#like i want a happy ending of course but i would like to enjoy tablespoon or 2 of good angst

[goosewriting]

Mikey with blue prompt 1 and 32, trying to teach the reader how to make cookies but they're uh... Not. That good at it lmao. But they keep trying and it ends with them making a pretty good batch!

Vanilla extract (rottmnt Mikey x reader)

prompt 1: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone screw something up that fast before.” prompt 32: “Do you take constructive criticism?” “Not without crying.”

summary: Mikey and reader bake cookies together, but reader is really bad at it. 

relationship: Rise!Mikey x GN reader

warnings: reader being a danger in the kitchen lmao 

word count: 1.2k

A/N: (this one can be read as both platonic or romantic!) as someone who really likes baking cookies, this hurt a little to write XD also enjoy the currently tumblr-relevant little joke höhö

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

– – – 

Mikey and you had decided to bake cookies, which you had never done before. You had actually never baked anything before, and you weren’t exactly an ace in the kitchen. So he was more than happy to teach you. He even had the recipe book open on the counter so you could check the instructions with him. After all, how hard could it be? 

“First things first” Mikey says, as you both finish tying your aprons. “We need to measure all the ingredients.”

And that’s when disaster already hit.

You had never really handled flour before, so you flipped the package over with a little too much force, causing a lot of flour to spill onto the counter instead of into the measuring cup. Mikey was quick to tell you it wasn’t a big deal, and wiped the surface with a damp cloth, instructing you to either go slower or use a big spoon to get the powder out bit by bit. 

After the dry ingredients were all measured and standing on the counter in their individual bowls, it was time to mix them up. You remembered Mikey mentioning that the dry and the wet ingredients had to be mixed separately first before combining them. So you grab the sugar and are about to pour it into the flour, when Mikey stops you.

“It’s actually better to mix up the sugar with the butter” he points out. “It makes the butter fluffier.”

Now you’re even more confused; how would that even work?

Following the turtle’s instructions, you first mashed up the butter with a fork, then put that and the sugar into the stand mixer. You turned on the machine, but the dials were opposite of how you thought, so you set it to the maximum speed. That not only almost broke the mixer, but it also sent the bowl and its contents flying. You sheepishly cleaned up the mess and measured out more sugar, while Mikey told you not to worry about it for the second time that day.

When the butter was all mixed with the sugar, it was time to add the eggs. You were about to reach out for one when Mikey stepped in and said he’d do it himself. Fidgeting with a spoon in your hands, you watched as he skillfully cracked them open, the yolk and whites falling into the bowl in an almost elegant way that you felt was intended to mock you. He didn’t get a single eggshell piece into the batter either. 

After mixing everything together (now that you knew how to properly operate the stand mixer), Mikey handed you a little bottle that read “vanilla extract”. You opened the bottle, giving it a sniff, and hummed in delight at how good that smelled.

“Hey, look at me” Mikey suddenly said in a serious tone, grabbing you by the shoulders. “One tablespoon, not more. You understand? Just a couple of drops is all it takes.”

You nodded and did as he said, adding only a small spoonful of the thick liquid to the batter. After closing the bottle, you looked at the spoon for probably a second too long, because Mikey snatched it from your hand.

“You don’t want to lick that, trust me” he said with a chuckle. “You’ll regret it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. It smelled so wonderful! Of course you wanted to lick it. It surely tasted just as good right? 

But your plan couldn't come to fruition as Mikey was already starting the next step. He added some chocolate chips, mixed it a little more, then sifted the flour into the batter. He first folded it in with a wooden spatula, then with his hands. 

Taking out the dough, he skillfully kneaded it on the counter, and you wondered how many times he had done this before, he clearly knew what he was doing. With the rolling pin he flattened it all to a cookie-worthy thickness and stepped aside to make place for you.

“Would you do the honours?” he asked, handing you a container with several cookie cutters. 

You squealed in glee at all the cute designs, and chose one in the shape of a sea turtle. Surely this was the easiest, impossible-to-mess-up part, right?

Mikey first observed you with happiness, content that he could teach you something new. But with every passing second, his expression turned to horrified confusion. Somehow, and he still couldn’t understand how, every single piece of dough you had cut out, came out looking like anything other than a turtle. Even when you switched to the regular circular cookie cutter, the cookies you were scooping up from the counter looked like disfigured sad little blobs. Before he could stop himself, he mumbled under his breath.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone screw something up that fast before.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. You gasped, giving him a hurt look, then looking back at your handiwork in front of you, and you pouted: he was absolutely right. 

“But hey, we came this far!” Mikey tried to comfort you. “They don’t have to look perfect, as long as they taste good; that just means they’re homemade! All that’s left is to bake them.” 

So you did, except that you forgot to set the timer for the cookies in the oven while you were cleaning up the kitchen. You both got distracted talking about a game, and as you were taking out your phone to show it to him, he sniffed the air.

“Say, how much longer on the timer?” Mikey asked and craned his neck over your shoulder to look at the oven in horror.

“Whoops” is all that you managed to answer, before you both rushed to save whatever you could of your precious baked goods. Mikey quickly slipped the oven mitts over his hands and opened the glass door, a concerning cloud of smoke erupting from behind it. Taking the baking tray and placing it on the stove, you both stood silently before it, staring at the practically carbonised little blobs on it. 

“Hey, it’s fine~” Mikey suddenly said, one arm over your shoulder while his other reached out to grab a cookie. You couldn’t stop him in time, as he had already popped one in his mouth. The crunching that came from his chewing mouth was as concerning as it was horrifying. You could only watch in shock as he actually gulped it down.

“Hmm” he sighed, rubbing his chin in thought. “Do you take constructive criticism?” 

“Not without crying” you answered, and your shoulders slumped. How could you mess this up so badly?

Mikey chuckled and pulled you in for a hug, giving your cheek a little peck, which made you feel a little better. He then suggested making a new batch, but this time he made sure to give you more detailed instructions and guide you through every step. That new batch actually turned out really well, and you enjoyed your well-deserved prize with some hot chocolate.

– – –

Bonus: 

You were sitting at the table with the rest of the turtles, all eating your cookies and complimenting you on how good they had turned out, when you remembered something. Excusing yourself for a second to go get more hot chocolate, you stepped back into the kitchen, and reached for the vanilla extract bottle. You gave it another whiff, enjoying the smell, and poured some drops onto a spoon. As soon as you put it in your mouth however, you immediately regretted it. Mikey was right: this tasted awful. Going “Ew! How?!” followed by coughing, you heard a laugh from the other room, and Mikey’s voice: “I told you so!”

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @hearteyedracoon, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @xnorthstar3x

#goose feathers #500 goslings event #rottmnt #save rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the tmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt mikey x reader #michelangelo x reader #tmnt 2018

[lacheri]

|| moon river. || part iii. ||

|| masterpost || taglist form || part ii. || part iv. ||

pairing: Levi x fem bodied reader

chapter content: modern au, neighbors au, coworkers au, sadness/loneliness, nervousness, mentions of reader's past (sad, my bad), mentions of bad relationships with a parent (reader reflects on her mother and her impact on her life), emotional angst, alcohol, minors do not interact.

summary: in which you work your first shift at your new job with Levi and get to know him a little better.

wc: 7k (FUCK)

a/n: thank u to the beautiful people in my gc @esroh06 and Mochi for beta-ing!! thank you to @coffeeforday and @chaotic-nick for also helping me with the little translation I have!

this story is fully taking over my motivation, I cannot stop writing. hope u enjoy <3

The only times you didn’t fight with your mother was when you watched her cook. The focused look in her eye, the purse of her concentrated pout — she looked comparable to a warrior readying for battle. Delicious, mouth watering smells would accompany the vivacious crackling and sizzling of the pans. To this day, if you catch a waft of garlic and onions, it takes you straight back to when you were a young girl standing by your mother’s side in her kitchen.

You’d get in her way, of course, but she never reprimanded you. In fact, she would beam with delight that her daughter had been so interested in the culinary arts. For a long time, you had wanted to grow up to be a chef. Your mother taught you love in food, in the culture of it. No language is needed when it comes to dishes, only pure happiness and selflessness. You’re thankful she taught you that, in the end you think it’s made you who you are today.

Of course, your cooking has never been as good as hers, but you try your best despite the fact.

One of her many culinary talents is being able to cook without following a recipe. Judging tablespoons and cups with her eyes, spice and seasoning ratio by gut feeling, she was a genius in the kitchen. You wonder often why she never became a chef herself, and when you would ask her, all doe eyed and inspired, she’d answer simply.

“I cook because I love it. I don’t want to get paid for something I hold near and dear to my heart.”

And you had watched her struggle your entire life. Sat behind a desk, taking bullshit from her bosses, late nights in the office. But when she’d bring in a plate to the holiday parties, your mother would come home with an unimaginable amount of gifts and thank you cards. She’s a shining light, loved by all. Even you, still. Even after all of this.

The timer on your oven chimes with a deafening beep, and you shake your head. You don’t mean to, but you get lost in your thoughts a lot of the time. You’ve always been this way, and doubt you’ll ever change.

“You’re a dreamer, love.”

She’d be angry that this is the second night in a week you’ve cooked yourself soup. She’d be even more angry if she could taste it. It’s an imitation of her homemade recipe, poorly executed and mediocre at best. But it fills your stomach and there’s always plenty of leftovers. You only know how to cook for two people anyways.

The stove beeps again, and you sigh. Taking the lid off the steaming pot, your soup bubbles with the release of trapped air. You turn the burner off, and your growling stomach disagrees with the fact you need to let the meal cool before you can even think of lifting a spoon to your drooling tongue. You pout, and you wait.

Mom says to wait at least a half an hour after cooking soups, anyways. Or anything that boils for that matter.

You miss her, the woman she was in your childhood. You wonder if she recognizes herself in the mirror these days.

You pour yourself a bowl even though you can hear her reprimanding in your brain, a record playing on loop. You realize it sounds different every time, like a cover. You learned somewhere a long time ago that every time you remember something, you essentially create a brand new version of it in your head. You can never remember the same thing twice. You find that sort of beautiful.

You burn your tongue when the spoon hits your tastebuds, but you’re too preoccupied setting up your phone on your counter to continue watching that show you started yesterday. It helps pass the time, as you have no idea at what point Levi will come collect you for your shift.

You’re all dressed up and ready to go. You took notes of Petra’s look -- a low cut black shirt paired with black jeans. Your sneakers look sad on your feet, and you decide you’ll indulge in a new pair of shoes after you get paid. And after the rent and bills are taken care of, of course.

It’s nearing five in the afternoon and you’re starting to doubt if Levi will ever show up. Although, bars open up later in the day, right? This could be bad for your already established schedule — late nights bleeding into early mornings, sleeping in until noon, poor time management. It’s a job nevertheless, and begrudgingly you’ll have to accept the new found fate of your employment. It’ll work itself out, you’re sure. At least you’ll be able to live here a little longer.

You watch an entire two episodes of your show before you hear the soft knocking on your door. Your ears perk, and you practically fly over to your front door. You inspect yourself in the distant mirror hung on the wall in your bedroom, and deem yourself appropriate. Though, maybe you should’ve worn just a regular shirt. Your breasts smush together in the ‘v’ formation of the collar, but hey, maybe you’ll get a good amount of tips your first night.

You open the door with a smile, “Hi!”

Levi stands with his hands in his pockets, cool and collected. His hair falls neatly along his forehead, his shirt is ironed and free of any wrinkles — not to mention, it’s clinging desperately to his torso. His pants fit perfectly along his lower half, and you can’t deny how handsome he looks. Especially with that stoic expression he adorns, as if he has not a single care in the world. Levi looks really cool.

“You ready to go?” he jabs his thumb towards the hallway, his eyes trained on yours. You watch as they flicker down, finding amusement in the way they immediately shoot back up to your face.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you beam, slinging your purse over your shoulder, allowing the bag to fall against your hip. You close and lock your front door, and Levi side steps to give you space to step forward. His hands are still stationed in his pockets, you can feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your head.

“Most late night shifts for the bartenders start anywhere from six in the afternoon to eight, depending on the weekday,” Levi mutters as he follows behind you, making your way down the stairwell. “Hange hates when people are late, so try not to be.”

“Really? Seems like you stroll in whenever you want,” you tease harmlessly. “You were late yesterday.”

“I was there, just didn’t want to see your annoying face too early,” he scoffs.

“Sure,” you chuckle. “Whatever you say to make yourself feel better.”

The walk is fairly quiet then after you make it down the stairs and out the lobby doors. Levi takes the initiative then, stepping on the sidewalk closest to the street and leading the way. You quirk your lips, a smile tugging behind your teeth at the gesture. What a gentlemanly jerk.

The outside air is crisp with the promise of the changing seasons. The leaves and greens that line the city streets have yet to transition to their yellows and oranges, still alive and kicking with the warm late summer sun. The sidewalks are fairly crowded, as people rush home from their day jobs in their stuffy suits. You’ve learned that the people tend to walk everywhere, and use public transportation as a means of travel. You have yet to meet anyone who owns a car, which even from where you’re from is deemed a luxury.

You pass a couple of blocks before you speak again to Levi’s profile, “Oh, so this is why I got lost yesterday. We’re literally walking straight to the bar.”

“What, did you take a few turns to get there?” Levi humors you in a response. You watch as his hair gets caught in a slow breeze, the locks fluttering, revealing his undercut. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but the shape up is immaculate. Straight, crisp lines and nearly no mistakes. He must really take pride in his appearance.

“Yeah,” you laugh breathlessly. “Had to ask a bunch of different people where to go, thankfully they spoke English.”

“Most people do here.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “But everyone I’ve talked to has been speaking French this entire time? Even you, when we first met.”

“You mean when you ran into me because you weren’t paying attention?” Levi scoffs. “The official language is French, but because of all the tourists, most of us know bits and pieces of English. Some of us are lucky enough to be fluent. You have a shitty language, it’s hard to learn.”

“So you grew up here?” you inquire out of curiosity.

“We’re here.”

You’re too caught up in the way Levi throws a pointed look over his shoulder, his eyes warning and hard set. They’re beautiful, you acknowledge this every time you get the chance to see them. Levi is beautiful.

He also completely avoided your question.

You continue to follow him inside the bar, glancing side to side as you take in the crowd, or lack thereof. You recognize one of the older gentlemen from yesterday, sat in the same stool leaning against the counter. There’s a jukebox somewhere to the left playing Patsy Cline, uncharacteristic from what you assumed would play in a French bar. Nevertheless, you sway to the melody.

“Hey guys!” Petra stands behind the bar, smiling wide and waving. Her gorgeous locks are thrown up in a messy bun today, a loose long sleeve shirt covering her frame. Still, her smile is enchanting and wondrous. You really want to get to know her better.

Levi nods his head in her direction while you greet her vocally. There’s not much of a chance to start up a conversation though, as Levi is already making his way towards the door to the back hallway, and you’re hot on his trail. He at least holds the door open for you, and you thank him quietly.

“When we come in, we sign our initials on this clipboard,” the ravenette plucks the wooden surface off a nail on the wall. A pen is attached by a metal clip, it reminds you of a doctor’s office in a funny way. Levi continues, “After that, your shift starts. You sign it when you leave.”

“What about schedules?” you tilt your head, seeing no such thing on the wall. It’s littered with plenty of bill statements and random flyers, but no sign of a schedule.

“Hange sends us pictures of it,” he shrugs. “You don’t need to worry about that for now though. You’ll be working with me until you get the hang of things, or until you quit.”

“What makes you say I’ll quit?” you don’t mean for your tone to come off defensive, but it does.

His icy orbs roll in their sockets, “It’s a shitty job.”

“Aren’t you an optimist?” you grumble.

“I think I’m more of a nihilist, if we’re putting labels on things.”

You don’t really know how to respond to that, so you don’t. Levi passes the clipboard over to your hands, and you sign your name neatly inside one of the slots listed in the page, with the time. You’re clocked in, and ready to work your very first shift.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

As soon as the two of you re-enter the bar area, Petra is sighing dreamily. She slams down two glasses she had in her hands along with a cloth, and flings her arms up in the air.

“Thank God you two are early!” she exclaims, already hightailing it to the back hallway. “Happy hour was hell! Au revoir!”

You shoot Levi a concerned, nervous glance, “Is now a bad time to tell you I don’t know a single thing about making drinks?”

“Can’t be a possible way there was ever a good time to tell me that,” he groans, taking Petra’s place of cleaning the glasses. “Can’t speak French and can’t make a drink, you’re a real winner.”

“You offered me this job,” you snipe back. “And I know some drinks. I googled them last night.”

Levi’s expression flattens as he looks at you with absolutely no amusement, “Name one.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, scouring through mental files of stored information. You meekly stumble out, “A vodka cranberry.”

“You’re hopeless,” Levi sighs, closing his eyes in annoyance. “Alright, so I guess we’re learning how to make drinks today then.”

You spend the first hour of your shift taking notes on your phone (or at least you try to), watching as Levi monotonically instructs you on various drinks. He uses French names, and absolutely none of it is familiar to you. If he sees your confusion, he doesn’t comment on it. If he thinks you’re absorbing all this information like a sponge, he’s dead wrong. But still, you nod your head and try your best to learn.

There’s an art form in mixology, you note. The way Levi’s hands hold the bottles of liquor, the way he’s made multiple drinks without spilling a single drop — it’s masterful and beautiful. The words spilling forth from his lips have you entranced, not by the meanings themselves but by the way his voice carries. His tone is deep and gravelly, and you think Levi would make a wonderful professor. He’s really good at teaching, even if you’re not paying a single bit of attention or retaining any of it. You think in this alternate universe, you’d have a crush on him if he was your college professor. You daydream about what he’d look like in a suit while he picks up a bottle — Cognac, you think.

In the back of your mind, you’re wondering if Levi would have a thing for pretty dumb girls in short skirts. If so, you’d wear them everyday to class and purposely score low on your tests.

“You didn’t hear a single thing I said, did you?”

Not a fucking word, “Yes!”

“What was the last thing I said then?”

You blank, caught red handed, “You said how much you love making drinks, and that this is the best job in the world.”

“You should be a comedian,” Levi huffs angrily. His fingers flex around the neck of the bottle as he places it down on the counter. You try to keep your mind out of the gutter, but you fail when you see the way his knuckles turn white.

“You should be a professor,” little does Levi know your response has a hidden meaning behind it.

You wonder how the wood of his desk would feel under your—

Levi snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, “Hey, you coming back to earth or what? Or should I stop wasting my breath?”

Your vision blurs around his fingers as you try to focus. Your hazy sight comes upwards, clearing upon contact with Levi’s fiery eyes. You shake your head to clear your distracting thoughts.

“I’m sorry, it’s just a lot,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m having a hard time understanding any of what you’re saying. It’s not you, it’s just me.”

His expression softens just a bit, his eyes aren’t as heated anymore, “New plan. You’re making the drinks. I’ll tell you what they are.”

You panic slightly, but nod, “Okay. We can try that.”

The bar is considerably more crowded in the next hour. Patrons fill the stools and tables, the jukebox plays consistently on a loop of requested songs, and people are shouting drink orders at the two of you. You’re scrambling behind the bar, relying on Levi entirely to instruct you how to concoct the elixirs. It’s a disaster. You’re spilling nearly every single drink as you make them.

Levi navigates the crowd easily though you falter, cocktail shakers bouncing loud and liquid poured into glasses of all shapes and sizes. He doesn’t even break a sweat. To him, this is probably a normal Monday night. To you, you feel helpless and in the way. You try not to let that thought take centerfold, but it does, and self doubt creeps in. You’re new, so you think that’s why the customers spare you the heat of their impatience. They lean over and speak directly to the ravenette, although some offer you a smile. This doesn’t help your nerves.

You don’t need to tell Levi you’re losing it either, it’s written all over your face. With a single glance over at you, seeing your fidgeting legs and shaky hands and the ever growing line of customers at the counter’s edge, he speaks your name with an annoyed tone.

“Go take drink orders. There’s a notepad in Hange’s office. I don’t care if you spell it wrong, just write them down.”

“Got it, boss,” you offer a trembling laugh. He sees right through it.

“Say hello instead of bonjour, Petra always speaks in English first,” his eyes never leave the mix he’s creating in front of him. “She’s not from around here either.”

You’re not sure why Levi tells you this, but you’re grateful nonetheless. It actually soothes you a bit, and makes you feel less alone. If Petra can do it, so can you.

You follow Levi’s instructions and make a dash to Hange’s office. You find a small, yellow pad in the disastrous clutter on her desk, a pen directly next to it. Your sneakers beat against the floorboards as you make your way back, and with a fleeting glance to Levi, you’re out taking orders.

It’s a lot easier than you anticipated.

You take your time approaching the first table, preparing a monologue of apologies for not speaking the official language of the city. You pick the safest option presented, a group of three girls you think are around your age. They’re laughing boisterously, smiling wide and their eyes are full of kindness. You clear your throat with a smile, their attention shifting to you.

“Hi! My name is,” you state, ignoring the shake in your legs. “What can I start you guys off with?”

They all share a look, of what you’re not sure, but a lump forms in the thick of your throat and your grip tightens on the pad in your hands. One girl, a pretty brunette, shrugs at her friends and turns to you.

“Do you guys do margaritas here?”

You could cry, “Honestly, not sure, but I can check with the bartender. Do you guys have backups, just in case?”

The brunette turns her head towards her friends, and translates easily in French. The two form an ‘o’ shape with their mouths, and speak directly to the brunette. She laughs, says something you don’t know, and faces back to you, “Whatever house specials you have tonight, then.”

