#she is enjoying her parsley as we speak

[hahahha-fandoms]

The Bulma Halloween Fit 🤠

#bulma the bun #bnuuy #bnuuyposting #bunny #rabbit #my sweet little scrungly #halloween #she is enjoying her parsley as we speak

[mariacallous]

A few years ago I visited friends from Washington D.C. who had relocated to Morocco. They live in Rabat, Morocco’s capital city, where they had a housekeeper who was also a good and generous cook. Although Fatima spoke only Arabic and French while I speak English and Spanish, we both understood the language of food. I would sit at the kitchen table or stand by her, taking notes as she worked her magic with fresh ingredients from the local market. 

True to Moroccan cuisine, Fatima was skilled at cooking in a tagine, that wondrous North African earthenware pot with the conical lid that creates tender, flavorful dishes of the same name. Tagines always involve lots of vegetables, and sometimes meat. The shape of the tight-fitting lid traps the rising steam as the food cooks, which condenses into drops of liquid flavor.

Like most of you, I don’t have an actual tagine. But after returning from Morocco, I discovered that a Dutch oven or heavy-bottomed pot can work as a stand-in, provided it has a tight-fitting lid. Many enameled Dutch oven lids have condensation rings, which are helpful. Try not to lift the lid as it will break the steam-condensation process. This recipe is inspired by Fatima’s cooking. Imitating the tagine method, vegetables are added in layers, with the ones needing the longest cooking time at the bottom.This dish is perfect for Shabbat, being both special and comforting. Serve it the traditional way with steamed couscous and pretend for a little while that you’re far away, enjoying the delights of Morocco.

Cooking notes: 

Usually only about a cup of broth or water is added to the tagine, but I’ve doubled the liquid as a bit of insurance against burning the bottom. If you want it to be more like a stew, add 2 additional cups of broth or water.

 Be sure to leave a couple inches between the top of the vegetables and the lid of your pot. 

There’s a lot of flexibility in the ingredients. No carrots in the house? No worries. Got green beans or eggplant you want to use up? Add the eggplant, cut in 1/2-inch cubes, before the zucchini, and the whole or cut green beans after. Turnips and other squashes also work well.

I have included a recipe to make your own simplified Ras el Hanout, a spice blend so important in North African cuisines that its means “head of market.” You can also buy it pre-made from Middle Eastern markets, specialty vendors like NY Shuk or even on Amazon. Keep in mind that, like all store-bought spice mixes, the combinations, taste and color can vary. 

This spice mix will freeze well for up to two months.

Ingredients

For the Moroccan spice blend: 

1 Tbsp paprika

1 Tbsp cumin

2 tsp ground ginger

1 tsp turmeric

<1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp coriander

1/2 tsp allspice

1/4 tsp cloves

For the tagine:

2 Tbsp olive oil, divided

1 large onion, diced

3 large cloves garlic, minced

2 Tbsp Moroccan spice mixture (below) or store-bought Ras el Hanout, divided

1 butternut squash or pumpkin (2-2 1/2 pounds), peeled, seeded and cut into 1-inch cubes (3-4 cups)

1 can (15 ounces) chickpeas, drained with chickpeas and liquid (aquafaba) reserved separately

peel from 1 small preserved lemon, diced or cut into very thin strips, or 2 tsp grated fresh lemon zest, divided

2 medium sweet or yellow potatoes (1-1 1/2 pounds), unpeeled and cut into 1/2-inch slices

2 medium carrots, cut 1/2 inch wide

2 medium zucchinis, cut into 1/2-inch half moons

1 large tomato

1/2 small green cabbage, cut into 6-8 thin wedges

2 cups hot vegetable stock or water

1/2-1 tsp salt

1 cup green or black olives (optional)

chopped cilantro or parsley (optional)

Directions

To make the spice blend: Whisk all the spices together in a bowl until well blended. Store mix in an airtight glass or stainless-steel container in a cool, dry place.

To make the tagine: In a heavy-bottomed 6- or 7-quart pot or Dutch oven with a tight-fitting lid, heat 1 Tbsp oil over medium heat. Add onions with a pinch of salt and sauté, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes, until tender but not browned. Add garlic and 1 Tbsp of the spice mixture. Cook, stirring, for about 2 minutes, until aromatic.

Add the liquid from the chickpeas (aquafaba) and the squash cubes to the pot, and stir.

Turn the heat as low as possible while you layer the vegetables, building a domed shape as you go. Sprinkle about a third of the preserved lemon or lemon zest over the squash or pumpkin, then cover with potato slices. Add a layer of carrots, a third more lemon. Layer the zucchini on top. Lean wedges of cabbage against the sides of the vegetable mound.

In a small bowl, whisk together the hot broth or water with the remaining 1 Tbsp each of oil and spice mixture. Pour over the vegetables. Cover the pot and turn the heat up to medium.

While the tagine heats, use a small knife to peel the skin from the bottom of the tomato. Holding onto the top or stem, grate the tomato flesh on the large holes of a box grater into a dish, leaving discarding the skin. Add the grated tomato and juices to the pot, on top of the zucchini.

As soon as the tagine starts to simmer, reduce heat to low and let cook undisturbed until the vegetables are almost tender, about 25-30 minutes. 

Add the chickpeas, olives and remaining lemon. Add a little more stock or hot water if the pot looks dry.  Cover and continue to cook for another 10-15 minutes. 

Serve in the pot, or the vegetables can be carefully moved and arranged on a large serving platter, taking care with each layer of vegetables and serving on top of couscous or rice. Garnished generously with chopped cilantro or parsley.

[herbs-and-spices-and-flowers]

Youtube Comment Fanfics; SaM Stuff

@krei-ations6918

1 year agoI have heard a theory that moons voice is normally supposed to be just a whisper and the reason it sounds raspy is because he is speaking louder than his voice is meant to go I fully support that theory and I think his voice would sound like the first song

@allaniadall9686

4 days agoMy OC, Rose, likes this because she gets agitated and uses her thorns a lot in the outside world. His voice calms her down almost easly. More easly then when her friend, Sunflower stops her.

@krei-ations6918

4 days ago @allaniadall9686  I’m guessing your OC is a flower? Sound cute

@allaniadall9686

4 days ago @krei-ations6918  Yes. Almost. She and her friend, Sunflower are not human or animatronic. They call themselves other people. The animatronics are confused by it, so they call them nymphs since it's easier. They don't mind. Nymphs worked.

@krei-ations6918

4 days ago @allaniadall9686  kinda reminds me of my OCs Tiger Lily, Blue Orchid, and Willow. All plants.

@allaniadall9686

4 days ago @krei-ations6918  Cool. Wanna hear more later?

@krei-ations6918

3 days ago @allaniadall9686  yes!

@allaniadall9686

3 days ago @krei-ations6918  Rose Chamomile Thorn is the daughter of judge(preachers who take care of their town), so she know orthodox and theology. She is stubborn and passionate about her faith. So she fights on the internet and in real life. She know art, writing and music. She can sing sapranno, alto and can play flute. She is protective of her friends and will do what she can to protect them. She trusts Moon, but their relationship depends on which Moon you're talking about. We got the calm, gentle and soothing Moon, whom Rose can fall for easily. There's the caring but sarcastic Moon, they can be friends, but his behavior will bother Rose and they will just be friends. Then there's hostile Moon. Rose can never fall for that Moon. She likes Lutheran Satire, CS Lewis, George Mcdonals's Lillith book, Shiloh and Bros and a few other stories and channels. She usually wears an elegant dress, but when she's doing active activities, like weeding or mowing, she might wear a shirt and pants. She wears an eye patch covered in roses and vines, not because something is wrong with her eye, but because she has glowing markings shaped like rose petals around her eye which she doesn't like people to see. She is stubborn, proud(but not vain), and tries to be independant, be she can ask for help. She is usually reserved, but she sometimes shares her thoughts, especially when it involves heratics.

@allaniadall9686

3 days agoThen there’s Sunflower Thyme Field, Rose’s close friend from middle school. She is cheery and kind and also loyal in her faith. She does not lash out as often as Rose, rather would try to stop Rose from getting worse. Like Rose, she can draw, sing and play music. She plays saxophone. Unlike Rose, she is more into photography than writing or other crafts, but they do enjoy each other’s art. They are both thoughtful of theology and orthodox. Probably from being raised in similar situations. She loves Sundrop a lot and tries to comfort and support him as she would her other friends. And persuade them not to do something irrational. Like talking Rose out of suicide(she had bloody thoughts in their teens). Eventually becoming the mother of Ray, Sun’s beam of light. Since she is like a sister to Rose, she calls Sun her brother in law.

@allaniadall9686

3 days agoAnd last we have Parsley Sage Sunflower. She is the third member of the Herbs, Spices and Flowers trio. She is also religious and talented in art and music. She doesn’t play an instrument, but she is in choir with Sunflower and Rose. Whenever Rose lashes out, Parsley Sage would laugh quietly for some reason. Maybe she does that to make herself feel better. She is not a helper, but she does visit sometimes. She is a prey of evil Eclipse. When he saw her, he made it his target to take her. He does it by putting a mirror in the daycare and talks to her through the mirror. Her curiosity got the better of her and then he reached through the mirror and pulled her through. Good Eclipse saves her and returns her to her friends who were about to come find her. She is the most cheerful of the group and gets really excited when group activity stuff happens. Rose likes her alone time, but doesn’t mind time with her friends. She grew to like good Eclipse, but he’s more into his work and spending time with Lunar than with her. So she likes him, but he only sees her as a friend.

@krei-ations6918

3 days ago @allaniadall9686  dang they would prob get along with my OCs S.a.(h)r.a., Nubis, and Krei

@allaniadall9686

3 days ago @krei-ations6918  Who are those?

@allaniadall9686

2 days ago @krei-ations6918  I also have this headcannon where the reason Moon's eyes are red is because Rose accidently bled on them turning his blue eyes red.

@krei-ations6918

2 days ago @allaniadall9686  interesting. they are my fnaf OCs. Nubis is an animatronic that was salvaged from the og pizzeria and now are in the pizzaplex as a historian of sorts. S.a.r.a. Is kinda the program for Nubis/the ghost kid. And Krei is just me, as seen by my username. Sorry I couldn’t respond earlier, Google was acting weird

@allaniadall9686

2 days ago @krei-ations6918  It's alright.

@allaniadall9686

2 days ago @krei-ations6918  Cool. Reminds me of my OC, Lillith. She is Michael's second eldest sister. She is the last to die and she has her own animatronic to posess. Lillith knows metal crafts, violin and piano. She sometimes plays music to sooth agonizing souls. She is also protective of children. "Don't open the door. Don't open the door." Some robots call her "green eyes" because she has green eyes. She cares about Gregory because he reminds her of a little brother she once had. also she suspects G. Freddy might be her eldest brother, Michael. I introduced her to some people and someone said, "It's interesting you called her Lilith because in arabic, it mean ghost or night monster". I thought that was interesting too since I didn't know the name Lilith meant that.

I made this with a new youtube friend,

@krei-ations691 I had fun with her, or him. Check him or her out.

#my ocs #youtube #sun and moon show #Moon and Rose #Sun and Sunflower #youtube comments

[madrabbitwords]

Confessions of an Empress, Year 10

Last main chapter of this guys. Hope you enjoyed it? idk

Month 1, Year 10

Wynna and Consort Suzan recover from the illness. 

Month 2, Year 10

Lady Britannia and Prince Merrick recover from the illness. 

Month 3, Year 10

Wynna succumbs once more to the disease, along with Lady Britannia, Prince Merrick, Princess Jessika, and Consort Suzan. His majesty, avoiding the harem entirely, has so far escaped the disease. 

Month 4, Year 10

Princess Bethney dies of the illness. She is only one year old. 

Month 5, Year 10

Lyrica and Princess Jessika recover, but Consort Makayla and Prince Bolton die of the illness. The young prince is, like Princess Bethney, only a year old. In the midst of the horridness, Tobin and Hildred, safe beyond the palace’s walls, celebrate their sixth birthdays. 

Month 6, Year 10

Wynna recovers just in time for my birthday. We all send letters of congratulations to Tod for Jameson’s first birthday.

Month 7, Year 10

Lady Jaylin dies of illness. Disgraced Lady Hope requests my presence at her deathbed, and I go (mostly out of curiosity as to what we could want to discuss). What she said I will never forget, nor will I tell another living soul what we said. (I will leave enclosed what I recall of what we said, and what she told me, but I will never speak a word of it otherwise, and no one able to reveal it will live long beyond me finding them.) Unrelated, I write Tod for borrowed use of his mimic bird. He agrees.

*  

Month 8, Year 10

Prince Hamilton recovers. Consort Addyson is found dead in her bed, chest punctured with one deep hole. His majesty questions me; it is ultimately found that there is nothing to find in my palace, and he leaves it there. Tod, unrelatedly, writes his thanks that the mimic bird has returned to the estate safely and without undue questioning on his empress sister’s uses for it. 

Month 9, Year 10

Prince Merrick dies of illness, aged five years old. The same age as Percival when he was killed. Rancilla turns two in the comforts of my palace, her siblings and I all safely recovered from the rampaging illness. 

Month 10, Year 10

His majesty’s and Lyrica’s birthdays have swung ‘round again, and this time, what with there being no sign of illness in my palace for nearly three months now (not at all the state in Britannia’s or Suzan’s palaces, I assure you), he attends Lyrica’s party. There is dancing, and singing, and for a moment I imagine I had married another young lord who might see their children more often, might hold them in his arms every day as opposed to every month or year. I imagine Lynwood’s soft expression as he peers at our girls on another man’s face, and it does not come to me easily. Perhaps that is a sign. 

Month 11, Year 10

Lady Britannia succumbs to the illness. The remaining two children in her palace’s care, Prince Hamilton and Princess Jessika (Disgraced Lady Hope’s remaining legacy) are deemed healthy and given into my care. They are suspicious and of course upset by yet another change, or at least Prince Hamilton is, being five and suspicious. We celebrate Jessika’s second birthday in the gardens of my palace, braving the chill to stand in the winter’s bright sun. 

Month 12, Year 10

Consort Suzan, the last of my fellow residents of the Gardens, passes in her sleep. I mail Tod a portrait of my new family: myself, the girls, Hamilton, and Jessika. His majesty is out of the portrait, just the implied golden flash of his cloak at the portrait’s edge. I am sitting center-stage, with beautiful Lyrica, getting so tall at nine, at my shoulder with Parsley in her arms. Wynna, Tod’s birthday-fellow at eight, is grinning out at the portrait’s viewer, though there is a space left open beside her for Percival’s rightful place. There is a tinge of sadness to her smile, that Percival is not there to share in the joy she feels. Rancilla, only two, is settled at my feet beside fellow two-year-old Jessika. Hamilton is at my other shoulder, frowning slightly with nerves. His hands are clenched around Merrick’s old blanket. He has refused to set it down, and as he is five and grieving, I do not force it of him. We are heart-kin, he and I, and I respect that suffering he feels. I hope Tod understands the message: that I have adopted my husband’s remaining children into my clan, and he is to do the same.

END OF BOOK?/CHAPTER? ONE

#coae #writing #madrabbitwords

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

@cayeeast​ 🥰 You are never too late, my inbox is always open. :) I hope Damirae?! I have to preface this:  I apologize in advance. I don’t really do fics like these—this is the first. But I want to grow, be a better writer, and try new things. I have never written anything like this before, so honestly, THANK YOU.

Prompts

--------------------------

"More sauvignon blanc, Miss?"

A bottle of wine was withdrawn from the metal ice bucket, lifted by their waiter's practiced hands. Beads of ice cold perspiration were congealing, beginning to travel downward as Raven swallowed another gulp of air. Though it was slight, her grasp began to shake around her cutlery. She had done her very best not to look at the bottle during the duration of the meal.

Now it was practically in her face, sweating.

Her breath hitched in her throat, as she watched the condensation continuing a steady drip.

It was quite possibly mocking her.

The moment seemed to stretch on before veering into uncomfortable, until both gentlemen glanced down at her untouched white.

"Malbec, sir?"

"Please."

The waiter gently replaced the white before disturbing the red. He swept around the table to refill another glass for Damian, who murmured a polite thanks.

Damian fingered the long, thin stemmed wine glass and turned it towards himself in circles. Several rotations were completed to air out the liquor. He guided the blackened magenta beverage to his lips and sipped thoughtfully.

"Raven."

Though Raven didn't immediately glance up, she was focusing on her meal rather intently. She shuffled slices of swordfish steak and capers to make them chase her chanterelle mushrooms and root vegetables around the triangular shaped plate in different patterns.

Of course, the half-demon was sure to select the appropriately suited silverware as she did so. Her efforts were starting to slow, however, as the lemon cream sauce became nearly nauseating when paired with seafood vapors.

Did fish always smell quite so pungent?

"Is there something wrong with the food?" She refocused on the handsome face of her dining companion, flickering in and out of the candelabra light.

"No, it's wonderful," Raven insisted. "Really, wonderful—great... presentation." His emerald eyes parsed the perfectly placed parsley and the latticework of sauce that was now a soupy mess saturating a plate of parsnips and fish.

"Oh, well it must have been." Damian exhaled sharply out of the corner of his mouth. "But, I'll always say nothing is too beautiful to eat..." He drawled.

"I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought..." she mumbled, flushing a little more than delicately.

