tasted like shit she had lost her temper. She had picked up a nearly empty glass of wine and threw it at him which he had effortlessly dodged, something akin to shock on his face as he watched the red liquid drip down the wall. Her demanding he pay for the damages had been the final straw and with a scowl on his sharp and handsome face he left her tavern. Aelin counted that as a win for her.

“The glass was chipped anyway, it was no loss to me.”

Fenrys looked like he was trying to keep his laughter in and like he was about to say something he’d surely regret. 

“Don’t,” Aelin said, pointing a finger at him. “You’ll not say a word if you know what’s good for you.”

Yielding to her request, Fenrys held up his hands, the gold rings on his fingers glinting in the low light. “Understood, Princess. Now if you fine ladies will excuse me.”

He was gone moments later, disappearing into the crowd, but Aelin had no doubt that he would return. Fenrys was far too eager for her company to be dissuaded so easily. There was a call further down the counter for more beer and Aelin saw to that before coming back to her friend who hadn’t left. 

“Can I get you anything? On the house of course,” Aelin offered. 

Elide gave her a knowing look, her eyebrows raised like she could have been questioning Aelin’s sanity. “What are you doing?”

Aelin felt her own brows narrow in confusion. “Working, as you can see.”

“Aelin, my dearest, most lovely friend,” Elide said leaning forward on the counter. “You have a man here, who is desperate for your company and is more than willing to give you a long night of pleasure, and you’re passing out beers instead?”

“I don’t exactly have a choice here,” Aelin said. “Essar is ill, and you can see how busy we are. I’m not exactly the shrewd business woman I claim to be if I ignore it to take Fenrys to my bed.”

As a timely reminder yet another patron asked for a pour of wine and rum, Aelin saw to it as quickly as she could. Luck was not on her side this evening, at this rate she’d be too tired to do anything once she fell into bed. 

“I won’t say that you won’t owe me for this,” Elide said, standing up from her stool, “because you will.”

“What are you…”

With quick fingers Elide braided her hair back, securing the end with a dark piece of ribbon. “Show me where everything is.”

It took Aelin a moment to catch on, her face going slack before she grinned. She showed Elide where everything she might need was, going over it twice more for her own peace of mind than her friend requiring more clarification. Aelin also made sure to inform the other’s working tonight so there wasn’t any confusion as to why Elide was behind the counter. 

“Keep the tankard tilted, helps limit the foam and unhappy customers,” Aelin explained and the amber liquid rose higher as she gave a hands-on demonstration. “And I think that’s all you need to know.”

“I think I’ve got it,” Elide said. 

“And if you have any trouble, call for Ren. He’ll sort it out,” Aelin added.

“Aye, captain.” Elide flourished that comment with a salute. 

“What’s going on here?” Fenrys’ voice cut through the conversation.

“I need to deposit some of tonight’s earnings in my room,” Aelin said, sauntering around to the other side of the counter, a hand raising to even out the collar of Fenrys’ jacket. “Care to join me?”

His dark eyes flashed as he easily read the implications of her invitation. “Lead the way.”

Aelin took his hand, leading him through the crowd to the staircase in the corner. The crowd took up the shanty that was being played. When they passed the small gathering dancing in front of the musicians Fenrys spun her and moved with the music, but still kept them heading towards their destination. Reaching the wooden stairs, Aelin gathered her skirts in her free hand to prevent herself from tripping as they hurried up the steps. On the landing they went left, the right led to a halfway with a handful of rooms she let out. Her private ones were larger and more secluded, the balcony on the outside offering beautiful views of the river port. That door painted a rich green was the last obstacle between her and what she wanted. And in just a few more steps she would be there.

Fenrys was a heavy and welcome presence behind her as she worked on unlocking the door. His hands were on her waist, his lips on the bare skin of her shoulder, it was enough of a distraction that Aelin was struggling to secure the key in the lock. That was only made worse when those godsdamned hands slipped higher, pressing over her bodice until they cupped her breasts. That had Aelin arching onto him, and in return that had Fenrys squeezing before his hands travelled downwards again—fingers catching on the neckline of her blouse. She was desperate to feel those hands on her with nothing to hinder them. 

“Fen,” Aelin whispered harshly. He just hummed his response onto her skin. “I would very much like to open the door so that we can continue this more privately.”

“My apologies,” he said, low enough that it had her skin pebbling. 

Other than that he let her be, halting his distracting journey over her body. It was a disappointing loss but the sooner Aelin got the door open, the sooner they could start again. 

Blocking out everything except the lock and key was the only way that Aelin managed to get the door open. She stepped into the dimly lit space, a single lamp barely glowing on a small table where she dropped her keys. There was a couch and an armchair set in front of a cold fireplace and there was another door that led to a private bathroom. The place could have been tidier, but Aelin hadn’t exactly been expecting guests. Fenrys closing the door redirected her attention, and he all but stalked towards her. To tease and make the trek that much easier, Aelin backed up towards her bedroom. She was caught just as they got to the entrance of it, Fenrys catching her by the waist and cupping her face. The moan at that first press of his lips was undeniable. 

For a while that’s all they did, just kiss in the dim light under the doorway. When Fenrys’ thumb dragged down the length of her neck, Aelin got impatient. She angled them so that they entered her room with tangled steps towards her bed. Her hands weren’t idle, searching out what bare skin they could. When there wasn’t much on offer Aelin slid one hand down the centre of his chest, all the way down to palm him through his trousers. Fenrys stumbled forward with enough strength to force Aelin back a couple of steps.

“Still have your sea legs?” Aelin teased through her laughter.

Huffing his own laugh, Fenrys pulled her closer so their noses brushed. “Maybe I’ll be steadier on my knees then.”

Before Aelin could even comment his lips were back on her’s, while his focus shifted to removing her clothes. The belt around her waist was the first to go, then his deft fingers had the laces and buttons of her forest green outer skirt undone and it was dropping over her hips. There was a jingling thud as the coins hit the floor, probably scattering, but that was a problem for later. Fenrys' progress was stalled when he discovered that the laces of her undershirt were hidden beneath her bodice. His groan of frustration was comical, and Aelin would have laughed if it weren’t for the way Fenrys’ hands were playing along the tops of her exposed breasts as his mouth lowered to her neck. 

Her body was tugged forward as the laces of her bodice were pulled at. Fenrys struggled, getting clumsier the more desperate he became, and even now Aelin’s patience was running thin. She needed him, now. It seemed Fenrys felt the same because one moment her floral embroidered bodice was tight against her body and the next it was falling away. Confused by the sudden development Aelin looked down to see the metallic glint of a knife and the ribbons in pieces. 

“You ruined my laces,” Aelin gasped, shoving the brute back half a step. “You bastard.”

Fenrys just smirked down at her, reaching out to slip the strap of the bodice off one shoulder, “I’ll buy you more,” then he did the same with the other. “The prettiest ribbons you can find.”

Aelin let the useless piece of clothing fall off her arms, Fenrys watching her every movement. She gave him a look that said don’t touch as she saw to the underskirt herself, her untucked blouse falling to the very top of her things. Fenrys’ gaze swept over her from head to toe, once and then twice, his eyes catching on the loose neckline that was revealing just enough to drive him wild. But he didn’t move, just waiting for Aelin to dictate what happened next. 

“The prettiest and the most expensive,” Aelin said.

Fenrys nodded, not taking his eyes off her for a second. “Whatever you say.”

She didn’t bother with the buttons of her blouse, instead she just pulled it over her head. When Fenrys reappeared in her vision his eyes were ravenous and his hands twitched at his side, no doubt warring with himself and the need to touch her. Aelin pulled out the head scarf and then she was bare except for the simple underwear at her hips. Her hand draped from her neck, drifting down between the valley of her breasts.

“Do you promise?” Aelin asked, smirking at the man in front of her who looked ready to erupt. 

She saw the exact moment his resolve snapped, had her laughing as he rushed forward and gave his breathless answer against her lips. “Yes.”

