#they don’t even make deviled eggs all I have is this ham

[crackajackmac]

As a kid, Easter meant two things: getting kicked out of Sunday school for asking what Jesus had to do with eggs, chocolate, and bunnies and wandering what the hell we were going to do with all the eggs. Just like most kids my neighborhood, my brother and I made a morning of dying eggs all sorts of mix-matched colors and experimenting with making the coolest looking egg. We’d have fun going about the yard and counting them up afterwards (as we’d occasionally forgotten one until it made itself known in summer). However, from there, we wanted nothing to do with the little things. They didn’t taste good, they smelled funny, and, worst yet for myself, they were eggs.

However, wasted food is a crime in my house, even now. So I had to get creative. While some like Easter eggs with a little bit of salt and nothing else, I don’t. Eggs are my least favorite food item on it’s own. Always has been. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be turned into something tasty with a little bit of innovation. So, here’s some ways to use those hard boiled fertility bombs this plagiarized holiday.

-Egg Salad

Typically made with just some eggs, mayo, and seasonings, it’s a versatile, creamy spread that’s great for sandwiches, on it’s own for some, and even on toast with a bit of avocado!

-Devilled Eggs

The go-to for many of us, devilled eggs also utilize mayo and various seasonings – maybe some pickle – to make the yolks and their soft outer vessels more palatable. They are highly versatile, allowing for all sorts of experimentation and flavor profiles to be achieved with little effort and expense. In fact, in one of the links below, there’s a recipe for someone who tried something straight out of a county fair: fried devilled eggs.

-Breakfast Hobo Packet

Hey, I’m not above some hobo packets. Something straight out of my childhood, it’s a struggle meal with a history for a lot of people. Aluminum foil, source of heat, and some ingredients make some tasty little self-contained meals. Typically, one could use raw eggs, but using the hard boiled variety takes the guess-work out of wondering if everything’s cooked all the way for nervous first-time cooks or those on the go.

-Cobb Salad

Let’s be honest: people will make a salad out of anything. And the most popular use of hard boiled eggs for the health conscious is the well-known cobb salad, typically garnished with eggs, ham, and a smattering of shredded cheese alongside whatever dressing they deem necessary to make the greens edible.

-Potato Salad

Some people forget the creamy texture hard-boiled eggs can bring to things. While one could go low-tech and make some egg salad, one extra ingredient can make it more filling and last longer: potatoes. Being the most versatile vegetable of all time, potatoes can make anything stretch in your fridge and go with just about anything, including Easter eggs.

That’s it for now! Check the links below for more ideas and recipes. Come back for another helping of Crackajack+Mac whenever your feeling hungry. Eat well and see you next time.

https://www.tasteofhome.com/collection/recipes-using-leftover-hard-boiled-eggs/

https://www.southernliving.com/food/dairy/eggs/recipes-with-hard-boiled-eggs

#easter eggs #easter #ostara #hard boiled eggs #food #devilled eggs #egg recipes

[crazyblondelife]

Not Your Typical Deviled Eggs for Easter

Deviled Eggs are a must at any Southern Celebration, however, this year, I decided to jazz mine up a bit! It’s no secret that I’m not a huge fan of eggs. I’ve tried to like them all my life, but at almost 60 years old, I don’t think it’s going to happen. If I have to eat eggs (other than in cake or pie), a boiled egg with lots of salt and pepper and a dash of hot sauce is my favorite way…until I made these fabulous deviled eggs.

In the South, deviled eggs are taken very seriously…there are even plates made especially for holding these jewels! I’ve always liked the idea of deviled eggs, more than I’ve liked the eggs themselves, so typically, I let someone else make them for family occasions. This year, I decided to make them myself and put my spin on them. I was inspired by a picture I saw on Pinterest several weeks ago and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. These eggs are truly a work of art and they took me forever, but I enjoyed every second and I actually ate two!