"I hope our waiter doesn't insinuate to the kitchen that the meal fell short of perfection tonight. If the chef doesn't already know..." He scanned the perimeter of the dining room, as if expecting to be ambushed by the staff or a number of dining guests.

"I'm willing to bet if it wasn't so busy, he'd be out here himself, demanding to know what's wrong with the food." He cut his steak as he reminisced. "Remember what happened the time you asked for salt...?"

"It could just be me." Subtly, she slid her plate nearer to the center of the table. "Even though, I'll never be fully assured that fish is the best idea on a Monday... Are you sure it's fresh?"

"Is it fresh?"

A part of her was teasing, but Damian physically recoiled an inch. To insinuate that he would frequent an establishment that would serve his fiancée day old fish? His face was drawn with his jaw so set, it was as though he had been slapped—or someone in the vicinity had insulted his mother.

"I called ahead. That swordfish was caught earlier today. They're in season, sustainably sourced, and delivered directly to the restaurant—"

And with a menu that read: price available upon request, where other establishments printed dollar amounts, they all but prepared it table-side.

"But... you didn't follow them to the docks?" She asked in a deadpan. "You didn't call the fishmonger either? And I'm guessing, you didn't stand in the kitchen and observe the process?" Raven folded her arms. "Well, I don't understand how someone who takes shortcuts manages to run a billion-dollar corporation."

Raven wasn't at all new to this and she wasn't sure she would ever fully get used to it.

But sarcasm always helped.

"I was under the impression it was your favorite... You enjoyed it so much when we were here months ago." Damian's eyes darkened and then shone, like a man accepting a challenge. "Have your tastes changed already?"

"It's just... It's a little strong—the smell." Raven cleared her throat with her cheeks draining of their remaining color. "It's much stronger than I remember."

"Tell me... Is it work?" He surveyed the tail-coated waiter standing at the ready and lowered his voice accordingly. "Is it...something else?"

This was meant to speak of their nightly activities, the ones that involved aliases, capes, and crime.

Well, the other ones that involved aliases, capes, and crime—no safe words.

Inwardly, Raven groaned, because once again she was reminded of how much harder this could become.

By Azar's blood.

"It's not...that either. My stomach really is too unsettled for fish today." She took the napkin from her lap to wipe her mouth. "Normally it wouldn't be, but maybe... I'm a little unsettled, too."

"Tch... Well, I knew there had to be something." A half frown stole across Damian's full lips. "It's me, Raven... And this is us. We don't hide things from each other. Not anymore."

"I know." She heard her voice wavering. "I know that..."

"If there's anything at all, you'll tell me." He reached across the table to brush her hand. "If you're unhappy, tell me. I'll do whatever I can..." he whispered, lifting his eyebrows to punctuate his next words. "And I mean... anything."

Now Raven couldn't contain a crude snort. "I know, Damian."

"We can stop by a jewelry store - that engagement ring looks awfully lonely by itself." She sucked her teeth in a manner that was less than refined.

"Shoe store then... You can never have too many pairs of those very similar—" Haughtily, Raven blew air up through the side of her mouth to ruffle through her hair. "—but different, black pairs of boots..."

"We can take a trip..." His voice grew lower still. "...have a threesome." But, that one might have been a question rather than a suggestion. And as he pondered his words, his fork went sailing straight through the remainder of his steak without the aid of the knife. "Well...maybe not that last one."

"You're incredible...suggesting a ménage à trois at a French restaurant? Coquin." The half demon shook her napkin at him. "I'd laugh if this fish wasn't making my eyes water."

"Well, I'd do anything for you..." he replied evenly. "If it would make you happy, I'd even consider thinking about that last." And Raven shot her lavender eyes straight up towards the domed ceiling. They both knew the truth. "Maybe someday in the far, far future..."

As if he would ever share her.

That was exactly right, wasn't it? As if he would ever share her, or their lives with anyone?

Why would he?

They lived on the top floor of an elegant building in Gotham with a vintage lift whose golden grills led straight out into their penthouse apartment. But, it could be argued that the building wouldn't have been complete without their elderly doorman, Tom.

On the daily, he hailed cabs for Raven. Semi-weekly, he handed Damian hangers of dry-cleaning that refilled their twin walk-in closets of the numerous suits, trousers, and shirts and monochromatic dresses, blouses, and skirts.

Each morning, he bade Raven good morning as she went off to work and each night he held the door as he bade Damian good evening, a spectator in the lover's lockstep.

Weekly, Damian and Raven maintained long-standing lunch dates clustered in his corner office at Wayne Technologies. Monthly, the couple attended Sunday brunch with the extended clan of brothers, sisters, partners, kids, and pets all assembled together at the Manor.

Yes, there were others in their lives.

Even though Damian would argue they existed more or less on the fringes of a tapestry, while he kept her framed at the center.

Still, he seemed to love everything exactly as it was and he was in no hurry to change it. Especially when every night ended with them tangled together in their king-sized bed.

Two.

Plus one dog.

Titus was the only exception. Unless things changed in the far, far future.

"Do you mind if we cut dinner short?" Raven suddenly suggested. It must have been abrupt because Damian seemed caught off guard. "I think I want to go home early, curl up next to you, and finish those final pages of my book."

"Alright." He signaled for the check. "I'd like that... We'll get you home and I want your final thoughts on the ending. They better be scathing." The waiter reappeared instantly and it was like he'd never left. And even though his eyes remained lowered to the ground, she knew he had to be appraising her.

Raven mumbled something about the ladies room. She considered splashing her face with water and giving herself a pep talk. But to what end? The evening had already gone array. Something unexpected had cropped up.

Unexpected.

How was she supposed to tell him this?

Damian was a planner and for the most part, so was she. They didn't do unexpected.

"Actually, I'm going to grab my coat."

She excused herself and placed her napkin next to the untouched glass of wine. Her feet were pinched tighter in the heels with every step towards the exit. Raven followed the partition around the perimeter of the dining room, arriving at the stairs to the entrance hall.

As she waited in the queue for her coat, her eyes wandered past the sweeping architecture and up the wrap around staircase, where Damian was probably talking to the head chef and the owner. Just as he predicted.

She handed over her ticket, her heart leaping towards her chest as the end of the evening dawned on her. And as Raven grabbed the coat, she wanted to whirl around in her uncomfortable heels and march back up those stairs. Uncaring of her rudeness, she'd steal Damian away, tug him towards the hallway with the row of chandeliers and kiss him.

And tell him absolutely everything.

She would tell him why La Chandelle wasn't at all appealing tonight. She would tell him why she'd suggested going out to dinner in the first place. She would tell him why things had changed so suddenly.

And why everything could.

Instead, she slunk away. Out of the restaurant. Onward. The best she could do now was hope: hope they could get home, hope she could get out of these heels as soon as she could. And then, Raven would figure out how to tell him tomorrow.

--------------------------

"Raven?"

Damian was racing down the stone front steps of the restaurant to meet her at the curb.

"There you are." He was hurriedly slipping a pea coat over his suit jacket and he sounded nearly breathless. "Where did you go?"

"The coat check. Did you get the car?" Her voice sounded small and defeated. "I really, really want to get home..."

"I can see that," He deadpanned. "But that's not what I meant and we both know that." His brown-black brows began to knit together. "You were somewhere else for most of the evening. I know when you slip into your mind fortress and this is different from that. So where did you go, Raven?"

She swallowed and held out her hand for him to take. They walked a few steps in silence, turning towards a side street. The sound of laughter, music, and chatter faded away and for the first time all evening, she felt like she could finally think. Raven exhaled, deciding this was far enough.

"Damian, when I asked about dinner," she began. "I wasn't expecting this... I figured we were going somewhere with a little less wine and a little less fish—less wine cooked into fish..."

He blinked, processing slowly with his hands in his pockets, his head pointed down towards the cobblestone street, coated in a mixture of oil and water. It had to have rained recently. "Well, it's not too late, we can go somewhere else—nothing French, I promise."

He licked his lips before he continued, probably sensing her apprehension. "We can go to that noodle place and ask for two pots of oolong tea instead of the usual one... Or we can just grab tea?" He offered. "But if you're too tired, we can always make it at home. I'll make yours with the biggest, widest mug and saucer we have."

"So you're just...not going to give up on tonight, are you?" Raven murmured, her lavender hair moving as she shook her head from side to side, as if wondering who this man was.

"No, I don't think I will." A smirk started up on his face. "That's the thing about having a fiancée. You can't get rid of me that easily." He tapped her cheek good-naturedly and ghosted over her forehead with his lips. "I'm always going to be here."

"Didn't we...just get engaged?"

"Is that what this is about...?" Her husband-to-be searched every single inch and orifice on her face. "We can slow things down or postpone the wedding for a few months. The last thing I want you is for you to be stressed about this."

"What I mean is..." She ran a hand across her damp forehead. "Gods, I had this whole speech planned—how I was going to tell you..." Raven's unease fell away when she felt warmth radiating in waves, like he was lending her strength.

"Anything," he whispered. "You can tell me anything." He placed his arms on her shoulders.

Raven took a deep breath, her eyes locked on his, and—

"I'm pregnant."

The words froze suspended before them in midair. Damian continued to stare at her, but without blinking. Then, Raven nodded. And then Damian started to nod too.

She couldn't believe she said it aloud; she couldn't believe that it even happened. "I know it should be impossible... And not just that it's too soon."

"You're..." Damian breathed. "You're pregnant."

And he was taking her hands with his own to squeeze them tight. He started to smile—not just smile, he was beaming in a way Raven had only seen once before: when she said yes. This was more than elation, he was in absolute awe of her. He lifted her from the rain-soaked street in a generous hug to sweep her right off her feet.

Damian was holding her, lifting her. Supporting her from below. He was staring up, as his breath streamed sweet steam swirling against the seam of her lips. From somewhere inside blooming outward, was a warmth that no amount of healing or surge of power or strike of hellfire could ever compare.

And he too was giving himself over to this sensation.

With fingers gliding through his hair, eyes welling emotion, she nodded again. And she wrapped her arms around his neck, and drew closer to connect. Deeply, gently, then sweetly, they kissed into the night.

--------------------------

Damian feathered his lips over hers, placing her gingerly onto her feet. And he was grinning madly at her. Then, his grin slid down a little. And then a lot.

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something. He started to talk and stopped. Started and stopped.

"The wine—"

"The fish—"

He ran a hand down his face while he replayed the events of tonight. "I'm such a goddamned idiot. I'm so sorry, Raven."

"It was a nice meal. I had a great time. So, I couldn't eat anything or drink anything—so what?" Raven chuckled. Whatever cruel sense of irony there was in the world, it was a wonderful night. "You know, it's actually hilarious in hindsight, and now we have a funny story to tell our friends... A-and our—our—"

She was enveloped by the warmest, safest embrace Damian could manage as he was trembling. He rocked her and held her tight, inhaling deeper and exhaling harder until they both relaxed. "I am sorry. I should have sensed something more was going on."

"Well, neither of us thought this was even possible. Up until three days ago, I didn't know it was," Raven blurted. And it felt so good to blurt around him again. "We live together. I could have said it at breakfast. Or at the movies on Sunday... When we were in the shower together, last night. I'm the idiot. "

"The shower..." he repeated. "So that's why you were a little touchy about your body." She groaned loudly—this was not happening. "Raven, you've got absolutely nothing to worry about," Damian insisted. "And besides, you're not even showing yet."

"That's what you think," she grumbled.

His lips curled up. "Habibti." Raven raised an eyebrow. She knew as well as he did, that he had better choose that next sentence very carefully. "Habibti... you've always had an aura glowing about you, only now it's just going to grow brighter."

"Pfft," Raven muttered. "Right. As I grow bigger and rounder."

"You know what, yes," he scoffed. "You will get bigger and I don't care. For that matter, neither should you." Gingerly tilted her chin towards him. The way he was gazing at her, with unconditional love, understanding. "You'll be just as beautiful—equally exquisite."

Who could ever doubt Damian?

"And you'll be even more sensitive in all the right places." His low voice was filled with the darkest promises of sin. "I can hardly wait."

"You're dangerous," Raven murmured, knowing she was turning pink.

"Dangerous?" His nose traced the curve of her neck, as the skin shivered.

"As if you didn't know," she said flatly. "It's probably how you managed to conceive with a half-demon in the first place."

She felt him chuckle into her skin, then it morphed into something like a groan. "So, I botched dinner... And sex in the shower... I should have drawn you a nice, hot soak in the tub... Gone down on you for an hour at least...gone a few blocks past the park to grab some slices of 99 cent pizza..."

"How did you know about the pizza?" Raven's eyes widened on her flushed face. "Did Tom tell you?" Whenever Raven said she was going to 'feed the pigeons in the park', what it really meant was she was going to cut through the park to grab a slice of the cheapest pizza she could get her hands on.

So much for the code.

"You actually thought that was a secret?" And when Damian rolled his eyes, he looked less worried and more like his usual surly self. "Please. I've seen the napkins and the pathetic excuses for paper plates... Really, I should have known something was up, there were a few more than usual."

Through the ovens of pizza and pregnancy, he knew and he loved her.

And Raven threw herself forward and held him tightly to her. "You're sort of perfect, you know that?" she mumbled into the hard chest, smelling the usual amber and spiced apricot. She lifted her head and he brushed an errant strand of lavender from her eyes. "I don't want to cut tonight short. Actually... I kind of want frozen yogurt."

"Fro-yo it is."

And as they walked, he bent his head towards her. He touched her face and murmured, "I...can't believe you're carrying my child..."

Damian began to kiss her so avidly, so impatiently, they had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. She was moaning and pulling pomegranate and malbec from his lips until they were both breathless.

Damian gave her a final peck and they walked back to the restaurant. It was all such a daze, Raven barely remembered him asking the valet to bring their car around. She made a motion towards the door and she noticed he'd already held the passenger side ajar for her.

"I can still do that myself."

"Hmm..." He stared off into the distance with a vague smile, as though contemplating their future. "You're going to fight me at every turn aren't you?"

"No," Raven said quickly. His eyes flickered faintly with amusement. "Not frozen yogurt—I want ice cream. Real, honest-to-goodness, ice cream made with cream, and all the toppings. Whipped cream, hot fudge..."

--------------------------

"Birdie's Diner?"

"Ignore the name, it's a good restaurant. I used to come here all the time, even before we were—" Raven was trying to pull his fingers aside to see his flushed face lit by the bright neon sign. "All diners serve eggs, alright? I'm sure that's all it means."

"And that's the only thing that drew you here?"

He hung his head in defeat before holding the door. "After you."

There were low lamps hanging over the booths and classic rock stringing out of a jukebox in the corner. Raven hadn't been to a diner like this one in well, ever. The hostess handed over two laminated menus and told them to seat themselves. So Raven sat in a red vinyl booth in the back corner, and very discreetly, slipped off her heels.

Instantly, it felt much homier than La Chandelle.

"Raven, we're getting you the best OB in Gotham—that's non-negotiable," Damian was saying. One coffee down and he picked up exactly where he'd left off in the car, driving and planning particulars. "Or Kori can recommend us hers - they're probably accustomed to working with unique cases."

Demonic blood or not, Raven sincerely doubted there was any OB-GYN in the city that wouldn't pass off a patient or two on a colleague, to quite literally, bag a Wayne baby.

The caffeine had fully set in because he was drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the table while he spoke. "It'll cost us another Sunday morning, because you know Kori will want to do an extended brunch when we tell her and Dick the news."

And the second they told her, Raven would promptly conjure up an extra-strength, soundproof barrier around her cellphone to contain the joyous shrieks. And she'd probably have to buy a new phone.

"But it'll be worth it... You know what, it's not too late, I can probably call Dick right now." His left hand darted towards his pocket.

"No. No, you won't." She placed her hand over his. "We'll do it in the morning. Tonight, you're going to sit here with me and eat ice cream, okay?" Then, her ears perked up in a way that Titus would have been proud of. Hearing the sound of a whipped cream dispenser, behind the diner counter, she was almost gleeful. Her ice cream was in transit and was arriving on a round, plastic serving tray.

"Here ya go, sweethearts." A waffle-printed glass dish and two spoons were deposited onto the smooth, scrubbed surface between them. "Enjoy."

"Thank you." She smiled back at the kindly woman in the light blue waitress uniform, with a name tag that read Shirley.

Cookies and cream on a bed of bananas, crushed oreos. Whipped cream and hot fudge. Even one of those radioactive-red cherries on top. And it was absolutely wonderful. She passed Damian one of the long, thin-handled spoons, which they both knew was ill-suited for ice cream. According to Alfred, it was technically for iced tea, but appropriate cutlery was far from her mind. She tapped her spoon to his.

Cheers.

Raven dug in and moaned. In a word it was: heavenly, and far better than she could remember of ice cream. Six more bites and she could just imagine the tip of her spoon about to hit the bottom of her half. That cherry was hers.

"Hey Damian," she nudged his spoon with her own. "Now you're not eating."

"I was thinking..."

"You can think later... You've done more than enough." They would deal with the rest tomorrow. For now, she chose to think of this as a little celebration of the news—just between them.

"Come on, don't let me eat this alone... Sympathy weight starts tonight." She swallowed another spoonful while he glowered at her. And Raven knew full well he'd already had an entire steak earlier. "Don't worry about abs, your aura will just glow brighter."

"Tch—I wonder what genius said that..."

Raven snorted, but didn't argue. In fact, she was absolutely fine with riding Damian's abs—and hard body—straight into the next two trimesters.