Aelin found herself seated on the edge of her bed, her senses fleeing as Fenrys kissed her. She was half aware of him shedding his jacket and starting on the buttons of his white shirt. The thought came to her that she should help him so that his hands might be better occupied, but she never got the chance to voice it in the slightest. Because Fenrys dropped to his knees in front of her, large hands inching up her thighs. Aelin shuddered and her underwear was pulled down her legs and thrown away. A single wink was all Fenrys gave before on her. 

The first brush of his tongue over Aelin’s core had her gasping, arms quaking where they braced her weight on the bed. Fenrys was one to playfully brag about the wonders for his mouth and Aelin could truly attest to every word. She buried her hand in his curls, ruining the bun he had them tied in, and gave herself over to the feeling of every nip, every press of his tongue. Aelin moaned, loud and unrestrained. It had been too long since someone had made her feel like this. The pleasure built to the point of consuming her when every ministration stopped and Fenrys pulled out of her grasp. 

“The hell… what are you doing?” Aelin asked through her laboured breaths. Her heart was pounding, her body screaming to be touched again. 

“I’ll never last,” Fenrys said, sounding a little mad at himself. That anger only became more evident as he yanked at his clothes to get them off. If Aelin had the wits she might have helped him, but for now she could only watch as everything was revealed to her. “I have to have you now.” 

With his pants gone Aelin could see how much Fenrys meant it. The sight of his cock, hard and ready, had her unconsciously arching towards him with need. Fenrys used that to his advantage, his muscled arm wrapping around her waist and hauling them up the bed. It was Aelin who pulled him in for a kiss and from there she let herself burn. 

Fenrys settled on her hips, pressing their bodies as flushed together as they could be. The feel of him was incredible, the weight and heat of his body was something Aelin had absolutely missed. His hands ran over what they could—her sides, hips and thighs—anywhere he could reach without separating them. All the while his hips drove into her’s, the length of him rubbing enough delicious friction to make Aelin dizzy with need. She writhed against him, trying her best to get him to slip inside her, even trying to distract him by biting down on his bottom lip. It didn’t work, for now Fenrys was content to touch her, not surprising considering how long he’d been at sea. Aelin knew a touched starve man when she saw, and had thrown many of them out of her establishment over the years. If this is what Fenrys needed, she would gladly give it to him and surrendered.

One hand ceased its movements on her thigh, fingers digging into her flesh to pull her open just a little wider. Aelin moaned in anticipation, feeling the head of his cock at her entrance. Fenrys continued to tease her, his unoccupied hand pressing into her side and then up, his thumb taking a moment to run hypnotising circles over the side of her breast before heading upwards again. Then he pushed her arm up and extended it above her head, his hand dragging all the way up to meet Aelin’s. It wasn’t until their hands were laced together that his hips thrusted at just the right angle he slid into her. At the feel of him seated so deep Aelin’s body bowed into the sensation instinctually, trying to draw the man above her closer, deeper. It had Fenrys groaning into the skin of her neck as they both took a moment to collect themselves before he started moving. 

Aelin had expected it to be hurried and desperate, this was anything but. Each roll of his hips was slow and thorough, enough to make Aelin’s breath catch but not take it away. Maybe Fenrys had the right idea, maybe after being apart for so long he was right to savour this first time. She was sure before morning came they would have time for more than enough rounds to make up for it.

“Talk to me, Princess. Let me know you’re here with me,” he nearly begged in between kisses.

“You feel so good, Fen,” Aelin told him. 

“I could say the same.” The thrust that followed that admission was sharper than the others, a sure sign he was slowly unravelling. 

“You know how I like it.”

“Like what?” Fenrys asked, voice edged with desperation as Aelin moaned. “How you like what, Aelin?”

He was enough of a bastard that he would taunt and take away what was currently driving her insane until she said it, and Aelin was tired of playing. “How I like to be fucked.”

At her words, the steady pace that Fenrys had set faltered, had his body shuddering. “The things you do to me.”

His hips snapped, the angle perfect. Aelin only knew she needed more. “Gods, I need you closer.”

Fenrys rolled them both, his grip on her arse keeping them intimately connected. Aelin thought he was going to stop then, but she felt one strong thigh bend behind and then he had pushed himself up so his back lent on her headboard. Aelin panted as she sat in Fenrys’ lap, savouring the feeling this position gave her. She wouldn’t last much longer, the coil in her stomach wound with each shift of their hips. 

“There you go,” Fenrys said sweetly. “I’m right where you want me.”

“Yes,” Aelin whispered. “Thank you.”

The sass that came out of near delirium earned her a rumbling laugh and lingering kiss, making Aelin’s hips roll on their own accord. That undid Fenrys and he kissed her with more urgency as the hands that hadn’t moved shifted her in his lap dragged her onto him, prompting her to move like that again. Aelin did, her hands on the headboard either side of Fenrys’ head. Once she had her rhythm Fenrys let go of her, but not for long. There was a hand on her breast, the other splayed on her pack to push her closer. The man was indeed desperate for contact, only made clearer by his next request.

“Touch me, Aelin.”

She knew he didn’t mean his cock that was still inside her, there was no way in hell Aelin would be willing to with how close she was to breaking apart. Fenrys was after something softer. Her hands left the headboard, and she touched him like he wanted. Sweet caresses over his face, sweeps over his shoulders. It urged Fenrys to move his hips faster, meeting Aelin in perfect synchronisation. His lips on her neck were not what she wanted, so she angled his face to hers, kissing him fiercely. It was his heady groan on her mouth that had Aelin breaking like a wave, pleasure rushing through every nerve of her body. She nearly screamed from the force of it, they had strung it out so long that this relief was blinding and all consuming, all Aelin could do was keep moving to drag it out as long as she could. 

“Fuck,” Fenrys moaned on her mouth, helping her move on him chasing his own pleasure. “Fuck me, Aelin.”

Her over sensitive inner walls felt his cock twitch and then Fenrys was groaning as he came. Aelin kept rocking, wanting to draw it out for the both of them as long as she could. It felt too good to let it fade just yet. The way Fenrys clung to her as he caught his breath was sweet, and as Aelin’s own body calmed she ran a soothing hand over his hair. He hummed contentedly, hugging Aelin tighter against him while his lips wandered aimlessly over her skin.

Aelin chuckled. “Feel better?”

“You are too good to me,” Fenrys murmured onto her skin. 

For a while they just sat there, touching and waiting for the other to move. In the end it was Fenrys, kissing Aelin deeply as he lay her down before pulling out. He didn’t bother with pants and Aelin took the opportunity to admire the view. When he was gone entirely she stretched out, feeling sated but willing for more. Aelin missed him while he was away, and it wasn’t just in the bedroom, it was the conversation and companionship as well. And now that they’d had such a gratifying release of tension there was nothing to say that they couldn’t do both at the same time. 

Soon enough Fenrys returned, cloth in hand, and moments later they were cleaned up and back in each other’s arms. Aelin lay on her side facing Fenrys, and he did the same, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair. She busied herself with idling tracing the scars on his chest. There were no new pale marks that marred his skin. When she ran her finger over a particularly large one low on his side Fenrys shivered. 

“So I hear the Maeve and her crew have fallen into good fortune,” Aelin said.

“That would be true,” Fenrys kissed her forehead before pulling back. “Whitethorn found some maps in an abandoned cave in the Cambrian Mountains. There used to be stories of a creature in the lake that guarded them, so who knows how many years superstition won out. We’ve been more than successful.”

“Good to hear.” It was then that she noticed the blue gem stud in his earlobe. The piercing wasn’t now, Aelin hadn’t seen this earring before. She reached out to flick it. “Is that a sapphire?”

Fenrys nodded his head. “It is. Do you like it?”

Aelin shrugged, and as if she couldn’t help but be drawn to him her body inched closer. “I prefer emeralds.”

“Well,” Fenrys said, voice straining as he used his weight and a hand on her hip to urge Aelin to lie on her back. “Next time I’ll try and bring you some back. Whitethorn usually claims them all first though.”

Aelin scoffed. “Selfish bastard.”

Fenrys’ answer to that was a soft chuckle and an upward sweep of his hand over her body. Instantly Aelin's blood heated again, craving his touch and the release that would inevitably follow. Fenrys read every sign that her body was giving, propped up on an elbow as he watched her try not to writhe. His fingers had claimed the peak of her breast, teasing and pinching until it was hard. When he flicked it Aelin gasped, a hand darting out to hold him by the back of the neck. Then his mouth was on the unattended breast and Aelin gave up fighting her composure.