You messily write down the orders, along with ‘ask about margs’, and beam, “Okay! I’ll find out about the margaritas too!”

“Thank you!”

“Merci!”

“Merci!”

Yeah, you’re going to have a good cry after you’re finished up tonight.

They instill a new found confidence in you, so you approach the next tables that are barren with drinks. The other customers aren’t as well versed in your foreign tongue, but they at least try. Maybe they take pity on you, you can only imagine how nervous you look, but they’re at least nice to you and wait for you to write down their requests before adding additional ones. Notepad full of orders within the span of ten minutes, you hurry back over to Levi.

You proudly lay the pad flat on the underside of the bar counter, smiling ear to ear, “I did it!”

“Want a medal?” the ravenette rolls his eyes, but his face relaxes as he reads over the orders. “No, we don’t do margaritas. We aren’t in the States.”

You stifle a laugh, “Because this is such a classy place?”

Levi’s lips twitch, “Apparently not when you’re around. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked for a margarita. Must be tourists or something.”

“You have a vendetta against tourists?” your eyebrow arches in amusement.

He turns away to grab all the necessary liquors stacked on the shelf, “Just one. She’s annoying and somehow ended up working at my job.”

“Funny, if she remembers right, you offered her the job,” you snipe back, reaching for clean glasses stacked next to the shelving.

“Must’ve been a lapse in judgement.”

You roll your eyes, a subtle grin on your lips. As soon as Levi starts mixing the drinks, you’re heading right back out on the floor to deliver the goods. You accidentally switch up a few orders, but other than that, you don’t spill a drop or lose your grip on any of the glasses. You even remember to bring straws with you. You internally pat yourself on the back, happy your nerves are finally settling.

The rest of the night goes by like this, running back and forth between tables and Levi. You try to ignore the look of sheer annoyance on his face, telling yourself it’s not you, it’s the customers who are pissing him off. With snippy responses and glares in your direction, you come to realize it’s definitely you that’s pissed him off.

Levi should’ve asked you if you had experience in the service industry before offering you a position. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so mad. Jerk.

It’s around midnight before the bar empties. The only crowd left is a small group of young adults, three of them sitting at a table, keeping to themselves as they drink their cognacs and laugh boisterously. You’re wiping down tables nearby, taking occasional glances over to the friends.

They remind you of your old friends back at home. You’d get together at your local dive and share your daily woes over a pitcher of whatever cheap beer you guys could afford that night. A pang hits your heart, deep and sorrowful. You didn’t tell them you were leaving.

You wonder if Eren, Mikasa, and Armin miss you as much as you miss them.

You imagine they’re at that bar at home huddled together at a booth, laughing away and enjoying themselves, enjoying their youth. Eren is probably picking on Armin as usual, and Mikasa is most likely chastising Eren and his crude humor. Your seat is empty in reality, but in your imagination, you’re there alongside them, shooting your own comebacks at the brunette.

“Your hairline is gonna recede if you keep putting it up in that greasy man bun,” you’d tease, taking a large swig of your mug.

“And who flunked out of college?” Eren would hiss through his teeth, nudging your side with his elbow. You’d probably choke on your beer, coughing in spurts.

“Too bad daddy’s money couldn’t save my test scores, unlike someone,” you’d elbow him right back.

Eren would place his palm over his heart, feigning mock sadness, “How dare you. It was mommy’s money actually.”

“Boo hoo, the woes of a rich boy,” and the two of you should share a laugh while Eren wrapped his long arm around you, pulling you in to bark his chuckles into your ear. He was always too loud when he laughed, but Eren could light up a room with his smile.

Armin would probably shoot looks between the two of you, worried you had dug too deep. You and Eren were always like that though, bickering like a brother and sister would. Armin would always offer an apologetic smile, but he knew. He knew the bonds between all of you were unbreakable, no matter what was said or done.

Poor Mikasa. She’s probably punching Eren in his stupid good looking face right now over some smart comment, and Armin’s probably all frazzled trying to calm down the two. It hurts to think about her, you two were the closest out of the four. So you don’t.

You blink, and the images of their faces are gone. Just like you are.

“You gonna space out every shift?”

You didn’t even realize you had returned behind the bar, rag and disinfectant in hand, “Sorry, just been kind of distracted today.”

Levi sends you an apathetic glance, “Get your head on straight. You’re not going to keep a job if you can’t use your brain, however small it is.”

You think he might be joking, so you reply, “I think I did quite well for someone who doesn’t know a single thing about being a bartender!”

“You spilled every single drink you made. You don’t speak French. You charged the customers all wrong, I had to go and fix all the mistakes,” he hisses through his teeth, crossing his arms. “The only thing you got right was taking the orders.”

“But I did something right,” your tone softens, his words cutting in deep. “I’m sorry, it’s just hard—“

“Hard to listen when you’re being told to do something?” the feeling in your chest feels funny, like your heart has solidified in your rib cage.

“Levi,” you mutter, confused at his sudden change in attitude. You thought you had been getting along with him so well tonight, even if he had been acting moodier than what you’ve seen so far, “I’ll do better next time. I really will. I’m sorry if I was a pain tonight, it won’t happen again. I need this job. I’ll do better.”

“Prove it then. I’m not here to be your babysitter, or your friend. I’m trying to teach you how to work this place by yourself, like Hange told me to do.”

Ouch.

“I’m appreciative, really,” you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. “I will. I’ll prove it.”

“Good,” Levi finally turns his heated gaze away from you, watching as the group of friends leave through the front door. “Lock up, I’ve had enough of tonight.”

You walk away with a dejected stride, following his instructions. With a quick flick of a series of locks, the front door bolts and locks shut for the night. The lights outside dim, and you can only assume Levi is the cause. The low hanging light fixtures located across the ceiling inside also flicker, leaving the entire bar in soft, yellow lighting.

You’re unsure of what to do next, so you search for the ravenette. You find him in the hallway, flipping through bill statements previously pinned to the wall.

“Hey, so, what next?” you ask quietly.

Levi doesn’t look away from the paperwork, “Wipe down everything. I’m gonna take care of some of these.”

“Isn’t that Hange’s job?” you can’t stop yourself from inquiring.

“Supposed to be. If it was left entirely up to them, this place would be shut down in a week.”

“So does that make you a manager here or something?”

“Yeah, it does.”

Oh. Oh fuck.

You royally screwed up your first day then. You hadn’t known this, that Levi was a manager. His anger and impatience makes a lot more sense now. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, you suppose.

You stand with your jaw slacked, ready for a flurry of apologies to fly past your lips. Levi silences you before you can spew them out.

“Yeah, I can fire you. I’m not going to.”

You find sudden interest in the floorboards, you wonder how old they are as you say, “I’ll do my best next shift, promise.”

Levi grunts in a reply, already heading towards the office. Your teeth worry your bottom lip, you can feel the chapped skin as your tongue smoothes over the grooves you’ve self inflicted. You decide not to hesitate any longer, or to bother Levi with any of the questions dancing in the back of your head, so you turn back towards the bar and retrieve your cleaning items.

If there’s one thing you can do completely right, it’s wipe down a table.

You leave your thoughts behind as you work, not delving into the many memories and monologues stored in your brain though you’re tempted. You’ve let your mind overwork you today, and you feel defeated in that way. Instead, you thank your body for being healthy, you thank your good luck, and most of all, you thank Levi for not firing you the second you become frazzled.

It’s nearing one thirty in the morning before he returns back to the floor, your purse in hand. You’ve already put away your supplies, and stacked the dirty glasses off to the side. Footsteps echo in the normally loud space, it’s hard to miss his reappearance.

You face him, “Oh, thanks for grabbing my stuff. What do you want me to do with the glasses?”

Levi shrugs, “It’s been a long day. We’ll clean them when we open. Besides, I don’t like them to dry overnight. They get sticky.”

You refrain from asking him to clarify, both about the ‘we’ and the logic behind the glasses. You simply nod, and take your bag from his hold. He’s silent as he goes about turning all the lights off, unlocking the door, allowing you to step forward first. The keys jingle in his hands as he locks it from the outside.

The air is cold and the city is quiet. It’s unusual for you to be out this late on the street, used to perching on your balcony at this time instead. In a way, you find it sort of humorous how all week you’ve been people watching, all for you to suddenly become one of them. Maybe there’s some other runaway girl sitting on her balcony with her dying plant watching you.

You hug yourself, trying to trap your warmth between your palms. It leaves you anyway.

Levi starts walking back to your apartment building without a word, and you’re too focused on the thought that you had thoroughly angered him to start up a conversation. You listen to the way your footsteps make a rhythmic beat, though out of sync with Levi’s, and pay attention to the flashing lights of the street lamps. Their bulbs are dying out, probably. It’s a moonless night, the blackness of the sky paints everything darker. You probably wouldn’t have noticed the lamps otherwise.

Around the halfway point back home, Levi clears his throat, “I can’t believe someone tried to order a margarita.”

The night doesn’t feel as frigid anymore. A smile tugs at your lips, “You’re telling me that was really the first time someone tried to order one?”

“Yes,” the ravenette hisses, hands shoved in his pockets. “Almost went over there myself to tell them no.”

“Oh, the audacity,” you giggle breathily. “Maybe they thought since I speak English, we served those kinds of drinks.”

“You might as well have been wearing an ‘I heart New York’ shirt, putain de merde,” Levi scoffs, and your apartment building comes into view.

(For fuck’s sake.)

“Maybe I’ll wear it next shift,” you playfully jive, letting your arms fall to your side. Levi is a gentleman even if he is a jerk, so he places himself in front of you to open and hold the doors. You thank him with a smile, and you’re greeted by the stale, lukewarm air of your lobby. You sigh gratefully, “So happy to be back. So, boss, when’s the next shift?”

“Didn’t you hear me earlier? Or were you spacing out again?” he rolls his eyes as the two of you ascend up the stairwell. “Tomorrow when we open.”

“When do we open?”

“Sometime around noon, I’ll come over again.”

“Sounds like an excuse to see me,” you bite your tongue to conceal a wicked smirk. “Friend?”

“You pissed me off today. We’re the opposite of friends.”

“Oh,” you draw out the sound, allowing a beat of silence to follow suit before you continue. “Lovers, then?”

“I’d have to like you for us to be even close to that. You’re annoying.”

“So you’re walking me to and from work because you hate me?”

“Yep,” his lips pop on the ‘p’, and all too soon do your neighboring apartment doors come into sight. “Community service.”

This earns a hearty laugh from your chest, “Right. Well, I like you, even if you’re a jerk. I don’t make my cupcakes for just anyone, you know.”

His icy orbs snake to the corners of his eyes, narrowing his lids, “Should’ve made them as an apology for running into me.”

“My friendship cupcakes will not be tainted with an apology. Besides,” you decide to untuck the heart on your sleeve, though it remains unconcealed most of the time anyways. “It all worked out, so thanks for standing in front of my door like a weirdo. Thanks for everything, Levi.”

The hallway seems fitting enough at this moment to spend an entire night out here, if it means you get to watch the way Levi’s expression softens completely. His entire body relaxes, the two of you standing right outside your door. The pine frame feels like an exit you don’t want to take.

“If you fuck up tomorrow you’re fired. And for the record, I was not standing outside your door. My apartment is right next to yours, if your small brain can remember that.”

You don’t comment on the subtle blush that blossoms over his cheeks, nor the way his pupils hone in on the floor. You don’t even comment that he’s started fidgeting — his fingers tugging at the opening of his pant pockets. Levi looks really cute when he’s denying he actually likes you.

You decide to make it a personal mission to get him to admit he wants to be your friend.

“Either way,” you nearly whisper, afraid you might tear up at the sentimental value your words hold. “I’m really grateful. Thanks for walking me to and from work too.”

Levi rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if his words mean nothing, “People are disgusting and I don’t doubt they’ll take advantage of a pretty girl walking alone in a city. Community service, remember?”

Levi thinks you’re pretty. Oh.

“Sure,” you stutter, ignoring your own heat rushing to the skin of your face and ears. “Thanks.”

His lips twitch, his eyebrows furrow. His mouth opens and closes. A syllable echos his throat, cutting it off with a grunt.

You do the same.

Seems like neither of you know what to say.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” you try to hide the sadness in your tone. You really like Levi and his smart mouth. You don’t want to say goodbye.

You’d like to think he doesn’t want to either, as he blurts, “You need to get new shoes, too. I saw you stumble a few times. You’ll break your neck if you keep spilling drinks and fall.”

You snort obnoxiously, “Will do. Good night, Levi.”

The ravenette simply nods, forcing his legs to move from their spot to make way to his own front door. You wait with your hand on your doorknob, waiting for Levi to make it safely inside. Or maybe you just want to watch the way his hands work his locks, the way his face smoothes in concentration. You’re glad you stayed to watch, as his pupils snake over to the corners of his eyes once again, and he scoffs. Then, as quick as he does this, he disappears behind old wooden framing with a gentle slam.

You follow suit with a wide grin. Oh what a day it has been.

That pesky need to cry has escaped you once again. Bummer.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you set alarms on your phone for the early morning. You plan out tomorrow’s outfit, and shower before heading to bed. You fold your dirty laundry and set the clothes in a corner. You really do need to buy that hamper with wheels.

You take a tall, cold glass of water out to your balcony to dump on your begonia. You smile at your beloved plant friend, feeling more like a plant mom. You’ve got a job, and laugh to yourself at the idea of providing your begonia with a stable income like a parent truly would. You step back inside to refill the glass, and set it on your nightstand to water your precious plant again in the daylight.

You reheat a bowl of soup and down the contents with lightning speed. You wash it with your utensils in the sink, and set them back where they belong in the cabinets. You think about what Levi said earlier, about the glasses getting sticky overnight, and chuckle to yourself. What a ridiculous idea.

You wear your favorite robe and turn off all the lights in your home. Your bed is warm and cozy despite the evening chill, and you fall asleep the second your head hits the pillow — the first time this has happened since you’ve moved into your darling apartment.

But best of all, you wake up five minutes before your first alarm goes off in the morning. This blessing in disguise gives you ample amount of time to cook yourself a hearty breakfast and dress yourself accordingly for today’s shift. You poke and prod around in your makeup bag, opting for a lighter look with a gentle shimmer in the corners of your eyes. You feel pretty once you’ve finished, delighted and filled with confidence. You intend to make good on your promise to your neighbor turned boss.

You’re going to do a great job today, even if it kills you. Well, maybe not all that, but you’re going to try your hardest. You owe it to yourself, you owe it to Levi.

You’re standing outside your front door just as your wall clock chimes it’s noon, fiddling with the ties on your sneakers. Levi is right. You do need new shoes.

You nearly fall over when a piece of laminated paper obstructs your vision. You cry out, feeling a warm hand grasp your bicep to steady you, and you whip your head up.

Levi is wearing his hair slicked back today.

“Starting your day off by falling over, seems promising,” he remarks sarcastically. Your eyes fall to the paper in his other hand, the light from the hallways bouncing off the plastic, “Take it.”

You bring yourself up to a full stand, Levi’s grip falling from your upper arm, and you find yourself missing the contact. He transfers the laminate into your hold, and with unfocused eyes, you drink in the contents.

“You made me a drink cheat sheet?” your mouth falls open as you blink furiously. When you tilt your head back up to take a good look at the ravenette, he’s scowling at the ceiling, “Thank you.”

“It’s so you don’t fuck up anymore today.”

You can’t help but smile at his hardly secretive act of kindness. It spreads a warmth in you, foreign yet somehow familiar.

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of thanking the man in front of you.

“Wasn’t planning on it, boss.”

“Cut it out with the nickname,” Levi rolls his those pretty grey eyes, not obstructed by his locks usually dangling across his forehead.

“You look good with your hair like that,” you smirk as he begins to walk away. A tiny bun reveals itself above the back of his undercut, “You should wear it like that more often.”

“I need a haircut. It’s the only reason it’s back, gets in the way.”

You hum in response, trying not to swoon at his dashing good looks and rollercoaster of words and actions. What a walking contradiction of a man.

Your second shift goes by a lot faster than last night — and way easier, too. Because of the slow crowds, you have plenty of time to review the sheet Levi has put together for you. Your smile feels real and perfectly slid into place as you greet customers, taking their orders with a quick glance at the laminate. It doesn’t leave your vision the entire day. Levi even silently praises you by leaving you on your own behind the bar to man the kitchen.

Why did no one tell you about the kitchen anyways?

Petra and another man who you’ve yet to meet relieve you of your shift at six o’clock. She bounces in with a brilliant beam, a warm greeting, and a gentle shove to your shoulders.

“Get out of here!” she playfully tells you. “Run, before the regulars pull you back in!”

You laugh in response, “Okay, okay! Let me let Levi know I’m leaving.”

The man disappears behind the door leading to the hallway before you can get a good look at him, so you leave it for another day. Petra incessantly shoo’s you off, smiling prettily at some customers who seat themselves on the stools.

You find Levi in Hange’s office, sifting through even more paperwork. You forget to knock, so you just clear your throat and speak up, “Hey, I’m heading out, you coming too?”

“No,” he rubs a palm over his face, fingers tugging at his temple. “More bills to get done. Don’t forget to sign your name on the sheet on your way out.”

“Will do,” your left foot already steps out, ready to leave Levi to his grueling work.

“Hey,” you stop in your tracks, eyebrows shooting up as you await Levi's words. “You did good today. Keep it up so I don’t have to fire you.”

The corners of your lips upturn, your teeth on full display, “Will do, thanks.”

“Don’t get lost going home.”

“Won’t do, thanks.”

You slowly shut the door behind you, and your grin remains on your face on your short walk home. Thanks to Levi’s guidance, you navigate the bustling streets well. All in perfect time to give your loving spotted plant dinner.

You’ll have to bake Levi a new batch of cupcakes, too. Maybe red velvet this time.

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations

taglist:

@imkumichan @devilstempt @tokyo-banana @misslovingpearl @midaribaby @dekcolrehsb122 @notgoodforlife @astridthevalkyrie @asilentshout @blondeboyfriend @people-arent-food @araveticazx @eripeachy @ryukatters @resonancesoul @khwohsahnt @joykamado

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi fanfic #levi fanfiction #levi x reader #levi ackerman x you #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #tw: sadness #tw: loneliness #tw: alcohol #tw: drinking

[kalliyen]

Headcanon #2

Summary: You sneak a love note into in their stuff and they find it

Pairing: Enhypen (separately) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Mentions of food but other than that not much

Genre: A cup of fluff, a tablespoon of fluff, a teaspoon of fluff and a big pool of fluff

Word and Emoji Count: 1,313 (that’s a lot)

Disclaimer: In no way is this work of fiction to condone dating these boys this is merely again, a work of fiction I made up

Xiao-nim’s note: This was proofread my lovelies! Hope you enjoy! 💕

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꧂Lee Heeseung 🦌꧂

❃ You woke up in the middle of the night right next to Heeseung cuddling you

❃ You tried to go back to sleep but you couldn’t so you decided to slip out of Heeseung’s arms very carefully

❃ When you successfully slipped out of his arms you looked around and saw your pens 🖊 and papers 📝 you were using before you and Heeseung cuddled

❃ You had the brilliant idea of writing him a cute little note

❃ So there you were sitting on your desk and writing multiple cute little notes and one special letter for him for at least an hour

❃ He wakes up at like 7 am with you not being beside him which makes him a bit sad and confused 🤔

❃ You might not be there but he saw a little note on your pillow saying “Good Morning Hee! Sorry I’m sot here I’m at the grocery store buying more food cause you have nothing here,,,,,enjoy these little notes in the meantime! Expect them were you least expect them 😉”

❃ That certainly brought a smile to his face

❃ You might not be here but at least he has something of you

❃ Sighing lovingly, he gets out of bed with a big smile on his face looking forward to more of these sweet little notes you made for him 💕💕💕🥰🥰

꧂ Park Jay/Jongseong 🦅꧂

❃ You were soo bored 😶😶😶😶

❃ And you came up with a brilliant idea of writing cute little notes

❃ Jay was asking what you were doing and you tried to hide the fact that you were making love notes for him

❃ When he’s preoccupied doing something you stick one of the cute notes on the back of his phone and in his bag he uses for work

❃ plz 😫✊ he won’t and can’t stop smiling when he sees it

❃ Jungwon prolly asks him why he’s smiling like an idiot

❃ And lovestruck Jongseong doesn’t even hear his leader

❃ Repays you by spoiling you with kithes and cuddles 🥰

❃ He just loves you sm ok⁉️

꧂ Sim Jake/Jaeyun 🦮꧂

❃ You were scrolling through TikTok that day and found a video that spiked your interest

❃ So you decided to try it on your cute puppy bf

❃ And when he came home that night and saw you doing something he was all up in your face and askin u what u were doing

❃ You don’t tell him and he lets it go

❃ For now 🌝

❃ Guess who had the biggest smile on his face the next day when he sees the outcome of what you were hiding from him~~

❃ Spoils you with hugs and kithes as a thank you pt. 2

꧂ Park Sunghoon🐧 ꧂

❃ You missed him sm

❃ He was out practicing for the whole day and you were here, In his room desperately missing him

❃ You racked your brain thinking of something to do to subside the feeling of missing your man

❃ And when you couldn’t think of anything, you decided to grab your phone and scroll through Pinterest to get some sort of idea

❃ This particular post caught your eye and you decided to try it

❃ At first while you were doing it you felt a little cheesy but hey, you miss your boyfriend and you wanted to do something for him

❃ You’ve been making the cute little anecdotes for him for about an hour and 30 mins when you decide it’s time to put it on his stuff around the house

❃ Sunghoon was in for a shock when he sees a note on the door when he came home from practice that day

❃ He gets ready for bed and tucks himself in bed beside you and gives you a sweet peck on your head and mumbles a small ‘thank you baby’ with the softest smile on his face.