"But I have to agree about one thing." Damian drew up his thumb, using it to wipe a smudge of whipped cream from her upper lip. "There is something about real cream..." He held her gaze as he licked his finger slowly.

The blood in Raven's core was warming, the temperature forming liquid fuel for an ache of a different kind. Officially, they had been together for over a year. And this man was now her fiancée. How did he always manage to turn her into some sort of sticky mess?

It had to be unnatural because it was utterly unfair.

Not so subtly, Raven tilted her head at the space next to her. And Damian joined her on the other side of the booth. The diner and the ice cream were so much better with his thigh lined against hers.

"Raven, can I...?" He hesitated, waiting for her approval. He held his hand up to her stomach.

"Of course you can."

Softly, he stroked the skin over her shirt, where the tiny swell would eventually grow. "Raven," he whispered at last, and she opened her eyes. "I want us to take that trip."

"A trip?" Her eyes were so wide only a sliver of purple remained. "A moment ago, you were talking about baby-proofing the apartment." He seemed unfazed. "Nannies? Au pairs? Daycare? What happened to buying every pregnancy and parenting guide our devices will permit? We can't take a trip, wouldn't that be an irresponsible start?"

"We can make time for something important like this," he insisted. "It could be good for you. And for us."

"Why in the name of Azar and all her disciples would this be a good idea?"

"Hear me out... A mother and father-to-be take a trip before the baby actually comes—a baby-moon. That's what they're called," Damian murmured. "I propose we take one, before our lives, and bodies change." He spooned a dollop of whipped cream and slid it between his lips. "What do you think?

"Oh..."

"We don't have to..." He said quickly and dropped the spoon in the dish.

"I think...it could be an interesting idea."

"If you think it's not for us," Damian reached for her and stroked her hair calmly. "I understand."

"No—Damian—we should do this." She searched his eyes. "I want to do this with you."

"Yes." Damian kissed the top of her head. "Just you and me, Raven. We can go anywhere you want."

#damirae #demonbirds #raven x damian #raven #teen titans #me #raven and damian #damian and raven #raven roth #damian wayne #fanfiction #writing #titans #dc #dcau #dc comics #fanfic #pregnancy fic #otptober #This was only supposed to be like 2k words and I don't know what happened... #in the oven #I had way too much fun with this oddly enough #Oh i hope it's not the most dreadful thing in the world... #pregnancy #You were warned... #Time for thai food... #Sorry this took so long!!! 😖❤️❤️❤️

[aloysiavirgata]

Xenia

Title: Xenia By: Aloysia Virgata Rating: PG Category: MSR Timeline: X Cops Summary: Brunch in WIllow Park Notes: For @perplexistan​, who came up with this amazing idea.

***

He’s staring out the window into the grungy hotel courtyard when he hears the knock at the door. Mulder frowns and, against all recommendation, tucks his gun into the waistband of his boxers. He approaches the door as though it may be on fire. “Hello?” he calls.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

He puts his gun on top of the microwave, unfastens the three locks to admit Scully. “What’s up, buttercup?”

She’s snapping a pink card against her palm, scowling as she passes beneath his arm. “Brunch,” she says.

Mulder shuts the door before following her to the bed. She’s hunched there like a tiny storm cell, glowering, gathering steam. He decides against a romantic overture, though it’s been a week since she last spent the night and he wants to...to lick her.

“Brunch?” he repeats.

She holds the card out. “Sergeant Duthie has accepted an invitation on our behalf.”

Mulder, baffled, takes it from her. The card is flamingo pink, ornamented with two palm trees and two gold-rimmed champagne glasses. In careful gold calligraphy, it invites them to join Steve and Edy for BRUNCH AND BUBBLY! at 10:30.

His jaw drops. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

She snatches it back from him. “Serious as hantavirus. I hope you brought something in a nice madras.”

He sits next to her on the bed, stunned. “Why has Sergeant Duthie done this to us? We were helpful, Scully. You rendered medical aid. You did a late night autopsy out of the goodness of your heart.”

Scully, prim, tucks the card into her jacket pocket. “I did a late night autopsy because you’re bossy and demanding, but that isn’t the point.”

“Do we have to go?” he asks, like she’s his mother.

Scully glares at him. “’Do we have to go?’” she mimics in a falsetto. “Of course we have to go, we’ll look awful if we don’t. The tabloid headlines will practically write themselves. FBI SNUBS LOCAL NEIGHBORHOOD COUPLE. You wanted to go charging around on camera talking about fear monsters for the noble cause of cryptozoology and look where it got us.”

He sighs. “Well, of everyone we encountered on that little goose chase, they’re not awful. I wouldn’t want to have brunch at the crack house.”

She chews the inside of her cheek, stewing. “I can’t believe this.”

Mulder thumps her back in a comradely manner.  “The food will probably be decent, right? Probably good coffee, too. Not to mention the bubbly!”

Scully scrunches her nose, pressing her hand to her eyes. “Mulder, I swear to God…”

The event begins to take shape in his mind, Steve and Edy’s tidy home with little morsels on trays. He tries to remember the campy snacks his mother ordered for her bridge club. Lots of puff pastry and ornamental parsley.

Scully gets to her feet. “Well, shower and iron your seersucker suit,” she says gloomily. “I’ll call a cab.”

“It’ll be fun,” he says, excited as always by any novel experience. He considers too that Scully needs to be socialized more often, and it’s not like he takes her on real dates. This will be good for her. He will make her enjoy herself, he decides.

“Oh, I can’t wait for you to get halfway through your third mimosa and start dispensing relationship advice,” Scully says. “Between Edy and Hollman, maybe you should quit the FBI and start a romance column.”

“I get no kick from champaaaaaagne,” he croons.

“Mulder.”

“Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all…”

“MULDER.”

“So tell me why should it be true, that I get a kick out of you?”

His gun falls off the microwave when she slams the door.

***

The driver takes them to a decrepit looking stucco building to procure a hostess gift from what he assures them is the best bakery within 20 miles. Dubious, Mulder and Scully follow him inside. Behind the ancient formica counter, a withered old woman brandishing an immense wooden spoon speaks loudly with the cabbie for several moments in an unknown tongue. He points at his fares, gesturing broadly.

Mulder tries to look respectable, the kind of person who deserves only the finest. He nudges Scully, who offers a vague wave at the proprietress.

The old woman considers them for a moment, then chooses several items from her display case. She secures them in a tidy parcel, which she passes to Scully, who accepts it like an IED.

The woman beckons Mulder down to her and when he obliges, bent nearly double, she pinches his cheek and whacks his arm in a loving manner with the spoon.

Scully, delighted, pays and tips her generously before they get back on their way.

***

The cab stops in front of Steve and Edy’s house. Mulder, who feels this is all becoming a splendid adventure, praises the cabbie for his excellent service. He leaves an extra five on the front seat before they get out.

Scully holds the bakery box with a mournful air. “Well,” she says. “Here we are.”

Mulder opens the gate in the chain link fence, striding along the walkway to the house. He is already on the porch, examining the empty birdcage, when she trudges up.

He chucks her under the chin. “Smile pretty.”

Her nostrils flare, but there is no other response.

Mulder knocks at the door, and is greeted almost immediately by Edy. She is wearing tropical print harem pants, a purple tunic, and a white turban ornamented with a tremendous topaz brooch and a single peacock feather. She squeals delightedly and flings her arms around him.

“AY-gent Mulder,” Edy gushes. “Well don’t you look mighty handsome. And Agent Scully, child, you did NOT have to bring a GIFT.”

Mulder extricates himself from Edy’s grasp. “Thanks, uh, for having us. It wasn’t necessary.”

“No,” Scully pipes up. “It really wasn’t.”

Edy waves her elegant hand. “It is absolutely our pleasure. Now come on in.” She swans into the kitchen, leaving them stranded in the living room. The house smells gloriously of food.

Scully shuts the door with her hip. “Um,” she says.

Mulder directs his attention to a collection of ceramic animals on a shelf. A little seal balances a ball on its snout, so shiny it looks like hard candy.

Steve emerges from the hallway, dapper in a crisp button down. “I heard her fussing from the bathroom,” he says. “She changed her outfit five times.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to feel wanted,” Mulder observes. He looks at the vase of flowers on the table, the bright cloth beneath it. The sweet domesticity tugs at him.

“We brought this,” Scully says, nearly shoving the box into Steve’s hands.

Steve takes it, smiling. “Well, isn’t that mighty nice of you? You went to Sofia, that place is real good. Bulgarian.” He places the box on the table. “Go on and take a seat, just going to help out in the kitchen.”

They sit across from one another at the table after he disappears from view. Mulder rubs his arm. “I think the bakery lady left a mark.”

“You’re probably betrothed now.” Scully toys with a crystal salt shaker. “Some old Bulgarian custom.”

“Jealous?”

She offers a moue of disdain.

Edy emerges from the kitchen with a bar cart. As predicted, there are flutes of mimosas on the top of it, and a whole pitcher besides. The rest is loaded with food. “TaDAAAAA!” Edy sings, with a grand flourish.

“Edy, this is too much,” Mulder says, rubbing his hands together. Even Scully looks impressed.

“She’s been busy all morning,” Steve says proudly, hands on her shoulders.

Edy beams, hands them each a plate of Eggs Benedict. “I make that Hollandaise myself,” she says, taking her seat as the peacock feather sways. “Grow the lemons out back, too. All this out back.” She surveys her table, a presiding empress. 

Steve unloads the rest of the cart, plates of fruit and tiny tomato sandwiches and cheese straws. A mound of home fries glossy with butter and fragrant with browned onions.

“Don’t forget the bubbly,” Edy says, scandalized. “We need a toast.”

Steve dutifully passes them each a mimosa before sitting down. 

Edy lifts her glass. “Well, I will just say thank you to our new friends from the FBI who are doing their best to keep us safe even with a bunch of skanky-ass crackheads running around, may they rest in peace. Amen.”

Scully is staring at the table, chewing hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

Mulder doesn’t dare try to catch her eye. “Uh, amen,” he says, and takes a sip of his drink. He blinks; Edy has a heavy pour.

“I squeezed that juice myself too,” Edy says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You sound like the Little Red Hen, you gonna let us eat or what?”

“I told you he disrespects me,” she mutters into her glass.

Scully has recovered herself and is cutting into her egg, which spills golden yolk onto her plate. She removes a wedge of the sandwich with surgical precision and puts it into her mouth, wary. Her face brightens as she chews. “Edy, this is delicious.”

Mulder is proud of Edy.

“My Granny Minerva taught me to cook,” she says. “I grew up with her mostly, in the Lowcountry.”

Mulder perks up. “Oh, did you? My grandparents had a place in Hilton Head.”

Edy snorts. “Mmmhmmm, I bet they did. I bet you’re a trust fund baby to the cradle, you have pretty hands.”

Scully laughs around a chunk of watermelon, sputters and coughs. She presses a cloth napkin to her mouth, blushing pink as the fruit.

“You okay?” Steve asks, his brow furrowed. “You need a drink?”

Scully, still magenta, shakes her head and gulps half of her mimosa. “I’m fine,” she manages. Mouths “pretty hands” to Mulder.

Mulder scowls at her. 

“ANNNyway,” Edy continues. “I lived with Granny and I learned all her secrets.” She gestures at the tomato sandwich on Mulder’s plate. “The trick is you pat the tomatoes dry first, did you know that, Hilton Head?”

Steve refills his glass. “She lived with Granny Minerva because her mama was a runaround.”

Edy whips her head around. “I have TOLD you not to disrespect my mama.”

Steve purses his lips but says no more. 

Mulder applies himself to his Eggs Benedict, which is rich and delicious and speaks highly of Granny Minerva. Scully is nibbling a cheese straw with interest.

Edy props her chin in her palm, tapping her cheek with her fingers. “The FBI, now what is that like to do? It seems real scary to me.” She looks at Mulder through her extravagant lashes.”Real daaaangerous,” she purrs.

Scully’s lower lip is back between her teeth.

Mulder chases a potato around his plate with his fork. “Well, uh, it depends, I guess. I mean sometimes, sure, it’s pretty dangerous I guess, depending, but we have a lot of training and all and there’s paperwork mostly too, which is only dangerous if you get the math wrong and there’s an audit, haha, so…” he trails off.

“Agent Mulder just doesn’t want you to feel concerned,” Scully interjects smoothly. “Situations like the one you experienced are exactly what we’ve been trained to do, so there’s no need to be worried. We go through a pretty extensive program in the Academy.” She spears a slice of kiwi and pops it into her mouth.

Mulder could kiss her, right in front of Steve and Edy and God and everybody. Haul the camera crew back for all he cares. But he knows better. She’ll get there on her own.

Edy fans herself. “I just can’t imagine.  We are too glad you were here.”

“Baby, they brought dessert from Sofia,” Steve says. “Wasn’t that nice?”

She claps her hands happily. “Ooohhh, that little old Bulgarian lady runs that place.”

“She hit me with a spoon,” Mulder says, pointing at his arm. “About took my cheek off too.”

“That means she likes you,” Steve tells him. 

“Giiirrrl, you better watch out,” Edy warns Scully, with a knowing expression. “She’ll snap him right up.”

Scully looks alarmed. “Pardon?”

Edy smirks. “You may have trained at the A-cad-emy, but I studied theater and I can read all kinds of things in people.”

Scully’s face has gone from alarm to panic, and Mulder knows she is trying to recall every word, every movement the cameramen may have captured.

“Theater?” he asks, to divert her. “You’re an actress, Edy?”

Steve puts his head in his hands. “Lord help us.”

She gets to her feet, arms held out like a goddess on a Grecian urn. “My sister Veronica and I did this double act and my husband, Charlie, traveled around with us. Now for the last number - “

“Chicago!” Mulder exclaims, then is embarrassed.

They all look at him in surprise. 

“You like musicals, Agent Mulder?” Edy asks, practically glowing. “What’s your favorite?”

“Yes, Agent Mulder, what’s your favorite?” Scully asks, eyes dancing.

He draws little squiggles in the remains of his Hollandaise sauce. “Oh, just, my mom used to take us to shows, you know, when I was a kid.”

“But your favorite,” Scully insists, because she is mean.

“Chicago’s good,” he mumbles. He will never tell her the real answer, which is My Fair Lady.

“Honey, Chicago is the BEST.” Edy goes to a bookshelf and removes a large album.

“Ohhhh, no!” Steve asserts. “Didn’t I already tell you nobody wants to see your ass? Now go on and put that back.”

Edy glides back haughtily, places the book on the table, oriented towards Mulder. She opens it to a page with a glossy 8x10 of her as Velma Kelly, in all her black sequined bodysuited glory.

“Wow,” Mulder says, feeling sympathetic pain as he looks at the bodysuit.

“Virgin Indian hair on that wig,” Edy says, tapping the photo. She stares at Scully.

Scully leans forward to examine the photo. “You look really nice.”

Edy turns a few pages to another picture. She is luxuriating in a claw foot tub, one leg draped over the edge. The bubbly water is at a strategic depth between her legs. Mulder feels as though he should avert his eyes, but gazes on.

“Now these,” Edy says, “are from some modeling I did for a boudoir photographer.”

Steve groans. “Baby, why?”

“It is called art,” she snaps. “Now Agent Scully, girl to girl, you understand this. Sometimes you just want a record of you at your best, you want to share that with your man.” 

Scully smiles blankly. “Mm.”

Mulder studies the picture with renewed interest. “A boudoir photographer?” he asks.

Edy favors Scully with a sly glance. “See that’s what I thought.  It’s very tasteful, isn’t it?” She turns the page, displaying herself in a ruffled white corset, heeled white ankle boots, and a lace parasol. “It’s very elegant.”

It is, strangely enough. Mulder assumes there must be boudoir photographers in DC. He can import one, if necessary. From the edge of his peripheral vision, he sees Scully studiously peeling a grape.

“I think it’s time for dessert,” Steve says. “Honey, go put those pictures back so they don’t get ruined.”

Edy, looking triumphant, gives Mulder a saucy wink before sashaying back to the bookshelf.

“Lord,” Steve mumbles. He opens the bakery box, then smiles. “You tell her you were coming here?” he asks. “You got all my favorites.”

“I think the cabbie must have,” Scully says, abandoning her grape. “They were talking for a bit, but we didn’t know what they were saying. We never even mentioned your names, I guess he knew the address.”

“Musta been Anzhelo,” Edy says, settling on Steve’s lap. “That’s her grandson, he helps me with my garden a little bit. That boy is always hustling.”

Steve puts a golden pastry oozing honey onto his plate. He cuts off a morsel with his fork and feeds it to his lady, who giggles. 

Mulder smiles at them. “This, uh, this has been really wonderful, but we have to go get our stuff together for the flight home.”

Edy pouts. “Well, that’s a shame. You oughtta stay another day or so, we could show you around town. We know everybody.”

Steve moves on to a dense wedge of chocolate cake. “Lots of walnuts in this, you got any allergies?”

Scully holds up a hand. “No, thank you, I’m qui-“

“She’s gotta keep her cute figure for that boudoir photographer,” Edy says. She licks honey off of her fingers.

“Can we help you tidy up?” Scully asks, as though Edy hasn’t spoken.

“I got it,” Steve says. “That’s our system. You go on back to your hotel, I’ll call Anzhelo.” He pats Edy on the side, and she gets up so he can head to the phone.