“You’re not ready yet,” she panted, her body bucking as need pulsed lower. 

“Ah, Princess,” Fenrys said, but Aelin barely heard him. She was too focused on the hand that was travelling down her body. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have fun in the meantime.”

The only answer she could offer him was a deep moan as his thumb reached the apex of her thighs, drawing tight circles that were almost too much. Fenrys slowed down, and shifted so that both his hands and his mouth had something to do. When Aelin gasped as his fingers teased her entrance, Fenrys kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth. The sensations of his mouth, the hand on her breast and the other between her thighs had Aelin hurtling towards that peak of release. But Fenrys held her there right on the edge, forcing Aelin to open her eyes and look at him. 

Fenrys’ dark eyes were full of so many sinful promises that there was no doubt what the rest of the evening would entail. “I made you a promise, Aelin. And I intended to keep it.”

With that declaration his fingers slipped into her, finding that spot and moments later she was unravelling and moaning her pleas to the gods. Aelin was in for a long night indeed. 

Soft kisses and wandering hands woke her up the next morning. Her bedroom was barely illuminated by the morning light meaning it must be early. She usually got to sleep late into the morning due to the working hours she kept. But last night it had been Fenrys who had kept her up until the very small hours of the morning. Aelin groaned, this time not in pleasure—at least it wasn’t that way at first. When his hand brushed over her bare breast like that it was hard to maintain her indignation. 

“Why are we awake?” Aelin mumbled into her pillow. 

Fenrys kissed up her neck. “Still on ship's time.”

He was ready. She could feel the hardness and heat of him pressing into her back. It wasn’t a terrible way to be woken up and Aelin supposed she could sleep later. The White Stag wouldn’t open until after noon anyway. Aelin pushed back into him, but went pliant in his hands, a signal that she was willing to give him the lead this time. Fenrys all but growled, nipping at her shoulder and he urged her onto her stomach.

They were in a tangled mess of sheets and bedding, there was some manoeuvring on Fenrys’ part to free trapped limbs. Opening her eyes, Aelin found herself at the foot end of the bed. It seems they hadn’t bothered to put themselves to bed properly after their escapes the night before. Aelin had simply grabbed a pillow and fallen asleep where she was, the pillow she now tossed away as she was pressed into the mattress. Fenrys ran his hands over her body, stopping at her hips just to angle them how he wanted. The sleep haze fled, and want replaced it, causing a needy whimper to escape Aelin’s lips without her permission. 

Fenrys started his trek up her body, his lips leading the way as they trailed up her spine. He brushed her knotted hair over her shoulder and continued to the newly exposed skin. Aelin could feel the heat of his body as he was braced over her now, a hand sneaking its way of the sheets to lay over one of her’s. That little gesture had Aelin smiling, remembering how demanding he had been for small affections last night. This morning was no different. 

“I don’t think I’ve told you enough,” Fenrys said by her ear, making her skin pebble. “You’re stunning.”

“You don’t, I want to hear it more,” Aelin snarked back.

Fenrys snorted, making her laugh in turn. “Duly noted, Princess.”

He lined himself up, the swollen head of his cock pressing against her core. Aelin tried to push herself back to take him deeper, but Fenrys held her still, a silent demand to just wait. She did, it might have killed her a little but she did. Then Fenrys slid in with one delicious stroke. Aelin moaned the entirety of it, loving the feeling of having him inside her again.  

“You are stunning,” Fenrys whispered, accentuating his words with another thrust. “Absolutely stunning.”

“Fen,” Aelin breathed. “More.”

Fenrys dropped lower, still holding most of his weight himself, and shifted so that they moved in a steady grind. It felt so good that all Aelin could do was let herself be swept away in everything he was giving. 

“Stunning.” Fenrys’ breathing was getting harder, the word coming out nearly desperate. 

Aelin was about to demand it harder—faster—when her bedroom door was unceremoniously thrown open, hard enough it slammed on her wall. No knocking, no nothing, there was someone else in her room. Fenrys nearly collapsed on top of her, he managed to stop himself before he crushed all the air out of her lungs. Aelin looked up, glaring and ready to spit her best obscenities at the intruder. The unexpectedness of their identity had the words catching on her tongue and her cheeks heating. 

Because there, in her doorway was none other than Rowan Whitethorn.

“Shit,” Fenrys said, pushing the sheet her way so she could cover herself. He’s always been considerate like that. 

Aelin was the first to recover. “I don’t remember inviting you into my home.”

Rowan ought to be commended for how intently he kept his eyes on her face. “Should have locked your door. Time to go, Moonbeam.”

“Piss off, Whitethorn.” That may have been the first time Aelin had truly heard Fenrys sound angry. 

“I gave you orders,” Rowan said, arms crossing over his chest. 

Aelin wished she had her pistol, or maybe the dagger in her nightstand, just something to threaten the infuriating man with. “Unless you plan to join us, get out.”

Rowan raised one of eyebrows, the tattoos on his face shifting. “You two should be so lucky.”

Gods, here they were chatting and Fenrys was still inside her.

Fenrys seemed to realise the same moment she did, discreetly separating them and using some of the messy bedding to cover himself. Keeping her eyes locked on the green ones, Aelin took a handful of sheet and held it to her chest as she slowly sat up, not caring what might or might not be covered. From the way that the cold morning air nipped at her skin, Whitethorn was getting at least a little bit of a show. 

And right there, Aelin didn’t miss how his eyes finally darted down, just for one lingering moment before he spun around and marching through her living room. 

“Now, Moonbeam!” He bellowed over his shoulder as hand racked through his shoulder length silver hair, making sure to slam the other door that opened to the landing as well. 

There was a moment of charged silence and then Aelin giggled and fell back on the bed. Fenrys joined in, the intensity of their laughter increasing until they were both struggling to breathe. Fingers on her chin tilted her head to the side to see Fenrys’ dark eyes full of amusement. 

“I am so sorry, Aelin.” His voice was still shaking.

Aelin shrugged. “I don’t suppose we could finish up?”

That sobered Fenrys up very quickly. “He’s likely to come back and drag me out naked into the street.”

“That would be quite the end to the story,” Aelin mused like she was considering it. 

“You are pure trouble,” Fenrys said, tapping her nose.

Aelin laughed, taking Fenrys’ hand. “I could say the same about you.”

They both knew he had to go, but neither of them were willing to start the goodbye. In the end Fenrys got up with a heavy sigh, picked up his pants and started dressing. Aelin sat up, watching the disaster unfold in front of her. She thought they would have more time—at least today to enjoy themselves together and catch up. It wasn’t to be and it filled Aelin with a sudden feeling of loneliness.

“Hey,” Fenrys said as he tightened his belt. “I’ll be back in no time.”

Aelin nodded. “With my emerald”

With a crooked smirk Fenrys replied, “With your emerald.” 

“Even if you have to fight that bastard Whitethorn for it,” Aelin pressed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Fenrys’ hands landed either side of her hips, one last brief moment of closeness. “For you it would be my honour.” He picked up his jacket off the floor, shrugging it onto his shoulders. Fully dressed there was nothing left to delay him and with one final kiss, Fenrys finally said goodbye. “Until next time, Princess.”