꧂ Kim Sun-oo 🦊꧂

❃ It was your 6 month anniversary with Sunoo and you wanted to do something sweet for him since he always did sweet things for you.

❃ You couldn’t really buy much while being an unemployed teenager

❃ So you came up with a sweet plan for your sweet partner

❃ 6 months of dating might not be a big deal for everyone but for you it was

❃ You jumped to your plan making the cute little notes and put them all around the house making a trail for him to follow when he gets home from the office

❃ He came home that afternoon holding various takeout orders in his arms while calling for you

❃ He put down the bags and was perplexed on why you weren’t answering him

❃ When he saw a note on the table saying “Welcome home sweetie! Follow these trail of notes and see your present at the end waiting for you 😘”

❃ So Sunoo followed said trail of notes and was seemingly surprised at what he saw at the end

❃ Though it wasn’t much he was taken aback and mouth agape

❃ Cause there you were looking all prim and pretty/handsome while sitting on a chair waiting for him in the backyard with a picnic blanket set out and all kinds of food on the blanket

❃ Sunno neared you and tackled you to the grass smothering you in kisses and smooches all over your face

❃ That certainly was a 6 month anniversary you would remember for the rest of your relationship. 🥰💕

꧂ Yang Jungwon 🐈 ꧂

❃ You’ve noticed that you’re normally curious and teasing boyfriend was now quiet and rarely smiled

❃ You asked him what was wrong and he just shrugged and said “nothing much, don’t worry about me Y/N”

❃ Now you definitely knew something was wrong because he didn’t call you Love

❃ You narrowed it down that he was so stressed and constantly practicing to the point he wasn’t eating or taking care of himself anymore

❃ And of course you were very crossed with this, because even he had a hectic idol life he still had to take care of himslef

❃ So when you were left alone in your shared apartment with Jungwon you decide to do something for him

❃ You made a full course meal yourself and made cute little notes saying ‘you can do it!’ and ‘I’m so proud of you Wonie!💕’ and stuff like that

❃ He was literally about to combust when he read those notes while he was eating the food you made for him (which was delicious btw)

❃ ‘How did I manage to be so lucky to snag an amazing and wonderful s/o like them?’ Jungwon thought to himself

❃ Now Jungwon knew, while he was with you he could get through any problem or any situation.

꧂ Nishimura Riki🐆 ꧂

❃ Similar to Jungwon’s case, Riki hasn’t been taking care of himself in exchange for more time to practice.

❃ You noticed he was not smiling his beautiful boxy smile that much anymore and looked quite pale

❃ And of course you were not happy with this

❃ You wanted to scold him when he got home but he looked so tired and immediately collapsed on the bed hugging you

❃ You couldn’t do anything much about it so you just let it slide for now and him have his well deserved rest

❃ You woke up earlier than your Puma-looking boyfriend and decided to give him a big breakfast even if he wasn’t one to eat much

❃ You also made him a Bento Box 🍱 for lunch and stuck a cute little note at the lid

❃ Riki was very thankful to you for doing this for him.

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Xiao-nim’s note: Hello Everyone! I hope you readers enjoyed this, it took me a while to finish. Also I might have gotten carried away while writing this that’s why there is so many words 😫🕶🤏 I was in a good mood to write

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen imagines #enhypen crack #enhyphen #lee heeseung #park jongseong #park jay #jake sim #sim jaeyun #park sunghoon #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #heeseung imagines #jay imagines #jake imagines #sunghoon imagines #sunoo imagines #jungwon imagines #niki imagines

[the196thbattalion]

star wars human! high school! au

i’ve seen so many headcanons circling throughout the star wars tumblr about high school au’s, so i wanted to share my bit with all of you :D

anakin skywalker

five words: REBEL CHILD ON A MOTORCYCLE.

he doesn’t like riding the school bus because it makes him feel extremely claustrophobic, so he scrapped and scavenged up parts to make his own customized motorcycle, which he lovingly dubbed artoo.

the blue and silver detailing was the joint effort of ahsoka and obi-wan, because anakin doesn’t know how to paint.

if he can catch up to the bus, he’ll ride alongside it and flip off the students on it before revving on ahead of them. (the freshmen think it’s the funniest thing in the universe)

probably one of the most well-known juniors in the entirety of temple high school (mostly because of his shenanigans but partly because he’s dating padme fuckiNG AMIDALA, PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE DAMN SCHOOL)

he always wears this worn-down leather jacket his mom gave to him before she passed away, and refuses to take it off, even though it’s somehow “a violation of the dress code and should be outlawed.”

his hair alone has seduced eight different students (boys and girls)

sometimes during study hall, ahsoka or padme will get a hold of his hair and style it into little braids or make a super rad ponytail.

he really likes iced coffee with milk and sugar. he puts in the milk to make it nice and light (it’s aesthetically pleasing, obi-wan!), and then like eight tablespoons of sugar to make it actually taste good.

his favorite class is mechanics, taught by kit fisto.

anakin spent months on a mechanical arm project to replace his clunky plastic prosthetic, and he was so freaking happy when it was finished; he almost cried. (he did cry and ahsoka got it on video)

obi-wan kenobi

a mixture of the soft™, pretty™, hippie™, grunge™, vsco™ and nerd™ tropes.

he really likes peppermint tea with lots of honey but takes his coffee black.

he has had too much tea.

someone needs to stop him.

almost all of his classes are ap courses, and if cody hadn’t been watching when obi-wan was making his schedule, all of them would be.

him, cody and padme have ap english with mace windu, and cody knows how much his classes stress him out, so he lets obi-wan sleep during class and sends him the notes

the only ap class obi-wan doesn’t take is mechanics, and he shares that class with anakin.

anakin and obi-wan are super close with each other. kenobi was there when ahsoka was adopted, and anakin was there when kenobi got his cat. (they were like 5 okay)

“NAME IT C3PO OBI-WAN, OR I SWEAR TO FUCK-” “what kind of name is that, and why would i - anAKIN PUT HIM DOWN!?”.

mr. fisto constantly has to split them up for disrupting the class, but it’s almost like they can communicate telepathically, and the teachers have a running bet

mace windu literally bet $50 on these fucking nerds so you know it’s for realsies

in reality, they’ve just gotten super creative with passing notes.

kind of off topic, but he has these brown harry potter glasses that he uses (kinda for reading???? but mostly so he can do that anime pushing up glasses thing)

cody thinks it’s the funniest shit ever

whenever cody is feeling stressed, obi-wan just does the thing™ and BOOM! happiness.

people think he’s a goodie two shoes, and honestly, it’s really easy to think that. if the iconics are trying to do something stupid, he’s usually the voice of reason.

but parties?

…

you know what, just ask anakin for the video footage.

ahsoka tano

this hs!au ahsoka tano turned me bisexual confirmed ✔

okay before i go into her style, which is mainly what made me drool over my computer, can i just put skatergirl!ahsoka out there?

spray painting of the rebellion symbol all over the bottom of her board and on items in a couple of the places where she skates the most (like the back of an abandoned car yard)

her instagram is filled with these super cool vhs-tape recorded skate videos (u know)

lots crackhead 3am visits (starring anakin, rex, kenobi and barris) to a gas station to get slushies and grind the shit out of the curb connecting the store to the parking lot

trying to teach anakin how to skateboard but he just can’t figure it out? uh yes

“try to balance skyguy!” “HOW DO I MOVE? DO I SCOOT? SNIPS THIS ISN’T FUNNY AND I WANT TO GET OFF – GUYS, STOP LAUGHING!”

okay okay okay i’m done

for now

anyway, her style???? is so???? fucking????? cool!!!!!

her genetics gave her a 80% of having vitiligo, so it really wasn’t a surprise when patches of her skin got lighter, but it still freaked her out a little bit.

basically, went like this: “DAD, I’M TURNING WHITE!” “???? oh my gosh ‘soka, no.”

she has long braided dreadlocks she dyed a super bright orange with various colored beads woven into them with the help of anakin and padme. she usually styles them into little space buns atop her head.

her entire clothing wardrobe consists of fishnets, neon bomber jackets, at least 11 bisexual beanies™, handmade patchy jeans, white tank tops, and light-up platform shoes.

she doesn’t give two flying fucks about the dress code, and – IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOST BUSY HALLWAY - punched principal sidious over whether or not she “could wear shorts that short” (anakin may or may not have cheered when she broke his nose).

the fetts (chuck have mercy)

*cracks le knuckles* i’ve put it off long enough

we have: fox (24), wolffe (19), cody (17), rex (17), echo (16), fives (16), boil (15), waxer (14), hardcase (13), jesse (12), longshot (8), kix (6), tup (3), gree (2) and boba (9mo)

wolffe is off at college - fox already graduated and moved out, that cheeky little fucking shit - but both still keep in good contact with the fam, and it’s a constant clamor between eleven of the siblings of who gets to talk to them first

fox majored in government/politics, bly is majoring in space/astronomy, and wolffe is majoring in police/law enforcement shit (i don’t know how college works, so sue me)

cody and rex are juniors, and despite their similar looks, the amount of schoolwork each of them completes drastically varies

cody is the honor roll student, valedictorian, whatever you want to call it

rex kinda just either does the work really well or 9/10 times gets distracted by anakin or ahsoka sending him some nice spicy memes

cody tried to tutor rex but it ended up almost landing tup in the hospital

“that’s really simple, actually. if you – vod? rex, are you okay? what are you oH NO TUP DON’T PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH-”

fetts on the varsity football team is like a right of passage in the family

right now, only the juniors of the fett family are on the team, but the coach has eyes on fives and echo for next years team

SPEAKING OF

echo, fives and boil are the infamous sophomore trio that pulled the milk bucket prank on the gym teacher, pong krell.

they had to help the janitor (99) clean up afterwards, but they genuinely enjoyed 99’s company, because he’s rad as shit and knows all the secret school passageways.

to be honest, not one person (except maybe sidious) was complaining

that motherfucker makes everyone run like eight laps during gym class

even mr. windu gives them a small smile in the hallways after that

boil says he was blackmailed into it

waxer is a freshman (the poor dude, i’m so sorry), and he always looks out for the nervous freshies

if someone is having a bad day, he’ll give them a lollipop (he carries around a whole bag), a place to sit during lunch, and a shoulder to cry on

all you need to do to find waxer is to locate this long ass line of children

the school counselor, plo koon, sometimes brings his niece numa into school during the day because he can’t find a babysitter, and waxer. fucking. loves. her. PERIOD.

w+n pull these tiny little pranks on teachers, and the staff pretends not to notice, but numa always giggles and gives them away.

boil has a soft spot for numa too, and sneaks her rice krispies.

bonus shit i want to add in but can’t figure out where to put it (or i’m just gonna add it on and shit)

plo koon adopted anakin after his mother died (him and anakin’s mother were good friends), and found ahsoka on the side of the street, shivering like a maniac.

he doesn’t know where ahsoka came from, but he loves her so gOD DAMN MUCH.

he’s the school counselor, and still keeps in touch with a lot of students even after the graduated (he thinks that majoring in law enforcement/police is a bit dangerous for wolffe but he still supports his unofficial but basically son 100%)

yoda is the super old but radically rad english teacher.

his entire point of existence in my mind fic is to troll the shit out of palpatine.

a recent conversation starring yoda and palps: “did you give the students the mountain of extra work i assigned them?” “for the students, that was?” i’m sorry. my bad, that is.” “this is the seventh time, yoda.”

okay but for real

mace windu violently roots for the school football team.

“BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM, CODY! YOU TOO...OTHER CODY!”

“THAT’S A HOLDING! THAT’S A HOLDING!”

“REF IF YOU DON’T COUNT THAT TOUCHDOWN THEN I SWEAR TO SAMUEL L. JACKSON I WILL COME DOWN THERE AND BEAT YOUR SORRY PINSTRIPED ASS!”

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #human au #high school au #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #obi-wan kenobi #padme amidala #mace windu #plo koon #yoda #darth sidious #nala #okay #whew #now all the fetts #commander fox #commander cody #commander rex #captain rex #echo #fives #boil #waxer #hardcase #longshot #jesse #tup #196 hc

[itsafanficthing]

The Paper Boy - Chapter Three

This has maybe two of my favourite exchanges that I think I've ever written in this chapter. I hope that it comes off as funny as I think it is, and I hope that you continue to enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it. Your comments/likes/reblogs inspire me to continue, so thank you so much for that.

As always - Un-beta'd, spellchecked and delivered.

And on A03 if that is more your style: Here

Chapter Two

Jamie exited his room with his heart still pounding heavily in his chest. Claire didn't hate him after all. Friends- it was a good starting point. They could be friends.

Jamie shuddered to think of what his mates would say when they saw her. They often didn’t have the self control that Jamie did and would say whatever was on their minds. If they catcalled her even once, Jamie was sure that he would knock them to the ground. Defend her honour and all that. Though he was sure that Claire could stand up for herself- and maybe she wouldn’t want him standing up for her. Maybe she wanted to fight her own battles… the hypothetical battles that Jamie was imagining for her anyway. But Jamie knew what both Angus and Rupert would say when they saw her. No doubt there would be some comment about the way that she spoke, or the shape of her arse. Christ- if any of the lads at school made a comment about the shape of Claire's arse to Jamie, he wasn’t sure he would be able to hold back hitting them, even if Claire wanted to defend her own honour.

Jamie could hear his father’s deep voice as he moved through the house, no doubt giving Lamb a tour. Jamie moved quietly trying to find where Claire had gone when he heard Jenny’s voice coming from the kitchen.

“We lost our Ma a few years ago and our younger brother, Robert, a year before that,” Jenny said matter-a-factly. Jamie stopped and hid out of sight behind the wall, listening.

“I’m so sorry.” Claire’s voice wobbled as if she was holding back tears. Jamie swallowed heavily, surprised as how she could be so caring for a family she barely knew.

“It was difficult at the time, but you learn to keep living,” Jenny answered. She sounded so detached from the emotion of it and Jamie knew it was because she needed to be.

Jenny had picked up the mantle of mother in the household when Brian been unable to be a father. So overcome with grief over the loss of his son and then his wife, he didn’t move from the couch for almost a month. When Rob died, Brian at least had Ellen to help him and they made it through the grief together. When Ellen passed, Jenny and Jamie were ill-equipped to deal with the heaviness of grief that clouded Brian. Eventually, after weeks of Brian almost comatose on their living room couch, something changed and he started going through the motions again. But Jenny and Jamie knew that something had changed. Brian had lost a part of himself.

Jamie knew that his parents loved each other. He was particularly grossed out by it when he was younger, but he never doubted how much they loved each other. In fact, the kind of love that Ellen and Brian Fraser had terrified Jamie. To love someone so much and then to lose them- was it really worth it? Jamie didn’t know if he would be able to stomach loving someone so much, only to lose them.

Speaking of- Jamie’s stomach clenched at the thought of not seeing Claire again. He’d only known her for two days and he was already attached. Bound to her. Bound to protect her. Bound to- dare he say it- love her. But perhaps it was only a crush. Maybe it would pass the more friendly they became with each other. At least, that’s what Jamie told himself anyway.

“She taught me to cook, so ye can thank my Ma for the roast. Taught me all her secrets, ye ken,” Jenny continued jovially, as Claire laughed in response.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook at all. I can boil and egg and or make beans on toast, but that’s about it.”

“It just takes practise and a wee bit of experimenting,” Jenny answered kindly. “The best way to learn is to make mistakes, that’s what Mam always said. Ye should come 'round and I’ll teach ye some of the things she taught me. Is yer Ma a good cook or does yer Da do most of it? My Da could’na cook to save his life when he first met Ma, or at least that what he tells Jamie and me. She said to him “Brian Fraser, I am’na yer mother, I’m yer wife and ye’ll learn to cook or ye’ll be findin’ yerself with a verra cold and lonely bed.” He says it was the best decision he ever made, short of marrying' her. Still Mam did most of the cooking' anyway. I remember one night, Mam had to work late or somethin’ or other, she wrote down recipe- some rice dish. Da says that he followed the recipe word for word, though Mam had hand written the instructions and Da saw the ‘T-S-P’, ye ken- teaspoon, for salt as short-hand for tablespoon. Dinna ken how, but he served it up to Jamie and I, and it was like tryin’ to eat solid grains of sea water.” Jenny snorted with laughter at the memory and Jamie heard Claire chuckle in return. The sound brought a smile to his face while the memory made him shake his head at his clueless father.

“Weel, Jamie and I refused to eat another bite and he threw such a stramash. Tellin’ us we were spoilt and that we would eat what he provided for us, then he took a bite. I’ll never forget the look on his face. Christ. Still bring tears to my eyes to think about.” Both Jenny and Claire’s laughter echoed around the kitchen and Jamie felt his body warm further at the sound.

“Still, he’s always been good to us, and he learnt to cook his own meals and no’ have to rely on Ma’s recipes. But she made sure that as soon as I could, I’d be in the kitchen helpin’ her out. Jamie too. He’ll never admit it, but he’s quite a good cook.”

Jamie felt his cheeks and his ears heat up at the compliment from his sister.

“But that was special between my Ma and me, as I’m sure ye ken. Just time between us, we did’na even need to chat most of the time. Jus' happy to be doin' something' together.”

There was silence in the kitchen for a moment as Jenny continued her meal preparation, before she turned back to Claire.

“Christ- Claire, are ye alright?” Jenny asked in alarm and Jamie nearly ran into the kitchen to see what was wrong. “Did ye hurt yerself? No? Did I say something?”

Claire was crying. Jamie was sure of it as he heard a sniffle and Jenny saying words of comfort. He was about to leave his spot behind the wall to go and comfort her himself when a large hand clapped him on the shoulder making him flinch in surprise.

“What are ye doin’, lad?” His godfather asked steering him toward the living room.

“I was just goin’ to see if Jen needed any help,” Jamie lied as Murtagh led him further away from the kitchen.

“Aye, sure ye were. Let them be for a moment,” Murtagh said carefully.

“When did ye get here?” Jamie asked curiously.

“‘Bout half an hour ago. Been chatting with Quentin,” Murtagh answered gruffly.

“Who’s Quentin?” Jamie asked. Was someone else coming to dinner? Were they already here?

“Claire’s uncle.”

“Who?”

“Quentin,” Murtagh repeated gruffly.

“Quentin who? Why is Claire’s uncle here?”

“Ye invited him to dinner,” Murtagh replied, rolling his eyes.

“No I did’na.”

“Aye ye did,” Murtagh answered stubbornly. “Else who is sitting in the living room, talking with yer Da?”

“Claire’s father.”

“Uncle.” Murtagh corrected.

“Who’s uncle?”

“Claire’s uncle, ye dafty.”

“Claire’s uncle?” Jamie repeated. “Since when?”

“Since she was born I would think,” Murtagh said curtly.

“But then… where’s her Da?”

“How should I ken?” Murtagh replied with exasperation. “Perhaps ye should ask the lass.”

Jamie nodded, not really listening to what Murtagh was saying as his mind tried to catch up with the knowledge that Claire lived with her uncle (whose name was apparently Quentin and not Lamb) and not, as he had assumed, with her father.

“Why do ye keep calling him Quentin?” Jamie asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he slowly connected the dots.

“That’s his name, numpty.”

“No, his name is Lamb,” Jamie replied cautiously.

“Lamb?” Murtagh asked in disbelief, “Ye really think a grown man is called ‘Lamb’?”

“That’s what Claire calls him,” Jamie defended. “That’s how she introduced me.”

“And ye dinna think that it could just be a name between the two of them?”

“Aye, but I dinna introduce my Da and ‘Da’, I call him Brian,” Jamie reasoned.

“Well, I dinna know what to tell ye. The man’s name is Quentin,” Murtagh said abruptly ending the argument.

Murtagh left Jamie standing confused in the hallway until Jenny’s voice called loudly from the dining room that dinner was ready.

--

Jamie stood awkwardly at the doorway as people took their seats. Lam- Quentin sat next to Jamie’s father at the head of the table with Murtagh on the other side of Brian. Claire looked quickly between the spot next to her Uncle and Murtagh (with his permanent scowl) and hurried to sit next to her Uncle. Jamie was about to take the seat next to Claire when Jenny blocked him and sat down. His shoulders dropped in disappointment at not being able to sit next to Claire as he had planned, although, by sitting across from her, he did get to look at her all night, so really it wasn’t all bad.

“Shall we say a prayer?” Brian asked and Jamie looked up in surprise at his father. They hadn’t said anything of the sort since Jamie’s mother had died.

“Of course,” Lam- Quentin said excitedly, clapping his hands together.

Eccentric. That was the word to describe Claire’s uncle. The man sounded like he could get excited about just about anything.

“Jamie, would ye mind?” Brian directed his gaze at his son, who felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Aye- Yes, Da.” Jamie bowed his head and closed his eyes, feeling his heart beating rapidly in his chest and his palms start to sweat. It had been years since he’d said a prayer over his food. How religious was Claire and her Uncle? Would something short and simple be better? What if they expected a well rehearsed blessing over their food, as if the Frasers prayed over every meal? Or worse- what if they expected something completely original. Jamie was unprepared to say the least.

Clearing his throat, he began, “Dear-” Jamie’s voice broke with a terrible sound, somewhere between a crack and a screech and his cheeks flooded with embarrassment. Clearing his throat a second time, with his eyes firmly squeezed shut so as to not look at his guests or the grins that his own family would undoubtedly be throwing him, he began again.