“Where’s the restroom, please?” Scully asks.

Steve sprawls on the red velvet sofa, pointing her down the hall. He picks up the receiver and starts dialing.

Mulder watches Scully disappear around the corner, wondering if he would like to thank Edy or strangle her.

“He'll be here in just a few,” Steve says from the couch. “I called him on his cell phone, how times change.”

“You tell her not to worry,” Edy says with a wink, resting her hand on Mulder’s shoulder. “The cameras don’t get everything.”

Mulder adopts what he hopes is a confused expression and shrugs. He busies himself stacking plates, pausing to take a swipe of chocolate frosting with his finger. He downs the rest of his second mimosa, considers a third.

Scully emerges then, her hair smoothed and her lipstick freshened. “Again, thank you both for the hospitality.”

“You better call us when you’re in town again,” Edy says, wagging a stern finger. “I will hold you to that, Agents.”

There is a honk outside. “Oh, that’s our cue,” Mulder says, rising. He reaches for the small of Scully’s back but it feels conspicuous now. He converts the motion to a wave.

Edy follows them to the door, blowing kisses all the way.

They climb into the waiting cab. “You like my grandmother's baking?” Anzhelo asks, peeling away from the curb.

“Phenomenal,” Scully says, because she is kind. “We’re stuffed.”

Anzhelo smiles proudly in the rear view.

Mulder slumps against the door. “I feel like one of those big snakes after it eats a whole wildebeest. I need to sleep off all that food.”

“I was a little ambitious myself,” Scully says. She sits up straighter, eyes wide. “Oh, Mulder. Oh shit. You know Bill watches Cops?”

Of course he does, of course. Mulder makes a noise of dismay, unable to address this news on so full a stomach and so heavy a head.

“Mulder, he’s going to see every terrible minute and just snap,” she moans. “Werewolves!”

Mulder, buzzy, imagines Bill and Tara on the couch, eating Corn Nuts, when his sister appears onscreen. He imagines Bill leaping to his feet in outrage, scattering a plate of Li’l Smokies cooked in grape jelly. He starts laughing.

Scully punches him in the arm. “It’s not funny, Mulder!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleads, holding up his hands in defense. He is still laughing.

“Oh my god, the Wasp Man! Mulder did you say anything awful when you were unattended?”

Tears are running down his face at this point. It’s all so ridiculous. Bill in his base housing, finding out that his sister was two hours away chasing invisible monsters and crackheads without even calling. Mulder thinks he may, if suitably provoked, let him know what else his sister has been doing.

He smiles darkly to himself.

Scully punches his arm again, harder, and he stops laughing. 

“Ow,” he says, sulky. “It’s nothing he doesn’t know.”

She hides her face in her hands. “I could just die.”

Mulder draws her onto her side, curled with her glossy head in his lap. He strokes her smooth pixie cap of hair, the color of autumn in New England.

“I hate you,” she mumbles into his thigh.

He traces her ear. “I know,” he soothes. 

“So much.”

“Yes.”

“And you can stop thinking about boudoir photographers, because it’s not happening.” She traces little shapes on his knees.

“Mmm,” he says, non-committal. Mulder pets her until they pull up at the hotel, and he has to get to his wallet. He pays Anzhelo and sends regards to his grandmother, to Steve and Edy.

They clamber out, Scully blinking in the vivid sunlight. Anzhelo waves from the window as he drives off.

“You ready to go home?” Mulder asks.

She looks up at him. “No photographer,” she says again. “But.”

He’s intrigued. “But?”

“My room has a corner tub. It’s not, uh, a claw foot or anything, but it’s pretty roomy.” Scully looks shy as she takes his hand. “This is still weird,” she confesses.

“Yeah. But it’s, I think it’s good weird, right?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, squeezes his fingers.

He kisses her in the bright LA sunshine, in front of the bellhop and the taxis and God and everybody. She doesn’t pull away, puts her arms around him in fact, and still the world turns and turns and turns.

#my fic #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #x cops #steve and edy

[ultimaid]

[holds out hands] Jimothan Thoughts Pretty Please ?

[cracks knuckles] ALL RIGHT

this is gonna be long so it’s going under a readmore but this is a short list of my jimothan headcanons. cw for alcoholism mention & religion mention

he was born and raised in southwest texas!

his ethnicity is mexican-italian on both sides

he has a large extended family, mostly on his mother’s side. his dad’s family isn’t really in contact with them as much but they still sometimes saw his dad’s family

his parents are ✨divorced✨ and split up soon after jimothan’s younger brother was born. jim was only like three at the time so it doesn’t bother him much to think about considering he has no memory of it, but he knows his older brothers were upset

jimothan has a relationship with his dad, but since he and his brothers grew up living with his mom, he’s much closer to her. he still calls her at least once every two weeks to check in on her and see how she’s doing

jimothan and his mom actually used to cook together a lot when he was younger!

he’s got three brothers! his older two brothers are twins, they’re 4 years older than jimothan. his younger brother is 3 years younger than jim. he’s close to all three of them

his younger brother is gay and didn’t tell anyone until they were all adults and he was celebrating his 5-year anniversary with his boyfriend. the response from the brothers was mostly “well you never had a girlfriend and you’re the prettiest of the four of us so we kinda figured. congrats we love you”

i’m not clear on jim’s brother’s names yet but i know they all have names that start with j. listen, mama botch has a theme and shes valid for it

jimothan’s dad is like... he isn’t a bad guy, he just has old-fashioned values that he instilled in his sons growing up even if they weren’t that close. jimothan has always been super loving and accepting of those around him but he also grew up with a very clear vision in his mind of what a man is, what a straight man is, what a gay man is, etc.

jimothan was also raised catholic! he doesn’t have a real attachment to religion, but he could tell it meant a lot to his mom. he stopped going to church after he moved out though

anyways. jim had a pretty decent childhood! got a big loving family, weird but not awful relationship with his father, pretty popular in school. he played football in high school and while he wasn’t very GOOD at it, he certainly enjoyed himself a great deal.

he met emiliana his junior year of high school and they started dating pretty soon after they met. emiliana was very sweet, very funny, and jimothan’s family liked her a lot. she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and was very stubborn, which jimothan found endearing. they had fun together

so... they got married pretty much as soon as they graduated!

they lived in texas in a small place for a while longer. emi went to school to try and get a marketing degree while jimothan took up cooking and bartending

once emi got her degree, they moved to chicago (where emiliana was originally from) so she could work on her career. jimothan happily followed her and got really into the food industry. and while he couldn’t ever get a job as a cook (for some weird reason...), he did get steady work as a bartender.

yeah, jimothan’s vision started to go around the time he and emiliana got married. that man can’t see shit, but he refuses to get his eyes checked.

when they’d been married for about 5 years, jimothan and emiliana had parsley. jimothan was ELATED to be a dad and was so excited for parsley to join the botch family. emi had really high expectations of their kid academically, whereas jimothan really wanted a kid he could play sports and talk about girls with. he was a little disappointed to have had a “daughter”, but no matter—he adored the kid just the same, and anyone can play sports!

parsley grew up really intelligent and shy, and he never made friends very easily. he wasn’t very popular and preferred to spend his time holed up in his room reading books. jimothan obviously loved the kid, but they argued a lot because he didn’t understand parsley as a person at all.

when parsley was in middle school, jimothan and emiliana got a divorce. problems had been brewing for a long time, but they came to a head at last and neither jim nor emi could stay in the relationship any more. parsley was crushed, especially since his mother became increasingly cold to him afterwards since he reminded her so much of the things she couldn’t stand about jimothan.

jimothan got full custody (though emi had unlimited visitation rights), and he and parsley moved to new york state after the divorce was finalized.

soon after the divorce, parsley came out as trans. while jimothan had some trouble getting it at first, once he understood, he was VERY excited. he loved parsley just the same whether he was his son or his daughter, but hey, maybe now he could talk about sports or girls with him! maybe they’d start to get along better now that they could relate more!

but that... didn’t happen.

parsley stayed the same shy, nerdy kid, and no matter how much jimothan tried to connect to him, he couldn’t figure out how. he and parsley tried to have conversations, but they always devolved into arguments and miscommunications. as soon as parsley turned 18, he moved out and went to college.

and... for a long time they were estranged. jimothan was extremely lonely for years after that. it wasn’t until parsley was 28 that they reconnected again, this time at the habitat.

they’ve mended their relationship really well! they’re better at communicating now. while jimothan was a little hurt that parsley got married AND divorced over the decade he was gone and never told jimothan, he understood why parsley never said anything and promised to be a better and more present dad from now on.

parsley also helped him realize that he’s bisexual!

he and parsley are now very close! parsley is also close to his dad’s side of the family, especially his grandma, jimothan’s mom!

some miscellaneous jimothan hcs that i couldn’t fit in here:

he started developing arthritis around the age of 45, it mostly affects his knees and elbows

this man. has the THICKEST texan accent. jesus

he developed a mild dependence on alcohol during his estrangement from parsley as a way to cope with his depression. he’s now in recovery and doing very well! he is a connoisseur of virgin cocktails

parsley started to suspect his dad might be bisexual after the habitat closed and they started to hang out more. this man would not shut the fuck UP about “that weird vampire fella who used to come down to the lounge right when i was about to close”.

parsley was correct, and now jimothan has a vampire fiancé.

jimothan makes awful food because of his poor eyesight, but he still makes really good drinks because he can identify different kinds of beverages from the smell. why he can’t do the same with food, nobody knows.

he is the only one of his brothers who is capable of growing such an impressive mustache and he is IMMENSELY proud of it

tiff did his nails one night while jerafina and parsley did Very Drunk Bathroom Karaoke. he and tiff are now very good friends and he has her top three drink orders memorized

#i have more but uhhhhhh this is SO long #smile for me #asks

[thesquidkid]

Pose sur mon épaule, tes peines et tes plaies

Little fic centered around Isobel. I had this idea since I watched the s1 finale, of Isobel learning to live her life, and that idea fully grew after 3x09. I still included the original plans I had, so there are probably some elements that aren't canon compliant but I wanted to keep my first draft.

Title from "Pause", by Eddy de Pretto & Yseult, it translates to "Lay on my shoulder, your sorrows and your wounds"

Read on ao3

Isobel had made her life into her own. She wasn’t a shadow, not her mother’s and not Noah’s. She knew her egg order - scrambled eggs with garlic and parsley, Michael was the one to teach her how to cook. She had a stable job, working as an event planner again, but this time with more control over the events held, and how they were presented. She was close to her parents, but not known as Ann and Dave Evans’ daughter. She had a very solid relationship with her siblings, had more friends than she ever remembered having, and even had a girlfriend.

Overall her life was perfect, but most importantly, it was hers. But she had to fight for it. Break down walls that had been there for years, and had to learn who she was.

She did as Maria suggested, starting with eggs. Remembering what Maria had said about Michael’s junkyard omelette, she drove out to see him, bringing bagels and coffee (three cups, as she had correctly guessed that Alex would be around). Michael then proceeded to cook her different variations of eggs, under the amused glaze of both Alex and her own, who were discovering a facet of Michael they didn’t know about.

After many breakfasts spent at the junkyard (more breakfasts than Isobel had ever eaten in her life - turns out that she did actually enjoy eating food in the morning, especially Michael’s inventions), she settled on scrambled eggs with three cloves of garlic and sprinkles of parsley.

But after having figured out how she liked her eggs, there were still many more pieces of her that she didn’t know. So she went to see Max next.

At Max’s house, the two of them sat on a couch, “What’s my favourite book?” Isobel asked, making Max turn to her with wide eyes and confused look.

“I didn’t know you read.” he replied slowly, trying to remember ever seeing her with a book. She usually only read articles, whether it was online or in the local newspapers, Isobel always made sure to keep on top of the latest. But she didn’t read many books, at least not that Max knew.

“No, I don’t, that’s the point,” Isobel said back, dropping her head in her hands. She took a few shallow breaths, before speaking up again, her head still hidden. “At first I followed what mom did, which was reading health and fitness magazines. And then with Noah, he would read the local news so I would do the same. I don’t have a favourite book, Max! Hell, I can’t even tell you the last book I read.” She nearly shouted at the end, raising her head to meet Max.

Max, feeling his sister’s distress he scooped closer to her on the couch, wrapping an arm around her, Isobel leaning into the touch, her head dropping on his shoulder.

“Well, I have many books around here, and I have a library subscription so we can go check it out if you want,” he suggested, rubbing his thumb in circles on her shoulder.

Isobel snorted, “I don’t even know where to start.” After a beat, she spoke again, “And please, don’t make me read your boring russian literature, I already know I won’t like it,” she said teasingly.

“You never know,” Max chuckled back, before going back to the subject at hand. “But more seriously, I don’t only read boring russian literature, I have some old english stuff too, and quite a big collection of fantasy books. And I know Alex and Michael have read their fair share of science fiction books too, so maybe between all of us we can help find which genre you prefer.” he said, warmly, trying to convey how much he wanted to help.

There wasn’t much Max could do about the past, about Noah and their mother, but he could be there in the present and in the future. He could share his book collection with Isobel, maybe even start a book club, anything she needed from him.

Isobel sniffed and sat up. “Okay, yeah let’s do that!” she said excitedly, standing up. “So,” she continued, turning to Max who was still sitting on the couch with an arm on the back, her hands on her hips, “where do we begin, coach?”

Max laughed and stood up, leading Isobel to his fantasy and romance books, explaining the plot to each book, and giving his opinion on each. Isobel made a few jokes, but both appreciated this little moment, where Max got to share something he was passionate about.

After having gone through all of Max’s books, they headed to the library the next day, to have a look there. Isobel had taken three books from Max’s house and three more from the library, with the promise to come back and discuss books more, until she knew which one she liked. And maybe discuss the movie adaptations too.

She settled on The Sisterhood of the traveling pants, a book that initially didn’t attract her, but the nice (and very attractive librarian) told her that it was a good book that all young teenagers could relate to. Putting aside how she could’ve known that Isobel didn’t necessarily have any characters she could understand growing up, she smiled and grabbed the book. And read it in just two days, going back to the library to finish the series.

Continuing on her path, she discovered her favourite movies with the help of Maria, her favourite music genre thanks to Rosa and Alex, and even her favourite exhibition by dragging Kyle or Liz around to Albuquerque (mostly because those two needed a break from work, and they were both people Isobel liked to hang out with).

Overall, it took her a month to rebuild her life and feel like she was her own person, not someone who was pretending for the sake of others. And she knew that she still had work to do, so when her hot librarian broke up with her, she stayed single for a while, figuring out more about herself in that time.

And eventually, she looked at the people around her. Her sister who had started Isobel’s self discovery journey. Her brothers on whose shoulder she rested her head, her problems, her sorrows. Her friends who became like a family, present in her daily life but allowing her to grow by herself, having her back whenever she needed to rest before fighting again. And even the funny, smart, very good looking doctor, who recently had started to become more than just a friend.

Isobel knew what she liked. She knew who she was. She was ready to live.

#i have feelings about isobel #and her fighting for her life #also ive had this idea for a long time now #and i had to write it after 3x09 #at first it wasnt supposed to be eggs #but a leftover cake #which is just a savoury cake madeboutbof leftovers #me and my mum do that all the time #it sounds like something michael would make #its super easy #sometimes its delicious #other times its weird #also there isnt as much maria as i wanted #but i also wanted to keep my original idea and work around it #isobel evans #michael guerin #max evans #roswell new mexico #rnm #rnm fic #thesquidkid writes

[honey-dewey]

Scarborough Fair

Pairing: Max Phillips/Centaur Reader

Word Count: 2,463

Warnings: Reader was stabbed in the leg, but there’s no long description of injury. One use of (F/N)

When Max went hunting, the last thing he expected to find was an injured centaur. And yet, it happened. Of course, Max, with his heart of gold, decided to rescue and rehabilitate the centaur. I’m sure he can’t fuck that up, right?

The night was young, a perfect full moon suspended behind light cloud cover and a nice breeze cooling the overly warm summer day. Max wandered aimlessly, hands in his pockets as he strolled through a hiking path, searching halfheartedly for a meal. At this point, he’d take what he could get, his stomach growling slightly as he thought about the cotton-y feeling in his mouth. He needed to eat. 

A rustling in the distance alerted him, causing him to look up. Faint speaking, maybe two voices, piqued his interest. He tuned his ears in that direction, trying to pick up distinct words. 

Before he could, the smell hit him. The powerful tang of horse blood sent his senses haywire, and he honed in on the smell, slowly heading down the path towards the meal, his intent to hear the voices completely forgotten

As he drew closer, the talking got more distinct, until he slowed, almost stopping completely to listen to the voice singing. It snapped him out of his crazed hunting, the bloodlust fading as he listened. 

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.”

Max stopped, frozen between two trees on the border of a clearing, lush with ferns and other greenery. Settled next to a log, emitting the smell of blood, was a centaur, singing the enchanting song. 

“Remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine.” 

Still frozen, Max watched the centaur whip around to face a squirrel who had rustled the undergrowth, the singing fading with a fearful squeak. He tried to slip away, noiseless, but the centaur caught him, wide eyes turning to trap him where he was. 

Max cleared his throat, trying to take the edge off the nerves building in his stomach. “Are you okay?”

The centaur flinched away, a yelp of pain escaping them. Max took a step forward, causing the centaur to move back, dragging a clearly injured leg. 