Aelin nodded, swallowing against the tightness building in her throat. Fenrys winked then left her room. It was at the final glance of him walking out the deep green door that she finally whispered, “Until next time.”

~~~~~

I know its not the usual but I had so much fun writing these two!

Tags: @fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @galyxsy // @tangledraysofsunshine // @highqueenofelfhame // @3am-reading // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @aelinfire-bringer // @nalgenewhore // @highladyofthesith // @http-itsrebecca // @sleep-and-books // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @sleeping-and-books // @ttakeitbacknoww // @armixers-unite // @mariamuses // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @heroesofterrasen // @highladyofstoriesandmusic // @empire-of-wildfire // @camerooonchiu // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @tswaney17 // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @flowerspringsea // @chaoticskyy // @the-regal-warrior // @fanfictrash3000 // @blueeyes425 // @starseternalnighttriumphant // @bamchickawowow // @thehuntressofmoon // @giorgia-the-trashpanda // @flora-and-fae // @thereaderandfangirl // @illyrian-bookworm // @chemicha // @meltalgel // @gay-book-nerd // @that-odd-puzzle-piece // @i-love-all-books // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @hizqueen4life // @the-third-me // @1islessthan3books // @bestmelle // @cursebreaker29 // @b00kworm // @superspiritfestival // @aesthetics-11 // @maastrash // @mynewdreamwasyou // @the-last-apprentice // @charincharge // @firestarsandseneschals // @scarznstars // @absolute-dissapointment // @thesurielships // @df3ndyr // @trinitybailey2003 // @gwynethhberdara // @booknerdproblems // @larisssss // @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves // @rolltide7 // @scandinavianromantic // @tillyrubes10 // @starwarsslytherin // @minaidss // @paytin77 // @jesstargaryenqueen // @anntheintrovert // @starbornvalkyrie // @loudphantomdragon // @woollycat22 // @claralady // @perseusannabeth​ // @fangirlprincess09​ // @maddymelv // @sierrareads​ // @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx // @jlinez // @lysandra-ghost-leopard​ // @rowaelinismyotp​ // @pullnpeeltwizzlers​ // @anne-reads // @jadeaffliction​ // @gracie-rosee​ // @elriel4life​ // @rowaelinrambling​ // @tothestarswholistentodreamers // @thenerdandfandoms // @castielspelvis​ // @swankii-art-teacher​ // @grandma-noob-lord​ // @vanzetanze​ // @highlady-brittney​ // @story-scribbler​ // @linguine-panini // @pastasiren​ // @surielandiareendgame // @silentquartz​ // @live-the-fangirl-life​ // @whimsicallyreading​ // @goddess-aelin​ // @s-uppertime​ // 

#sjmcrackshipmonth23 #fenlin #aelin x fenrys #throne of glass fanfiction #it might not be your thing but you might want to skip to the end #ohhh boy i might have created a monster here

[ohbo-ohno]

Original Ghoap scritchie anon here:

I am giggling hysterically at the thought of Simon kneeling reverentially before you in the shower like he's about to receive the sacrament and offering up his $3 bottle of Sports-Scented Man Wash.

No matter how much the boys want you to smell like them, you are NOT using that cheap gunk in your hair, thank you very much. 😤 They are only too happy to buy you proper hair products (doesn't have their scent but makes you smell soooo good) although you will have to be excruciatingly detailed, even going so far as to make them pull up and screenshot a picture of the bottles on their phones to make sure they don't get the wrong thing.

Simon is still going to use his shampoo/conditioner/body wash/moisturizer/gun oil/lubes super combo because he's been using the same thing for 20 years and sees no reason to change it. (But if he's going to be away for awhile on a job he maaaaaybe might mayhaps wash his mask with your soap before he leaves so he can smell you while he works. Possibly.)

Johnny, however, has had an absolute revelation. All these years he's spent washing his hair with cheap-ass soap and he could've had this? The first time he steals your shampoo, he washes his hair like three times over the course of one shower just to enjoy how luxuriously it lathers. Comes strolling out all smug as hell, running his hand over his hair. "Hey. Hey y/n. Notice anything?" (He 100% thinks a single wash is going to make a noticeable difference). This is obviously an invitation for you to pet his hair, duh, and if you don't (or won't) pick up on it he will pout like the world is ending. He still uses the 3-in-1 on missions, it's just more practical, but as soon as he gets home he is dragging you into the shower to correct the damage that has clearly been done to his hair out on the field. You might have to shampoo and condition him several times, y/n, it's dire. :(

Simon gives him endless shit over it, over course ("you ain't a fuckin' show dog, Johnny"), but secretly likes the way your cosmetic smells mix with Johnny's natural scent. But he also is jealous about how much of your precious shower time Johnny's new found love of hair care is taking up. Either they are going to do some bathroom reno to get a shower big enough for all three of you, or you are going to turn into a prune. Or Johnny is getting locked in his cage so Simon can spend an adequate amount of uninterrupted shower time with you.

God help their water bill.

~@slashhinginghasher (ShH)

ok you have to understand that i nearly audibly squealed and/or sighed at every single line of this. but it so so perfect that i have nothing to add. i am going to BEG every single follower of mine to read it though it's soooooooo good <3

#asks and answers #ghoap x reader #favorites #slashhinginghasher

[starqueensthings]

Foreword | Prev | Next | ao3

WARNINGS: brief allusions to a traumatic past (June), but no detail provided. Moderate medical anxiety (Howzer). Moderately graphic descriptions of medical injuries. Repeated mentions of blood and discomfort/pain. RATING: 16+ for mature themes and mild to moderate whump. WC: 4500ish. (This chapter and the next were never intended to be separated, but it accumulated to nearly 8k words, and pruning certain aspects of this encounter in the name of brevity would only do a disservice to this story, so I apologize for the somewhat abrupt way this chapter ends). PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD BEFORE PROCEEDING FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY.

“Uh… yeah?”

The responding voice was barely discernible over the cacophony radiating down that bustling hall, though was both unmistakably bathed in the accented intonation of a clone soldier, and seemingly quite confused by the civility of her gesture.

With a preparatory sigh, June prodded the control panel on the wall adjacent to the door and stepped back for it to permit her entry. Immediately apparent directly opposite that threshold, and sitting somewhat stooped atop that pathetic excuse of a paper bed sheet, was CT-5863.

If the Gods of technology were to ever bless it with the power of human deduction, the chrono on the wall behind him would have asserted that those blue eyes locked on his for the span of only a second; barely half of an inhale, a torpid blink at most. But, surely, too much had happened in that moment of unprecedented placidity for a mere “second” to have been all that passed.

Those armoured legs, wholly encrusted with the evidence of several rotations in grueling action, instantly ceased their absentminded swing over the long edge of that uncomfortably rigid gurney. The way his brows softened only enough for those gleaming brown eyes to widen in unrestrained surprise had her famined stomach plummeting near-painfully toward her toes in a sensation she was both unfamiliar with and unprepared for, and had the highly polished durasteel floor beneath her sneakers not continued to reflect the abhorrent fluorescent light overhead, that feeling only would have her entirely convinced she was now freefalling toward the cobblestone courtyard some eight stories below.

“Hi,” she squeaked as his expression continued to soften, that unprofessionally casual address escaping her tongue completely void of intention and thought, and had she not felt her jaw shift to let it pass through her lips, it could have been entirely feasible to believe that the salutation came from a third party.

If there was any semblance of a response waiting atop his tongue, it remained inhibited by the stupefaction still working its way across that tanned face. Lips initially contracted against the relentless gnaw of pain, now parting enough to expose their ragged and wind burnt nature and convey his unbridled bewilderment; those brows once furrowed beneath the act of being left to wallow for hours in the virile discomfort of a neglected wound, shifting to diminish that charming crease between them.

“Hi,” he echoed, reddened lips drawn slowly toward his ear ahead the beginnings of a one-sided smile that promised to only intensify her already befuddling paralysis.

June swallowed, that brief constriction of the throat reorienting the contents of her stomach momentarily granting her the abeyance to wrench her gaze from his, a gesture worthy of recognition based solely on how absurdly arduous of a task it seemed. ‘What am I doing here again?’ she asked herself, right hand thoughtlessly moving to retrieve the datapad from its clamp beneath her arm and bringing that lifeless screen toward her nose.

“Right,” she whispered to the sight of her distorted reflection, before clearing her throat and unsticking her sneakers from the floor.

The holocomputer, set atop a rolling desk at the foot of the bed, rose to life upon the frenetic poke of her finger. Though June had always been what her brother had previously deemed “embarrassingly deficient in stature”, that monitor sat just shy of successfully hiding him from view, and her composure was once again diminished by the heat surging to her cheeks upon the quick affirmation that his gaze had followed her every step across the room.