“Dear Lord,” his voice remained in tact, no breaking to be found and Jamie was flooded with relief, now he just had to get through the rest of it. “We thank ye for the meal that we are about to…. Eat. Thank ye to Jen… thank ye for Jen- who cooked it. Thank ye for the… opportunity to welcome Claire-,” Jamie felt his voice waver over Claire’s name and he plowed on, hoping that it wouldn’t break again. “And Lam- Quen… Mr Beauchamp to our neighbourhood. Erm. Thank ye for Murtagh being able to join us for dinner. We ask that ye bless this food, that we are about to eat, that Jen made, and that ye… continue to… bless our lives and this meal that we are about to eat. Amen.” Jamie finished the last bit quickly feeling that he had probably rambled on long enough. He opened his eyes to see Claire staring at him with a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Thank ye, Jamie,” Brian said, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Yes, thank you Jamie. That was very… thorough,” Quentin said, openly grinning at Jamie. “Though, please, call me Lamb.”

“Lamb?” Murtagh grunted as Jenny started to dish out the food. “I thought yer name was Quentin.”

“It is,” Quen-Lam-Mr Beacham- Claire’s Uncle replied simply. “Quentin Lambert Beauchamp. Although Quentin is such a god-awful name, that I can never thank my parents enough for, that I have always gone by Lambert. However, when Claire was born, she couldn’t quite get the “Bert” of “Lambert”, could you Bumblebee?” He paused to look at Claire who blushed prettily and shook her head. “So I’ve been Lamb every since.”

Jamie looked at Murtagh with a pointed look that said not to subtly “See I told you”.

“So ye prefer Lamb?” Brian asked as Jenny handed the now overflowing with food plates around the table.

Lamb nodded in response before he looked down at the mountain of food that Jenny had placed in front of him. “Jesus. H. Roosevelt. Christ!” He exclaimed making Jamie snort into his roast potato and everyone else at the table jump in their seats. “Jenny, my dear, you could feed an army with this amount of food. It looks sensational.”

“Uh, thank you Mr Beauchamp,” Jenny answered nervously, obviously unaware of how to handle Lambert’s enthusiasm for anything and everything.

“Lamb, please,” he said kindly before they all started to eat.

—

The rest of dinner was rather uneventful. Jamie’s father and Murtagh discussed the neighbouring farms, Lamb listening with rapt attention (forgetting about his dinner almost entirely as he asked question after question about farm life and the locals), Jenny and Claire became fast friends and Jamie… well Jamie watched Claire.

She seemed happier than she was before. Perhaps it was finding another friend in Jenny- a female friend or maybe she was starting to relax and enjoy herself.

She had a sharp tongue and quick wit to match Jenny’s no nonsense demeanour- one that Jenny had adopted since their mother had passed away. It was nice for Jamie to see his sister laughing again and talking about things that weren’t so adult, like the bills or groceries.

Jamie and Jenny had both grown up much faster than either of them expected when their mother had died. Brian and Ellen had protected them both as much as they could through the death of their younger brother, Robert, but the death of parent was something for which they were all unprepared.

For a while it felt like a death of both parents as Brian Fraser started to waste away on the couch. Jenny took the responsibility of becoming a second parent to Jamie and he was ashamed to admit that sometimes he resented her for it. She was his sister, not his mother.

He was, of course at the end of the day, thankful to Jenny for being there and for taking care of him. She made sure he got to school on time, ate properly and got a good night's sleep. But he hated when she tried to discipline him. She was not his mother, as much as she tried to be.

It was nice to see her drop some of the parental bravado that she had adopted and simply act like herself again.

Claire.

Claire was the difference in Jenny. Maybe it was just that she was someone new that didn’t know every single detail of their grief, but Jamie could see Jenny relax around her.

Claire glanced across the table at Jamie, smiling as Jenny continued to talk about something- Jamie wasn’t listening. Jamie couldn’t help smiling back at her. She was addictive. It was as if their own conversation was happening between them as they smiled at each other.

“Sorry for my family.”

“No need to apologise.”

“She’s talking yer ear off.”

“I’m happy to make a new friend.”

“I’ll rescue you after dinner.”

“Thank you.”

Of course, that was just what Jamie had imagined was happening between them. In reality Claire smiled at Jamie and looked back to Jenny, nodding along to whatever she was saying. But when she looked back to Jamie a moment later, she smiled again and he was pleased to see a faint blush on her cheeks.

—

After dinner the men (Brian, Murtagh and Lamb) decided to take a tour around the house and then the stables. Jenny had shut herself in the kitchen, waving away Jamie and Claire as they tried to help her clean up and so it was just Jamie and Claire standing awkwardly in the living room together.

“I’m sorry about my family,” Jamie began, carrying on from his earlier imagined conversation with her. “I ken they can be a wee bit overwhelming.”

“It’s fine,” Claire replied smiling and shaking her head. Jamie watched the curly brown locks jump about and she moved, like they had a life of their own. “It was nice to make another friend.”

“Aye- yeah, but, I dunno,” Jamie shrugged, “they can be a bit full on sometimes.”

“You’ve met Lamb right? He doesn’t half-ass anything. It’s full ass, or nothing,” Claire laughed lightly. “So really, there’s no need to apologise.” Claire smiled up at him shyly and Jamie was sure that his heart actually skipped a beat. Christ. She was so lovely.

“So, err, what did ye want to do?” Jamie asked with another shrug. “I can show ye ‘round the house, or… it’s a wee bit dark to see any of the farm, or we could watch the telly?”

“Whatever you like,” Claire answered with a shrug of her own. “What would you usually be doing if I wasn’t here?”

“Erm, maybe reading,” Jamie blushed as he looked down at his feet. “Or, ye ken, watching a game or something. Sometimes both at the same time.”

“What are you reading?” Claire asked brightly.

“At the moment?” Jamie clarified as he ran his hand through his hair with nerves. “Harry Potter. Well. I’m rereading it. I like the movies. But the books are better.”

Claire looked at him blankly. “Henry Porter? Never heard of it. Is it good?”

Jamie’s jaw fell open in shock. “Harry- Yer jokin’ right? Ye dinna ken Harry Potter? Harry Potter?” He repeated in disbelief.

There was a second when Jamie was sure a pin drop could have been heard, even on the carpeted floors they were standing on before Claire burst out laughing.

“Of course I’ve heard of Harry Potter. I haven’t been living under a rock. You should have seen your face though.” Claire took a deep breath and fanned her face as she continued to chuckle at the face Jamie was making. “Never heard of Harry Potter. What do you take me for?”

“Aye- ye got me. Good one. I was beginnin’ to think that we could’na be friends after all.”

“Really? That’s all it would take?” Claire asked as Jamie led them from the sitting room towards his bedroom.

“Well I dinna ken ye all that well yet,” Jamie explained sarcastically as Claire followed him.

“I see, and not knowing a popular book is all it would take to end it?” She asked with amusement as Jamie pushed open his bedroom door, glad that he had thought to clean it up when he was getting dressed.

“Aye- Yes,” Jamie nodded seriously.

“Well. I’d better be on my best behaviour then, hadn’t I?”

“Aye Sassenach. Yer on thin ice,” Jamie grinned at her as she smiled back at him once more before jumping and landing on his bed.

—

“Which one are you reading?” Claire sat cross legged on Jamie’s bed and watched him with wide eyes. To have her alone in his room, Christ, she had no idea the effect that she had on him. He glanced back to the doorway, making sure it was wide open so that they couldn’t be accused of any “funny business”. Not that they would partake in that kind of thing- they had only just met after all.

“I’m up to Order of the Phoenix,” Jamie answered turning back to Claire, who had well and truly made herself at home on his bed. “I read the books once a year if I can. I remember,” Jamie huffed a laugh at the memory, “the first time I ever read them, a wee lad, it took me weeks to get through the books. Well, maybe not weeks, but a few days and some allnighters.”

Claire smiled back at him, her own grin widening as he spoke.

“Now, I can read Sorcerer's Stone and Chamber of Secrets in one sitting.” Jamie shook his head. “Order of the Phoenix though, jesus, I always forget how much I hate Umbridge until I read it again. What about ye? What do you read?” Jamie tentatively joined Claire on his bed as she shuffled over for him.

“A bit of anything really. I love Harry Potter obviously, but I don’t read it every year like some people.” Claire shrugged casually. “I’m reading a lot of Scottish history books at the moment. Trying to prepare for school.”

“Prepare for school? Ye think that their goin’ to quiz ye on Bonnie Prince Charlie on yer first day?” Jamie snorted.

“No.” Claire answered pointedly as she rolled her eyes at him. “I just like to be prepared. I don’t like to be on the back foot of things and this helps me feel at least a little bit more prepared for a brand new school that I know nothing about.”

“What do ye want to know? I’ve lived here all my life. I can answer anything ye need.” Jamie day up a little straighter.

“Well… nothing in particular,” Claire answered slightly taken aback by Jamie’s excitement. “And I guess everything,” she continued with a defeated sigh. “I don’t know… what I’m supposed to know..”

“Isn’t that everyone’s struggle, Sassenach?” Jamie said with a chuckle. “We’re meant to know everything but know nothing at all?”

Claire shrugged half heartedly at him.

“That’s what my Da’s always telling me. ‘Jamie ye should know better than that’, ‘Jamie ye canna be talkin’ like that, yer only 15’.” Jamie lowered his voice to mimic his fathers and Claire snorted in laughter.

“Well, one thing you can clear up…” Claire said as she shook her head at him as Jamie nodded for her to go. “Sass-en-ack? What does that mean?”

“Oh,” Jamie felt his cheeks and his ears heat up with embarrassment. “It’s only… well yer English.” He tried to explain.

“It means I’m English?”

“Well no. Not really. But aye- yes to a point.” Jamie stumbled over his explanation. How on earth he was going to tell (what he thought was the love of his life) Claire that it was derogatory term for an English person, but that he meant it as a term of endearment?

“It doesn’t mean I’m English?” Claire asked in confusion.

“Nay- ye are English. It’s just… it’s a Gaelic word for English,” Jamie finished somewhat poorly.

“Oh, is it an insult?” Claire asked, trying to figure out Jamie’s hesitancies.

“Well, aye, some would use it as an insult. But no’ me-” Jamie said quickly seeing Claire open her mouth to reply. “-I mean it as a… it’s a good thing. Yer… Sassenach. I dinna mean offence by it. I’ll stop callin’ ye it. Sorry. I did’na mean to upset ye.”

“No… it’s erm… it’s alright. I… I sort of like it.” Claire said as her cheeks flushed with colour. “I mean… I like the way that it sounds when you say it.”

“Oh,” Jamie felt his own cheeks heat up. “Well, then… Sassenach it is.”

--

“I play rugby, football, I swim- when it’s warm enough, I do the long distance run at the carnival and….” Jamie paused as he tried to think of the other sports he played at school. “I ride the horses, but that’s not for school or anything.”

“You do all of that, and run a farm?” Claire asked in disbelief.

“Help run a farm. I dinna do it all myself,” Jamie corrected as Claire laid back on his pillows, well and truly making herself comfortable. “What about ye? What’d yer school like look like a’fore ye moved?” Jamie stayed sitting up. The temptation to lie next to her and simply pull her towards him to kiss her was far too strong.

“I studied a lot. Played tennis for a while, but I’m… more of an academic I suppose.” Claire scrunched up her face as she thought about her previous school. “My father wanted me to play the piano, but I couldn’t quite… He loved it a lot and I think it was something that he wanted us to share, but I suppose I didn’t have the discipline… or the patience… or the passion to do it…. And now.... Now I feel like it’s too late and I’m just going to keep letting him down somehow.” Claire paused and Jamie swallowed heavily.

Claire hadn’t spoken about her parents before to Jamie and until dinner that night, he had assumed that Lamb was her father. He was curious about where her parents were, but after the death of his own mother and brother he knew better than to simply blurt it out and ask.

“Which I know is silly,” Claire continued, unaware of Jamie looking at her intently. “I couldn’t let him down if I tried- he always said that. But it just seems like it was something that we were meant to do together, and so now I shouldn’t do it at all.”

“That does’na sound silly, Sassenach. I think we all… I think we always want to live up to some kind of expectation that our parents have for us, and it makes it harder when they aren’t there to ask them just how ye go about doing that. Ye just have to take comfort in knowing that yer doin’ the best that ye can. Even on the days when simply gettin’ out of bed is yer best.”

“Your mum?” Claire’s voice was soft and she reached out and squeezed Jamie’s forearm softly.

“Aye, Jenny told ye?”

Claire nodded in response and Jamie continued. Maybe if he could talk to her about his parents, she might want to open up about her own.

“My Mam was an artist. She loved paintin’. She also loved sculptin’, ye ken- wi’ clay, but she was rubbish at it. But paintin’- she was brilliant. Jen got that from her. She can paint just as well. Mam always was tryin’ to get me into her studio, get me to pick up a paintbrush to see if I was any good. But I just did’na have time for it. I wanted to be with the horses, be with my Da on the tractor- anything that was outdoors.” Jamie paused as he felt an unexpected wave of grief wash over him and he had to swallow a few times to get his voice back. “When she died I would’na go near her studio, fearin’ that she’d be disappointed in me and … I dinna ken, her ghost would saddle me with some unresolved guilt that I should’ha’ spent more time wi’ her when she was alive.” Jamie had never told anyone this- not even Jenny and yet here he was sitting on his bed, next to a lass that he’d known for less than two days, telling her all the secrets of his soul. Secrets he had sworn to himself that he would take to the grave.

He was expecting Claire to laugh at him or roll her eyes. It was a stupid thought- the ghost of his mother, haunting her art studio to make him feel guilty for not wanting to paint. Rather, Claire was looking at him with a soft kindness and there were tears in her whisky eyes, which only made them shine like gold after she blinked away the salty water.

“Anyway,” Jamie said gruffly, feeling his shoulder twitch uncomfortably, “as it turns out, I canna draw or paint to save my life, so maybe it was just my own intuition stopping me from wasting both of our time.” He tried to make a joke of it, tried to laugh it off, but Claire wasn’t laughing.

She sat up from the bed quickly and put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him against her. She was hugging him and Jamie felt the tension in his body leave in a huff. It felt good to be in her arms. Not in the way of male anatomy betrayal on the horizon (though surely that wouldn’t be far off), it was comforting, it was warm- it was something that he had missed since his mother had died.

“Thank you for telling me that Jamie. Really. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Yer welcome, Sassenach. After all, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

#Outlander #outlander fanfic #the paper boy #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #Murtagh fiztgibbons #Brian fraser #Lambert Beauchamp #fanfic #outlander fanfiction #paper boy au #teenager au

[ella-se-vuelve-loca]

Last One, I Swear! | Erick Brian Colón

Sooo I noticed I haven’t done any stories for Erick yet lol for now, the stories I write for him won’t have any of that dirty stuff y’all like lmaooo sorry x

Warnings: None lol just pure fluff

Masterlist

Wanna be tagged for future fics?

**

“Alright, one more!” Erick yelled as he lost another game of Mario Kart, again. “C’mon, I’ve - I’ve got it this time. I can feel it.” He went to start another match, but I stopped him. “Erick, let’s just turn off the game.” I said. “No, I refuse to accept defeat.” He got comfortable on the floor and had a frown sketched on his face. “Estas bien, mi amor?” I asked him. “No, it’s fine. It’s - it’s all good. Everything’s great.” Yeah, that wasn’t sarcastic at all. I looked at the time and realized how late it was. Yikes! The boys have to wake up early tomorrow for an interview. We were in his hotel room playing video games and ordered in some food to eat. We didn’t realize how late it was getting. “Erick, mira.” I showed him the time on my phone.

“I just.. oh.. ya son las 2:25 de la mañana?” He realized. I nodded and his head dropped. “We should head to sleep. I don’t want you to be grumpy when I come back to wake you up.” He sighed and slowly started to get up. “Yeah, I guess we do have to wake up early tomorrow..” I kept a smile on my face as I thought about how much Erick gets involved in this game and can never beat me. What can I say? I’m pretty damn good at it.

“Okay, fine let’s go to… porqué estas sonriendo asi?” I just shook my head and stood up. “Nothing, why?” I asked him and chuckled. I went to go and grab my hotel key card. “Crees que no puedo hacerlo, ¿verdad?” He accused and I just laughed, not being able to hold it in. “How dare you.” He had a small smile on his face. “It’s not my fault you keep losing. You’re just not that good as I am.” I flipped my hair and laughed. “Alright, grab your controller. We’re doing this right now.” I raised an eyebrow and looked at the time once again. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t wanna hear you complain that you didn’t win against me again.” I laughed. “No, don’t give me that. I’ll show you that I can win at least one race.” He looked determined. Then again, so did the other times.

“C’mon mi amor, just one more. I’ll prove myself! I know you’re tired y quiero ir a dormir, but this is it. I promise.” I looked at him and his eyes bore into my own. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t say no to him. I mean, have you seen his eyes? They’re way to pretty to say no to. “Okay, fine. Let’s do it.” I grabbed my controller and sat back down next to him. He went to look for a new map to start the race. “How about a little wager? To keep things interesting.” He suggested and raised his eyebrow. I sat up and smiled. “Oh, you like that sound of that, don’t you? Alright, loser has to.. eat a tablespoon of coffee.” I just scoffed. “Is that it?”

“What do you mean that’s it? It’s a pretty fair bet, if you ask me.” Erick defended himself. I just sat there next to him thinking about my options. I could just go to my room and sleep, like we’re supposed to be doing right at this moment. Or, I could just beat him and call it a night. Decisions, decisions. “Princesa, por favor. I just wanna play.” Erick whined. “Okay okay! I’ll play.” I said as he clicked on to start the race. I leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. “Good luck.” I smiled and looked at the screen, getting ready to start. “You’re smiling now, just wait until I win this game. Let’s do this.” The intro to the track started and we both got ready. 

“I’m ready. Are you ready to eat my dust? I’ll be so fast, Sonic can’t keep up with my speeds. I’ll be sorry to even - .. oh shit.” By the time Erick looked back at the screen, the race was literally 3 seconds away from starting. “You should’ve been paying attention.” I comment. “Yeah, whatever. Shut up.” And we were off. I noticed him behind already as the rest of the racers passed him up. “You know you need to - ”

“Yes, I know I need to accelerate at the start.“ He frowned. “I can see someone is not enjoying this round as much.” I laughed. 

“Well, you were distracting me!”

“No I was not!”

“You did too!” 

This is so childish. I love moments like this with him though. “Alright, focus. You’re trying to psych me out right now, aren’t you? Well, it’s not gonna - don’t laugh at me like that.” He laughed. I can’t hold it in! This is too funny! “I’m sorry, babe. I told you this would happen.” He leaned in closer to the tv as I continued to win this race. “Okay, you asked for it now.” 

A few seconds of silence filled the air between us, until I heard him mumble. “Where did everyone go?” I could see his body moving side to side as he made turns. “Are you in last place?” I asked him, smiling. “No! I’m just.. trailing behind, that’s all. It’s all part of the technique.” Okay… now I’m starting to feel bad. I mean, sure it’s fun to beat him and win, but he seriously hasn’t won a single game against me and it’s starting to become sad. Hmm… maybe just this once.

“Yes, when I.. oh! Oh yeah! I’m coming for you now, mi amor.” I quickly looked over to his side of the screen and noticed that he got a golden mushroom. “See, look at that. Look at that! I told you, all part of the - ”

“Oh please! That mushroom must have felt bad and gave pity on you.” I joked.

“No, it wasn’t a pity mushroom!” He chuckled. Alright, time to slow down my movements. I started going a little more slower, not that he would notice, so he could catch up to me. “You’re laughing now nena, pero no vengas a llorar cuando pierdas.” I glanced at the map to see where each player is and noticed him coming close. Now I just gotta not pass him up. “Yes! C’mon, Mario keep going!” Did I forget to mention that he picked baby Mario as his character?

“Finally! 1st place!” He quickly passed me and I stayed behind. “No!” I joked along. He deserves a win anyways. He looks so excited. “Ay Díos mio it’s right there! I believe in you - “ He gasped and moved his body to the right. Peach was trying to pass him up and he wasn’t having it. “No. no, don’t you dare! Go go go!” He continued to try and block her so she won’t pass him up. “How am I in 8th place?” I asked out loud, just now realizing that I haven’t really been paying attention to my side of the screen because I couldn’t stop staring at Erick’s reaction to finally being in first. 

I could easily pass him up with the 3 mushrooms I just got, but I can’t do that to him right now. He’s probably dreamed about this moment of beating me. I don’t wanna take that away from him right now.

“Aww 8th place, is that right? It is over! It is over (Y/N)! Forget it! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” He’s almost there! Just a few more seconds… oh my God.. he actually did it. Erick got first place!

“I finally did it! I finally beat you!” He cheered. I just chuckled and continued on racing. “Aww you’re still racing. Oh, it’s alright! You just go as fast as you can, okay?” He teased until I made it passed the finish line. “Hey, there you go! Look at you! You finished the race.” He smiled as he looked at the screen as his character received the trophy. “Oh, look at that. Baby Mario takes home the gold.” I raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Are you happy?” I asked him.

“Well, of course I’m happy now, are you kidding me?” He started gloating in my face and I couldn’t help but feel happy for him. “Are you done?” I laughed and he shook his head. “No, I’m not quite done yet. First I have to..” He stood up and starting dancing all over his room. “Do my victory dance!” He jumped up and down, waved his hands in the air and did any silly dance he could think of on the spot. 