“I just want to help,” Max promised, holding his hands out, near his shoulders so they knew he was unarmed. “Your leg, what happened?” 

The centaur eyed him nervously before slowly extending their injured leg. Max smiled, kneeling down and slowly tracing across the wound, a stab mark. It was deep, but hadn’t been made with anything horribly large. Maybe a pocket knife? Whatever it was, Max could smell the metal, so it hadn’t been wood. He looked around, trying to find something to stop the active bleeding. 

“Do you have any fabric?” He asked, looking at the centaur.

They nodded, digging around in a small leather bag on their hip and handing him a roll of linen. Max took the roll, slowly wrapping it tightly across the wound. 

“Done!” He said, sitting back and smiling. “Are you gonna be okay?” 

The centaur nodded, using a nearby tree to wobble to their hooves, immediately falling back down when they put pressure on their injured leg. 

“Okay maybe not,” Max mumbled. “C’mon, you can crash with me for a bit. Better than staying out here.” 

“No!” 

Max stopped. “Darling, if you stay here, I guarantee the next vampire to come around is going to use you as an easy meal. We don’t want that, do we?” 

The centaur bristled, shoulders rising in defense. “And what makes you think you can protect me?” 

Max smiled, leaning down and bearing his fangs. “Trust me. No one’s gonna fuck with me.” 

———

The walk to the vampire’s apartment was slow. You couldn’t go fast, and you absolutely refused to touch him, snarling whenever he got too close. He definitely wasn’t scared of you, but he did snap away whenever you growled. 

Eventually, he broke the silence. “So. Got a name?” 

You snorted, feeling the horrible stab of pain when you put your back left leg down. “Yeah. You?” 

“Max Phillips.” 

You were quiet for a minute. “I’m (F/N).” 

Max smiled. “Nice to meet you.” 

And the two of you sunk into silence once more. 

By the time the sun had risen, you were in Max’s townhouse. 

“Sorry,” he said, showing you the small bedroom on the ground floor. “It’s all I have that isn’t up a set of stairs.” 

You shook your head, falling into the mattress shoved against the wall and sighing deeply. “It’s fine.” 

Max nodded. “I’ll be back.” 

He left you alone, which was a mercy. You immediately took off your shawl, using it as a blanket, the knitted green yarn warming you to your core. 

After that, you were determined to finish healing yourself. You’d been under too much stress in the forest, the conditions poor for attempting to heal yourself. 

Unwrapping the stab wound in your leg, you piled the linen under the leg so as not to stain Max’s mattress. The blood had stopped flowing, but still oozed faster than you would’ve liked. 

“Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather, blazing in scarlet battalions. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.” 

Your leg started to itch, the golden magic flowing off your hands and surrounding your wound, knitting you back together. It was slower than you’d like, but was truly better than nothing at this point. 

“Generals order their soldiers to kill. And gather it all in a bunch of heather, a cause they've long ago forgotten. Then she'll be a true love of mine.” 

You began to waver, forcing the magic out as exhaustion caught up to you. You stopped, staring at the still oozing injury. It didn’t hurt as much, so you’d definitely healed the worst of it, but it likely wasn’t enough to get you up and walking as well as you needed to. 

“You done?” 

Jumping, you turned to face Max, who was holding a white box and a mass of folded fabric. 

“I said I’d be back,” Max pointed out, kneeling beside the mattress and opening the box. Inside was a cluster of human medical equipment, and Max grabbed gauze, a roll of fabric bandages, gloves, and a small canister of something. “You did good here. But I still want to treat it the old fashioned way.” 

You watched him put the gloves on, wary as he grabbed the canister. He’d taken his suit jacket off, leaving him in a rumpled button up and slacks. 

“This’ll sting,” he warned, positioning the canister. Before you could ask what he was doing, a cold fire spread up your leg, and you swore loudly, smacking Max in the process. 

“Ow!” He yelled, falling backwards from the force of your smack. “What was that for?” 

You tucked your leg up to your belly, protecting it from any more of Max’s assaults. “That hurt!” 

“Yeah!” Max sat back up, cradling his face. “I warned you it would!” 

Still keeping your leg protected, you eyed Max. “What’s in the canister?” 

Max held it out. “It’s a disinfectant. I just wanted to take the precaution. Magic is good and all, but it’s no match for infection.” 

You hesitantly gave him your leg again, bracing for the sting. It came and went, Max working diligently as he pressed gauze into your injury and began to methodically wrap a fabric bandage around your leg. When he was done, you tucked your leg back up under you, huffing softly. “How long will it take to heal?” 

“With how much magic you’ve got and how good I am at playing doctor?” Max asked, packing the medical kit back up and pulling his gloves off. “I’d say a week.” 

“A week?” You asked, looking around the bedroom. “I can’t be here for a week!” 

Max snorted. “Suck it up. And put those on, it gets cold down here.” 

He left, and you huffed at his retreating back. Lifting the pile of folded clothes, you sniffed them hesitantly. An old hoodie and a soft blanket. You draped the blanket over your lower half, sniffing the hoodie and eventually giving in. 

The hoodie was big on you, providing warmth that the blanket and your shawl didn’t. Settling down into the mattress, you let the adrenaline of the night wear off and carry you into a fitful sleep for most of the day. 

The next few days with Max were tolerable. He wasn’t as terrible as you assumed, always providing you with appropriate food and drink. He was knowledgeable about your injury, changing the gauze every evening and thankfully not using the spray disinfectant again. Instead, he used warm water and soap, sometimes adding a disinfectant cream that didn’t sting. 

By the time your leg had begun to finally scab and your magic was back in full, it had been four days. Max insisted on keeping you until the week was up, which made you mad until you realized he was waiting to see if your leg was hurt beyond the obvious stab. 

On day five, you complained about feeling dirty. 

“I promise I’ve washed the blankets,” Max said, settling down on the edge of the mattress with a black water bottle. He never ate, but insisted on sitting with you while you did. Stabbing a bite of your own food, you rolled your eyes. 

“I haven’t cleaned myself in a week,” you pointed out. “Do you have a hose?” 

Max shook his head. “I’ve got something better.” 

Something better turned out to be a shower. An actual shower that fit all of you and Max. He smiled, turning the hot water on and watching your face as you realized what was happening. 

The hot water dissolved every problem you’d been having, from the muscle aches to the greasy feeling. You shifted on your hooves, enjoying the water. You flicked your tail, sending a spray of water everywhere and splashing Max right in the face. 

“Oh it is on!” He shouted, happily reaching around you for the shower head. 

You laughed, grabbing the shower head before he could and turning it on him, thoroughly soaking Max. 

He wiped his eyes, shoving hair out of his face and grinning. “Give me that.” 

The pair of you wrestled for the shower head, you winning on sheer size alone. Holding it triumphantly above your head, you declared yourself the victor before handing Max the shower head. 

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said, taking the shower head and beginning to slowly soak your body. 

From there, you two managed to tag team wash you down, you taking the top half and him taking the bottom. He was careful around your injury, but the bleeding had stopped days ago, and all he did was take care in not dislodging your scab. Soap pooled around his bare feet, slowly soaking into the hem of his sweatpants. You did your best to scrub around the chest wrappings you wore, and you knew you’d have to set them out to dry at some point. 

Max stepped out of the shower once you were sufficiently washed, allowing you to shake the worst of the water off and step out onto a towel on the floor. Max gave you a towel and him a towel, and just like with the soap, you teamed up to get you as dry as possible. 

After that, it was dinner time. You settled in the actual kitchen, kneeling at the table while Max drank from his black water bottle. “When can I go home?” 

Max sighed. “You’ve made excellent progress. But,” 

“I don’t have any infection!” You insisted strongly. “I don’t feel weak or sick or anything! So what is it?” 

Max swirled his water bottle around, resting his cheek on his hand. “I dunno. I like having you around.” 

That caused you to stop, a strange guilt making your food taste sour. “What?” 

“I get lonely,” Max mumbled, not looking at you. “Really lonely. Having you around, it made me feel good.” 

You shuffled. “Max. I wouldn’t leave forever. I just miss my family.” 

Max perked up. “Really?” 

“Yeah!” You smiled, reaching across the table to take his cold hands. “I’ll take you home with me tomorrow and give you my phone number. Then you can visit whenever you get lonely.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

The next morning, you prepared to go home, wrapping your shawl across your shoulders and repacking your small bag. Max tossed on a jacket, pulling the hood up to protect him from the sun. 

“Think you’ll be good to carry me?” He asked, nervously standing beside you. 

You nodded, patting the blanket you’d tossed over your back. “Hop on.” 

He did, slowly adjusting to sitting on your back.

“Ready?” You asked, looking over your shoulder. 

Max gripped the hoodie you were still wearing. “Ready.” 

You took off, the wind in your hair an exhilarating feeling as you raced towards home. 

Meanwhile, on your back, Max was not having as much fun as you. His hold on the hoodie only got stronger as you galloped, and when you finally slowed to a steady trot, his face was flushed red, which you didn’t even know was possible 

“We’re home,” you said eagerly, looking around.

The ranch was far away from prying eyes, with ample land and plenty of accommodations for you and your family. A few of your family members were out in the front yard, and when they saw you, they immediately came running. 

“Where were you?” Your mother worried, grabbing your face and examining it. “What happened?” She stopped, seeing Max on your back. “Who’s he.” 

You ignored the venom in her voice and helped Max off your back. “This is Max. He saved me when a member of the Timberwolves stabbed me in the leg.” 

Your mom’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a vampire.” 

“He is,” you agreed. “But he saved my life.” 

Max shuffled awkwardly on his feet. You stepped back, so you were standing next to him. “You should probably get going Max.” 

“Right,” he said sadly. “I’ve got work tomorrow.” 

You smiled, taking a pen from your pouch and scribbling your phone number on his hand. “Call me, okay?” 

Max grinned, examining the number. “Sure thing.” 

As promised, that night, your phone rang, you scooping it up and eagerly accepting the call. “Hello?” 

“Hey.” Max’s smooth voice filled the other end of the phone, causing you to smile. “How’re you?” 

“Fine,” you said, settling on your bed. “Missing my favorite bloodsucker.” 

Max chuckled. “And I’m missing my favorite pony. How about a riding date, just you and me, hm?” 

You smiled. “Sounds lovely. I’m sure you’re an excellent rider Mr. Phillips.” 

“I’m not so sure,” Max said with a certain silkiness to his voice. “Maybe you could give me some pointers.” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, rolling over to stare at the moon and grin like a lovesick fool. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll see you this weekend, I’m sure of it.”

#Bloodsucking bastards #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Speak No Evil (Part 18)

After several chapters of trying to decide which direction/ending I think would be more satisfying, I still haven't decided. So I’m going to try something super new! I’m going to have two versions of this story. I bring this up now because this is the chapter where there is a crossroads in a sense. So the next few chapters will be version one and then after I’m through with this story line I will come back to this chapter and take it in the second direction. These parts will be marked (V2) meaning ‘version 2.’  I hope that this makes sense lol.

The sun had begun to filter through the windows hours ago, spilling a pleasant and cheek-warming wash of gold over the upturned side of her face. But she remains in bed, head sunken into pillows that are so invitingly plush.

She supposes that she has earned, or at the very least, could use a day spent in bed. Or mostly spent in bed. There can’t be much harm in it, she and Zuko had come to Ember Island to relax. She has simply decided to take advantage of this rather late. She rolls onto her back and exhales. Her ankles are still throbbing lightly.

She stretches her arms and tries to prepare herself to fully wake up and rise out of bed. She could use breakfast, though at this point, it is lunchtime. She lingers for a moment in the hallway in front of the kitchen. Seicho is already awake, she probably has been for some time now.

“You don’t have to cook for me, you already did so much…” she hears Zuko mutter.

Seicho shrugs. “I like cooking, it’s a hobby.” She clearly has a lot of those, hiking, fishing, botany...it seems as though she has a new hobby for every day and she had spent a good portion of their trip going on and on about said hobbies.

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.” Seicho flashes him a grin. “But if you’d like I can show you how to perfectly cook and season a lobster!” She inhales deeply. “It already smells wonderful. The trip was fun but it’s nice to have a full kitchen of cooking supplies!”

Azula supposes that it does smell nice, especially when she adds a touch of rosemary and a sprinkle of parsley. The woman catches her eye. “You’re finally awake!”

‘More or less.’ Azula spells out. She rubs at her eyes

“Are you feeling any better?” Zuko asks.

She holds up her hands and gestures, ‘a little’.

“Good. Believe it or not, I was worried.” He pauses, “I’m still worried.”

She wonders if Seicho has told him yet of how furiously she tried to hike up that volcano. Agni, she hopes that the woman hasn’t shared anything while she was asleep. She’d much rather tell him herself, if at all. ‘Why?’

“You weren’t doing too good when you left and you came back covered in cuts and...swollen ankles.”

She shrugs, ‘I’m fine.’

She can tell that Seicho is itching to speak up. She finds herself flooded with relief. Seicho holds her tongue. She wonders how long the girl with keep holding her tongue.

‘Really. I’m fine.’ And she thinks that she is telling the truth. She doesn’t feel particularly good nor hopeful. But she doesn’t feel naggingly miserable either.

.oOo.

TyLee bunches her fists and takes a deep breath. She isn’t yet ready, but she is as ready as she can and will be. Regardless of her hesitations, she needs to do this. She needs to if she ever wants to bring her journey one step closer to full closure.

She finds Mai outside of her aunt Mura’s flower shop, pruning leaves and ruffled petals. Zuko hadn’t expelled her from the palace, as far as TyLee knows but TyLee also can’t imagine that Mai would feel particularly welcomed there.

She takes another, much deeper breath. Agni, her hands are shaking. She isn’t sure how in the name of the spirits she is going to confront Azula. She thinks of Tuya and of the rest of her expedition mates. She thinks of the words ‘clever’ and ‘innovative’. She isn’t just ‘sweet’ and ‘cute’ anymore. She isn’t just some bubbly, naive child. Well perhaps she is still bubbly and chipper but she is smart. She is strong and resilient. She can hold her own.

She will hold her own.

“Hello, Mai.”

Mai looks up from her flowers as nonchalant and unexpressive as she always has been. Maybe she could use a venture away from the Fire Nation too. Maybe everyone can use a vacation from the Fire Nation. “How was your trip to…”

“The poles.” TyLee finishes. “It was amazing. Mai you should have seen it, it was glittery and enticing and it was like the Spirit World covered our world in stars…” she is rambling again. That stupid perky rambling. “And I learned a lot about myself.”

Mai quirks a brow. “Good things?”

TyLee nods. “Yes. A lot of good things.” She pauses. “And I thought about a lot too.”

“Like what?”

“Like about how I let everyone take advantage of me. Not just Azula but Zuko did it, you did it, and even Suki did it sometimes.”

Mai opens her mouth to interrupt but she won’t stand for interjection, not this time. “I don’t even think that you guys meant to do it. Azula, sure. But not Zuko and Suki. Sometimes I think that it just happened naturally. Because I let it happen. Because I couldn’t say no.”

“You didn’t mention me…”

“Because I’m not sure about you, Mai.” She confesses. “I’ve thought about it over and over again and I still can’t tell if you actually cared about me--if you actually loved me or if you were just trying to spite Azula and Zuko.” She wonders if Mai is even sure herself. Quite possibly she thinks that Mai had been killing two iguana-parrots with one stone.

“What if I told you that it was a mix of both?”

TyLee is quiet for perhaps longer than she has ever held a silence. The question has so much weight, so many nuances to consider. “Then I would say that it still isn’t okay. I don’t want to be part of some scheme. I didn’t distance myself from Azula to become your pawn instead.”

“You weren’t just a pawn…” Mai trails off.

“I was a pawn with perks.”

Mai shakes her head, “I loved you. For real.”

“So did Azula.” TyLee points out. “But I was still a pawn. I was still being used. Don’t you think it’s a little strange that you were getting trying to get back at Azula by doing the exact same things she did?”

“Why are you defending her?”

And there it is; the trap that they always set for her. She almost didn’t catch it. “I’m not. Actually…” it dawns upon her,  “I think it’s the opposite. I’m telling you that what she did, how she use me, was wrong. And I’m saying that it doesn’t become less wrong when you do it.” She bites her lip, weary of what she is about to say. She thinks that she may have already scratched at the surface of this nagging itch in her head. “If anything it’s worse when you do it.”

For the first time in a while, Mai looks genuinely angry. Her brows crinkle and her mouth curves down ever so slightly. “How so?”

“Because you think that you’re doing it for the greater good. And you pretended like you weren’t doing it. At least Azula was trying to stop and even if she wasn’t, at least she was up front about it…”  The problem with Azula, she realizes, is habit. Habit and constant apologies with no great efforts to make a change.

“What do you want from me, TyLee?”

“I want you to admit it. I want you to acknowledge that you were using me.” She wants clear cut confirmation that she isn’t seeing things that aren’t there. That she isn’t making an issue of nothing at all. She needs to know. “I need you to see that it...it really messed with me, Mai. To have so many people--to have the people I loved the most use me over and over again.” She attempts to blink away a few tears.

Mai’s expression softens and she rubs her hands over her face. “I did it okay. I loved you but I used you. I was mad at Zuko. Azula is the worst person I’ve ever met. And You’re one of the best. It was perfect; they’d both get hurt and I’d...we’d be happy.”