“You’re not a droid,” the soldier offered slowly, eyes narrowing under a perplexed sense of intrigue as a blood stained finger trailed to and fro across his chapped lip. “I mean— I don’t think so. Not like any I’ve ever seen…”

The acceptable reply would have been to offer him a laugh, a small scoff. Kriff, even an unsupported snort would have been sufficient to humour such an unintentionally comical assertion, but the continued prickle atop her skin and the nascent disquiet in her mind quickly devoured all potential for a moment of light-hearted banter.

“Nope,” she agreed, immediately thankful that her tone had forgone the shrill squawk of her first greeting and returned to her normal tambre. “They called the big guns in for you.”

“Uh oh. Why do I feel like that might not be a good thing?”

She risked another peek over the shield of her holoscreen, instantly and regretfully noting the delightfully sharp angle of where his jaw met his ear, that contour accentuated by the expanse of a bashful smile now doming both cheeks.

‘What the hell,’ she demanded silently as she failed, again, to offer him the titter he deserved. Aghast that the professionalism and charismatic bedside manner she’d spent long years and countless tears mastering had been ripped from her by something as immaterial as basic eye contact, she flicked her ponytail petulantly off her shoulder and refocussed her attention to the task at hand: logging into the Hospital’s charting software.

‘He’s just a soldier,’ she reminded herself with a snort of self-directed derision, desperately trying to extract her password from the depths of her distracted brain.

And he was. There was nothing overtly different or unusual about CT–5863 in relation to the hundred-or-so other clones that had passed in and out of her care since the war began. Quite frankly, there couldn’t be anything different about him, it was genetically impossible. So why had one look from this set of honeyed eyes seen her stomach careening into the next dimension and her nerves prickling as if every shift of his gaze left a trail atop her skin?

Thrice she tried and failed to enter her secure information into that software, yet its repeated beeps toward the inevitable system lock-out fell on entirely deaf ears, and it wasn’t until the screen strobed that she’d near-reached the maximum login attempts did some glimmer of awareness surge back to her.

“I’m Dr. Kiore,” June told him, attempting to banish that myriad of improper thoughts by corralling every cooperating neuron into entering her password, and the breath she’d unintentionally held in her lungs was granted their escape atop a sigh of relief as that familiar landing screen emerged in front of her. “What’s your name?”

“CT–58—”

“No, Captain, your name.”

“My name?” A puzzled pause preceded her answer, that brief second of hesitation having failed to lessen any of the obvious confusion behind those two words, and the notion that she may have to formally explain such a simple concept was the first to pull a smile to June’s lips.

But, “Howzer.” He recovered quickly, offering his name in the same tone he’d used upon hearing her tap on the door, and the small creases now wreathing those twinkling eyes as they narrowed in something close to suspicion entirely laid bare his continued bewilderment at her behaviour.

“Howzer,” she repeated, offering him a casual smile as she swiped her finger across the monitor and entered the information next to his designation number. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A moment’s innocent silence fell between them as she typed, masterfully toggling between different pages of his medical chart and familiarizing herself with the details of his treatment history. For an active soldier, particularly one that appeared as if he’d spent several respite-free rotations laying in the foreign dirt of a distant planet, his chart was remarkably vacant, the only few noted injuries being quickly treated in the field and recorded somewhat haphazardly by the trio of different medics who had seen him.

“I– I think that might be the first time a civilian’s asked me that,” he contemplated under his breath, eyes unfocussing as he rubbed that dirty palm across the stubble on his chin

“Yeah, well… they were supposed to ask downstairs,” June scoffed, the grumble swaddling her tone readily exposing the disdain for the repeated shortcomings of her colleagues. “I’ve asked them four billion times to try and remember, but of course no one listens to the youngest.”

While his lungs expanded to utter what was undoubtedly going to be another humorous quip, the sentiment was stolen off his tongue by a sudden and salient cringe of discomfort. In that otherwise banal motion of sitting up straight, hand reaching upward to thoughtlessly push those dark waves further back from his forehead, a spasm of pain quickly froze his actions, that sharp jaw quickly clenching behind olive cheeks as a muted grunt rumbled in his chest.

Harrowingly familiar with the discomfited sounds of a trooper in agony, June darted from behind the computer without a second glance, feet taking her earnestly to his bedside where Howzer continued to grit his teeth against the pain of attempting to lower his elbow back down.

She stopped when she reached his beside, and too determined to somehow minimize his discomfort, her focussed eyes entirely missed the way shame had forced his gaze away from her. In a gesture that inexplicably attuned her concentration nearly as thoroughly as it further chilled her skin, she tugged the sleeves of her labcoat toward her elbows.

It took barely a breath of being within arms-length of the stranger for the pathetic remnants of his shirt, and the implications of its destruction, to resonate; that typically tight compression top now sliced into misshapen shards thanks to the expanse of an immense gash in the material. Yet more gruesome than the soaked integrity of that metallic cloth— its creation having once promised to prevent such wounds from occurring —was a piteous patch of gauze so saturated with blood that it had begun to leak a small cataract down his side, that seemingly limitless river of blood having already stained the exposed skin of which it bordered.

“Sheesh,” June mumbled under her breath, reaching slowly toward him until her fingers wrapped carefully around the elbow he was subconsciously attempting to use as a protective barrier.

Howzer’s breath hitched sharply in his throat as her fingers found their mark, though despite that unintentional huff of trepidation, he offered no resistance as she began to cautiously lift that arm back upward mere millimeters at a time until the sight of that grisly gash reappeared. The sheer size of that weeping laceration, stretching across the anatomically labelled “quadrant 6”, and reaching all the way from central rib cage to interior scapula, made ascertaining the true degree of the injury quite a challenge from her standing position in front of him. As June battled the need for a better vantage against attempting to prevent causing Howzer can any extraneous pain, it became apparent nothing short of clambering onto the bed beside him and simply straddling his left hip could allot her the unobstructed view she needed to formulate an appropriate treatment plan.

“I can’t get a great look from here,” she admitted with an apologetic grimace, now cautiously redirecting his arm forward in an effort to ascertain precisely how far back this horrid laceration reached from its inception below his left armpit. “Bear with me just for a sec… it’s gonna hurt a smidge.”

“It’s fine,” he answered, though wrapped in little more than a tight-lipped mumble, his reassurances fell flat in their task of convincing her. “It doesn’t hurt. I jus– ugh…”

A series of murmured apologies left her lips as something near a jolt of pain robbed his tongue of that white lie, and she tactfully refrained from commenting as she watched that silly cotton square fail to contain another surging red waterfall.

“You know,” she started as his jaw rutted forward to repress another hum of discomfort. “If you had just let them give you an NBA injection downstairs, this wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Don’t need one,” he grunted back as she flicked away those soaked and frayed fabric shards and began to pluck that impetuously placed patch of medical gauze from his side. “I told you, it doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt, but you couldn’t get your shirt off?”

That delicate accusation left her lips before the gates of professional restraint could corral it. The implications of second-guessing both a patient’s feedback and their subjective symptoms was highly unprincipled, yet despite his continued refusals, there was no ignoring the fact that, while half of his battered and abused armament sat stacked in one of the chairs by the door, he’d been unable to pull that snug garment from his torso.

To her relief, that same lop-sided smirk inched back across those dehydrated lips, eyes softening as they danced lightly across her features, and June was immediately grateful for the trivial need to extract an unopened sterile gauze pack from her pocket as her cheeks tingled anew.

“Alright, smartypants, you got me,” he admitted, the tips of his ears reddening under the unfamiliar vulnerability of his confession. “Maybe I just don’t like injections. Maybe they freak me out… a little.”

An ephemeral glance was all it took to identify the nature of his budding embarrassment; the reaffixture of his gaze upon his lap, the tiny flitter of his cheek as he chewed on whether he ought to defend his admission or not, the horrid clicking of his molars as discomfort had them relentlessly grinding against each other. Yet it was not the professional obligation to advocate for a medicinal intervention that saw June’s hands hesitate on their way to fully rid him of that incapacitated bandage, but an inexplicable and damn-near irrepressible urge to console him.