I wanted a very colorful plate, so I pickled some of the eggs (recipe below) with beets to give the eggs their beautiful pink color. The longer you let them sit, the darker the pink becomes and in addition to the color, they have a wonderful pickled flavor. I also added curry powder to my filling. There is a debate in my neighborhood (you know who you are), about whether sweet pickle relish should be added to the filling or only mustard. Normally, I would have added the relish…probably just because my mother did. This time, I didn’t use it because I piped the filling into the eggs with a pastry bag and didn’t want it to get clogged and I didn’t want the filling to appear lumpy. The mayonnaise is also important…you can use any brand you like, but I think Duke’s is the best.

I didn’t create a formal recipe card because this recipe is so easy…simply add enough mayonnaise to make a creamy mixture - for 12 eggs, I used about 1/2 cup, really good Dijon mustard to taste (2 - 3 teaspoons), a teaspoon or so of curry powder and salt to taste. I also would normally add a bit of black pepper but didn’t want the flecks in my filling. Mash it all together with a fork and put it into a pastry bag with a big star tip. Pipe the filling into the eggs and garnish as desired.

My garnishes included crumbled bacon, dill, capers, crumbled blue cheese, small pieces of diced celery, thyme leaves, dill, sliced pickled okra (another Southern staple and delicious in Bloody Mary’s), micro greens, and sweet and tangy pepper drops (these are addictive). In the center of the plate, I added a tiny bowl of coarse salt, and small piles of some of the garnishes…just in case someone wants extra. I will say that the curry powder made all the difference for me and the bacon wasn’t bad either!

{"image":"https://i.imgur.com/fr1sSPk.png","name":"Beet Pickled Eggs","prepTime":"PT5M","cookTime":"PT5M","totalTime":"PT20M","description":"These eggs make the most beautiful deviled eggs and they're also delicious on avocado toast!","yield":"6","author":{"@type":"Person","name":"Suzanne Smith"},"recipeIngredient":["1 package cooked beets","6 hard boiled eggs, peeled","1 cup water","1 cup apple cider vinegar","1/2 cup cane sugar","1 teaspoon kosher salt"],"recipeInstructions":["Place beets and eggs in a 24-ounce mason jar","In a small saucepan, bring water, vinegar, sugar and salt to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar and salt.","Pour the mixture over the beets and eggs. Allow to cool, then cover and refrigerate for 24 hours before enjoying."],"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Recipe"}

You may not want to go to quite this much trouble when you’re also cooking an entire meal, but this would also be a fun appetizer for a summer picnic…or if you’ve been delegated the task of making the deviled eggs, this would certainly be an impressive addition to Easter lunch or dinner! And…don’t forget the ham biscuits because no Southern celebration is complete without them!

When I photographed these eggs, I placed them on an antique linen that I’ve had for years. I have quite a collection, mostly purchased from Pandora De Balthazar. Pandora has a line of bedding and pillows that are the best I’ve ever found as well as a large collection of antique textiles. I’ve been collecting for years, and quite honestly, didn’t know what in the world I would ever do with all of these beautiful pieces, but now that I’m cooking more and photographing my food, they are very nice to have!

For our Easter celebration, I’m veering from our typical menu, which is usually some type of salmon. This year, I’m making an herb crusted rack of lamb with potatoes, asparagus, homemade rolls and of course, these deviled eggs. I think another Southern tradition, a Brownstone Front Cake will be perfect for dessert!

What will you be making for your spring celebrations this year? Let me know in the comments!