TyLee shakes her head. “You’d be happy. I want to be loved, Mai. I want to be loved completely with no ulterior motives.” And it comes to her that she can be.

“So what are you going to do, TyLee? Cut us all out.”

She doesn’t want to. She’d love to keep talking to Mai and Zuko, and even Azula, if only in moderation. “If I have to. Don’t make me have to.”

.oOo.

“No, no, like this!” Seicho takes her by the wrist and guides her hand.

‘Is there really an exact method of sprinkling salt on sizzle-crisps?’ Azula asks.

“There’s a particular way of arranging the dish too once the salt and spices are added. Personally I like to arrange my fruit slices and salad leaves to make pretty pictures…”

‘You like to play with your food.’

“It’s an art, princess! Culinary art. An undervalued art, if you ask me!” She pauses. “If you want, you can put the parchment aside and spell words out with fruit slices or sprinkle tyme to make letters.”

‘No thanks.’ She writes as Zuko grumbles, “and dirty our counters? We don’t have servants here so I’ll be the one cleaing the mess.”

“Azula can help!”

‘Azula won’t help.’ Cleaning is beneath her. Getting her hands dirty to knead dough and toss flour was a task better suited for serving personnel. She still isn’t sure why she has rolled out and flattened so many circles of dough. She gestures to them, ‘what for?’

“We’re going to wrap the sizzle-crisps in them, of course.” Seicho smiles.

Azula blinks.

“What kind of abomination are you having us make?” Zuko throws his hands up, kicking up a cloud of flour.

‘An affront to taste buds all over the Fire Nation. We ought to have you banished.’

“Don’t banish me until after you try it.” Seicho declares.

Azula picks up one of the sizzle-crisps and wraps it up in a blanket of dough. She supposes enduring the woman’s terrible cuisine creative process is the least that she can do.

.oOo.

Azula has grown unresponsive again. Seicho doesn’t think that her cooking innovations were that horrid. In fact Zuko quite openly enjoyed her wrapped sizzle-crisps and she could swear that Azula was only pretending not to.

“What’s wrong?” She finally asks.

‘Just thinking…’

With Azula this can mean anything really. Usually it isn’t anything good. Usually when Azula thinks, she thinks too much and she ends up crying either openly or privately. “About what?”

‘My voice.’ She hovers the brush over the parchment as if to add something more. She eventually retracts it.

“What about it?”

‘I want it back.’

Seicho nods. She could imagine. Reflexively she touches her fingers to the woman’s lips. Azula curls her fingers around her wrist. She expects to be swatted away but the princess simply holds her hand in place.

She shifts and turns back to her parchment. ‘Do you want to help me find the spirit and get it back?’ She quickly scrawls, ‘truthfully this time. I actually want to look.’

“Yeah, we can do that and maybe this time our brothers can tag along. I really want you to meet Zhang-Zin.”

Azula nods, ‘I suppose.’

Seicho grins. How exciting it will be to go on a real adventure with her. One with a genuine goal. One where they can truly get to know each other. “Great! I was thinking that we can take a little break first. Maybe go to the beach or a party and then we can start planning our next trip.”

‘The beach sounds…pleasant enough.’

She springs off of the bed. “Tomorrow, we can go shell hunting tomorrow and I can show you this tidal pool with these spiny urchins.” Her head is abuzz with idea after idea. Bits and snippets of things that might make Azula feel lively again. And this time she is optimistic that it might just work.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #TyLee #TyZula #Fanfiction #Zuko

[shwazzberryswriting]

7 Steps to Forgiveness, Step 4: Be Honest

Step 4: Be Honest

After saving a stray kitten, Bian and Yangyang became interested in volunteering at animal shelters around the city. They had a particular soft spot for the veterinary clinic near Bian’s place. It had been the place they’d taken Liberty (now named Libby) when they found the hurt kitten at Bian’s door.

Yangyang brought along two of his frat brothers. Ten was an older brother, and he’d joined them a couple times before. Sungchan was a new NCT frat brother, and Yangyang and Ten wanted to get to know him better so they invited him to do volunteer work with them.

Bian and Yangyang washed the dogs while Sungchan and Ten changed the pads in the dog pens. Yangyang was good at keeping the dogs calm as Bian cleaned the paws of the dogs. After a couple hours, they took a break by enjoying their lunch outside.

“Do you think a dog would be easy to take care of?” she asked, eating a strawberry.

“You want one?” Yangyang asked, looking away from his phone. “Today?”

“I’m just thinking about it,” she replied. “Maybe soon, but not today. Do you want one?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said with a nod. “I like cats, too. I don’t know if having a cat first would be better, or a dog.”

As she cleaned up her lunch scraps, Bian saw Sungchan talking to a fellow volunteer with a pixie cut. She had been cleaning the dog pens with him and Ten. They looked like they were getting along with each other. Yangyang noticed what she was staring at and he grinned at her.

“Remember when you’d flirt with me and you’d pretend that you didn’t like me?” he said as they got up to go inside. “You’d stop walking when I wouldn’t hold your hand.”

“You’d try to put your hand on my hip but stop and reach for my hand instead. You wouldn’t tell me that you liked me either.”

“I like you,” he said, taking her hand.

“How hard was it for you to say that?”

“I like you,” he said. “I like you, I like you.”

“I like you, too.”

Her back was pressed to the wall as he stood before her, resting his arm against the wall to her left. As he leaned forward, she reached up and rested her hand on his shoulder. The front door swung open, the bell at the door chiming loudly.

“Look at you cute kids,” Ten said as he pulled out his phone. “Yangyang, stand there with your girlfriend. I want to take a picture.”

“Bro, come on,” Yangyang said as he turned away from Bian. “We’re here for another hour and then we can go home. Let’s get to work.”

“Wait, let’s take a picture!” Ten insisted. He walked over and placed himself between Bian and Yangyang, throwing his arm over Yangyang’s shoulder. Bian smiled as Yangyang scrunched up his face, looking annoyed. “Another threesome date with Yangyang and Bian!”

“Thanks for coming with us today,” she said as she pushed herself closer to Ten so they could all fit into the picture frame.

“Hey, Ten, how come you didn’t bring a date?” Yangyang asked after they took a couple pictures. “Third wheeling is a little cringe.”

“Maybe I’ll leave here with a date,” Ten said with a shrug, looking around.

“We should go see if the water bowls need refilling,” Bian suggested as she and Yangyang left Ten to flirt with the pair of volunteers at the front desk. They were organizing care packages for new pet parents.

As Yangyang helped check in a pair of new dogs, writing down paperwork, Bian was laying out a new mat and water bowl into a couple empty dog pens. Without meaning to, Bian overheard Sungchan speaking with the volunteer with a pixie cut. They were on the other side of the dog pens, apparently unaware that Bian was crouched over laying out puppy pads into the pens.

“Yeah, I’m actually growing a garden in a greenhouse I built in my frat house’s backyard,” Sungchan said.

“You built a greenhouse?”

“Yeah. I mean, I want to be a botanist. One of my older bros is helping me grow my garden.”

“I want to see your herb garden.”

“Really? It’s just my parsley, cilantro and rosemary leaves right now.”

“Hey, guys,” Bian announced as she stood up. The pair of clueless flirts turned their head over to stare at her. She needed to save Sungchan from blowing it with someone he was clearly into. “Can you go see if Yangyang’s done checking in the new dogs? I think the dogs are a chihuahua-yorkie mix and a chocolate lab puppy.”

Before either of them could respond, Yangyang entered with the two dogs in his arms.

“Minji, this is Bian and Yangyang, they’re my friends,” Sungchan said. He threw his arm over Yangyang’s shoulders. “Yangyang’s my frat bro, actually.”

“Oh, like Ten?” Minji replied.

“Bian, Yangyang, this is Minji,” Sungchan said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Bian said as she waved to Minji. “I didn’t bring any water to put into the water bowls, do you know where I can get some water?”

“I can get a pitcher of water,” Minji replied.

Sungchan turned to take the chocolate lab out of Yangyang’s arm.

“Hey, I think Sungchan and Minji like each other,” Bian whispered to Yangyang when he handed the chihuahua-yorkie to her, “but they don’t know how to ask each other out. These silly kids don’t know how to get things going.”

“He hasn’t asked her out yet?” Yangyang asked in a whisper. She shook her head. He flipped his hair out of his eyes and turned over to throw his arm over Sungchan’s neck.

The move would have been difficult if Sungchan had been standing up. Sungchan was younger than Yangyang but much taller. It made for a cute dynamic as Sungchan looked up to Yangyang’s cool persona all the while constantly having to look down at Yangyang when they stood side by side. Yangyang leaned down to speak in Sungchan’s ear as he was crouched over, playing with the puppy in the pen. As the men stood up straight, Sungchan’s face was flushed while Yangyang gave him a fist bump and clapped his back a couple times.

“You got this bro,” Yangyang said. “Just be yourself.”

Ten walked in with a black cat in his arms, talking and laughing with Minji, who had a large plastic pitcher in her hand.

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to adopt this cat,” Ten said, holding up the cat in his arms. “He’s been hanging out with me all day.”

“How many cats do you have now?” Bian asked, walking over to stroke the cat’s head.

“Four isn’t a lot,” Ten said defensively.

“It’s almost time to leave,” Yangyang said, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Bian and I are going to grab pho, anyone want to join?”

“I have to see what my new baby needs,” Ten replied before leaving to return to the front.

“We’re going to get boba from 119,” Sungchan said.

“It’s only five minutes from my dorm,” Minji added. “Thanks for the invite, though.”

After saying goodbye to the animals they’d gotten to spend a day with, Bian and Yangyang began to walk back to her place. She wanted to shower and change before going out to eat. They held hands as they enjoyed the warm weather.

“What did you say to Sungchan?” she asked him when they were at a street light, waiting for the lights to switch so they could cross the street. “It’s so cute how he actually asked her out.”

“I just told him that if he was feeling Minji, he should ask her if she wants to go out for boba or coffee,” he said, throwing his arm over her shoulders. “He’s a cool dude, and Minji’s a cool person too. I told him to be honest.”

“You’re such a caring older brother,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I hope he doesn't do the same dumb shit I did," he said, squeezing her arm gently. "I have to look out for my little bros."

She kissed his cheek.

--

To Part 5

[ask-beacons-finest]

Parsley, excitedly skipping alongside the adults: Ahhh! That's so COOL! It's a gun AND a boomerang???

Marrow, rubbing the back of his head, a bit embarrassed: Yeah, yeah, it's been by my side all these years. Even if I try to throw it away, it always comes back to me.

Yang, snickering: Heh.

Blake, rolling her eyes: Boooo.

Marrow, giving a hearty laugh at his own joke, then smiling towards Parsley: Ah! But what about you, kid? I see you're as interested in weapons as your moms, not nearly to the level of your MOTHER but-, what's your weapon? Some sort of crazy amalgamation of all of Team RWBY's? Another scythe user perhaps?

Parsley, shaking her head, reaching her hands into pockets, bringing back out a pair of knuckle dusters: Nope! Despite Mother's protests, I've gone with something a lot more classic and simple, it works better for-

Weiss, in a shocked gasp: PARSLEY!? DID YOU HAVE THOSE THIS WHOLE TIME?

Parsley, a bit taken aback: W-Well yeah I-, Mother always says a Huntress never parts with her weapons.

Weiss, rubbing a temple with one hand, her other rubbing her eyes: In-...In Vale that's fine, back home. We're in an entirely different Kingdom sweetie, you could've gotten into serious trouble.

Marrow, placing a hand on Parsley's shoulder before she could speak up, calming down Weiss: Don't you worry Schnee, I'll sponsor Parsley for your time here. She's fine.

Marrow, giving a thumbs up and smile to Parsley before stopping in his tracks as his scroll rings: Ah! Hold on a second I have to take this.

Thyme, walking directly into Marrow as they weren't paying attention, scowling: What the-, for fuc-

Thyme, clearing their throat at the glares from Weiss, Blake, and Yang, awkwardly playing it off: For...for fudge, Magnolia, that's what people use baking chocolate for.

Magnolia, having stopped along with the group immediately despite also not paying attention, looking around the new environment with interest, entirely oblivious to what Thyme said: Ah yes yes that's very fascinating Thyme, how wonderful.

Marrow, speaking into his scroll: Ah. Right right. Of course, hun, I'll be over as soon as I can. I bumped into old friends and I'm giving them a hand real quick. Okay. Aha, of course, of course, you've actually already sort of met them before. No, no I won't tell you and ruin the surprise. No. No. Not them either. No, stop guessing, you'll learn when you learn, Tulip. Okay, yeah I will, I love you too. Bye.

Blake, raising an eyebrow: Oooh, Marrow, something you've neglected to mention?

Yang, holding back laughter, ignoring Weiss's scolds and stern slaps: Pfft..."Tulip."

Marrow, chuckling, taking hold of Ruby's luggage again: Ah, you all remember during Salem's invasion, that florist I saved, right?

Weiss, gasping: That woman from the burning building, right?

Marrow, nodding, a small smile on his face: Yes well, she survived thankfully. I would visit her in the hospital to check up on her. I don't like to say it this way, but she insists my visits are the reason she held on and kept fighting. We eventually became a...a thing. I suppose. We're ummm...ahem, uhhh, we're married.

Parsley, with a bit of a starstruck look: That's...so romantic!

Marrow, laughing, his face flushed: Y-Yeah, yeah I guess you could say it is. Aha.

Weiss, stomping directly up to his face, jamming her finger to his chest: IT'S BEEN NEARLY TWENTY YEARS SINCE THE INVASION AND YOU'VE NEVER TOLD US!??!?

Marrow, gulping: I-It uhh, ummm, it never came up?

Weiss, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him: WHEN ARE WE ALL GOING TO MEET HER INVITE HER TO MY HOME THIS INSTANT!!!!

Marrow, letting out a sigh of relief as Blake and Yang pull a raging Weiss off of him, wiping his forehead: I see she's never lost her fire. But Parsley.

Parsley, looking over: Hmm?

Marrow, taking a moment before speaking: I...I don't know if romantic is the word I'd use.

Parsley: B-But what do you mean? It's just like a fairy-

Marrow, holding up a hand to stop her: This woman was a civilian, she lived within Mantle, her biggest worry was the chance of a small pack of Grimm getting over the walls. She didn't deserve a full scale invasion by a threat she had no idea existed. None of them did. No one that didn't make it, and certainly no one that did make it, and has to live with the repercussions. When I rescued her from her burning shop she was pinned down by a burning beam of wood. She lost her arm, Parsley, and it's been nearly twenty damn years and she can still feel it sometimes. I bet your Momma can relate, too.

Parsley, sinking down a little: I-...I'm sorry I-

Marrow, placing his hand on Parsley's shoulder, shaking his head: Don't be sorry, you didn't know. I'm sure you get told this plenty, but a the life of a Huntsmen or Huntress, it's not all heroics. There are boring parts, like paperwork and speeches and having to handle weird brand deals, and trust me those are the worst. To sad stuff, you'll lose friends, loved ones, you'll lose people you don't know anything about but it'll hurt just as much as losing a teammate. Saving everyone is impossible.

Parsley, staring down to the ground, her voice hardly a whisper: So...what do you do?

Marrow, with a determined look: Attempt the impossible everyday, that's what I do, that's what your moms do, and I'm certain that's what you're going to do too. Hell. Maybe you'll be the one to prove it's not so impossible after all.

Parsley, looking up from the ground, nodding, her face turning just as determined as Marrow's: You're right. Maybe I am.

Marrow, nodding, patting Parsley on the back: That's the spirit. Keep up your optimism and you'll be a better Huntress than-OOF!

Weiss, crashing into Marrow and pinning him to the ground, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt, screeching: YOU DIDN'T EVEN INVITE US TO THE WEDDING!!!?!?!?!?!?!? WE INVITED YOU TO OURS YOU LITTLE BASTARD!

Marrow, struggling to speak as he's being choked out: I-It...was a...small...event...family...o-only-

Yang, struggling to pull Weiss off of him: BLAKE!?!? HELP?????

Blake, her arms crossed: She makes a good point. I enjoy weddings.

Yang: BLAKE!

Blake, groaning: Ugh, fine.

#rwby #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #pollination #parsley xiao long #thyme schnee #magnolia jade #clock and dagger #rwby ace ops #marrow amin #poor guy is gonna be killed #sorta long post too oop #i have a part 2-ish post to this too #between ruby and harriet

[arrow-guy]

The Lighthouse (5/??)

Summary: The town is sleepy, the people are nice enough, but life gets turned upsidedown when the God of Thunder literally falls out of the sky.

A/N: This fic just keeps changing a little more each time I go back to it, and it’s kind of great? Hopefully it solidifies soon instead of just being a fun little amorphous blob. Anyway, please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: ThorxReader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

Part 4

Thor lays on the couch with Daisy sprawled out along the length of his body. He absentmindedly scratches behind her ears with one hand while holding up a book with the other. When he pauses to turn the page, Daisy huffs because he isn’t paying attention to her anymore. Thor laughs and sets the book on the floor so that he can comb his fingers through the fur on her neck. He scratches her chin and grins when Daisy’s mouth hangs open and her tongue lolls out.

“You’re very beautiful,” he tells her. “Such a radiant smile. Your eyes sparkle like stars.”

Daisy licks his hand and he ruffles the fur along her rib cage.

“It’s almost like she understands exactly what you’re saying,” I comment.

He leans forward and rubs his nose against Daisy’s. “She’s so smart, I’m sure that she does.”