“Hold this here for me,” she instructed delicately as if she hadn’t heard him, indicating her need with a small tap of the finger whilst pressing that new fresh fabric to his wound in the void of its sodden counterpart. “Just for a minute while I grab some goodies, but firm pressure— hold it like you mean it.”

He shifted instantly on his seat to assent to her request, right hand forgoing its docile perch atop his thigh to cross his torso and clamp that material into place; those grimy fingers momentarily weaving their way into hers in his haste to comply.

That inadvertent touch set her very nerves alight, the ceaseless prickle lurking behind every inch of her skin intensifying to a degree that promised to expropriate the floor from beneath her feet again, and having been largely unable to resurrect her stomach from the depths of her toes where it had buried itself at first sight of him, June hurried to snatch her fingers from his and depart his bedside. The unprecedented euphoria of his skin brushing atop her own amidst that otherwise innocuous motion had virtually supplanted all evidence of the preceding sympathy, and replaced it with a moment of attraction so potent, she’d failed to digest any of the apology he’d quickly stammered during her retreat.

‘Maker have mercy, would you get a grip…’ she silently scolded, eyes scanning the assortment of supplies on the shelves in front of her as she forced a slow breath through pursed lips. ‘You’re being ridiculous. So he’s a little pretty… You just feel bad for him. It’s just pity. He’s been sitting here a long time, and he’s obviously uncomfortable… that’s all.’

But that weak justification had barely gained any potential momentum before it was squashed by the reality she could not deny. Attributing the peculiar undulation of this interaction to pity alone was both ignorant and ludicrous, as Howzer was not the first soldier to admit having a distaste for injections; the majority of her combat patients shirked from even the mention of that so-dreaded injector. In fact, most were deeply suspicious of anything even distantly related to the field of medicine, many turning pugnacious in their discomfort, and eyeing Lumi with a powerful mistrust as if that hovering medical assistant was concealing a murderous motive behind those yellow oculars. Others flinched at the mere thought of sedation, often demanding to hear any and all available treatment alternatives before consenting to whatever procedural route they deemed most tolerable regardless of its diminished efficacy, and it was this perpetual argument, this consistent mentality, that had June entirely convinced the clones in her care harboured significant trauma from their Kaminoan upbringing.

So if pity was to blame for the tingle atop her skin as the music of his familiar accent danced in her ears, why today? Why this ailing soldier, and not one of the hundred or so others she’d previously treated and discharged without pause. Why not Bolts, whose cheeks became stained with uncontrollable tears during those brief moments of lucidity when he awoke to be scanned at tragically frequent intervals? Why not the Commander from three rotations ago who’d begged her to falsify a clean bill of health so he could return to the front lines where his brothers were undoubtedly being slaughtered in his absence? What was it about this man… this objectively meaningless encounter… that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright as if there was something lingering in the next second? Why was this set of brown eyes imbued with the power to lasso her lungs into her stomach? Steal the floor from beneath her feet? Freeze time as if the universe itself had held its breath at first sight of him?

‘You’re better than this,’ she told herself as she rustled noisily around those laden shelves, heaping an array of various supplies into her arms. ‘Swallow whatever this weird attraction is and get on with it so you can go home. You’re tired and starving.’

Sighing heavily through her nose, she pulled the cauterizing pen from the top shelf and added it to the pile of tools clamped against her chest atop an small tub of her preferred burn salve, a USI injection tool, a single-use bottle of saline for wound disinfection purposes, and a handful of the standard 4 x 8 inch dermabacta patches.

Keeping her eyes deliberately downward, she nudged that locker door closed with her hip and started back toward the bed. After pausing briefly to power on and deposit the cauterizing pen beside the computer, June tipped forward and dumped the remaining products onto the paper sheet beside his waiting figure, attempting to ignore the return of his warm gaze by reaffixing her eyes to the tattered vestiges of his top.

“Shirt’s gotta come off,” she advised him, placing her hands on her hips and gesturing with a small nod to the garment he’d deferred removing as long as possible. “Contamination risk is too high if it stays flapping around the wound after I disinfect the area. Think you can pull it off without too much… ouchie?”

Those ensanguined fingers drummed nervously against the gauze he continued to press in place, a contemplative hum issuing from his nose as his lips shifted to a grimace. “I can give it a shot,” he finally assented amid a doubtful chuckle. “Unless maybe cutting it off is an option, and I can try to preserve what’s left of my dignity?”

“I mean– I could,” she agreed half-heartedly, though the image of her hands drifting carefully atop his skin whilst snipping that cloth from his bare chest nearly overpowered the awareness of that option being the least practical. “But we’d be sending you out of here shirtless afterward and it’s not exactly the warmest time of year.”

“Fair point,” he apprehensively agreed. “Maybe there’s a hospital gown or something that could pass as blacks until I can sneak my way into barracks?”

“Not unless blacks are covered in purple cogs and tied together behind your neck,” June scoffed. “And, honestly, if that doesn't send your dignity to the grave, I don’t know what would.”

Had such a disappointed huff not left his nose in that subsequent moment, the mental image of him trying to awkwardly stuff the excess material of that scratchy, violet gown behind his chest plate likely would have had a small snicker escape her lips, yet the unease dominating his expression instead resurrected that mystifying need to commiserate with this alluring stranger.

“We can handle this,” she asserted, watching him thoughtfully chew the inside of his cheek while picking uselessly at a blemish in the teal paint on his thigh plate. “If I help, you won’t even need to lift your arms. Plus– once it’s off, I can throw it in the Cleanser Tube and get it washed while I’m patching you up. That way the purple robe can stay in the cupboard, and you’ll have your shirt back to walk outta here dignity intact. Deal?”

His gaze shifted upward, darting back and forth between her eyes as if searching their depths for any semblance of the ulterior motive he’d seemingly grown to expect.

“Okay,” he agreed a sigh later, evidently failing to find anything other than quiet confidence behind that sapphire blue. “But if I start weeping, do your best not to laugh.”

“I’ll try,” she answered in mock intensity, waiting for his timorous gaze to meet hers again before offering a jesting smile. “Though in all honesty, Captain, just wait until you feel my hands. I’ll be more surprised if you don’t start weeping.”

Stepping intentionally around his armoured knees toward the head of the bed, she watched him steel himself by straightening his posture and taking a deep breath. “I’ll pull on your sleeve,” she told him, permitting herself only a moment to appreciate the endearing quartet of freckles on the right side of his neck. “You pull your arm.”

She guided her thumbs under the elastic cuff of his top, that deceivingly thin fabric instantly reminding her of the wetsuit she’d once donned during a diving trip on Naboo, though there was something significantly more tutelary about this injected material, as if the microthreads used to create it had been fibers of some pliable steel.

“I appreciate you being so… helpful,” he spoke, wincing slightly as his hand disappeared into the darkness of his sleeve and redirected itself downward through the trunk of the garment. “I guess I did need the big guns.”

June hesitated, barely able to repress the small smile promising to peel across her lips as she rolled and bunched the hem of his shirt in her fists, waiting until his palm had firmly planted itself beside his hip before proceeding.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked him in what she hoped was a casual tone despite her heart pounding loudly in her ears at his indirect laudation.

“‘Course,” he answered, squeezing his eyes closed as she began to stretch and guide that narrow collar past his ear and over his meticulously cropped hair.

“You’re not the only soldier who hates injections. You’re one of very many, actually… and one of even more that tries to hide it under this very unnecessary ‘tough guy’ attitude. While I don’t personally understand the fear behind a microdose of medication, that doesn’t mean I don’t understand being very wary of something, and that by no means makes you a wuss.”

He emerged from the depths of his shirt with a smoldering look that she’d never seen adorn the eyes of a soldier before, and the intensity of how he gazed sternly yet somewhat reverently into hers near-forced a paralytic shiver down her spine.

She near-cowered under its magnitude, and growing increasingly aware of how her body continued to betray her demand for professionalism by relentlessly inflaming her cheeks, she stepped carefully back around his knees and stuffed her fingers under the cuff of the other sleeve.