#Southern food #Deviled Eggs #cooking #recipes for Easter #egg recipes

[faustocosgrove]

book(s) reading update

so both the nazi book and the new york times best sellers list fiction book are so bad that it was making me question my sanity so i went looking for a new book. a third book! maybe the third one will fix me. but i totally lucked out because during my search i discovered the website goodreads has both reviews and related books. and i found people in the reviews saying the same things i was thinking about both of the books so good news i’m not crazy.

so the third book i got is a medieval cook book. skimmed it. might’ve found all the funny bits already but even if these four recipies (three of which are for eggs) are the cream of the crop it’s still been a better book experience than the other two put together.

there’s a recipe with one ingredient. which is just fucking hilarious. it’s also a no pots or pan needed recipe. first you make a fire, then when it has become a layer of coals you stick a grill over it and place oysters on the grill. as far as i can tell the only point of this is to not get ashes on the oysters. when the shells start to separate they are done, pop ‘em open with a knife and slurp those bad boys down. this is such a bare bones recipie, like you don’t even need to hunt around in the forest to find a stick to grill the fish you just caught on. these bad boys are their own cooking vessel. that whole thing is fucking incredible.

but then it gets better. deviled eggs are a ye olde european dish! except instead of making mayo and popping it in the fridge you just sort of add the components of mayo to the cooked egg yolks and mix it all together fresh. so to the cooked yolks add a whole raw egg. like there is raw egg in mayo. and there’s spices and cheese like this is better than modern deviled eggs! and modern deviled eggs are already good!

you’ve heard of green eggs and ham, but have you ever had a green omlette? the lazy way of making this is to chop up a butt load of herbs and chuck it in the eggs but the preferred method is to add a little water to the herbs, mash them to hell, then strain the juice and add the juice to the eggs before cooking like a normal omlette. like that is some pinterest level shit.

ah yes, but if a green omlette isn’t your thing, would an orange omlette tickle your fancy? now remember, this is the mideval times. there’s been no columbus exchange, which is what i blame for teh criminal amount of swiss chard in these recipies. so without tomtoes and peppers, what do you think is in this thing? if you’re furiously googling for red foods that were in europe before 1492 you’d be wrong! because the thing that makes this an orange omlette is the orange juice! literally you’re supposed to pour orange juice in raw eggs, then cook them. if you’ve started screaming at the thought of this cullinary disaster, be at ease my friend. from what i can tell this recipie was developed specifically to be fed to whores and criminals. it was done so with the idea that crime and horniness were the result of eating too many spices and could be cured by eating non spiced food. so kellog trying to get people to eat corn flakes in cold milk was based off a mideaval food theory. so i guess it’s good to know that the man who brought us tony the tiger’s bara titties wasn’t a raving mad lunatic who got people to buy his stuff because they were so enlightened by the yogurt enemas. the thing is though, if i were arrested for horny crimes and the police were feeding me nothing but eggs mixed with orange juice i would be terrified out of my skull into doing or saying whatever they asked of me. props to mideval europe for tortuing people into behaving how they wanted by accident for once i guess.

#adventures with fausto #fausto reviews things

[writertitan]

Midnight Snacks

pairing: eren x reader 

words: 2058

themes: college au, lots of fluff, eren being a little embarrassing with his gas station order 

requested by anon

Finals week had both you and Eren on high alert and in high panic. Truth be told, you didn’t need to really worry that much; you had prepared yourself for this all semester and had really kept up with your workload. Mostly, you were just stressed about the finals themselves and how, well, final they were. And so close together. A gift and a curse. You’d be done before finals week was even over. 

What really had you in a panic was Eren. The boy, bless his heart, was not apt for cramming. He’d kept up with his work like you had, but you knew him like the back of your hand; he was prone to leaving the harder things until the last minute. 

You glanced at your phone to check the time as Eren flipped back and forth between a page in his biology textbook, grumbling to himself under his breath. It was almost 12:30 in the morning and both of you had been at it all night, cramming and rememorizing things just to be prepared, and Eren especially was deep in concentration. You smiled to yourself as you watched his brows furrow even more than they already were, a feat you thought impossible. Just as you set your phone down to continue your own last-minute preparations, Eren sat up straight with a growl and pushed his textbook off your bed with his knee. 

“I feel like my head’s about to explode,” he complained, flopping over onto your lap. His eyes found yours immediately and he pouted as he reached up to stroke your cheek, then turned his head to glare at your textbook, as if personally offended by it, and pushed it off your bed to join his own. 