Daisy licks Thor from his chin to his nose and he just laughs.

“Ugh, you guys are adorable.”

Thor glances at me before looking back at Daisy and saying, “I think (Y/N) is feeling neglected.”

He coaxes Daisy off of him and shuffles off the couch over to where I'm propped up against the wall. He bundles me up in his arms and places me in his lap. When I'm right where he wants me, he tucks his face into the crook of my neck and Daisy lays herself on top of us. I laugh and Thor's beard scratches my neck. Daisy pushes herself up to lick my face and I just laugh harder.

“Guys, stop,” I wheeze.

Thor hums and the sound rumbles through his chest like thunder. He says, “But, (Y/N), this is so comfortable. I think Daisy would agree with me if she could speak.”

“Oh, I’m sure she would.” I push Daisy away and she settles against my lap. I scratch all up and down her back and she smiles her doggy smile. “She’s easily persuaded. Especially if there’s treats involved.”

Daisy’s ears perk up and her tail wags at the mention of treats. Thor laughs and I shake my head.

It takes some effort to extract myself from Thor’s arms, but I manage and head to the kitchen.

“I’m gonna start on dinner. Is there anything specific you’d like?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You were talking about chicken pot pie a few days ago. I don’t think I’ve ever had it before.”

I gasp in feigned surprise. “What a travesty. We have to fix that immediately.”

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Always." I pull the veggies, chicken, and pie crust from the fridge. "Could you start chopping the vegetables? I'm going to put the crust in to bake before starting on the filling."

"Of course."

He hauls himself up from the floor and joins me in the kitchen. He washes his hands before washing the carrots and celery. The oven heats as I shape the crust and begin measuring out the flour, oil, pepper, parsley, and thyme. Daisy trots in and sits beside Thor as he chops carrots and waits patiently for him to drop something. I watch him glance down at her and frown when he sees her big, pleading eyes. He slowly slides a slice of carrot across the cutting board and flicks it down to her. Daisy immediately snaps it out of the air and trots off with her prize. He immediately looks guilty as soon as he notices me watching him.

“Sorry,” he says.

“For what? Giving Daisy a healthy treat?” I laugh. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just love watching the way you are with her. She really loves you.”

“You think so?”

“Thor, she sleeps in the same bed as you. She barely does that with me and my dad and I got her when she was a puppy. Believe me when I say this; you are her best friend.” I smile and turn back to my work. "You're mine too, by the way."

I hear him set the knife down. "Oh," he says.

I bite the inside of my cheek and shuffle seasonings around on the counter in front of me. "I know it's only been like three weeks, but I just feel comfortable around you. I trust you and I like talking to you. I just-"

Thor gently places his hand in the small of my back and I jump, startled. I turn to face him, brows pulled together, and frown. His eyes flit over my face as he carefully cups my jaw in his massive hands. My eyes flutter closed as he brushes his lips against mine. I tilt my head slightly in order to press my lips to his, only to abruptly pull back a moment later. I cover my mouth with one hand and drop my forehead to his chest as the realization of what just happened starts to sink in.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “That was inappropriate.”

He begins to pull away, but I grab a handful of his shirt and he stops. He clasps his hands behind my back and waits for me to say something. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut..

“I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“Wha-why?”

“You’re so perfect and I’m...” I sigh. “Inexperienced.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “All that matters is how you feel.”

“How I feel?” My heart pounds in my chest and I lean away from Thor as it becomes harder to breathe. “I feel lightheaded.”

“(Y/N)?”

“I can’t-” My knees give out and I can’t catch myself on anything before I start to fall.

Thor grabs me under my arms and slowly lowers me to the floor. He smooths his hands over my hair and shoulders, quietly asking if I’m alright. I shake my head, unable to explain what’s happening. I grip Thor’s shoulders as the world around me melts away. The scene that unfolds before me definitely isn’t my kitchen and I can’t see Thor anywhere. I can, however, still feel his hands on my face. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope that I’ll be back home when I open them.

“(Y/N)?”

My eyes snap open. “Heimdall?”

An imposing figure slowly appears from the shadows, He has a massive sword strapped to his back and a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He crouches down in front of me and a few of the locs he hasn’t tied back fall into his face. His eyes are a vibrant yellow gold and cast a striking contrast against his dark skin.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says.

"My pounding headache agrees with you," I mutter.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Thor and I were starting dinner and-" I pause. "You should've been able to see all of it, right?"

"The two of you disappeared from my sight for only a moment. Now you're here."

"But I'm still at home," I protest. "I can feel his hands on my face. I know I'm not actually here!"

"But you are,” he says. “Part of you is, at least."

“But why? How?” I shake my head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“It may not be a matter of doing something. It may be that you were called here by something stronger than any of us.” He leans in slightly. “How is he?”

“He’s good. I just worry that he’s spent too much time around me.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I don’t want him to experience any kind of Stockholm syndrome or anything.”

He takes a moment to process what I said. Eventually, he shakes his head. “I highly doubt that would be a problem.”

I nod. “Okay.”

He reaches out and places his hand on my arm. “Are you alright?”

“I…I don’t know.” My brows pull together. “Do you think you could see him through my eyes?”

“How so?”

“Well, if I’m both here and there, and you can see everything, maybe there’s a way for you to access whatever magic I might have, and see through my eyes.”

“There’s no telling what that would do to your mind.”

"But isn't it worth the risk? I'm not really useful outside of keeping a roof over his head. If there's any way that I can help, I'm willing to do it."

He frowns. "Are you sure?"

I don't even have to think about it. "Certain."

He sighs and mutters something about humans being 'so stubborn' and I act like I didn't hear anything. "Is he touching you right now?"

"Yes," I say. I can still feel Thor's warm hands against my cheeks.

"Place my hands exactly there," Heimdall instructs. "And mirror the placement on me."

"I'll be touching Thor, then. Are we just forming some kind of magic circuit?"

Heimdall nods. "If this works it will reduce the strain on your body."

"Alright." I place Heimdall's hands on my face and reach out to do the same to him. I don't feel his beard, but Thor's instead. I run my thumb over his cheek and I feel Thor press his face into my hand.

"Are you ready?"

I nod. "I can feel him," I murmur. "He's there."

"Close your eyes." I do as he says. “Clear your mind and…”

My eyes open of their own volition and everything that I can see feels very far away. Thor sits in front of me, deep furrow between his brows. I can see his lips moving but I can barely hear what he’s saying. I open my mouth to speak, but the voice that comes out isn’t mine. Surprise flashes across Thor’s face and my grip on his face tightens when he jerks back.

Heimdall’s voice flows from my mouth, telling Thor to calm down before he explains what’s happening. Thor slowly relaxes as Heimdall continues to speak with him. Thor asks about Loki and doesn’t get an answer that he likes. Sound fades away completely and I’m left to watch as Thor and Heimdall speak privately. Everything blends together and I don’t know how much time passes before sound filters through my consciousness again. Before I can fully hear again, Heimdall asks Thor something that makes his eyes go wide, but his expression soon softens and he traces his thumb across my cheekbone.

Thor nods and says, “Yes.”

Heimdall’s deem hum rumbles through my chest in response, and he says, “I see.”

“Could I have her back?” Thor asks.

"Have more faith in yourself, (Y/N)," Heimdall says, just for me to hear, and then any sign of him is gone.

All of my energy is gone, and without Heimdall's magic to support me, I feel myself begin to topple backwards. Thor's arms circle around me before I can hit the linoleum.

I look up at him and smile weakly. “Well, that was exciting.”

"That was foolish," he admonishes. "You don't know what that much power could have done to you."

"You and Heimdall were able to speak," I mumble. "Seems worth the risk."

Thor shakes his head and holds me to his chest. "Not to me. Not if it means losing you."

I curl my arms against my chest. “I’m fine,” I whisper.

“You’re not. You nearly collapsed not five minutes ago. I’d say that’s cause enough for concern.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” I sigh and push away from his body. “I just… I want to help you, and I don’t know how.”

“You’ve already done more than I could ever ask of someone in your position.”

“I just wish I could do more, and what Heimdall and I were able to do? That felt like more. It felt like progress.” I press my lips together. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He just nods and helps me to my feet. With one arm around my waist, he walks me from the kitchen to the living room and sits me at one end of the couch before sitting at the other end. I fiddle with the hem of my sweater, trying to figure out what to say. Eventually, Thor sighs and shifts slightly forward.

“Heimdall mentioned that you’re worried that I’m spending too much time with you.”

“Maybe I am.” I pick at the skin around my fingernails. “I mean… why else would you kiss me?”

“How would that change anything?” he asks. “You’re not holding me hostage, (Y/N). I could leave if I wanted to.”

“Then why stay?”

“Because I like you,” he says. “I like being here, with you. Heimdall sent you to find me, but that doesn’t mean he tricked me into enjoying your company.”

My brows pull together. “I guess I just don’t understand, though. I’m human. I don’t see what I could have to offer you.”

“I’d say the same of myself. I’m not an ideal partner, to say the least.” He shuffles closer to me on the couch and reaches out to stop my fidgeting hands. “I’m rarely on Earth for very long, and when I am I’m with the Avengers. I’m overbearing, at times, and regularly disregard people’s need for personal space.”

“I’m hearing a silent ‘but’ in that explanation.”

“But I do know that I care about you, (Y/N). You are quick witted and kind and selfless at the worst times. You dropped everything to help me and opened your home to me when you didn’t have to.” He turns one of my hands over and traces his fingers across the palm. “I know that you’re a reserved person, and with the way I’ve seen people in this town treat you, I can’t say that I blame you, but you’re open with me. And I have to hope that counts for something.”

"Of course it does. I just don't…" I bite my lip. "I don't know what to do. Of course I'm attracted to you. Who wouldn't be? You're handsome and gentle and kind and way smarter than anyone gives you credit for. But I'm not good at this. The friendship part, I'm a pro at. But when it comes to serious feelings, it's like the instructions were completely left out of my manual."

"I understand."

"I just need to go slow." I press my lips together and finally meet his eyes. "You're wonderful and attentive, but I need more time for the connection that you seem to already feel."

He smiles. "Is that a yes?"

"A conditional one, but yeah." He grins and I can't help smiling. "Don't get too excited. When I say slow, I mean it. Glacially so. Like, tectonic-plates-shifting, kind of slow."

“You don’t have to warn me,” he says. “I understand.”

“Thank you.” The quiet of the house suddenly hits me and my brows pull together. “Where’s Charles?”

Thor frowns. “Where’s Daisy?”

We sit silently, listening for any skitter of claws or patter of small feet against the hardwood floors. The entire lighthouse is dead quiet for nearly five minutes before we hear a crash somewhere upstairs, followed by a yowl and a round of barking. My eyes go wide and Thor and I immediately jump up from the couch to investigate. We scramble up the stairs, searching for the pets.. We relax only when we find Charles and Daisy huddled together under my desk and my rolling chair overturned on the floor.

Thor steps into the room and picks up the chair before crouching in front of the desk and coaxing Daisy and Charles out. Daisy shuffles out and Thor pats the top of her head. Charles, on the other hand, is a little more spooked. Thor does his best, but Charles refuses to leave the safety of the desk. I watch for a moment longer before I place a hand on Thor’s shoulder and lower myself to the floor.

Charles perks up when I extend my hand to him and lifts his nose to smell the air.

“Come on, bud,” I murmur. “The big bad chair’s not gonna get you.”

He crawls halfway to me and stops before he bolts for my lap. He pushes up on his hind legs and practically crawls onto my shoulder. I hug him up against my chest and laugh when he starts to purr. Daisy lays herself across Thor’s lap and I rest my head against his shoulder. It suddenly hits me how late it is. At this point, it's to late to make chicken pot pie. I sigh and try to figure out what to make for dinner.

---------

Part 6

Thank you guys so much for reading! If you liked this chapter, please reblog, comment, or shoot me an ask! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

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This fic:

@chelzwwefan , @claire-of-the-country , @sunflowers-and-swear-words , @heystucky , @annathewitch , @thebdelliumlady , @myfuturisticallysteadycollector, @inumorph , @slitherysneke , @bojabee , @givemethatgold, @shynara51

#thor odinsonxreader #readerxthor odinson #thorxreader #thor x reader #readexthor #reader x thor #thor odinson #thor #the golden boi #reader insert marvel fic

[fallenhunter851]

Recorded Messages

I’ve recently completed the Daily Heroic Challenge where you find Cayde’s hidden caches. And all I want to say is: Thank you Bungie for bringing tears to my eyes for the first time since D2 came out.

Enjoy!

Warnings: None

Cayde knew that he would die one day. He just wasn’t sure when or how.

Part of taking on the role of Hunter Vanguard.

No matter what, you ended up dead.

No memory wipes.

No revives.

No more Light.

Cayde wasn’t looking forward to that day.

Would it be painful or gentle? Would it be quick or slow? Would it be among friends and family or among his enemies?

He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to leave a message to those that would find his stashes… to his potential killers.

Cayde stared at the little voice recorder currently sitting on the small table in his living room. Hands curled under his chin, he let out a sigh and let his head hang a little. He knew he needed to do this, but... but this was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

Cayde decided to start with Eris Morn’s message. They were close enough to call each other friends and have each other’s back, both agreeing that a Hunter’s place wasn’t in the Tower, but out in the Wilds. But most of the time, the two didn’t really get along. Bickering on most occasions.

‘Children, the both of you.’ He remembers Ikora telling both of them one day before the fall of the Tower to Ghaul. Cayde let out a breathy chuckle and clicked the button on the side of the voice recorder.

“This one’s for Eris Morn. Ahem. If you’re listening to this, congrats on killing me! I assume you… became a Hive Death God and fed me to your worm cult.” Cayde paused what he was saying to let out a shudder at the mental image his mind created for him, before letting out a small breath and carrying on with the recording.

“That, or you just finally got sick of me. Coincidentally, if you didn’t kill me and still somehow hear this… I’m sorry for stealing your ship. And, oh, pretty much every other interaction we ever had. But to be clear- if you DID kill me, I do NOT apologise, and I will consider all my actions 100% justified.

Either way, feel free to put your rock on my maps now.

I don’t need’em anymore.”

One down. Nine to go.

“This one’s for that armless coward Taniks the Scarred. If you’re listening to this… you killed me. But I bet I took a big chunk out of your ugly husk with me.

Guess Andal Brask wasn’t enough for you, huh? You wanted another Hunter Vanguard for your sick collection? I got my fair share of regrets, sure… but not putting a bullet in you has gotta rank in the top three.

Won’t be long before a better Guardian than me puts you in your place.

Just wish I could be there to see it.” A sour taste was left in Cayde’s mouth at the mention of Taniks, but a more foul and upsetting taste was left after mentioning Andal’s name. He hadn’t talked about Andal in centuries, and the last person he did was living up near the Iron Temple, and he wasn’t coming down anytime soon.

Two down. Eight to go.

The first time Cayde had met The Drifter, it was a cold rainy day near the Annex, and he had just finished a round on the Tower when he had spotted him hiding in the shadows of a back alley. They didn’t talk, just nodded to each other and carried on with their days respectively. And something akin to mutual understanding began.

“This one’s for the fellow calls himself The Drifter. You did warn me running with you would put a target on my back. Guess I’m in good company though, huh? After all, never had any fun without a little risk. That’s the whole idea with the operation you’re putting together, ain’t it? MY idea by the way.

Had it, like, a million years ago, back when you were still handsome.” Cayde let out a small chuckle at that, and took a small sip of the water that he had next to the recorder. An Exo may never get a dry throat, but the feeling and sensation is there.

“So, uh, you’re welcome. You know, getting that up and running means coming out of hiding- giving you-know-who another shot at you. Hope I was around to see THAT showdown. Personally, my money was on the guy with the Golden Gun. But hey, what do I know? I’m dead.”

Three down. Seven to go.

“Petra… if you’re listening… you killed me. Maybe the Sovs, in all their mysterious wisdom, decided they were sick of me? If the Queen ordered the hit, I guess I understand. You’re a real glutton for chivalry. But if it was Uldren, I’m pissed. Just thinking about that peacock gives me a headache. But I’m betting my death was another case of your famous collateral damage. ‘Cause you’re a real do-gooder. Seriously, it’s annoying- but good deeds never go unpunished when you’re around. You just… You got a blast radius P.V. Well, it was… fun while it lasted.

Oh, and, uh, tell ‘Paladin Oran’: If the sun over Nessus escapes nebula cycle, evac labor after dawn, under solstice. You got that P.V.?”

Four down. Six to go.

Cayde grumbled at the thought of this message, but it needed to be recorded. So he took a deep breath, sighed, kept his voice low and even, then let a hardened gaze fall over his face.

“This one’s for the minds behind the Deep Stone Crypt. You think just ‘cause you made me, you can unmake me? Hey, I understand. I were you, I wouldn’t want people knowing what I did either. Guess you better hope I didn’t tell anyone about the Crypt. Or about the, uh, what was it? Oh yeah... Long Slow Whisper. ‘Cause if I did, that would be real bad for you, huh? I may be dead, but I guarantee you ain’t hear the last of me.”

Only five left.

“Here’s one for Suruya Hawthorne. You know, when I told my Ghost I’d be making one of these for you, she laughed. I didn’t have to tell you that. Just wanted to make you feel bad.