“Ready?” she asked as he upheld a pensive silence, waiting for him to consent before hooking one hand under the hem of that top now draped over his shoulder, and directing it carefully down the muscular arm he shifted to grant the garments removal.

She didn’t wait to see if he’d further acknowledge her expostulation before wadding up that soaked and soiled fabric and departing the bedside, crossing the room to where the Cleanser Tube sat recessed into the wall. After opening the door and shoving the clothing inside, she activated a sonic cycle with a quick poke of a button and turned to the adjacent Hand Sanitary Station.

Both pieces of machinery were considered to be state of the art medical technology, and were proprietary pieces licensed to only this medical facility while the patent approval process remained clogged behind far more consequential senatorial matters. The Cleanser Tube, designed to wash, sanitize and dry textiles in a fraction of the time that a traditional washing machine took, was installed on every floor, ensuring the sanitation droids could efficiently reuse the ludicrous amount of bedding the hospital exploited daily. Its pseudo-partner in technological advancement, the Sanitary Station, had demanded significantly more adaptability from the medical staff upon its installation, most of whom had spent several expensive years learning to meticulously disinfect their hands prior to any patient contact. While not all that different in concept to the Cleanser beside it, the absence of friction in hand washing was a foreign concept for a surgeon used to scrubbing their skin to within an inch of its already shoddy integrity before initiating a procedure. Nevertheless, the benefit of its efficiency had proved largely pivotal for those increasingly numerous days where surgeries were booked back to back.

Its familiar ion aroma wafted upward into June’s nose the second she approached and forced her fists through each of the two side-by-side valves. Sensing the new additions in its chamber, the machine activated automatically, tightening the silicone grip around each wrist to near-discomfort while cool, damp air began to circulate between her fingers. An inappropriately loud chime moments later alerted what felt like the entire hospital that the disinfection cycle had completed, and the machine ceased its vibration for only a moment before those sophisticated motors kicked back into life, preparing to swaddle her hands in a thin layer of purple nitrile. When all ten of her fingers had been appropriately coated, the valves released their complete encirclement of her wrists, and she pulled her hands from the tubes, fingers flexing habitually against the irksome constriction.

Foreword | Prev | Next

Tag list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @moonlightwarriorqueen @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @mythical-illustrator @arctrooper69

#starqueenswrittenworks #The Only Exception #Captain Howzer x fem!OC #fem!OC x Captain Howzer #fem!OC x Howzer #Howzer x fem!OC #3rd pov #bad batch fan fic #howzer bad batch #bad batch howzer #medical anxiety #medical injuries #whump #light angst #light whump #angst

[diminuel]

Destiel Hanahaki: both of them have it but Cas’s angel powers keep them from growing in his vessel and one of the big issues Cas had as a human all alone was his flowers starting to grow, and it’s another reason he kept stealing Grace even tho it was killing him, the flowers would also without the Grace so might as well right?

And Cas knows Dean has developed it, probably around season 6, so clearly it’s about Lisa. Cas tells Dean about Dean’s affliction when Dean asks him to erase Lisa’s memories but Dean insists (and Dean knows his flowers aren’t for her, they started once he began missing Cas who was being all weird and distant and then the betrayal and then the lake…). Cas heals Dean’s lungs consistently, he’s asked Dean if he wants Castiel to fully remove them like the surgery would, roots and feelings and all, but Dean the stubborn, loving man that Cas knows he is refuses the full procedure, only asks that the symptoms be treated.

(It’s one of the reasons Dean goes so off the rails when Cas dies or disappears, the longer Cas is away the more the flowers strangle his lungs, because contrary to the usual movement of the disease, where being around the object of one’s unrequited love usually speeds up the process, Dean’s flowers are more content when Cas is around and this makes Cas REALLY not suspect they are for him, Dean truly is one of a kind.

Jack watched in curious horror as he watches the roots only he can see slowly strangle Dean as he waters the flowers with bitterness, alcohol, and a broken heart. Sam tries asking Jack to heal his brother, who he watches cough up orchids and extinct flowers, and ancient plants that predate flowers, but there’s nothing the Nephil can do. Billie sent Dean back into the world of the living with a pruning just before Cas’s return, who didn’t see how bad Dean got away from him in such short amount of time. )

When Cas goes to the Empty, he heals Dean one last time, hoping Dean will one day either go find Lisa or have the surgery to finally heal himself, not knowing he’s only delayed Dean’s death by a few months, not by a rusty nail in a barn, but a broken heart and a jungle in his chest.

(Over the years there have been “allies” and enemies and even a desperate Sam that have tried covert, magical, and usually effective ways removing the roots and feelings fully. Crowley, Rowena, Ketch, and even Naomi and Amara have tried demon, witch, MoL, medical, and angelic treatments to either save this idiot against his consent or to sever his connection to Cas, but these treatments, powerful and usually 100% affective, don’t work to their bafflement)

No MCD (at least none that is permanent) allowed on this blog! X3

Hanahaki is a trope that completely passed me by. I vaguely know what it is but I haven't read a fic about it yet.

In any case!! I don't know if Cas would think that Dean's still mourning Lisa that many years on? Also, what would happen to Lisa in this circumstance? Wouldn't Cas have seen that she doesn't have the flowers? (Or doesn't it have to be mutual? Like some sort of soulmate thing?)

But I don't know enough to really contribute ideas to this scenario, apart from the "NO MCD! *Rowena voice* Fix it!" *lol*

#Anon #Diminuel replies #Destiel

[sugarcloudsky]

Uh,is this where i can request x readers if yes could i have a capsiacin x reader who is gets worried quite easily and is gets extremly worried for capsiacin after the 2nd trial

-gae anon

「By Your Side」

character: capsaicin cookie

wc: 1.3k

cws: mentions of fires, reader is described to be sick but the illness is not graphic, very slight prune juice x kouign amann, if you squint

had a lot of fun with this one, although it took me forever to proofread LOL

Oh man, this was bad— this was really bad. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know how to react. All you could do was run, run as fast as your legs could carry you. No matter how much your legs cried for you to rest, you pressed on, running, running.

Continuing as your lungs began to give up on you. Continuing as you stumbled and tripped, barely able to save yourself from falling onto the hard concrete. Continuing as you began to wheeze and cough violently into your face mask. Continuing as dark and upsetting scenarios began to play in your mind. You could do nothing but simply shake away those thoughts and keep running.

Today was a mess, which was only the lightest you could put it.

First of all, you were sick with a fever. It was an unfortunate event, you caught the fever after recently visiting some distant relatives. So, that sucked. Not to mention, the yearly Triple Cone Cup event was quickly approaching, and your partner, Capsaicin Cookie, was chosen to be the representative for Scovillia. You were upset at the fact that you wouldn’t be able to attend the event and cheer on your lover, being too sick to go. And plus, you didn’t really want to get others sick too, so that was that.

So, against your wishes to see your partner in action, you stayed back in his dorm, huddled up in his comfy bed, with a cute little care package he so lovingly crafted and left for you on the bedside. He insisted to you that he didn’t mind you staying back, as you had a good reason to anyway. That still didn’t stop you from feeling guilty about it, though. Alas, you had to remain there, with your only company being the many stuffed bears you had gifted to Capsaicin several times prior.

There was a solution, though!

You could easily watch the event broadcasted live on tv! So although it wasn’t as good as actually being there, it was still good enough. After all, you mostly just wanted to watch Capsaicin Cookie participate in the trials. You were disappointed about not being there, but eventually you thought, eh, it can’t be so bad.

And then, the second trial happened.

After watching the first trial go off without a hitch, you were able to watch the event mostly stress-free. You snuggled into the warm blankets and stuffed bears, (while also noting that they smelled a lot like Capsaicin) watching as Parfaedia claimed the victory of the first trial.

The second trial, however, was a lot different.

This trial required the three school’s representatives to venture into a forest, and eventually, a hall of magic mirrors. It was quite odd, and quite nerve wracking, as you were unable to see what the competitors had to deal with within.

After many moments of anxiety, the Crème Knights were next to claim the victory, but that celebration was short-lived. As it was revealed that the hall of mirrors belonging to the Scovillia representative— had caught fire.