“Eren,” you whined, about to push his head off your lap, but he stopped you by reaching both hands up to cup your face. 

“C’mon, let’s just take a small break. We’re probably gonna be at this for a few more hours,” he said, fingers lightly caressing your jaw to entice you into going with his plan. You pondered it, then thought about arguing back with him about needing to study, but then realized he was probably right. All of this endless cramming with no break was just going to end up in you not retaining any of it. 

“Just a small break,” you relented, giving him a warning stare. He sat up, much brighter now, and pulled you off your bed immediately. He stretched his legs out and then reached his arms up to the ceiling for a full body stretch, already in a better mood. 

“Let’s go buy some snacks,” he suggested, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you in. “That’ll help with the brain juice.” 

You hated Eren’s term, brain juice, but you knew he had a point. You had to keep up your energy. 

“Okay, let’s go to the vending machines and pick something out,” you said, moving to put some shoes on. 

“There’s a convenience store just down the street, babe. Please can we go? Your dorm’s vending machines aren’t gonna cut it,” he said, the pout back again. You rolled your eyes playfully but again relented, happy to just get out of your dorm room for a second. 

“Okay, fine. But you’re not supposed to be here, remember? It’s way past visiting hours. We have to be so sneaky,” you said, voice already lowering to a whisper. If you’re RA found out you’d been holing Eren up in your dorm well past 10pm, she was going to lose her mind. 

Eren made a show of zipping his lips and acting stealthy, which made you snort. You grabbed his hand after putting on shoes and jackets, and carefully slipped out to start your trek to the convenience store. 

You had to admit, it was a nice idea. And Eren was right, your vending machines didn’t hold a candle to all the other savory treats you really wanted. 

The night was a little breezy, but the impending summer weather kept the spring chill at bay. Eren had your hand engulfed in his, fingers laced as he swung your hands lightly, other hand messing with his loose bun. The night wrapped around him beautifully, streetlights casting glows that defined the most handsome parts of his face. 

He caught you staring after a minute of him being deep in thought, and you flashed him a mischievous grin which he returned.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teased, the lame phrase making you giggle. 

“Okay,” you said cheerily, which took him off guard. You pulled your hand from his and giggled again at his confusion, before moving to stand behind him, hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders and give a small tug to make him stop walking. He knew immediately what you were getting at and crouched down enough to let you hop on, catching you easily and gripping your thighs as you wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Your other hand reached into your pocket to pull out your phone and you wasted no time in pulling up the camera app, jutting your arm out so you could capture Eren’s face right next to yours, the two of you flashing cheesy and ridiculous smiles as you snapped the picture. The automatic flash activated due to the low lighting and Eren whined and blinked, squeezing his eyes shut as the flash went off. 

When you looked at the end result, you showed Eren with a pleased laugh. You looked fine, all smiles and bright eyes. Eren, on the other hand, had blinked a little too soon. His eyes were shut, eyebrows raised, a dopey grin on his face that matched yours. 

“Delete that,” he complained, letting go of one thigh to try to reach for your phone. You were too fast, however, and eased it back into your jacket pocket. “Babe, delete it!”

“Nope! That’s my new favorite picture of us.” 

“I’m not buying you any snacks once we get there.” 

A lie, completely. If anything, Eren would play the little devil on your shoulder and egg you on in just a few minutes, into making not-so-smart choices. Why choose between the chocolate and the gummies when you can have both? 

You moved to hop off once you were in front of the store, but Eren’s grip tightened on your thighs. You angled your head to give him a confused glance, which he ignored, but he turned his head to peck your lips. 

“We’ll be quick. You’ll be my hands,” he said, and you rolled your eyes at his words, but hid your big smile into his shoulder. You knew he could feel the way your lips turned up over the thin fabric of his jacket and even thinner shirt. 

“Alright, what do you want?” you asked him, letting him lead you where you knew he’d go first: the Lunchables. 