“I believe that a certain someone has to eat a teaspoon of coffee because that was part of the deal.” He said as he went to sit back down next to me. I rolled my eyes and went to get up, but he grabbed my hand. I looked at him in confusion. “Wait wait wait… not yet. Real quick, let’s watch the playback.” Oh this little fucker. “Why?”

“Why? So I can rewatch my victory over and over again, of course!” He quickly pressed replay and the video started. “See? Technique. What did I tell.. oh yeah, beautiful. Did you see that comeback? I went from 12th to 3rd just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I have to admit, good job on your part princesa. Good job.” 

“Hey, this is only your first win. I’ve won so much more than you.” I chuckled. “Alright, let’s not forget who won here, okay? Let’s not lose sight of the big picture here.” He smiled and continued watching the playback. “Oh amor, that’s brutal. They just kept coming at you, huh?” Other characters keep hitting me with shells, so that’s how I ended up in 8th. “Yes! Look at that.” Baby Mario was about to pass my character up. “Admit it. There was no chance you could have.. ” He stopped, now realizing that I 3 mushrooms and I didn’t bother to use them. 

“Amor? Is that a.. wait a minute. You could’ve totally used it by..” Realization now dawning on his face as he looked at me. “Nena?” I didn’t meet his eyes and I started to back away from him. A laugh wanting to escape my mouth. “No no no, mirame. Look me in the eye and tell - don’t cover your mouth like that! No, ven aquí.” He held onto my shoulders and tried to hold me against him.

“Don’t back away from me like that, tell me the truth!” He turned my face so I could look at him. “Did you.. let me..” I cut him off with a quick kiss, catching him off guard and pulled myself away from him laughing. I ran to go grab my hotel key card and towards the door. 

“Hey, come back here! Oh, you’re gonna get it!” He laughed chasing after me.

**

Hey! It’s the end of the story! Lmao I hope y’all enjoyed! If you liked it, please make sure to send some love to my writing! Comment, reblog, and or like please! I love reading what you have to say!

#cnco imagines #erick brian colon imagine #I HOPE I DELIEVERED #I HOPE THIS ISNT SHIT LMAOOOO #I TRIED TO WRITE SOME MORE FLUFF FOR Y'ALL LMAO #he's so competitive lmaooo #erick brian colon

[hellas-himself]

More Than Enough Pt. 2

This was seriously so much fun to write. I won’t consider this one “smut”, more like saucy, but I still wouldn’t read a part of this next to my mom. So. There is that. There are two spanish words in this one that if you might remember from my elriel fics, or not, if your memory is as ass as mine is. We have “asopado” which is a soup that cures everything. My mom makes it and I fucking love it. Especially after a hang over. The second is “mija” which is a mash up of “mi hija”, my daughter. So it’s like a term of endearment. 

Anyway. 

Here’s so more Cassian and Feyre garbage on the Lord’s Sunday. 

.

.

.

I can feel the sun against my eyes, but I am not ready to wake up. I’m warm, and comfortable… Really comfortable. I sigh when I feel Cassian kiss my shoulder and pull me against him and-

My eyes open and I feel him tense.

There is a very distant, logical part of my brain that knows this is normal and has nothing to do with the fact that at some point in the night we ended up in this position. But I still can’t help the blush that creeps up on my face as Cassian pulls his hand out from under my shirt and tries to carefully pry himself away.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Fuck.”

He lets me go, clearly unaware that I’m awake and I feel him leave the bed. Still cursing at himself. But now that he’s gone, I realize there’s no blanket and I don’t have pants on.

Carefully, I sit up and wait for the world to stop spinning. I hear the shower turn on and Cassian hiss as I slide out of bed. When I go to the guestroom, I wash up and tie my hair into a messy bun. I feel disgusting.

“Cas? Can I borrow some shorts or something?” I say as I walk back into his room, “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Cassian drops something in the bathroom and I have to stop myself from going to check on him.

“Yeah!” he shouts. “Knock yourself out!”

I snort and rummage through his dresser until I find basket ball shorts with string. I put them on and tie the string before I pull his shirt off in exchange for one of his hoodies. I walk up to the archway of the bathroom and force myself not to look.

“Coffee?” I ask.

From where his voice comes from, he’s in the closet.

“Please.”

“Are you okay?”

He clears his throat.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Just don’t start breakfast. I’m doing that.”

When Cassian finally emerges from the room, he doesn’t even have a shirt on. Just sweatpants. Hmm… I set our mugs down on the counter and go after the coffee pot.

“Hey Cas, have you seen the little spoon?”

“The what?”

I try not to laugh at the look on his face.

“You know, the one for the sugar? For the coffee…”

He walks over to me and opens the drawer with all the other utensils and doesn’t find it either. He sighs.

“Iliana was using it to feed her baby doll the other day,” he muses and reaches out to flick my nose. “Just use the big spoon- the tablespoon.”

I snort and he looks at me with narrowed eyes.

“Shut up,” he says and though I’m blushing again, I give him a wink.

“I’ll definitely use the big spoon,” I say and start cackling when he sighs in exasperation.

*

“Mom is bringing Val over,” Cas says as he joins me on the couch. He lifts my legs up and sets them on his lap.

“Thank god.” Laughing, I pull up my hoodie enough to rub my belly. “I don’t think our food baby would appreciate me getting in a car right now.”

Cassian smirks and reaches over to pass his hand over my stomach.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks.

“I’m perfect,” I reply. “You really didn’t have to do all that.”

“Of course, I did. It’s your birthday.”

“Hm.” I put my hand over his and close my eyes. “You’re too good to me, Cassian.”

He laughs.

“Whatever.”

He tries to pull his hand away but I stop him.

“My stomach hurts,” I complain.

“Not my problem.”

“You did this to me.”

Cassian laughs. “If you want me to touch you, all you have to do is ask.”

I open my eyes to find him grinning. “You can kiss my ass, Cassian.”

“Turn over, then,” he teases, the tone of his voice dropping slightly. Damn him and the way his voice makes me feel.

“Want to pick up where you left off this morning?” I tease right back.

He doesn’t look embarrassed despite the way he blushes- Cassian is actually blushing. If anything, he looks like he’s going to make me regret every word that’s come out of my mouth.

I want him to.

I let go of his hand and cross my arms, giving him an expectant look. And as he leans over, the fucking doorbell rings. Cassian lets out a long sigh and smiles. It’s my turn to blush now.

I can hear Valo barking and Adela talking to him too fast in Spanish for me to understand but he stops barking as Cassian forces himself to get up.  

“Hold on!” he says and walks off.

“Is that the tone you use with your mother?” Adela asks when he opens the door.

“I was talking to the dog.”

Said dog runs into the house and right towards me. I barely have a moment to sit up when he runs right into me and I groan.

“And the food baby is dead,” I say with a grimace. I hug our overgrown puppy and look to find Adela holding balloons and a gift bag.

“I had to go bring Rhys asopado this morning or I would have been here sooner,” she says with a sly smile as she walks into the living room. Cassian calls Val away and I am free to stand and greet his mother.

“Happy birthday, mija,” she says and gives me a hug. I can’t help but relax in her embrace.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

Adela kisses my cheek and hands me the balloons and gift bag.

“It’s not much, but I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

We go to sit on the sofa together. I set the balloons down on the floor and start to pull the tissue paper out of the bag. I’ve never understood how anyone can make tissue paper look decent but I don’t think there is anything Adela can’t do perfectly.

“Holy shit,” I say as I pull out the sketch book and the set of pencils from the bag. “This is too much.”

She scoffs but I don’t miss the way she starts to smile.

“I can never find these in the store.” And that wasn’t even mentioning how long it had been since I stepped foot into one- not including the day Cassian and Mor dragged me out of bed and forced me to bathe and get dressed. They had tossed shit in a cart and paid without letting me see the amount before bringing me back here to spend the day getting shit faced while we painted.

“Well, when you run out, let me know. I have my ways.”

I give her a hug and that’s how Cassian finds us. He has a shirt on and his hair is up.

“Oh nice,” Cassian says as he comes to sit beside me. Adela smacks his hand when he tries to grab the sketch book.

“It’s not for you.”

“I’m just looking at it!”

“Look with your eyes.”

I sit back and hold in the laugh as Cassian takes the sketchbook from me, looking at his mother the entire time.

“I swear to god,” Adela begins and Cassian laughs. She reaches over and smacks his arm.

“Ow! What the hell?”

She smacks him again and snatches the sketchbook. Her smile is sweet as she hands it back to me.

“I would love to stay, but you know Vinny can’t be trusted when there’s pernil in the oven.”

Cassian and I walk her out to her car and after thanking her again and some more hugs and kisses, Adela drives off.

“She’s going to tell us to come over for dinner, isn’t she?” I ask and Cassian chuckles.

“Do you have to ask?”

“Well, Val killed our food baby. I guess I’ll be ready for another one by tonight.”

“Shut up,” Cassian says with a laugh.

*

Mor is snoring softly next to me. The house is quiet now that everyone’s gone to bed. My head is still spinning and despite only wearing Cassian’s shirt to bed, I feel way too warm to be under the comforter. Carefully, I get out of bed and leave the room. All of the lights are off, but I can hear cartoons going, no doubt coming from Azriel’s old room where he and Elain are sleeping with Iliana.

I still remember which steps to avoid on the way down, and I know my way around to not need to turn the light on to get water from the fridge. But I am still drunk, so I turn on the stove light before grabbing a glass and hope no one wakes up.

When I go back upstairs, I see light coming from Cassian’s bedroom door. Mor is still asleep when I check and throwing all caution to the wind, I quietly walk down the hall. It takes me a second too long to remember the knock to let him know that it was me at the door, but I manage it, even if I start stifling my laughter.

Cassian answers faster than I thought.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to get here,” he says as he steps aside to let me in.

“You could’ve just come for me.”

He shrugs and closes the door.

“What are you watching?” I ask.

“Aeon Flux, remember that?”

“The creepy eye!”

“You just missed Inuyasha.”

“Well, now I’m insulted.”

He snorts and before I can even try to climb onto his bed, he comes behind me and hauls me up onto it.

“Cas!”

“Sh!”

I smack his arm when he sits down next to me and he shoves me right back.

“I’m telling your mom,” I hiss and grab his pillow, fluffing it up before I lay down.

“Then I’m telling her you were in here.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Go ahead,” I say as he lays down behind me. He throws an arm over my waist and I lean back into him.

“Can you believe that damn dog would rather sleep in Azriel’s room than here?” he asks.

“It’s Iliana. I swear he wouldn’t miss us if she decided to take him home.”

“Little shit.”

I know the birthday shots are fucking with my head, but it feels weird being in Cassian’s old room, watching cartoons late at night when we should be asleep. It isn’t a bad feeling, but after all I’ve been through… being here is so familiar, so peaceful, it makes me wonder how the hell I had ever put up with anything less than this.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you… for today. Well, for everything.”

“It was my pleasure.”

I snort. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I owe you one.” I yawn and put my hand over his. Cassian leans in and I fight down a shiver when he whispers to me.

“Falling asleep on me, bunny?”

“No,” I reply. “I’m falling asleep next to you, but I can change that if you want.”

He laughs and presses a kiss to my cheek.

“You mind if I keep the tv on?”

“No… Can you get the blanket? I can’t reach.”

“You mean, you’re too lazy to get up and get it yourself.”

I say nothing but smirk as he lets me go to sit up and pull the blanket up over us. Then he lays back down and pulls me into his arms.

“You’re lucky I love you.” He sounds annoyed but I know he’s full of shit.

Cassian turns the volume up just a tad and I settle in with every intention of falling asleep. But the show catches my eye, and I can’t help but watch.

“Hey, Feyre,” Cassian begins. “About this morning…”

“What about it?”

“I’msosorrybunnyIswear-”

I snort and turn around to face him.

“Sorry for what?”

“You’re really gonna make me say it?”

I roll my eyes. “No. I mean… It’s not a big deal. It happens.”

“It shouldn’t have.”

“It happens,” I repeat. I blush and turn around again. “You just can’t hide it like I can.”

“Hide what?” I shut my eyes as if that will make the blush go away. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean… Well, fine. It’s different. Yours was a onetime thing, that happens sometimes- I just happened to be there.”

“As opposed to?”

I groan and hide my face with my hands when Cassian turns me so that I’m lying on my back.

“Bunny?” I can hear his stupid smile in his voice. I look at him through the gaps between my fingers- he is definitely smiling.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Oh, come on! You’re not the one who woke up with a fucking hard on the one stupid time their best friend sleeps over. Tell me, then we’re even.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Seriously?” I ask and he raises a brow. I groan again. “I’ve been… in the mood. A lot, lately. Is that what you want to hear?”

“That’s it?” He sounds disappointed. “You’re no fun. That’s not even a big deal.”

“How is it not a big deal?” I ask and pull my hands away from my face. “You’re not supposed to know that.”

“Oh please. How many times have you sat there and listened to me go on about fucking someone? Like when I went out with the one girl with the truck-”

“That was like a year ago, Cassian. And it’s not the same.”

“How is it not?”

“Because when you feel like fucking someone, you go and do it. You don’t sit there and daydream about fucking me or Mor or any of your friends.”

“You don’t know that.”

When I scowl, he laughs. I turn my back to him and hear him sigh. I know it isn’t a big deal- Cassian and I have always been open about our sex lives. The good and the bad, especially the bad. But how can I tell my best friend that I only want him?

“Have you seen my friends?” he asks as he pulls me against his chest. “It isn’t hard to think about.”

“You’re just saying that so I feel better.”

“I think we both know there’s better ways to make you feel better than talking about fucking other people.”

“Like what?” I ask, my voice too quiet to sound convincingly teasing.

“It’s up to you, bunny,” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice as he leans in and whispers, “We can pick up where we left off this morning.”

We burst into laughter and we realize a touch too late that we’re being too loud. So Cassian covers my mouth with his hand and buries his face in my neck, still laughing.

It takes a while for us to stop laughing, but I’m still smiling when he slides his hand away from my mouth and comes to rest against my neck.

“You’re so stupid, Cassian,” I say, sounding slightly out of breath. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, bunny,” he says back, and I breathe in sharply when he presses a kiss to my neck. I can feel him go still, as though he just realized what he did. “Oh, fuck, Feyre… my bad…”

“It’s okay,” I manage to say. “I… I don’t mind.”

He pulls away and despite the way my face feels like its burning, I sit up to look at him. He’s sitting upright, his back against the wall. I don’t like how upset he looks, as if he’s done something wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he says and scrubs at his face.

“Don’t be,” I tell him. His eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t mind… You can- I mean, I want you to.”

Cassian blinks.

“But I know you were just kidding,” I blurt out. “So… Just ignore me, okay?”

I start to move to the edge of the bed but Cassian stops me, calling my name.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I was going back to bed,” I reply.

“Without saying goodnight?” He sounds insulted.

I move back on the bed and when I’m sitting in front of him, I put my hand on his shoulder and lean in to kiss his cheek.

“You’re really gonna go?” he asks. “Show’s not even over.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“You know damn well no one’s finishing that show.”

Cassian grips me by the chin.

“And you know damn well you weren’t going to bed.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Stay,” he says.

“Make me.”

Cassian lets go of my chin, bringing his hand to rest at the nape of my neck. Our eyes meet, and before I know it, his lips are against mine. My heart flutters as he slides an arm around me and pulls me close. He tastes like the tequila shots we snuck before everyone went to bed, like the too sweet frosting of my birthday cake that he smeared on my face at dinner. I smile at the thought.

“So I take it you’re staying?” Cassian says, brushing his lips against mine.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I might need a little more convincing.”

Cassian doesn’t say anything. Ever so gently, he lays me down on my back, leaning on one arm to hover over me. I wrap my arms around his neck and feel his free hand rest on my hip. When he kisses me again, he slips his hand under my shirt. I shiver as he brushes his fingers across my skin, my mind already racing with all the things I want him to do with his damn hands.

And as if he can read my mind, Cassian’s hand trails down my stomach. He bites my lower lip as he brushes his fingers along the band of my underwear. He lets out a hum of approval as he brushes two fingers over my panties, already embarrassingly wet.

“Tell me something,” he says. “All this time… was this what you were thinking about?”

My face feels like it’s on fire. He bites my neck and I have to bite down on my lip to stay quiet.

“Answer me.” The demand in his tone is enough to have my toes curl.

“Yes.” I don’t even recognize my voice.

“So every time I caught you staring…”

He looks at me with that stupid grin on his face and I am torn between telling him just how badly I need him to fuck me, and telling him to go fuck himself for being so smug about it.

“I had no intention of drawing you,” I reply with a grin of my own.

“Well, now I’m just offended.” There is a light in his eyes that is enough to take the breath from me.

My retort dies on my tongue as he pulls my panties down. I hurry to help him and once they’re tossed aside, he gives me a look that promises nothing good. He kisses me again, muffling the sound I make at the first stroke of his fingers. I would be embarrassed at how easily he’s got my legs trembling, at how quickly he’s bringing me to the edge- but I can’t remember the last time I felt this fucking good.

And he’s only using his fingers.

Cassian covers my face in kisses as I’m coming down from my high, and I’m smiling like an idiot. My body feels like it’s buzzing. I watch him sit up, watch him lick his fingers with his eyes locked on mine. He lowers himself over me and kisses me again, but when I reach down to tug on his pants, he pulls away.

“Not here,” he says, and I feel a twinge of guilt that we are in his parents’ house. I still let out a sigh and he chuckles, kissing me again. “This bed makes too much fucking noise, trust me.”

“And if it didn’t?”

“We wouldn’t sleep tonight.”

But we do sleep, at least until his alarm goes off for work. I know no one will bat an eye at me wearing his cologne, so Cassian hands me a hoodie and basketball shorts to wear after my shower. No one even bats an eye that I ended up sleeping in Cassian’s room, they’re not even surprised.

Cassian drops me off at my apartment before he heads on to the shop. I know I can stay at his house, or with his parents, but I haven’t been home in over a week and I need to clean and check the mail. I’m still riding that wave of joy I’ve felt all weekend, even after Cassian drives off after he waits for me to wave at him from my window.

I ignore the stack of mail and choose to clean up the apartment. I put on some music and take off Cassian’s hoodie, carefully setting it on one of the barstools. I lay out newspaper on my living room floor and start bringing out my canvas and paints. And as I tie up my hair, someone knocks on my front door.

Sliding the paintbrush through my messy bun, I answer the door to find Nesta standing there. She’s holding a bag out of take out and a little box from the bakery a few blocks away.

“Nes! Hi.”

“I’m sorry I never got around to seeing you yesterday,” she says as I give her a hug. I welcome her inside and close the door.

“What’s all this?” she asks as she eyes the living room.

“Oh. Well. Christmas is in two days.” And I’m too broke to get anyone anything else. But I don’t have to say it, I know Nesta is thinking it.

“How was your party?” she asks as we go sit on the sofa. I help her set out the containers of food.

“It was fun… I can genuinely say that I think you missed out.”

She shrugs, though I see the way she smirks.

“Yes, I saw the pictures,” she says as she grabs her container of pad thai. “So. You and Rhys?”

“Me and Rhys, what?” I ask slowly.

“He had his hands all over you in those pictures.”

“And?”

“And you’ve got that lovely hickey on your neck.”

Mortified, I touch my neck, my stomach sinking. I hadn’t even thought to check at all this morning. I get up and walk to the bathroom, leaving my sister smirking.

“Fuck,” I say moment I turn the light on. How had we not noticed? But I suppose his shirt and hoodie would’ve covered it. I should probably not answer my door in a sports bra. I let out a long sigh- this is going to be so much fun covering up. I turn the light off and go back to the living room to stuff my face with noodles.

I don’t owe my sister any explanation, but I understand where she would have come to this assumption. There are plenty pictures of Rhys and I dancing, with me stuck between Lucien. But there is one picture of Rhys and I hugging, and he has a hand on my ass and is holding a drink with the other.

“So?”

I know what she’s asking, but I still ask, hoping for another outcome.

“So, what?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I sigh. “I don’t really want to talk about that, Nes.”

“What? I’m happy you’re moving on from Tamlin, I’m just surprised.”

I raise a brow and look her way.

“He has a boyfriend.”

“Who took those pictures.”

“Hm.”

I roll my eyes and turn the tv on, slouching in my seat. I don’t want Nesta thinking Rhys and I are hooking up, but if she thought I had slept with some rando, I know it would be worse.

“It was a birthday kiss that got a little too carried away,” I say quietly. “Lucien is never going to let us live this down.”

Nesta sighs. “I’ll never understand you three.”

“You don’t have to.”

Nesta sets her pad thai down and grabs the little box from the bakery.

“Ready for dessert?” she asks.

“Yes, please!”

I laugh as Nesta pulls out a single candle from her bag.

“Are you still smoking?”

I scoff. “Yes, Nesta, I have a lighter.”

“Put a shirt on,” Nesta calls. I swipe Cassian’s hoodie from the barstool and put it back on, fixing my messy bun before going back to the sofa.

“Alright,” Nesta says as she lights the candle and holds out the cupcake to me. “Make a wish and blow out the candle.”

I snort and she swats my arm. I close my eyes and count to three before opening them and blowing it out. Nesta sighs and plucks the candle from the cupcake and then smooshes it against my nose.

“You bitch!”

“You didn’t even wish for anything.”

“You don’t know that,” I grumble, reaching for a napkin to wipe my nose with. She swats my hand.

“Picture first,” she demands and I comply, giving the camera the finger as she presses a kiss to my cheek.

When Nesta leaves for the night, I grab my phone and send Rhys a text. 

-Call me, prick. I have to tell you something.

.

.

.