Immediately, rescue gelatos had been dispatched to help save Capsaicin Cookie, who was presumably still trapped inside the flames.

Watching this all go down made your heart jump into your throat, and your hands began to clam up. At first, there was only disbelief, but soon you realized, this was real. So, against your weak body’s pleas, you clumsily stumbled upwards, before forcing your legs to run.

It burned, but you didn’t care, you just needed to make sure—!

You needed to make sure Capsaicin Cookie was okay…!

As you approached the colosseum, you could barely make out a crowd gathering around something. You attempt to peek over everyone’s heads, trying to see what or who was in the center of the mass of cookies, but to no avail.. until you finally notice the familiar bright red hair. Your eyes widen immediately, and you begin to push and squeeze past the crowd desperately.

“CAPSAICIN COOKIE!”

Many heads are turned to you, but you ignore them as best as you can. You cry his name once again, which finally gets his attention. He looks around, looking for the source of the person calling his name, before his eyes stop at you, and he freezes.

He watches as you push past the group of cookies, before nearly tackling him to the ground with a hug. Your arms were wrapped around him tight, seemingly not wanting to let go any time soon. Instead of immediately squeezing the life out of you in return, he simply wraps his arms around you in a meek manner, a bit frazzled.

He can’t believe that you’re here right now. He takes in how disheveled you are, how you’re still wearing your messy and wrinkled pajamas. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say. But before he can utter anything, you cut him off.

“I was— I was so worried! W—when I saw what happened, I—” You can’t even get a full sentence out properly, frantically stumbling over your words. Exhaling shakily, you settle with holding him tight, nuzzling your face into his chest. He simply allows you to hold him, patting your head softly.

Capsaicin’s face is still pulled into a grimace, as he stands silently, unmoving. With all the eyes on him, he couldn’t move. He felt like he couldn’t face anyone right now, not after what just happened.

Kouign Amann Cookie, who had been there with Prune Juice Cookie as well, takes notice of Capsaicin Cookie’s tenseness. Kouign Amann was the one who helped pull Prune Juice and Capsaicin to safety. Wanting to help calm Capsaicin at least a bit, she nudges Prune Juice’s arm gently, hoping he would get the hint.

“Well,” Kouign Amann calls suddenly, waving her hand, “This trial has weighed heavily on the three of us. We would truly appreciate it if you all could leave us alone for a moment.”

Prune Juice nods wordlessly, his signature closed-eye smile present on his face. Capsaicin’s muscles relax, even just slightly. He looks over at Kouign Amann, and she sends him a caring smile.

Finally, the crowd begins to dissipate, leaving the four cookies to stand alone, in a heavy silence. None of them seem to know what to say or do in such a situation. That is until this time, Prune Juice speaks up, turning to Kouign Amann.

“Shall we join the crowd, Miss Crème Knight?” He quietly jokes to her with an almost cheeky grin, and Kouign Amann smiles.

“We shall.” She bows in a joking manner, before patting Capsaicin on the arm in a comforting manner and waving goodbye to the both of you.

This finally left just you and Capsaicin Cookie alone.

You didn’t move at all. You didn’t say anything else. You only wanted to remain in his arms, holding him with a vice grip, as if he would disappear from your arms if you ever let go.

He looks down at you, guilty for making you come out this far, and even just making you worry at all. He wants to say so much to you, apologize, comfort you, talk to you, but, all he can muster is a pathetic “sorry.”

You don’t reply, you only hum quietly in acknowledgement. It almost comes out as a whine as you meekly whisper to him,

“Can we just go home now?”

Capsaicin almost feels his heart stop when he sees the tears in your eyes.

Breathing unevenly, he hugs you closer and thinks to himself. That's right.. he’ll feel better once he gets home and takes a long nap in his soft bed, right? And especially if you’re there, then…

“…Okay.”

The walk back to the Scovillia dorms was quiet, maybe a bit too quiet. You held his arm firmly, eyes glued to the ground in front of you as you two trudged quietly, a gloomy mood surrounding the both of you.

For the rest of the day, you did not leave Capsaicin’s side.

#cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #fanfiction #cookie run x you #cookie run #crk #x reader #capsaicin cookie x reader #capsaicin cookie

[martha-anne]

I have a small garden. This is a relatively recent development, and it has been occupying a lot of my thoughts.

Writing about those thoughts here seems like as good an outlet as any.

The garden is looking particularly bad at the moment. Rather than speculating about what I want it to be like, I’m going to write about some things that have already happened and which I am happy about.

These pruned plants - a blackcurrant bush and a rose! I had never pruned anything before (I had never had anything that needed pruning before) and I felt paralysed by my own incompetence at first. I’m very glad to have given it a go. Either I've done it right, or I will have learned something about how not to prune.

Speaking of being paralysed by incompetence, these fenceposts! I knew I wanted to put up some kind of plant support/trellis along the back of this bed, but the task felt utterly insurmountable a few months ago. I had no idea how to go about it, so I did what I always do in such situations and asked my mum for advice. Cue posts, post-spikes, a mallet, and an improvised drive-in tool… I still need to string wires between them, but soon I’ll have a structure to train plants up.

This heap of twigs! These are the prunings from the blackcurrant and rose plants mentioned in the first point. There was not enough space in the compost bin for them at the time, so I’ve left them in a pile over winter. I hope it is a nice home for some appreciative bugs.

The compost! How do I love my compost bin? Let me count the ways.This pile of decomposing matter brings me indescribable joy. Since we started composting cardboard and food scraps we have so little waste to go into the dustbin. The compost is full of worms and all sorts of other life. I like to check on it in the mornings before I go to work.

The pond! I dug this a few months ago, and at the time I remember feeling like it was the first honest day’s work of my life. I got some water plants for free from a local facebook plant swap group. The eventual aim of this pond is to attract frogs to help deal with the slug population - I’m playing the long game. Of course, it will take some time for the ecosystem to stabilise - but already there is life! I was delighted to discover water hog-lice a few weeks ago. It’s a Christmas miracle!

This no-dig lasagna gardening bed! Every online resource said that this kind of bed is better if left for several months before being planted up. I planted mine immediately and the results were not amazing - so I’ve learned something, and this coming year it should be better.

Tulips! I mentally calculated and purchased what I felt was an appropriate amount of tulips for the space. A week later, a visiting friend brought the same quantity of tulip bulbs again as a housewarming gift. Finding somewhere for them all to go was a challenge, but my friend and I managed it together. I’ve now mostly forgotten where we planted them, which will be a fun springtime surprise.

There is so much I want to do with this space and so much I’ve tried which has already failed. I don’t really know much about gardening yet, but in 10 years time maybe I will have figured it out ;) Three cheers for my shabby January garden!

#pond bugs #crawling along #permaculture #small space garden #urban gardening #solarpunk

[theodoradevlin]

Honkodora, we should go on a hike someday! I know a few well-hidden routes around the Highlands because of all of my deliveries and ingredient gathering. And there are plenty of herbs along the way because not that many people pass there!

The surface of her workspace was positively littered with scraps of notes written in haste and half crossed out, as well as several pots holding overgrown plants she had been attempting to prune. Though she loved her work, it required getting her hands dirty...and so the space in which she did so did not lend itself to a neat and tidy process either.

She pursed her lips looking at her notes. A low huff worked it's way out as she took stock of the few bits of dried dittany and knotgrass that hung above her. She was running low, and did not have nearly enough for the salve she was trying to concoct to get rid of ...certain new accessories.

Not that the sight of them didn't give her a small and satisfied smirk each time she caught a glimpse of herself, but they were making it slightly difficult to wear hats and it WAS the middle of winter. Plus, she so often was lost in the woods, she did not want to risk being mistaken for an actual deer.

She remembers Meech's offer to go hiking and immediately tosses the notebook aside to pen him a response.

Meech,

As always, I am in. I'd love for you to show me these hidden routes...you know I'm always curious. This comes at the perfect time....I'm running short on supplies so the sooner the better. And of course, I will always jump at some time with my fellow herb nerd. It's been much too long since we've stretched our legs out there! Let me know when and where, and I'll meet you. And for Merlin's Sake Meech, if you're going to call me Honkodora at least put the ' the most wonderful and prettiest' in front of it when you do.

Sincerely,

T.M.W.A.P.H

#Meech #Honkodora makes a joke #HIKING #and FORAGING #HAPPY HOBBITTTT