“Ham and cheese and crackers, please,” he requested, but you already knew that and were grabbing at it with one hand. He kissed your wrist as a thank you and then asked, “Okay, what are we getting you? The usual?” 

“Yes, please,” you hummed, nuzzling into his neck as he made his way over to your preferred snack of choice. And, after grabbing two drinks, your hands absolutely full, you made your way to the counter to pay. The clerk gave you a bored look, not at all interested in the sight in front of him, and rang up your items slowly and announced your total. 

A contest as always, you and Eren both reached for your wallets. He somehow managed to be quicker, mostly because you were trying your best not to lose your balance as you held onto him with one arm and fished around for money with the other, and you grumbled as he paid for both of you. 

You held onto the bag as you exited the convenience store, again trying to hop off, and again being secured in place by Eren’s tight grip. 

“Aren’t you getting tired?” you asked him, genuinely curious, but Eren nearly guffawed at the question. 

“Are you joking? I wouldn’t even consider this a warm-up, babe. Carrying Jean’s blacked-out ass home after a party, though... that’ll make me break a sweat. I don’t know how he’s so fucking heavy.” 

You giggled, vividly remembering one of those times, and you rested your head on Eren’s shoulder after letting a yawn slip out. 

“I wish we didn’t have to go back to studying after this,” you pouted, pressing a pouty kiss into Eren’s shoulder. “I hate finals.” 

“Let’s eat our snacks before we get back to it,” Eren compromised. “My brain still feels heavy with knowledge. I gotta let it soak it all up.” 

“Always saying the weirdest things,” you teased him, squealing at the pinch on your thigh. 

Sneaking up to your dorm room was as easy as sneaking out, and you pulled Eren for a quick kiss as soon as the door locked behind you. You tossed the bag onto your bed and then began fishing your snacks out once your shoes and jacket were off and you were both able to situate more comfortably on your bed. Eren held you in his lap as he leaned back against your wall and browsed through his phone, the two of you watching dumb compliations on YouTube while you snacked. It was nice to turn your brain off just for a while, to rest up and come back to studying rejuvenated. 

His hand would occasionally sneak up your neck and grab at your hair, lightly massaging your scalp as he pressed tender kisses to your temple. You shared your snacks and really took your time with finishing, letting yourselves soak in your study break. 

“Thanks for making me take a break,” you told him, leaning your head back against his chest. “I forget sometimes.” 

“I know you do,” Eren chuckled, squeezing you into a hug and pressing you into his chest even more. He noticed yet another suppressed yawn from you and hummed in acknowledgement, and you knew what he was going to say before he said it. 

“I can’t go to sleep, I have to keep studying,” you said, beating him to it. 

“You’re studying for your final tomorrow and it’s not even until noon. You know a really important habit before taking a big test is to get enough sleep before it.” 

Damn it. You hated when he used logic against you. 

“Fine, but just a nap,” you grumbled, sitting up to grab at your trash and discard it in your bin. You set an alarm and gave Eren a tired smile. “I’m gonna drag you down with me, though. You need to sleep too.” 

Eren scoffed, his voice a little panicked when he spoke again. “No way. Unlike you, I have to cram. I’m nowhere near ready for my final tomorrow.” 

“Yours isn’t until the afternoon,” you pointed out, hitting him back with the logic he’d used on you. “Like you said, a good habit is to get plenty of sleep before a test.” 

Eren sighed, but you could tell he wasn’t going to argue with you. He looked just as tired as you and the two of you arranged yourselves in your cramped bed to doze off, if only for a little bit. 

His hands found your hair and he played with it softly as you both curled up into one another. 

“Love you,” he murmured, drowsy already, and you smiled to yourself, head on his chest with your hand tracing loving circles at his torso. 

“Love you too,” you answered, warming at the soft touch of his hand on your chin. He tilted your head up to steal a quick kiss to your lips, then to your nose. You closed your eyes and let yourself relax, about to really drift off when you felt Eren shift under you. 