@mythicaitt @bookloveaffair @nalgenewhore @candid-confetti

#more than enough #bunny & cas #cassian x feyre #crackship #absolute self-indulgence #because no one asked for this #Rhys is gonna have a ball with this

[coffeewtheauthor-blog]

Today we welcome a special guest and friend of mine, R.K. Aspen. Though her pen name is only a front to a much larger publishing history, she holds tight to her very first pen name that got the ball rolling. We’ll start with simple questions and dive into her writing process, maybe earning some tips and tricks along the way.

Brynn:

I’m glad you could make it. This is your first real interview, correct?

Raine:

Yes! I think this is the first I’ve been public about, at least.

Brynn:

Well I’m glad to be the first of your journey! We’ll start with our ice-breaking question which is a tradition, how do you like your coffee?

Raine:

Ooh. May get some opinions about that question. I used to like it black with honey, but now I prefer a tablespoon of sugar, some hazelnut creamer, and milk. Cool enough to drink and sweet enough to enjoy.

Brynn:

Doesn’t sound too bad. The best part of coffee is being able to drink it how you want. Is coffee a writing ritual for you like most writers? Or is it a pick me up, maybe?

Raine:

I definitely start my writing off with coffee. I’m terribly caffeine-dependent now that I’m older and the writing process is laid out easier.

Brynn:

Referencing to your age, you’re 21 now and your first story was published through Amazon at 17. How has publishing at such a young age effected who you are as an author?

Raine:

Ah, 21 feels so ... old. I think publishing as an anonymous minor definitely gave me the confidence I needed to write how I want. After that, publishing anonymously was something I enjoyed. It was a self-esteem booster, to be honest.

Brynn:

Anonymity is definitely bold considering you wouldn’t bring in the popularity as a known author. Do you think it was the better choice now that you’re moving onto your third novel? Congratulations on that, by the way.

Raine:

Um, I think it was one of those things where I wasn’t looking to be noticed. I needed more of an escape at first. Also, thank you! This third book is my prized possession. I enjoyed writing it just as much as I loved reading it afterwards.

Brynn:

No problem. That makes a lot of sense considering how young you were at the time. Would you say writing is your great escape from the world?

Raine:

Definitely. Considering what I was going through with my own mental health around the start of my second book, writing created a safe healing space for me and my thoughts. Depression is ... something else.

Brynn:

Depression can be a silent killer, don’t you think? I remember you mentioned that you wrote about depression in this upcoming novel of yours, ‘Thirteen Weeks’. How do you go about translating feelings such as immense sadness and lack of ambition onto paper? Is there a trick?

Raine:

Honestly, there isn’t a trick. I wanted my protagonist to also be the biggest antagonist in the story. I wanted that war between your heart and your brain to be present and visible in a character. Charlotte, my main character, has everything in life that she wants and though things seem to be going great — she doesn’t think she can escape the heaviness of everything around her, no matter how successful or fortunate she is.

Brynn:

Do you think that war inside of Charlotte effects her relationships? And do you think that reflects on you in real life? Stop me if I’m getting too personal ...

Raine:

Not at all. I’m an open book these days. I think depression is this inner monologue that turns you into an extremely dense shell of a person, and while I want to write the book with a happy ending, sometimes coping with your situation and feelings is a happy ending enough. That was my character development with Charlotte. By the end, she realized that the enemy in her life was herself and she wasn’t caring for her mental state enough. Everyone else was just trying to help.

Brynn:

Would you say that’s a reflection of your own struggles with depression?

Raine:

Of course. Through this book, I had some strong revelations about myself and my own tug-of-war with my brain, not just Charlotte's. I started finding better coping mechanisms for disappointment just like she did.

Brynn:

That’s good to hear. Do you normally add your own personality traits to your main characters? If so, what type of traits?

Raine:

With this book, Charlotte is a reflection of my own inner struggles with relationships, both romantic and sexual. Each character I’ve made has carried a piece of my personality with them. Usually, when I create a character, I like to piece in a trait I have myself that I hate the most. I want to see the characters overcome it like I hope to one day.

Brynn:

So, it’s as though you’re healing through someone else to test the waters, right?

Raine:

Exactly. You want to see the better side of things before throwing yourself in it first. Kind of like fortune-telling but with a fictional character.

Brynn:

This is a question that I’ve had in my mind since reading your books. You probably get it a lot. What inspired you to go from a strong, independent royal in a historical fiction novel to a heartbroken girl in a coming-of-age romance novel?

Raine:

Ah, yeah. I definitely get that a lot. Historical Fiction to Romance is quite the jump in genres, truly. My first book was based off such a strong person so I think at the end of the day, I wanted to write what was true to myself. Granted, the first book was honest but there were two years between the first and second book, things tend to change a lot. Even from my second book to this current one, there’s a years worth of time between them and a lot has happened.

Brynn:

Was there something you picked up on that made that change? Was it a noticeable change that you could refer to?

Raine:

The dark and twisted world of being in love. Maybe that’s too ... negative. I went from single and publishing, to in love and not writing at all, to being single again and writing my heart out. Usually with relationships and breakups, you have all of this pent up emotion and energy and writing helped me get a lot of it out and into a form where I could understand it better.

Brynn:

This interview has been quite eye-opening. I feel like we’ve touched subjects that are true to you and full of information for our readers. To sign off on such an easy-going chat, let’s touch one more subject. Do you see yourself writing romance more in the future or trying different genres again? Is there a place you see yourself in 5+ years with your career as an author?

Raine:

I do see myself writing romance more and I have a few prompts in mind. To be completely honest, though, I can’t see much into the future. I never have been able to do that, really. I should be bouncing back with another novel around this time next year, but I plan to dive into a different genre with it. I’ve been going with the flow, so to speak.

Brynn:

Hopefully everything works out on your end and we can get more out of you as a writer. I’m definitely excited to read Thirteen Weeks. I feel like your book, Only Rose, was definitely a heart-wrenching novel as far as the romance genre goes. You seem to transfer that emotion onto paper well enough to be successful with this upcoming novel.

Raine:

Thank you for that. It’s good to hear that I’m not just some historical fiction writer who’s blowing every other genre to crap. I really enjoyed this interview and talking with you, Brynn. Let’s do it again sometime.

Brynn:

Thank you for participating! You’ll actually be the first story to go up on the new site until we can organize the rest of our interviews for publishing. I’ll be in contact again for sure.

[redheadedbastards]

Daily Life Drabbles: The Cake

Wen yawned and shuffled half-awake into the living room. Just ahead he spotted Ronan. He was (as always) draped dramatically over Margo’s recliner in a way only thought possible for wet towels. A frustrated huff escaped him and his eyebrows drew together in concentration as he tried to make sense of the Country Living Magazine in his hands. He flipped forwards a few pages and seemed only more and more at a loss the further he read on.

“Morning,” Beckman greeted him and leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek. His soft sentiment was lost though. His half-conscious reflexes missed his mark by a mile and Ronan cringed as Wen’s lips met the Irishman’s ear. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to-...” He rubbed a hand over his eyes before waving vaguely. “..Yeah.”

“S’fine, swee’hear’, jus’ a li’tle gross fer ya is all.” Ronan sat up an inch to look around before settling back into the cushions more haphazardly than he started. “Ay, ‘N? Before ya go an’ make cereal o’ wha’ever ya were gonna make, come si’ with me a min’ will ya?”

The couch creaked as Wen settled beside him. His hazel eyes looked expectantly into his brown one. “Are you sick? You don’t look too happy.”

“Nah, nothin’ like tha’. Jus’ irritated,” Mulcahey explained and showed him the page he had just been attempting to glare a hole through. It was a recipe for a simple layered chocolate cake. “I wanted ta make somethin’ nice fer Margo since she’s helped us fer so long an’ Emme’ said ‘er birthday’s comin’ up. Bu’ tha thing is tha’ this book ‘e gave me doesn’ make any sense. They go’ tha ingredien’s righ’ ‘ere bu’ look a’ ‘em! I’s like their speaking French o’ something!”

The other man leaned forwards and scanned through the recipe. “What’s a teaspoon?”

“I’s a spoon. Obviously. Bu’-”, he points at another ingredient. “Then there’s tablespoons too. Which is also jus’ a spoon! Why are there two? Wha’s tha difference anyways? I though’ i’ was jus’ a mistake bu’ tha whole book is filled with tha’ shi’!”

“I have an idea,” Wen stood up suddenly and grabbed him by the hand. “I’ll show you.”

“Alrigh’y then.”

Ten minutes and three spoons now soaking in two tea cups to prep later, the two men began to try their hand at baking. It took a little while to find a large bowl and all the ingredients but whatever they couldn’t find they eventually found alternatives for. Things were starting to really come together in their opinion. At least that's what they believed by just glancing at the thing.

Ronan was busy cutting almonds as Wen dumped a cup of water into the bowl and then a few eggs. “Don’ forge’ tha flour. Tha’s an importan’ bi’.” He reminded his boyfriend.

“Oh right!” The taller man frowned at the empty cupboard in front of him. “I used all of our cups on the other ingredients. Should I use a mug instead?”

“Hm..” He squinted at him before bobbing his head in approval. “Yeah tha’ shoul’ be fine. Doesn’ ‘ave ta be perfect.”

The Irishman slid the bag of flour across the counter before pouring the almonds into the mix. Wen had just lifted the bag up in front of him when it began to slip from his hands. On instinct his other hand shot out and grabbed it before it fell, sending a large plume of flour into the face and chest of the man leaned in front of him. The flour-coated man coughed and rubbed his hand over his face.

“‘N.. Wha’ jus’-?” An accusatory brown eye glared up at him from a white-coated wasteland where his face had been. Wen, initially having felt terrible for accidentally dousing him in the powder, now struggled to withhold his laughter. He tried not to look at him as a few deep giggles escaped his lips. Ronan felt his face grow hot with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment before he saw the state of his clothes. “M-Mah shir’! ‘N, ya go’ i’ all over my new-! AN’ MY JACKE’?! Wen-!” He whined and uselessly tried to shake the cloth clean.

“I- I’m s-” Watching him wag his shirt about was too much for the other man and Beckman curled over as laughter overtook him. Tears streamed down his face as he guffawed. Anytime he looked up at Ronan he immediately was hit with a new wave of joy. “Sorry- I’m-!” He struggled to speak. “I-!”

“Ya think this is jus’ so funny, huh?” Beckman nodded and wiped at his face. “Well how funny is i’ for ya when I do this-!” Ronan grabbed him by the collar and pulled his laughing face down to him. He pressed his lips against his roughly, catching Wen pleasantly off guard. Just when he had begun to sink into the kiss the flour-covered man rubbed his face all over his own.

“Ah- Stop-!” He laughed trying to get away. He didn’t get far before Mulcahey wrapped his arms around him and went to work trying to cover every inch of the 7 foot tall man with flour. “Ronan, ah-! You got it in my sweater!”

“Tha’s wha’ ya ge’ fer ruinin’ my hair AN’ clothes.” He growled playfully then yelped as they both went careening backwards and landed on the floor. “AH! WEN-! THA FLOUR!!” He flailed uselessly underneath the larger man’s body. Only managing to get more of the flour on him in the process. Ronan let out a dramatic and forlorn groan and flopped his hands back down. Choosing to accept his fate rather than fight it any longer.

Wen grinned at him, his freckled face half coated as well. “Does that mean I win?” Ronan’s eye shot back open and he glared at him.

“Never!” He declared, grabbing him by the back of his leg and flipping him off. Mulcahey shimmied to his feet and stood proudly over his startled form. “Accept i’, love! In tha end I always-”

The front door creaked open and a small older woman walked through. The Irishman turned around and Margo looked between the two of them, the mess on the counter and her full sink. “..Boys.” She said in an eerily smooth tone. She took a deep breathe in and pushed her glasses up her nose. “I’m gonna go visit Kat for a bit.” She went back out the way she came and slowly meandered back to her truck.

“Shi’.” Ronan shared a worried look with Wen before helping him up. “Alrigh’ new plan. We clean this up then we finish tha cake.”

“Sounds good.” They shook on it and got started. Wen went to work trying to sweep the flour off the counter and floor with his hands. Mulcahey, on the other hand, began to strip off his clothes and put them into a bag so as not to track it in the house. Both now driven by their combined efforts to not get killed when the woman returned to the cabin.

-2 hours later-

Margo’s hand hesitated before grabbing the doorknob before her. She hoped her heart could handle whatever she found on the other side. She opened the door and to her surprise the kitchen looked nearly as it had when she first left that morning. Cautiously, she continued forwards.

“Shorty, Rooster, where did you all get off to?” She heard quick, very-much-audible whispering in the other room. After another few seconds Ronan stumbled out from the hallway as if pushed by an over-eager hand and grins apprehensively at her. “Care to explain what’s going on?”

“Well, ya see-,” his eye glanced at the living room and he cleared his throat. “We- Me and ‘N, ya know ‘im. Well, we made somethin’ an’- Oh-! Tha mess don’ worry we go’ tha’ all up! I’s jus’ woosh gone, y’know how tha’ goes. Jus’-!.. Yep.”

“Rooster, are you gonna spit it out or-?” All of her old worries were now gone and now she merely enjoyed watching the ordeal play out.

Ronan, looking rather constipated, shouted for the other to join them. It took him a second, but eventually the sheepish man came into the main room as well. In his hands he carefully supported a-.. Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what it was, on one of her nicer plates. Just going from the looks of the thing she assumed that if either church in town caught sight of it it’d likely be declared an abomination and quickly exorcised.

“We made a cake,” Wen said proudly. “For your birthday!”

“Was my idea bu’ ‘N helped me transla’e i’ and pu’ i’ together. Do ya know how hard i’ is ta make one o’ these?! Took ages. Bu’ i’s perfect.”

“Better than the picture,” the other chimed in. Mulcahey nodded in agreement and she chuckled. “We should have some.”

Margo had at first found the whole situation rather endearing. That is, she felt that way until that exact point. She smiled widely but as her eyes fell on the mess on the plate she only felt dread filling her gut. “Of course! L-Let’s go get us each a slice.” She had lived long enough, she decided and took the plate from him.

She set the thing on their dining room table and did her best to cut it as it oozed beneath her blade. Margo put a strangely rigid yet gelatinous piece on each of their plates and sat down. Her two loveably stupid sons smiled excitedly at her as she scooped some onto a fork. She smiled back, prayed to whoever or whatever was out there and took a bite. “Is-..” She struggled to swallow it. “Is that sour cream?”

Ronan gave her a smug look. “Yep, we forgo’ ta add i’ in before with tha other ingredients bu’ then I remembered we still needed ta make tha fillin’. So we jus’ threw I’ in there! Clever righ’?”

“Oh? Yes, very.. Um, creative.” She chewed through another glob and gave him a supportive smile. Turning her attention to the other man beside her, she found that Wen was shoveling down the mess without hesitation. Margo’s stomach twisted at the sight but she couldn’t help but respect him for it. “Well, this was real nice, boys. I love it alot. It was-.. Was very sweet of you both to do this all just for me.”

She reached over and dusted some flour out of the fan of Ronan’s mohawk. Making a mental note to teach them how to bake before her next birthday. He grumbled and waved her off and Wen continued to eat the “cake” like a man half-starved, smiling all the while. Margo, despite her and very likely Wen’s inevitable food poisoning, found that this was the best birthday she had in a long time and looked forward to the next one they would share.

#my writing #ronan mulcahey #wen beckman #my ocs #my oc #original story #original character #mlm characters #mlm ocs #lgbt ocs #gay #drabble #romance #fluff #gay disasters #baking

[ghosthunthq]

Are We Breaking Up, or Is It Just the Heat?

She served him unfiltered Earl Grey tea. Post-canon.

For: @sprghosthunter

By: @dreams-of-kalopsia

Prompt: Noll having his tea leaves read (before or after the series)

Hi, sprghosthunter! Here’s your fic~ :3 Thank you for your prompt; I didn’t know anything about tasseography before, so writing this was an educational experience for me. The title is still subject to change since I just wrote the first one that came to mind. Suggestions are very welcome. XD Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story! ^u^ 

____

The past three weeks had been rather… trying.

June had quickly switched to July, like a spark that set Japan on fire. To Noll, whose body could not ventilate itself as efficiently as an average human’s could, any venture outside his apartment or the office was hell. On particularly hot days he would hole himself up in his apartment and leave the office to Lin, who never failed to set out in time to open SPR at 10 AM. On cooler days, or when he needed to consult a reference book in the office library, as was often the case, Noll would begrudgingly take the cab to Shibuya early in the morning, his mood spoiled for the rest of the day.

It did not help that whenever he mustered the effort to go to the office, he was forced to put up with the usual bothersome rabble. Yasuhara had recently started part-timing again despite being well into law school, saying that he needed the money to get his air conditioner repaired, but Noll could tell that it was just an excuse to stay somewhere closer to his school. The others had been shamelessly and unapologetically forthright with their intentions, much to his annoyance. It also did not help that Mai was on leave until she finishes gathering data for her thesis, which meant there was no one to remind those noisy people to keep their daily contributions to the world’s noise pollution to a minimum.

Thinking of Mai only turned his spoiled mood absolutely rotten.

Despite being gone from work for three weeks, she never thought to phone and check up on her workplace. He understood that data gathering was a time-consuming, important step in writing an excellent thesis, and he would have overlooked her radio silence had the others been treated the same way. But according to what he would overhear from the chatter outside his office (and, given the noisiness, he heard a lot), Mai had been in contact with everyone else but him. That presented the possibility that she had developed some sort of aversion to him. Perhaps all the months they had spent together finally convinced her that his bad personality would never change, and she grew tired of it.

Noll knew what was happening. He had heard about this situation from Madoka before, witnessed Gene use it as an excuse to almost every girlfriend he had lost interest in. The time of onset at eight months into the relationship seemed to fit, too.

‘End of her honeymoon phase?’ Gene laughingly said through their mental link the last time he had woken up, completely unaffected by Noll’s death glare. ‘I can assure you, Noll, the real thing’s so much messier and more troublesome.’

Coming from someone who had the attention span of a goldfish when it came to relationships, Noll did not feel the least bit assured.

The hot summer days dragged on without any reprieve from his rotten mood. He soon started wondering if he could blast the whole world away.

His suspicion came to a head the day Mai returned from her leave. She acted so normal, so happy to be back.

And then she served him unfiltered Earl Grey tea.

Noll stared blankly at the cup, watching the floating tea leaves sink to the bottom. “Do you expect me to drink this, Mai?” he asked just as blankly.

“Yup,” Mai answered with an eager nod. “But before you start drinking, you have to think about what could happen in your immediate future, and keep thinking about it while you drink.”

He narrowed his eyes in distrust, but her eagerness did not waver even under his scrutiny. “What are you planning?”

“To read your tea.”

Tasseography?

“Why?”

“Because I learned it recently and wanted to try it.” She checked the cup’s temperature with the back of her hand before gently pushing it towards him. “Drink it while the temp is right. Leave a tablespoon’s worth, though.”

Noll considered glaring and shooting down her request, but he knew that that would not work on her. It never did. Nevertheless, he glared at her as he sipped the tea to express his displeasure, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of loose leaves brushing against his lips.

While he knew enough about tasseography to disqualify it as an authentic demonstration of ESP, he decided to momentarily suspend his disbelief in favor of Mai. He reflected on the question she wanted him to ask.

His immediate future… Why would it interest her? Was there some event in his future that she wanted him to be aware of?

A breakup, for example?

If this was how she had planned to break up with him, she sure was putting too much effort into it. Noll would have to appreciate the painstaking way she chose to end things. He should make it easier for her, then, as courtesy.

He swallowed against the sudden bitterness of the Earl Grey.

In a few minutes, the cup of tea dwindled into a tablespoon of tea. Using his left hand, he swirled the teacup three times counter-clockwise before inverting it on the saucer. Then he rotated the cup three times again at Mai’s signal. As he turned it upright with the handle facing south, he surreptitiously rearranged some leaves into certain shapes.

Twisted figures, to denote disturbances. A deer, denoting quarrels or disputes. A raven, disappointment in love. Scissors, separation of lovers.

Four ominous symbols. Those should help her open the topic so they could get this over with quickly.

“Let’s see…” Mai said, pulling up a chair to sit across from him. She peered into the cup and concentrated on the figures formed by the leaves.

He unconsciously held his breath.

“I see an… uh… umbrella on the rim?” She pointed at one of the figures he had distorted with his PK. “You must be experiencing difficulty and annoyance recently.”

It appeared to him more like a mushroom than an umbrella, but he held his tongue. It was not like she was wrong with her interpretation.

“I also see… a ladder. And a line going west. There’s a ship, too, and… a bird?” She squinted. “A swallow. So I guess you’ll have a successful journey westward, and it’ll have a pleasant ending.”

Noll studied the scattered tea leaves in the cup. Aside from the symbols he had formed, he could barely see anything else. His brows furrowed. Was Mai looking at the same things as him?

“At the bottom… there’s an abbey, surrounded by squares. You’ll eventually be free from worry and find comfort and peace.”

None of the symbols she just mentioned were in his teacup. Now that he thought about it, she could not have possibly found time to memorize tasseography symbols and their meanings while preparing to write her thesis, much less learn to read tea leaves. Her swift, confident reading and interpretation could only mean that she had memorized this particular set of symbols beforehand, and that she had been merely pretending this whole time.

He regarded her with a cold glare. “Mai. Stop wasting my time and get straight to your point.”

Mai had the nerve to look sheepish. “Ehehe~ You got me,” she easily surrendered as she produced a white letter envelope from her jacket. She handed it to him.