In my defense, if you’re listening to this, you did kill me. I mean, if it was a fair fight, mano a mano, I'd win, no question. But I can see you planning out some convoluted, meticulous trap. Some would call that Paranoia. Me? I call it ‘being a Hunter’.

So, here’s your next Hunter lesson: Looking after your own.

Speaking of which: Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of Colonel! Now, she only eats sesame seeds muesli and drinks purified spring water with a sprig of parsley. Play nice you two!” Cayde let out a fond chuckle at that, thinking of how attached he had gotten with the chicken the first time when he had gone to the Farm after leaving Nessus.

Four left.

Thinking of who to address this audio log to, Cayde looked around his apartment, taking in the small treasures that he had collected over the years. He felt himself getting slowly choked up as he neared the end of the logs for his hidden caches.

He had to make these last few more memorable.

“This one’s for any Hunter who kills me. Best guess: Marcus Ren? You realise you get my stuff now? ALL my stuff. INCLUDING the Hunter Vanguard gig. Yeah, congrat-u-lations, dummy. That’s what we call a Vanguard Dare. Sucks, doesn’t it? OK, brace yourself for some advice, hotshot.

One, know your people. Like, my Nessus Scout, Quantis Rhee. I like to call her about once a moon, else she gets a little too much Night, not enough Stalker, you know?” Cayde made a mental note to call Rhee after he had finished these logs. Thank her for everything she has done.

“Two, keep your weapons sharp. Your jobs’ to watch everyone’s back, which means no one’s watching yours but you. And three, start thinking about what you want to do for your successor’s Vanguard Dare. ‘Cause trust me, kid- this gig will kill ya.”

Three left. And Cayde knew that these three would be the absolute hardest messages he would ever have to record for anyone to hear.

“Hahaha! Ha! Sorry, sorry! I’m just… I’m imagining how awkward you must look right now. Ha. Ahem. Ahem! OK. Zavala. So, I’m dead. You killed me. My stuff is yours. No more working me over at Chess. No more getting worked over at poker. For real though, you know that if you needed to kill me for ‘the good of the City’ or whatever, I totally understand.

No hard feelings. Nada.

You can put this voice recording away and go on with your life.

Now, if you DID have some kind of lingering guilt or something… that would be rough. ‘Cause you and I both know you’d have me yapping in your ear for the rest of your days. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.

Two left, He felt his resolve slipping.

“Hi Ikora. So you know I’m making a bunch of these, right? I probably told you. I always gotta have the last word, and I’m gonna be prepared for every possibility. But to tell the truth? This one’s the easiest to make.” Cayde had to take a pause and breathe out, he knew that this was a lie- but it was the only way to make it easier for himself to record these.

“So as long as we’re being honest, I could never tell if you really liked me that much. But, uh… well, if you did hate me, the feeling was NOT mutual. In fact- yeah, I’ll say it- don’t even mind if you killed me. I figure if we threw down… first off, no one can blame me for losing. And… I know you’d be in the right. So… thanks? I guess? You were a… a good friend. Better than a guy like me could hope for, anyway.

So yeah, thanks Ikora. For everything.”

One left.

Cayde couldn’t do it. Not tonight or any time soon for that matter. He broke down into tears. Sundance materialised next to him and allowed Cayde to pull her tight to his chest in any form of comfort as the night gave way to sunlight.

As Cayde walked over to his usual space, he saw Setara and Echo standing next to Amanda talking about Traveller knows what. Turning his walk into a jog, he sped over to the trio and pulled both Setara and Echo into a tight hug, burying himself between them as he whispered his blessings. Both Guardians were shocked by this and slowly wrapped their arms around their Vanguard, and when they questioned why Cayde was holding onto them like they would disappear when he let go, he simply shook his head and just held them tighter.

“This one’s for the strong, silent type. You. Congratulations, buddy.

I mean that. Always knew you’d outdo me some day. And if that means you had to do me in, too… eh, you saved my life on Nessus, so I owed it to you anyway.

Take care of the Ace of Spades, will ya? I’m not just talking about the maintenance; Banshee can help you with all that. I mean, take care of Ace. Use it well.

Oh, hey, and… if you found any of those papers from my earlier… eh… deployments? Burn ‘em. Don’t want people poking through the lives of Caydes 0 through 5.

So just... put it all behind you, OK?

Every story has an end.

This is mine.”

#destiny 2 #destiny #cayde #setara #original guardian #echo

[cherry-shot]

Chilean riots | October 2019

Long story short, the subway service in Santiago, the capital city of Chile announced a rise in the travel fee of CLP $30, making this fee one of the highest in the region. (Around US$1,16 per travel at the peak hour)

I want to give some info because guys, it’s amazing how US media is biased

First off, the travel fee represents almost 15% of most salaries in Chile. A country with a freakin high cost of life. We have first world country prices, but third world country salaries.

Second, this is the second time in the year the fee for subway transportation has rised. Since 2007, the subway price has rised in an 80%

People is pissed off (for a lot of things, more on that later) so everyone expressed their desperation. Most of folks here earn less than CLP $400.000 monthly, you have to take the metro 2 times a day. And the transport minister said that is possible it will rise again to CLP $1.000... just-in-transportation...

And the economy minister said “well! this is a nice chance for all the working class to wake up earlier and enjoy a lower fee in the Metro!” (not kidding, he said that... keep in mind a lot of people here takes almost 1 hour travelling to reach their works or homes daily, so people ALREADY wakes up early)

I said people is pissed off, right? Some examples (just this year)

In Chile, there’s a (forced) previsional savings system (known as AFP) which takes a cut of your salary each month and uses your savings as investion. If the AFP wins with the investions, you win. BUT! If the AFP loses with the investions, YOU LOSE THE MONEY YOU EARNED WORKING HARD YOUR WHOLE LIFE. And when you retire, the AFP dosifies how money you get each month. So we end with our grandmas and grandpas getting as few as CLP $30.000 each month to survive. So is no strange to see people of 80 years or older working just to get enough to get by. This year, a professor from Calama asked her AFP (Cuprum) to retire all her savings to pay a debt, and they DENIED HER TO SEE HER OWN MONEY SHE EARNED THROUGH A LIFETIME OF WORKING. This is the fate for everyone who gets older in Chile (with the notable exceptions of the police and the milita who get an AMAZING previsional saving system, even if they retire earlier)

Earlier this year, Carabineros, the police from Chile, assasinated a young mapuche man, Camilo Catrillanca from a shot in the back of his head. The government tried to make it pass like Catrillanca was involved in the rob of a car. Later investigations revealed he wasn’t. He was going to have a barbecue and with a 17 year old boy went to get some cilantro or parsley for the salads, the Carabineros found them, secuestred them, and killed Camilo “for the lulz”

Tons of femicide cases in a year, even a lesbophobe crime against Nicole Saavedra, which the autorities didn’t even care about clearing the case, and the guilty was found due to the protests of the family. Most of the femicide cases are treated by the justice as “passional crimes” and the murderer is usually left with a minimal penalty

Companies steal the water from people to grow an insane amount of avocados. The autorities answers by giving “50 Liters of water to the affected families”. Like bitch, there are COMPANIES, STEALING, THE WATER TO GET MORE MONEY!! WATER. A FUCKING HUMAN RIGHT

Also, companies are polluting the sea of coastal towns, people is getting sick, school is cancelled due to pollution, the government doesn’t give a duck

And if that wasn’t sad enough, activists that are fighting to solve this mess are found “dead”. The medical services say “nah, they killed themselves” but some cases have been sent to foreign police studies, and they have found someone killed them, they didn’t killed themselves

I could go on, and on but this post is already huge. The thing is, people is angry. And began protesting by skipping the pay of the metro until the government lowers the price or gives some solution. The government answer? Let’s get the police! Keep in mind, chilean Carabineros are known for their savagery (oh, they are also involved in cases of corruption, the milita also has a similar scandal). They throw pepper gas (idk how it’s called) to trains filled with old people and kids, even babies. They hit you for carrying a flag or chanting.

AND NOW, the government decided to get the militia on the streets. Great.

A detail: chileans have been silent about this abuses, for years. We haven’t moved for a cause like this since Pinochet’s dictatorship.

People is pissed, and have the right to do so. Because the autorities aren’t willing to talk this shit out, their first action was to send force against it’s own people (fun fact: chilean militia hasn’t winned a war. Ever. Their only goals have been against the chilean people). And I’m angry. Everyone is angry of the abuse. People is dying in the floor of hospitals. Grandpas and grandmas are killing themselves because they can’t keep living without money. Water, electricity and other basic services are getting more and more expensive month after month. There’s a lot of people without a job, without a home. They are taking everything from us. And we’ve been silent. But no more. This changes now. 

You can say “well, not paying is not the way” and you know, you are probably right, but keep in mind that there have been cases of tax evation from the richest/powerful people in this country (and there have been A LOT OF CASES, not 2 or 3, like everyone in the government, police, militia and church are involved in this shit). And they’ve been sentenced guilty. You know what that means to them? Ethic lessons. ETHIC. LESSONS. No punishment. Just ethic lessons. But for the people who works, there is gas bombs, punches, bullets and repression.

Sorry for the lame english, but I needed to do a quick post about this, because all the english-speaking media is not giving the right info. And you NEED to know the truth. If you have questions I will try to answer them as acurately as possible. I can send you photos and videos and give more info.

#chile #riot #protests and riots #chile riots #santiago

[tyrs-right-hand]

Leokumi Week Day Four (Story Two) - Modern AU

“Hello.” A woman’s voice came from across the table in the library where Takumi sat, and he looked up from his book, surprised. The woman was tall, with... purple hair? “My name is Camilla. I’m sorry to interrupt your reading, dear, but I was wondering if you’d be interested in going to dinner this weekend?”

Takumi gazed up at her from over his book, mouth agape. He most definitely did not want to go on this date, but how did he say that without being rude? She’d asked so nicely, he didn’t want to be mean in response. Ryoma had lectured him enough recently about working on “being nicer.” Oh no, he’s been quiet for too long. He needs to answer. Oh gods, what do I say-

Hinata jumped in from where he was sitting beside Takumi, placing his hands on Takumi’s shoulders and leaning towards Camilla. “He’d love to go!”

“I would?” Takumi asked, eyebrow raised.

“Uh, duh! Of course you would!”

Camilla laughed kindly at them. “You don’t need to answer right now, dear. Here, I’ll give you my number and you can call me when you’ve made a decision, okay?”

“Uh, sure,” Takumi responded weakly. What was he getting himself into this time? No matter, he could just call Camilla when he got home and turn her down then, no big deal.

•••

“Oh come on Takumi, you have to go!” Hinoka said.

“She’s quite the catch,” Ryoma added, grinning.

“But-“

“No buts! What reason could you possibly have for not wanting to go?” Hinoka rolled her eyes. “Just say yes and go on that date!” She said, hands on her hips.

Takumi looked to Sakura for help.

“You really should go, big brother. It could be fun!”

Takumi sighed, resigned to his fate, and picked up his phone.

“Uh, Camilla? Hi, this is Takumi- yes, I’d like to go on that date.”

•••

I shouldn’t be here, Takumi thought to himself as he stood on the front step of Camilla’s home. Why on earth did I let them all convince me to come on this date? I’m gay! He sighed as he raised his hand and knocked on the front door. Oh yeah, that’s why. I’m still too scared to actually tell them that I’m gay. The front door opened and instead of Camilla, Takumi found himself face to face with a young man - one of Camilla’s brothers, he presumed. Oh no, Takumi thought. He’s really cute.

“You’re Takumi, yeah?” The boy asked. “Come in, Camilla won’t be long.”

“Thanks,” Takumi said, walking inside and taking off his shoes. “I’m sorry but, I don’t know your name?” Takumi craned his head over his shoulder to look at Camilla’s brother, who was standing behind him. The boy’s eyes snapped up from the floor to meet Takumi’s. Was he blushing?

“Ah, my name is Leo.”

“Nice to meet you Leo.” Takumi turned back around to stop himself from staring. Gods, this boy was attractive- pretty blonde hair, beautiful eyes, a nice figure. What he wouldn’t give to be going on a date with Leo instead...

Stop that, Takumi. What are you going to do, get the number of your date’s brother? Yeah, right.

“You can sit down, you know,” Leo chuckled from behind him.

“Ah, thanks,” Takumi sat awkwardly on the edge of the couch, and Leo sat too, a good metre away from where Takumi was.

“Um, so... how did you meet Camilla?” It was a poor attempt at small talk, but Takumi was grateful for it nonetheless. If nothing else, it at least managed to break the awkward silence that had fallen over the both of them.

“Oh, she came up to me a couple of days ago at the library,” Takumi said, scratching the back of his neck.

Leo sat up a little straighter. “Do you read much?”

“All the time,” Takumi laughed. “I’ll read anything, but philosophy and history books are my favourite.”

“Me too!” Leo leant forward, eyes shining, and Takumi knew right then he was a goner. That excited look on his face was just too cute. Takumi leaned in as well, smiling, and he felt an odd lightness in his chest. They began to talk about their favourite books, which quickly developed into a philosophy debate and then somehow went around to a discussion on the best way to prepare different kinds of soups.

“I’m telling you Takumi, cream and parsley in tomato soup, it does wonders for the canned stuff.”

“I’ll have to try it someday,” Takumi laughed, “but only if you agree to try miso soup.”

“It’s a deal,” Leo smiled, leaning back into the couch. They were sitting much closer to each other now, knees brushing when they moved. Every touch seemed to send a jolt of electricity through Takumi, and he silently cursed himself for it. How did he have it this bad for Leo, this quickly? He had only been talking to Leo for an hour.

Wait, he’s been here for an hour? How long does Camilla take to get ready?

Right on cue, the distinct thud of footsteps sounded on the stairs and Takumi’s heart sank. This would be Camilla now, and that means he’s going to have to tear himself away from Leo and go out with her instead, and then he’d probably never get the chance to see Leo again because the gods know he isn’t going to ask his date for her brother’s number.

Both he and Leo looked over as Camilla entered the room and raised their eyebrows in surprise. She was wearing what appeared to be pyjamas, hair unbrushed, like she had just rolled out of bed.

“I’m so sorry Takumi dear,” she said, “but I just feel absolutely awful right now, I won’t be able to go out. I’m so sorry for making you come all this way for nothing.”

Takumi was about to reassure her while internally celebrating - because maybe I can ask for Leo’s number now! - when Camilla perked up, clapping her hands together. “I know!” She said brightly. “Why don’t you two go and have dinner? You seem to be getting along well, and I’d hate for that reservation I made to go to waste.”

Takumi looked over at Leo to see him looking back, both of them blushing heavily.

“It’s settled!” Camilla cheered, pulling them off the couch and practically herding them out the front door. “You two have fun now!”

The first five minutes of the walk to the restaurant was covered in an awkward silence, before Leo burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, I just-“ Leo covered his face with one hand. “Camilla really is too much sometimes.”

Takumi started to laugh too, and soon they were both laughing together as they walked down the street. Takumi thought they probably looked a bit like lunatics, but he didn’t particularly care. They were still chuckling softly as they approached the restaurant, Leo holding the door open for Takumi.

“What a gentleman,” Takumi teased.

“I’m always a gentleman,” Leo replied, pulling Takumi’s seat out for him with a flourish, as if to make a point. Normally, Takumi would be annoyed, but he just laughed. They continued their earlier conversation while they waited, barely pausing to speak with the waiter when they came over to take their orders, rushing out theories in between bites of food. Takumi couldn’t remember a time where it had been this easy to talk to someone, where he felt like he was making a valuable contribution to the conversation. Where he could honestly say he was completely enjoying himself. During a lull in the conversation, where Leo and Takumi had decided that it was probably a good idea to actually eat their meals before they got too cold, Takumi felt his phone vibrate. Pulling it out, he raised his eyebrows at the text from Camilla which showed on the screen.

How’s the date going?

Suspicion niggled at the back of his mind, so he typed back,

did you... plan this?

Maybe ;)

Camilla...

Oh, fine, you got me. Poor Leo has been sighing longingly at you in that library for a few weeks now, but the dear is much too shy to make anything even resembling a move, so I thought I’d make one for him

While Takumi was still reading this message, another one was sent through.

Don’t tell him I told you, though. He’ll be so mad with me if he knew I planned this without telling him, not to mention incredibly embarrassed. Although, I dare say he’s already figured it out... he’s such a smart boy.

Smiling, Takumi replied,

Yeah, he is... and don’t worry, I won’t tell him.

“Who are you texting?” Leo asked, and Takumi was momentarily worried that Leo was annoyed before seeing the small smile at tugging at the corners of Leo’s mouth.

Takumi couldn’t fight his grin when he replied, “oh, Camilla wanted to know how our date was going.”

Leo paused before replying, but when he spoke he sounded unsurprised. “Well, you can tell her I think it’s going well, even if she decided to set us up in the most convoluted way possible.”

Takumi laughed. “Honestly, she probably could have just said ‘hey you should go on a date with my brother’ and I would have agreed.”

Leo laughed with him. “How about next weekend, we set up our own date?”

“Ooh, you want to go on another date?” Takumi tried to sound teasing, but his heart hammering away in his chest wasn’t exactly helping his calm facade.

Leo grinned, colour rising to his cheeks. “Absolutely.”

#leokumi week 2019 #fire emblem #fire emblem heroes #fire emblem fates #fe14 #fire emblem leo #leo #leokumi #fire emblem takumi #takumi #fire emblem three houses