Your ears picked up the quiet sounds of Eren taking your phone from your nightstand. You peeked an eye open, careful to stay quiet lest you arouse suspicion, and resisted the urge to let a huge grin overcome you as you watched him go to your camera roll, tap on the ridiculous picture you’d taken earlier, and send it to himself. 

#i had to reveal my random hc of eren liking lunchables i'm so sorry #eren x reader #eren yaeger x you #eren yaeger x reader #eren yaegar #eren #eren fanfiction #eren fluff #aot fanfiction #aot oneshots #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #aot #snk eren #snk fanfiction #snk

[dameronology]

love in the time of p.t.a. meetings {marcus moreno} - 4/5

summary: after a few months of slightly chaotic bliss, you & marcus start to think about the next steps in your relationship. {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing 

this is up a little later than i wanted & i do apologise, i once again stayed up all night and i cannot recount a single thing i’ve done. enjoy!

- jazz

Things between you and Marcus quickly fell into a routine.

You kind of had to when you both had kids; their lives needed structure. Depended on it, in fact. It wasn’t long before both of your lives were entangled in more ways than one, mostly for the sake of Missy and Jack having security around them but also because things between you were so good. Neither of you were trying to rush by any means, but when it worked, it worked. You were both good at communicating with each other - not that many issues really cropped up - and you both understood that your children came first. Things progressed easily and naturally, and he made you feel secure enough that you didn’t have to question whether or not it was too good to be true. 

Five months had quickly passed and you were both comfortable. Marcus Moreno was your boyfriend and it wasn’t a big deal. Okay, it had been at first - especially the first time he planted a kiss on your lips in front of the minivan brigade - but now? It was normal. It felt like he’d always been there, and you took it as a good sign. You got on well with Missy, especially since she’d witnessed your spat with Carol and started to think the world of you, and Jack...well, he was obsessed with Marcus. You couldn’t blame the kid. 

‘Jack! Put the soup down!’ 

It was another one of those mornings. It was a Sunday, so you didn’t have to worry about getting up early for school or work but you’d been at Marcus’ till late the night before. You and Jack ended up spending a lot of time at his; there was a swimming pool and a big garden for Optimus Prime to run around in, so it tired both of your tiny spawns out, which worked in your favour.

 Even when the kid had spent four hours swimming last night, he’d still risen that morning at 6AM like Jesus Christ on the third day. You’d woken to find the kitchen covered in smashed eggs and ham, then your oven had broken and the toilet was blocked again. 

You’d been halfway through reversing the problem when you’d heard Jack shuffling in the kitchen. You were stood in the hallway, still in your pyjamas, with a toilet brush in one hand and the other balled up into a fist. 

‘Jack, the soup is about to-’

You paused mid-sentence, watching as the bowl he was trying to reach for toppled straight off of the counter. You’d only washed his hair ten minutes ago, and you might as well have not fucking bothered because it was now covered in chunky vegetable soup. And the Chewbacca onesie he loved so much? Trying to peel that off him for the next few hours to wash the Heinz out of it was going to be a whole task in itself. You’d only just been to the laundrette the day before, and you’d gotten to the point in life where having a place with its own washing machine was a sign of success. 

‘Mum, there’s soup in my hair.’

‘It’s okay.’ You took a moment to breath. ‘We are not going to cry.’

‘I’m not crying.’

‘Wasn’t talking to you, buddy.’ You rubbed your temples for a moment. ‘C’mon, let’s go hop in the bath.’

So much of parenting was just...stopping to breath. Stopping to take a moment to remind yourself that although your love for your child was unwavering and unconditional, you sometimes felt like screaming. All you’d done for the last five hours was go in circles, cleaning and lecturing and cleaning some more. It made you wish you were at work that day, because at least then you could have conversations with people that weren’t about what cheese they wanted for lunch or what cartoon they wanted to watch. 

‘I just had a bath.’ Jack muttered. 

‘Yeah well, you need another one.’ You took another deep breath. ‘I’ll be there in a minute-’

‘- I don’t want a bath!’