It contained a flight ticket to London via Heathrow. His flight ticket. He met her gaze with wide-eyed confusion.

“I thought you needed a vacation,” she answered his unsaid question with a smile and explained further, “So I talked to your parents, Madoka-san, and Lin-san as soon as I was free. They were happy to arrange things. I also cleared up our schedules for that time period; I’ll take care of the office while you’re away.”

“What makes you think I needed it?” he finally managed to ask.

“Well…” Mai propped an elbow on the table, resting her chin on one hand. Her other hand held up a finger for each of her reasons: “I heard from Ayako and Masako that you’ve been unbearably grumpy for weeks now. Bou-san complained that you rejected seven promising cases consecutively. John told me he’s worried about your health because you barely step out of your office. Even Yasu volunteered to take care of you in my stead, though honestly he just wanted to stay in the office because your ‘colder treatment than usual added to the air-conditioning’.” She chuckled. “I figured the heat was getting to you.”

“You sure have a lot of free time, chatting with the others in the middle of data gathering,” he commented, his tone disapproving and acerbic.

“Of course not! But they kept calling even if I don’t answer. It was really bothersome!” She crinkled her nose, then smiled again. “But at least I got updates on you and the office.”

With this piece of information, Noll’s earlier suspicion was dispelled, and for once he willingly acknowledged that his brother had been right all along.

He released a long sigh, weary but relieved. If he had gone so low as to jump to an irrational conclusion, then the heat must really be affecting his mental processes. Maybe he did need to go home for a while, at least until it cooled down in Japan.

For him to accept the time off, though, he required one condition met.

He slid the envelope back to Mai to start bargaining for it. “I don’t need it.”

Her smile fell. “What do you mean you don’t? Haven’t you been in a constant bad mood lately?”

He shrugged. “I feel fine.”

“Just take a few weeks off, Naru,” she said as she slammed her hands on the table, her frustration visibly mounting.

He raised a brow. “And leave the office to you?”

“Yes! It’s not like you haven’t done it before!”

She was right, so he disregarded her reply.

“I’d rather keep working.”

“I won’t let you work yourself to exhaustion!”

He crossed his arms and scoffed at her words. “Well, what will you do, come with me to Cambridge just to make sure I’m taking a break?”

“If I have to!”

There it is.

Noll took the envelope. “It’s settled, then.”

“Wh-What?” Mai spluttered, thrown off by his abrupt turnaround.

“You said you’ll come with me to Cambridge.”

“Eh—You were serious?! I thought you were mocking me!”

He gave her a dull look. “Am I the type of person who took vacations?”

“N-No.”

“So do you think I’ll stop working just because someone told me to?”

“I guess not…” she agreed but still looked unsure.

“You look like you need the break more than I do, anyway.”

She scowled at him. “Hey, what do you mean by that?!”

“It means I want you to come with me.”

Noll watched, amused and secretly in awe, as Mai’s angry expression froze, morphed into open-mouthed surprise, and became flushed with a radiant smile.

“Okay,” she finally said.

He couldn’t help smiling back.

For the first and last time in his life, he believed what was foretold in his tea. Mai had read him well.

____

References:

- “Tea-Cup Reading, and the Art of Fortune-Telling by Tea Leaves” (2006) by A Highland Seer, found in the Project Gutenberg website.

- “Your Essential Guide to Tasseography, the Practice of Reading Tea Leaves” (2018), an article by Aliza Kelly Faragher, found in Allure’s website.

- “Tasseography Symbols for Reading Coffee or Tea Leaves: What Do the Forms in Your Coffee or Tea Cup Mean?” (2019) by Lindsey Goodwin, found in The Spruce Eats website.

#Ghost Hunt #GHW2019 #Naru #oliver davis #Mai Taniyama #sprghosthunter #Dreams-of-kalopsia #submission

[thegayfromrulid]

A 2k Words for 2k Kudos request sent to my DMs, requested to remain anonymous. This one- gasp!- isn’t an SAO one-shot, but it was a joy to write nonetheless! It’s for Ao no Exorcist! The prompt was for Rin teaching Yukio how to cook something (brotherly bonding, commence!) If my usual SAO readers like Ao no Ex, I hope you, too, enjoy this little one-shot! One-shot below the cut.

           Rin dashed about the kitchen, gathering up all of the supplies he could think of. A rare occurrence had happened, and he wasn’t sure he cared why it happened. He was just happy that it would happen. He selected ingredients and cooking materials in a flash, tossing them all on the counter in an upset hurry, as if taking his time meant that this wouldn’t occur at all. With a battle cry, he snatched up the last bottle of spices and slammed it down on the counter.

           “Ack! This won’t do!” he said, sucking his teeth.

           Yukio would want to walk in on an orderly kitchen situation. He needed to get everything properly organized before his brother showed up. Normally, making things to Yukio’s standards might be irritating, to say in the least, but since this was a special occasion, he was as happy as ever to clean up the space. He hummed cheerfully as he made a little display out of the ingredients and supplies.

           The occasion? Yukio had asked for a quick cooking lesson.

           And, again, Rin didn’t know why Yukio wanted to learn how to cook something. He just reveled in the fact that Yukio had come to him—his beloved big brother!—for such advice. For a final touch, Rin donned his cooking apron and whirled around just as his brother entered the kitchen, looking a bit sleepy.

           “Morning, Yukio!” he said.

           His tail swished back and forth excitedly, as if incapable of keeping his good mood from breaking basic kitchen manners. He couldn’t help it. Yukio never asked him for help with anything. Then suddenly, out of the blue, he wanted Rin’s aid in an area in which he excelled.

           Blinking, Yukio glanced around the kitchen, taking it all in. The pan, ready to be used. The spices, all lined up neatly. The vegetables and meat tastefully posed by the spices. A few cooking utensils scattered about. He seemed less sleepy now. His eyebrows lifted.

           “Oh, this looks nice,” he said.

           If Rin wasn’t mistaken, there was a small smile present on his brother’s lips.

           “I’m glad you think so!” he said. “I made sure to get you an apron, too!”

           Proudly, Rin lifted up a second apron to show him.

           “I made the design myself!” he said.

           Yukio’s smile turned into a slight scowl when he saw the design—in crude hiragana handwriting, his name and the words “little brother” written with a variety of silly smiley faces surrounding it.

           “Of course, you did…” Yukio mumbled.

           Nevertheless, he took the apron and put it on. Rin’s smile widened. His little brother was wearing the apron he’d designed! This was already off to a great start. He pointed over to the sink with a goofy grin.

           “Are your hands clean?” he asked.

           Yukio nodded.

           “Why would I come into the kitchen without clean hands?” he asked.

           Rin shrugged.

           “I dunno, sometimes I forget before I come in, so I do it in here,” he said.

           His brother gave him a slightly concerned look.

           “So, I thought we’d go for something well-rounded, so I got all of the ingredients here for a yakisoba dish!” Rin said. “That, and when we’re done, we’ll have a nice dinner!”

           Yukio frowned.

           “Isn’t that basically just a quick and easy sort of thing?” Yukio asked.

           Rin waved a hand.

           “Don’t be so quick to call it easy!” he said. “Even the simplest of foods can be messed up if you don’t do it right! And we shouldn’t start with something hard right off of the bat. You need to work yourself up towards the more difficult stuff.”

           His brother just hummed.

           “So, step number one—make sure the heat is on and ready!” Rin said. “A good way to test if the pan or skillet is warm is to drop a little bit of water onto the surface and see if it turns into steam.”

           Each brother took their place in front of a burner and started to heat up their pans. Rin thought it would be best to show Yukio how it was done by doing it himself right next to him—teaching by example at least helped with a physical activity such as cooking. He watched as Yukio tested the heat with water droplets. They hit the surface of the pan and sizzled, dissipating almost as quickly as they’d landed.

           “Now what?” Yukio asked.

           Rin handed Yukio his portion of pork belly.

           “We’re going to fry this up!” he said. “So, we need: cooking oil.”

           He pulled out a measuring spoon for ease for his brother and handed it to him.

           “I don’t usually measure since I have a knack for it, but you’ll need a tablespoon of cooking oil in the pan. Be careful and add it slowly; oil might spatter out of the pan. Once you have the oil in the pan, add the pork belly. It needs to be cooked until it’s browned; that seals the flavor in and will burn off some of the fatty stuff.”

           Yukio kept a close eye on what Rin was doing as he managed his own pan. When Rin stole a glance, he caught Yukio staring at his motions in awe. He quickly turned his attention back to his own pan, being careful to make sure his pork belly was browning nicely.

           “How do you know when the inside is all cooked?” Yukio asked.

           Rin hummed.

           “I guess I just know based on experience,” he said.

           He offered Yukio a knife.

           “You can always use this to cut around the middle and check the inside if you’re not sure,” he said. “Be sure to cut in the middle—that’s what takes the longest to cook. Since you’ll need to cut the pork up to mix into the soba and vegetables, you aren’t ruining your presentation or anything like that.”

           His brother gave a nod. He cautiously held the piece of pork belly with his spatula and sliced into it with the knife. He struggled a bit pulling apart that slit to check inside, but when he finally had it open, he nodded and cooked the piece a little bit longer. When he finished, they put their cooked pork bellies onto plates covered in paper towels and then placed a lid over them.

           “This will ensure grease drips off of them and soaks into the paper towel,” Rin said. “The lid will keep the pork from getting too cold while we deal with the vegetables.”

           Rin pulled out a couple of cutting boards and knives to work with the vegetables now. He went through the motions of showing Yukio how to cut certain vegetables. He had to intentionally slow down his own chopping in order to help his brother see how it worked. Yukio slowly cut up his portions, likely to keep from making a mistake or cutting himself on a first try. He got a bit faster as he got the hang of it, though. With all of the vegetables cut up, it was then time to stir fry them.

           “Now, another dash of oil,” Rin instructed.

           Yukio used his trusty measuring spoon to add oil to the pan, while Rin just tipped over the full bottle and put the right amount by means of just knowing how much to add. He slipped his cut vegetables into the pan. They splashed into the oil and started to sizzle. He watched as Yukio mimicked him, being extra careful not to splatter oil on himself.

           “The key with stir frying the vegetables is to remember that you’re going to add the noodles to them later,” Rin said.

           His brother frowned.

           “And how is that the key?” he asked.

           Rin smiled.

           “I’m so glad you asked!” he said.

           Yukio rolled his eyes.

           “So, you’ll overcook your vegetables if you cook them all of the way before adding the noodles,” he explained. “They can finish cooking alongside the noodles. Just make sure they have a bit of color to them, and then add the soba.”

           It didn’t take much time at all for Rin to stir fry the soba. He then slipped the noodles into his pan with the vegetables and added the sauce. Yukio mimicked his steps.

           “Store bought sauce?” he asked.

           Rin nodded.

           “I won’t intimidate you on your first lesson,” he said. “The sauce isn’t too hard to make, but it takes a lot of time and would be overwhelming to a beginner chef. So, for now, we’re just adding a store-bought sauce, so you get the hang of cooking with the pan.”

           Yukio let out a small “ahh…” in acknowledgement.

           “Now, with the soba, you want the noodles to be browned,” Rin continued. “The sauce is going to caramelize around the soba and vegetables. I can show you what that looks like as it happens, if you want.”

           His brother gave a slight nod.

           “After it’s all done, we’ll cut the heat, cut up and add the pork belly, and then, we’ll be all done!” Rin said.

           As he cooked up his soba on instinct, he leaned over to help Yukio identify what caramelization looked like. His brother listened with nods and hums as Rin pointed out the visual differences between the sauce when added and the sauce when it was caramelized. He encouraged Yukio to lower his heat on his burner if he thought it was too fast of a process for him, but not by a whole lot.

           Both brothers finished up cooking their noodles and removed the pans from the heat. They set about cutting up the pork belly. Rin offered some pointers about knife selection when cutting meat versus cutting vegetables. He showed Yukio how to cut the pork into bite-sized strips for the dish, and then quickly set up a plate of the food to demonstrate. Yukio attempted to make his plate look nice like Rin’s, with a little bit of difficulty on keeping the noodles from escaping off of the edges of the plate.

           “Now, for the finishing touch!” Rin said.

           He set down a few options on the counter.

           “You can add green nori flakes, red pickled ginger, scallions, or mayonnaise, if you like,” Rin said. “Well. You can add anything you want, really.”

           Yukio pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose a little.

           “If you just added anything, wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of a recipe?” he asked.

           Rin shook his head.

           “The best cooks understand that you can add or take away anything you like from a recipe that you like,” he said. “If you’re cooking, so long as it tastes good in the end, isn’t that what matters the most? I like to play with ingredients and spices to make up flavorful and unique dishes. You don’t always have to follow a set of instructions to make a good meal.”

           His brother hummed in thought. Yukio was very stringent about rules; it made sense that he’d want to stick to a recipe without wavering. This was why Rin had noted the topping options—he’d have to decide for himself what he wanted to eat. There was no set rule for what you topped your yakisoba with. He watched with quite a bit of teasing brotherly glee as Yukio’s hand hovered over the options. He finally opted for green nori flakes and sprinkled them over top of his yakisoba. Rin selected mayonnaise and red pickled ginger for his.

           “It’s taste test time!” Rin said.

           He jabbed his chopsticks into his dish and slipped a bit into his mouth. It tasted wonderful. He hummed with delight. He then offered his dish out to Yukio. His brother hesitated but took a bite of it and chewed with a pensive look on his face.

           “Whaddya think?” Rin asked.

           Yukio gave a curt nod.

           “Excellent, as to be expected of one of your dishes,” he said.

           Rin grinned.

           “Thank you!” he said. “Shall we test yours, then?”

           His brother suddenly appeared a bit nervous. It was unlike him to look like this.

           “Hey, I’m sure it’s good, too!” Rin said, trying to sound encouraging. “I watched you the whole time! You did great!”

           Yukio frowned, but he grabbed a bit in his chopsticks and slowly brought it up to his mouth. He still seemed wary of his own creation. Rin raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in anticipation. Probably not wanting Rin to bend any closer, Yukio popped the bite into his mouth and chewed. He was silent. Rin felt impatient and started to squirm.

           “So? So?” he asked.

           He watched Yukio with bated breath. Finally, his brother swallowed.

           “I think it’s decent,” he said.

           Without further ado, Yukio presented the dish to Rin. Finally! The moment he’d been waiting for! He thrust his chopsticks into Yukio’s dish, pulled out a nice clump of noodles and vegetables, and shoved them into his mouth. The flavors on his tongue practically sang. He grinned.

           “Nice job, Yukio!” he said.

           The compliment earned him a smile. Rin’s face lit up.

           “This was fun!” he said. “Do you want to try to make something else now?”

           Yukio chuckled.

           “Maybe we can try something different tomorrow,” he said, taking off the apron. “For now, I’ve got to run to the shop, and you’ve got to work on homework.”

           Rin’s excitement was extinguished with a single word.

           “H-homework?! Why do I have to do homework?!”

           Yukio smirked.

           “If you’d like, I can teach you how to do that just like you taught me how to make this,” Yukio teased.

           He turned to leave, probably smirking where Rin couldn’t see it. He stopped in his tracks at the door.

           “Oh, and Rin?”

           “What?”

           “Thanks for teaching me how to cook yakisoba.”

           Rin watched as Yukio walked out, dumbfounded. He gazed over at the two steaming hot dishes that would need to be stored for dinner later. A gentle smile replaced his homework-induced scowl.

           “Anytime, Yukio.”

#Fanfic Request #my fanfiction #one shot #Ao no Exorcist #ao no exorcist fanfic #2k words for 2k kudos #rin #yukio #not ship related #do not tag as ship #i'll come for you if you tag this as ship #be warned

[maeskitchen]

Goulash, devine beef stew for your crockpot

Sometimes you don't need a lot of ingredients to make something that tastes deep and rich. It comes down proportions and technique. Goulash, a beef stew seasoned with paprika, is one of those dishes.

So, here hoes (my version)!

I bought this pre-chopped stew beef at a a pretty good price. Sometimes butchers make mistakes or have odd ends they toss together and the result is discounted beef that saves you time. Don't be afraid to ask at your counter. Tell your butcher your budget and ask for whatever stew beef he might have. You would be surprised at what they can do for you.

Let's get to the onions before we cook our beef, though, as onion is key to this dish.

Yes, two whole onions minced and browned in a pan. I dope mine up with a little balsamic syrup to bring out their sweetness which is what you're after. You can use a teaspoon of white or brown sugar as well or none at all, but it takes longer to brown your onions without it.

Ok, for this dish, you gotta do a thorough browning of your onions because we want them to virtually disappear into the stew. Plus, we're after sweetness. So, you cook on low heat until you see them get brown, then add water, cook all the water out and repeat. I add and cook off the water at least 3-4 times. NO GARLIC IN THIS DISH!!! Hisssssss!

I get my pan smoking and sear my beef (seasoned with salt and pepper) before it goes in the crock pot. I then deglaze with red wine (that's what's bubbling). You can skip the red wine if you prefer, of course! However, I like what it adds in depth. Also, don't worry about cooking the beef through. The crock pot can do the rest.

Add 1-2 cups of beef broth, a whole jar or tin of crushed tomatoes (I always recommend jarred or preserves if you have them, the canned ones are too salty imo). Add a Bay leaf, some chopped fresh parsley if you have it, a couple teaspoons of sweet paprika (Hungarian is really nice) and season with salt and pepper. Let the crockpot do its thing. 4 hours on high is more than sufficient but you can do a low and slow for up to 8 hours.

When you are about a half hour from meal time, add several tablespoons of tomato paste, more paprika and then thicken with a cornstarch slurry. You DO NOT want to add any flour roux or cornstarch thickeners right from the start. I've had those burn to the bottom of the crockpot, not good!

Finally, you have this amazingly, deceptively simple but hearty stew. The beef melts in your mouth. I serve mine with my grandma's homemade bread or over spaetzle if I get ambitious (but pretty much any starch pairs nicely).

Enjoy, my peeps, and happy eats!

#goulash recipe #beef stew #food #recipes #cooking

[catalinda04]

Carried Away Chapter 42: Dinner and a Play

Masterlist 

The idyllic haze Lucy had been living in since Henry’s arrival was washed away when she arrived home from work on Monday evening. After a Monday where her students had all decided to not be prepared for class at the same time, and her drama students were still struggling with their scenes, she wanted nothing more than to get home and relax. Even after the horrible Monday she’d had, the idea of Henry being at home when she arrived, made her feel better, until she actually arrived home.

Lucy parked her car in the garage, and trudged into the house. She climbed out of her winter boots, heavy parka, scarf, and mittens and went in search of Henry. She found him in her reading chair, with a paperback fantasy novel. She climbed into his lap, looping her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, she sighed.

“Hello darling. Long day?”

“Ugh, yes. I’m just so happy to be home.”

“Well if it makes you feel better, I’m happy to have you home.” Henry cooed into her hair. They stayed cuddled together, not talking, just absorbing each other’s nearness. Lucy let the stress of the day slip away, and Henry continued reading his book. When he finished the chapter he was on, he folded over the corner of the page, and closed the book, and kissed her temple.

“So, what’s for dinner?” He asked Lucy. He felt her stiffen against him.

Very slowly she sat up, and looked him in the eye. Her brow had taken on a quizzical expression, and her mouth was slightly agape. “Excuse me?”

“What’s for dinner darling?” Henry said carefully, aware he had made a misstep, but unsure what it was.

“Would you like to rephrase that question?” She asked icily.

Henry paused for a long moment before asking, “What should we have for dinner?”

“That’s better.” she replied, without smiling. “That first question seemed to imply that I, after working a full day plus, should come home and make dinner for you, who were home all day.” she said seriously.

“Well, darling, you know my culinary skills end at scrambled eggs and toast.”

Lucy blinked at him several times, her face an impassive mask. “So you ARE implying that I should cook you dinner every night?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that if I wanted to cook dinner, my skills are not at the level to make a meal.” He replied carefully.

Lucy didn’t speak, her face remained impassive.

Very carefully Henry continued, “But I would love to learn if you would assist me.”

Lucy laughed at the look of trepidation on his face. “Are you saying that because that’s what you really feel, or because you think it’s the right answer?”

“Both?” Henry answered. “If you’d be willing to teach me.” His eyes searching her face for a sign he’d said the right thing.

Lucy closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s been a horrible day, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Of course I’d be willing to teach you how to cook.”

“No darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. I guess I was expecting that you’d always be the one to cook dinner and that’s not fair to you.”

“Thank you Darcy.” She replied, kissing his temple, before levering herself off his lap and reaching for his hand. “Come with me. I had planned to make dinner; why don’t you help me?”

“It would be my pleasure.” He said, rising to follow her.

The process of making a simple meal took twice as long as it normally would have, because Lucy found herself explaining basic things, like how to operate her oven, and the difference between a pot and a pan, but she enjoyed every minute of it. Henry was an attentive student, whose attention focused more when he found out he could get kisses as rewards for right answers.

While they ate their simple skillet chicken dinner, Henry asked about Lucy’s day and Lucy asked Henry about his. Once the plates were cleared, Lucy set-up camp at the kitchen table to work on correcting a set of quizzes, while Henry ‘did the washing-up’ as he put it. It was the type of domestic scene Lucy had always envisioned.

Tuesday morning, Lucy kissed Henry’s forehead as she left the bedroom for the morning, before going to the kitchen. While eating the previous night, Henry had suggested that she leave him a recipe to follow, and he could try making dinner on his own. Lucy had incredulously asked if he was ready for such a task, but he insisted that he could do it. She smiled as she looked over the basic recipe, and double checked they had all the ingredients. She left him an encouraging note, including what time she’s be home, and left a lipstick kiss at the bottom, before slipping on her boots to leave for work.

Lucy arrived home that night to find her kitchen in a complete disarray, but the table was set beautifully, and Henry looked proud of himself. Lucy took her seat at the table, and watched as Henry brought the baking dish to the table. He dished up white rice, then a chicken breast on each plate, spooning the creamy sauce from the pan over everything.

“This looks great! I’m so proud of you honey!” Lucy said, laying her hand along side Henry’s face, kissing him.

“Thank you Cupcake. Let’s eat. I’ve been smelling this for too long, and I’m anxious to try it.”

Lucy cut into her chicken, glad to see it had been cooked through. She loaded her fork with the piece of chicken, a bite of rice and swirled everything through the sauce. She brought the bite to her mouth, and coughed. She managed to chew and swallow the bite, though she wasn’t sure how. Henry looked on worried, as Lucy lifted her glass and took a long drink, before meeting his eyes. His face fell.

“You don’t like it.” Henry said disappointed.

Lucy’s mouth opened and and closed before she spoke. “Have you tried it darling?” Lucy asked diplomatically.

Henry constructed the same bite Lucy had, but spit it out before he could swallow. “That’s horrible!” He exclaimed.

“Not horrible, but too salty, yes.” Lucy said, attempting to placate him.

“I don't understand, I followed the recipe.” He said disappointed.

“My guess is where it said teaspoon of salt, you read tablespoon.”

“There’s a difference?” Henry asked.

Lucy barked out a short laugh, “Yes, a big difference. But the rice is cooked well, and the chicken is cooked through, so other than the salt explosion, everything else is done well.”

“But it’s inedible.” Henry argued.

“Yes, it is. “ Lucy conceded. “But as a first try on your own, it's more good than bad. Ask my parents some time about some of my early cooking fails. I once read 1 ½ teaspoons as 1 ½ cups! That was an epic failure, this is a misstep. Why don’t you call and order us a pizza, I’ll go change my clothes, and help you clean the kitchen.”

Once they were sitting together eating pizza straight from the box, Henry asked Lucy about her day. Her shoulders sagged and her head dropped.

“My drama kids, they’re just not getting it. There’s this one scene in the play, admittedly it’s a difficult scene, lots of big emotions, but they’re so wooden, I can’t seem to make them understand how to play it. I’ve been trying not to do this, but would you be willing to come in and talk to them? You’re an actor, you can give them some insight.”

“Darling, I’m not a stage actor. The stage and the screen are completely different animals.”

“I know, but I’m at my wit’s end. Please would you come help? I’ll buy you dinner to say thank you.” she pleaded.

“I can’t say no to you. Of course I’ll come help.” he answered, and watched her face alight. He would do anything he could to put that expression on her face.

The following day, Henry arrived at Lucy’s school at precisely the time she’d indicated, when most of the students would be gone from the building, but still early enough to give plenty of time to the drama club. He checked into the office and was directed to the stage in the commons area of the school. Lucy saw him first, and met him in the middle of the commons.

“You made it! Thank you for doing this.” She took his hand and walked with him toward the group of students lounging on the stage. Lucy clapped three times to get their attention, en mass their head turned toward their teacher, and their eyes went wide.

“Chicos and chicas, this is Mr. Cavill. He’s here today to help us with scene four.”

Audrey raised her hand, and spoke when Lucy called on her. “Uh, Ms. C, is that Superman?”

“No, as I said, this is Mr. Cavill. Superman is a fictional character.”

“You know what I mean.” Audrey replied, unamused.

“Yes, Audrey was it? I have played Superman.” He turned to address the whole cast. “But today I’m here to watch you all perform. Ms. Claussen tells me you’re having a difficult time with a particular scene. I’d like to watch the whole thing through once before I give any critiques though.”

“Ok, you heard the man, to your places. We’re going to do a full run through. Beginning to end.” she clapped again, and the kids split to their starting places. Lucy led Henry to a table to sit down. She handed him a copy of the script and a clipboard with a pen to take notes. After taking a few moments to settle in, Lucy called “Action!”

Henry watched the play with a critical eye. The kids were doing very well, for teenagers. Lucy hadn’t told him which scene was the problem, but Henry didn’t need to be told. It was the climax of the action and emotion. The teenagers’ delivery was stilted, and they all looked awkward on the stage. Henry scribbled some notes on his clipboard. The last scene of the play was better than the previous scene, but the awkwardness from the previous scene seemed to bleed into the final scene. When they finished, Lucy and Henry clapped, while the kids took their bows.

“Ok, guys take 5, while I confer with Mr. Cavill, then be back here for critique.” Lucy called, before turning to Henry. “What did you think?” Henry gave his honest opinion, which Lucy agreed with.  

When the students came back together, Henry addressed the group. “First of all I’d like to say well done. It takes a lot of courage to get up on stage and perform in front of people. So I commend you.” He gave small tweaks to several of the students, such as cheating their stance toward the audience while engaged in conversation, or to make any motions exaggerated so they could be seen at the back of the theater.

When he got to the emotional scene, he called out Jay and Patricia. They were the primary actors in the scene. He asked to see them off to the side, while Lucy worked with the rest of the cast. Lucy couldn’t hear everything he was saying, but she could hear snippets, “It doesn’t matter that you have a girlfriend that’s not Patricia. In this play, Patricia is your wife, and you’re begging for her forgiveness. If you need to picture your girlfriend in Patricia’s place. Patricia, this is your husband, the man that you’ve promised to love, he’s hurt you, but he’s making the grand gesture to apologize. How should you react?”

Lucy was impressed with his method for getting the kids to understand. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, as he had the two teens run through the lines, physically moving them into different positions as the lines demanded. After about 30 minutes, the trio returned.

“Do you think we’re ready for another run through?” She asked.

Jay nodded his head. “Well then, places everyone, from the top.” Lucy and Henry took their places at the table and watched the play for the second time. There was a marked improvement in the scene between Jay and Patricia. It wasn’t completely better, though Lucy hoped with just over 2 weeks left until competition, they could work out the small kinks.

    “Well, chicos and chicas, I’m so impressed with your hard work today, I’m going to let you go home early today!” She paused for the cheer that went up. “Be ready to work tomorrow though. Keep in mind what you rearranged today, remember it for tomorrow. And read through your lines, I shouldn’t be helping with the script as much as I am. Now go home.” It was a good 10 minutes before the kids left; they all wanted to meet Henry officially and get a selfie with him. He was a good sport about the whole situation.

Thursday morning, Lucy’s phone rang while she was driving to school. She didn’t check the number, whoever would be calling her this early, would have a reason to call.

“Hello?” Lucy answered.

“Hello, is this Lucy?” came an English accented voice through the phone.

“Yes, this is Lucy.” she said hesitantly.

“Lucy, darling, it’s Tom Hiddleston.” said the voice.

Lucy cut off the voice, “Very funny. Who is this really? Simon, is that you?”

“No, darling, it’s really Tom. Henry sent me a video of your students’ play, and asked if I wouldn’t give some tips, as he’s not as well versed with the theater as I am.”

Are you shitting me?” Lucy asked.

“Eheheh.” Came Tom’s distinctive laugh over the line. “No darling, I’m not. I was wondering if you have time to listen to my notes.”

Once Lucy had regained her composure, she answered, “I have the time, but I’m driving, so I can’t write anything.”

“Well, I’ll give you my notes now, and why don’t you give me your e-mail and I can send you them for later.”

“That sounds great, or,” she broke off, “you know what would really make the kids lose their minds? If you recorded yourself giving the notes directly to them, maybe include an encouraging message? I mean, if you have time. I’m sure you’re busy with some major project right now.”

“No, actually I could do that. I’ll still need your e-mail though.” Lucy recited her school address, before listening intently to Tom critique her students’ performance. She thanked him for his help before disconnecting the call when she arrived to the school.

She sent a quick text to Henry as she walking to her classroom. “You could have warned me I would be getting a call from Tom Hiddleston. I was driving! I could have gone in the ditch!”

She received his reply before her 2nd hour class, it was just the blushing emoji.

Lucy checked her email at lunch to find the email from Tom. She watched the video, which was almost 15 minutes long, while she ate her lunch, all the while grinning like a loon. Her kids were going to flip.

Lucy called the kids to her room after school, she prefaced the video, “A friend of mine saw your performance, and has some notes. He sent a video message.” There was an audible gasp from the group when Tom appeared on the screen. He mentioned many of the same things Lucy and Henry had been telling them, as well as adding some new hints Lucy hadn’t thought of. He ended the message with his wishes of good luck and to break a leg.

“Ms. C. with both Henry Cavill and Tom Hiddleston helping us, we might just win this year!” Audrey commented.

“If you follow their advice, yes we just might.” Lucy agreed, before sending the kids to the stage to get the set pieces in place for their run through with Tom’s notes in mind. She was going to have to think up a special thank you for Henry.

Chapter 41           Chapter 43

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fanfic #Henry Cavill fan fic #Henry Cavill fanfiction #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Carried Away

[romionesecretsanta]

love me tender, love me sweet

merry christmas @callieskye! i really, really hope you enjoy this fluffy story that was inspired while i tried (and failed) to make sugar cookies.

Ron reached over and brushed a bit of flour off of Hermione’s nose. She pulled back, surprised and blushing. But she was smiling, too, and laughing a little. “Sorry,” he said, his ears turning red, “you had a little bit - er -”

“I get like that when I’m baking.” She held his glance for a moment longer, and then looked back to her task at hand. She was whisking as fast as she could - Molly had asked Ron to make cookies for Christmas day, but they were going to need lots and lots of them. With all the Weasleys huddling in the burrow for Christmas, it was going to be a big feast. And since they were on break, none of them were allowed to use magic. He was going to have to bake them the muggle way. So, he’d asked Hermione for help. She was planning on catching up on some reading, but luckily for him, she agreed.

So, here they were, just before noon, making cookies. The snow had fallen heavily for the past few days, and the sun reflected off of it so bright that the kitchen was flooded with white light. In the sunshine, Ron looked like he was glowing. His freckles stood out so starkly she felt as if she could count them. Blushing, Hermione drew her attention back to whisking, but she caught Ron smiling out of the corner of her eye.

He went over to the record player - wizards hadn’t found out about CD’s yet - and set something on. Within moments, The Weird Sisters’ husky voices faded in, and Ron spun around with a spoon-turned-microphone, unashamedly belting out the lyrics. As he danced towards Hermione, she slowly stopped whisking and started laughing instead. Ron grabbed the bowl from her and took over, but he didn’t stop singing. And though Hermione had never been a fan of The Weird Sisters, she found herself singing along with him. It was starting to feel like the light from outside, the light that made him glow, had found its way into her heart.

Just before the song ended, Hermione realized what she forgot - her missing ingredient. Every time she’d made cookies, her mother had taught her to always add a tablespoon of vanilla. For a moment, she’d worried that the Burrow didn’t have any, but luckily, she found the little bottle. “For extra measure,” she’d said and then smiled, pleased.

Now, it wasn’t Arthur’s fault, not really. He’d been put in charge of labeling the bottles one night, and it was getting late, and he was down to the last few, and the vanilla bottle looked so similar to Motuscus, so he labeled it wrong. Oh well. What could a little mislabeling do?

As Ron and Hermione laughed, singing along to cheesy Christmas music, nobody realized that on Christmas morning, they were going to find out exactly what a little mislabeling was going to do.

  It was still nice and sunny, the room was still flooded with light, yet nothing seemed at all like yesterday. Hermione had received a letter from her parents, wishing her a Happy Christmas, telling her they missed her, that they wished she could be with them, that they couldn’t wait until they’d see her next. Even though Hermione knew she’d see them just after New Year’s, she couldn’t help but feel guilty, and a little sad that they were spending Christmas alone. So, she made the decision to go home.

She felt bad, knowing Molly had already knitted her a sweater, and that already there was a small pile of presents with her name on them under the tree, but Ginny had reassured her that everyone would understand, that if she felt her family needed her, then of course, being with them was the best thing to do. For everyone. Hermione knew Ginny was right, and Molly gave her a big hug and immediately went to make arrangements to get her home, but she was reluctant to tell Ron.

She was sure he noticed her silence while they were making the cookies, but he didn’t say anything, until finally, Hermione felt forced to tell him, as casually as she could, that she was going home for Christmas. He was quiet for a long while.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m sorry, Ron, but I’ve got-”

“But you said you were staying. And Harry’s coming tomorrow, you’re just not going to be there?”

“I’ll be there. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon. I’m sorry I can’t stay to finish up with the cookies.”

“Oh, forget about the cookies,” he said, suddenly stopping his whisking and setting the bowl down on the countertop a little too hard for Hermione’s liking.

“Those aren’t done yet!” she protested, grabbing the bowl and whisking, hard enough that little flecks of dough sprayed out.

“I thought we were all going to spend Christmas together. I thought we’d had it planned out.”

“We did, but I changed my mind. I’m needed at home.”

“You’re needed here,” he said, and then paused, swallowed hard and continued. “For the cookies, I mean. I just think it’s unfair to agree to something and then decide not to do it.”

“I thought you said to forget about the cookies.”

“Well, maybe I change my mind. Or are you the only one who’s allowed to do that?”

Hermione felt her cheeks turn red, but this time, with anger. “Look, if you’re going to act like such a… such a child,” she said, stumbling to find the right word, “then I can just finish up with these myself.”

Ron softened, just a little, but he still didn’t want to give up his ground just yet. “No, I’m still helping. I’m going to be doing the rest on my own, aren’t I? I might as well learn how to do it now.”

Hermione said nothing, but grabbed for the vanilla and accidentally poured in a tad too much, but whatever, it was just vanilla, wasn’t it? As she whisked, the Motuscus spread throughout the batter.

  Ron didn’t really know why he got so mad at Hermione yesterday. No, that was a lie. He knew. He didn’t want her to go. Was that really so wrong? Voldemort seemed to be closer and closer every day - who knew how many more Christmases like this they’d get to spend together? Who knew how many Christmases they even had left?

Ron wanted to apologize, to explain to her, to tell her he was sorry, but he had a little too much pride, and he ended up saying nothing at all. So, wordlessly, they worked side by side. Hermione would miss Harry, he was going to arrive later than he’d thought. Any moment now, his mum would call her, and she’d be gone. Of course, Ron would see her next semester. It really wasn’t that far away. But leaving things like this made it feel like a really long time. He almost started to hum the Weird Sisters song from two days ago but thought better of it.

Though they were technically mad at each other, it did feel nice just knowing she was working beside him. They’d officially developed a rhythm; they didn’t even have to speak to get the job done.

“Hermione, dear, we’re ready to take you.” His mum’s voice wafted through the kitchen as pleasantly as the smell of their cookies. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron caught Hermione glancing at him, sadly. She put in the spoonful of vanilla, and the Motuscus did its work quickly. As Hermione was leaving the room, Ron felt desperate to say one last thing to her, because once she walked out the door, he wouldn’t see her for three weeks.

So, without turning his back, but with as much sincerity as he could muster, Ron said the only thing that he could think of. “Merry Christmas, Hermione” But when he turned back to the door, she was already gone.

 The fire was blazing, and the warmth of the oven was filling the room, but it felt somehow colder with Hermione gone. He remembered how to make the cookies fine, but it felt harder with her. He noticed his arm getting tired and heavy and sore as he whisked. He didn’t feel that when she was there.

Ron looked out the window. Somehow, it had snowed even more overnight. No one had even made any footprints. It was a clear, untouched blanket of white. It was really, really beautiful, he had to admit it. He wished Hermione could be there to see it. He shut his eyes for a moment, and took everything in. The warm smell if the cookies, the sunlight pressing against his eyelids, the soft holiday music playing from his mum’s room. He hoped that it was just as lovely where Hermione was as it was where he was. And he hoped she’d be able to enjoy it more than him.

His longing for her had reached its miserable peak when he remembered to put in the vanilla, accidentally tipping a tad too much in. He didn’t really know much about baking, so he hoped that they would still taste alright. As the motuscus spread through the batter, Ron went to the record player and set on the same album he was listening to only three days earlier, singing with Hermione. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine she was there again.

 Ron was whistling to himself as he washed his hands. He was feeling a bit merrier than yesterday. After all, it was Christmas Eve. And he was thinking of owling Hermione her present and an apology. Maybe not an apology. He was still going back and forth on that bit.

So when he turned around and saw Hermione standing there, a million questions flooded through his mind, but the only thing that came out of his mouth, as if against his will was, “I’m sorry.”

Instantly, her nervous expression melted into a relieved smile. She took a few steps towards him until she was only an arm’s length away, and after hesitating a moment, she enveloped him in a warm hug. Wow, Ron thought. Maybe Christmas came early.

“It’s really nice to see you, Ron.”

“You too, Hermione.” He pulled away from the hug, feeling a smile rising to his face, too. “What are you doing back?”

“Well,” Hermione started, looking down at the ground, “from their letter, I assumed they’d be sitting all alone, waiting for me to come back. It turns out they invited half the family over.”

“So?”

“So I figured I might as well stick around. But in the end they sent me back.”

“On Christmas? Why?”

Finally, Hermione looked up at him. “Because I was miserable. I felt so awful about how things ended up here, and besides, I do like being here for the holidays. Besides, I still had to finish with the cookies.”

“Right, well, I suppose we better get to work then.”

So, they did. For the next hour, they finished with the cookies, playing Christmas music, but not singing. Not even talking much. But they could both feel the warmth pooling into their chests, as if the light reflecting off the snow reflected right into their hearts. She couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could Ron. For the final touch, of course, Hermione put a teaspoon of vanilla into the batter. Without realizing Hermione already had, Ron put in a teaspoon, too.

As Molly cast the spell to keep the cookies fresh, she recognized a familiar scent, but couldn’t quite place it. Oh well. Christmas was tomorrow, and since Ron and Hermione had worked so hard, she was sure the cookies would be a big hit.

  Ron and Hermione couldn’t be more excited to show off their cookies, though Ron tried to hide his enthusiasm. After five solid days of baking, they’d had five batches of thirty cookies for the whole family - lots of leftovers, for sure, but who cared? That never hurt anyone.

“Alright everyone, eat up! Hey, Ron, do you mind going to help me bring the presents down?”

“Sure.”

They chatted on their way up there, mostly about how excited they were to try their cookies. They figured once the family had a go with the treats, they’d dig in. But they had no clue what they were about to walk into downstairs.

Percy was the first one they spotted. He looked up at them, mournfully. “Your cookies are wonderful, Hermione. I only wish Penelope could be here to try them.” Then, before giving her a chance to respond, he looked longingly out the window. Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron.

“That was odd.”

“I know. I make the cookies, too, why didn’t he give me a compliment?”

They walked a little farther into the room, and Hermione almost dropped all the presents. In the corner, Fred and George were very loudly singing an off-pitch rendition of Deck the Halls. At the table Molly was shouting at Arthur extremely angrily, while Arthur blubbered at the table, fat tears running down his face. In the center of the room, for everyone to see, Harry and Ginny were violently snogging.

Quickly, Hermione set down the presents. “What’s happened? What’s going on?” Her question only got a few glances and no responses. She went over to the cookies. “Huh. That’s odd - do I smell…?” Her face lit up with recognition. She ran over to the cabinet and pulled out the vanilla, uncapped the bottle and sniffed it. And just as she suspected, “Ron, we accidentally put motuscus instead of vanilla!”

“Motu-what?”

“Ron, didn’t you pay attention at all in potions?”

“What does it do?”

“Well, you put it in a recipe when you’re trying to have the consumer experience the emotion the creator of the potion is experiencing at the time. Typically, it’s used for medicinal purposes, forcing happiness on a physically ill person to speed up their recovery, but it seems we’ve been using it by accident for all this time and haven’t even noticed.” Hermione looked around the room in dismay.

“So, how do we know what we were feeling when we made these?” Ron asked. Hermione furrowed her brow and looked at the cookies. Then, she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

“Alright, everyone, listen up.”

“Blimey, that loud! Can you teach me how to do that?” Ron said. Hermione bit back a smile. But, he was right. It was certainly loud enough. Tearfully, Arthur and Percy looked up at her, Molly looked overwhelmingly infuriated, but listened. Harry and Ginny broke apart, gasping for air, and Fred and George stopped singing, but still looked confused.

“It seems there’s been a bit of an ingredient mix-up. Instead of putting in vanilla, we may have accidentally put in Motuscus. However, if you eat the cookies in the proper order, I think everything will turn out alright.”

She walked over to the cookie table and looked at the first batch. “We made these the first day. Let’s see…” She looked over at Fred and George who were singing again, this time We Wish You a Merry Christmas. “I’d say this was Christmas spirit. Let’s put these last.” She went to the second batch. “This was when we were bickering. From the looks of your mum, I’d peg this as anger. Let’s have it first, get it over with.” She went to the third. “This is… this is the day I left. We were both quite upset that day, weren’t we? Alright, second, for wistfulness.” She glanced over at Arthur, who was still crying.”

Hermione made her way to the fourth batch. “I don’t - I don’t know what these are.”

Ron rubbed the back of his head, ears turning crimson. “Right, well, I made those the day you - well, you weren’t there for those.” Hermione grabbed the cookie and took a bite. She looked at Percy, then Ron with a knowing look and a soft smile.

“Let’s place these third.”

“And this one, this was our last day. I don’t know how to place it.”

“Only one way to find out.” Simultaneously, Ron and Hermione grabbed a cookie and bit into them, not knowing that the emotion felt while making the final batch of cookies was none other but love.

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #fic #callieskye