‘And I don’t want a kid that’s covered in soup!’ You shot back. ‘C’mon, buddy. Just do as I say, please?’

Your conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. You frowned for a moment - you weren’t expecting anyone. There was no post on Sundays and you hadn’t seen your landlord since the day you’d moved in. Your nosey neighbour knocked sometimes, usually asking about the noise (he didn’t have kids, clearly) and you were this close to telling him to mind his own fucking business. 

‘I swear to god, if that’s David again, I am going to shove this can of soup up his - Marcus!’ You almost did a double take when you saw your boyfriend stood at the door - he really chose his times, didn’t he? You hadn’t even had time to put the fucking toilet brush down. ‘Hey.’ 

‘Hey, baby.’ He greeted you slowly, eyes slowly taking in your appearance (and not in a sexy way). ‘Were you not expecting me?’

‘Shit, did we have plans?’ Your eyes widened. 

‘No, but Jack called. He said you’d asked him to ask me to come over, but I realise half way through that sentence that starting with Jack called probably means you had no idea.’ He offered you a goofy smile. ‘He said that the sofa had exploded and that you needed help.’

There was a lot to unpack there. When had Jack done that? More to the point, when had he learnt to use the phone? How had he worked out your phone password? The kid couldn’t do up his own velcro and now he was a Russian hacker, apparently. 

‘Oh my god.’ You groaned. ‘I am so sorry. Things have been batshit here this morning and I’m sure he had my best interests in his weird little heart, but he made you come all this way-’

‘- Marcus!’ Speaking of the devil.

Jack pushed past you, wrapping his arms around Marcus’ waist. He leant down to pick him up, lifting him off the ground - albeit at a distance, due to Soupgate. 

‘Hey, buddy.’ He greeted him. ‘You been causing trouble again?’

‘Not on purpose.’ Jack replied. ‘Mum says I need another bath.’

‘I think she’s right.’ Marcus said. ‘Why don’t you go pick out some clothes and come back in a minute, yeah?’

‘Okay!’ Seemingly impressed by the newfound trust in him to choose an outfit, Jack wriggled himself back down to the floor, trotting towards his bedroom. Seriously, how did Marcus do that? Perhaps his ability to have authority over your archaic child was another hidden power of his. 

‘You look like you need a break, baby.’ He reached out, gently running a hand down your arm.

‘I’m fine, he’s just been a lot today.’ You sighed.

‘You have soup on your shirt and fluff in your hair.’

‘Couch stuffing.’

‘Huh?’

‘It’s couch stuffing. Except that was Optimus Prime and not Jack, which makes a nice change.’ You muttered.

‘Look, Missy is at her abuela’s today and she’s been begging for ages to see Jack again.’ He said. ‘What d’you say I drive him over there, you clean up and we hang out? Just us, no kids, no dogs, no stress.’

‘That sounds like a fucking dream.’ You couldn’t help but smile. ‘But Optimus has consumed half the couch and I gotta keep an eye on him-’

‘-we can bring him with us!’ Marcus grinned. ‘He loves the garden.’

‘Are you sure? Because I remember you saying you had work plans today and I don’t want you to cancel them on account for the fact I can’t control my own kid. Or life.’

‘You two come first.’ He said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Three, including Optimus Prime.’

--

In the time it took Marcus to drive Jack to his mum’s and get back to yours, you were able to clean up. The apartment was still a state, but it hadn’t been properly tidy in...how many days had it been since Jack was born? Because it hadn’t been clean in exactly that many days. You felt a little bad dumping him on Anita when he was still covered in soup, but if anyone was able to wrestle him into the bath and some clean clothes, it was her. You’d met her a few times and she was absolutely lovely, but you had no doubt she could be terrifying when need be. She was the sort of woman you aspired to be.

By midday, you were driving out the city. There was music playing quietly over the radio and you were watching the houses go by; even though it was cold out, you had the heater on and you were bundled up in a leather jacket, Marcus’ scarf snugly around your neck. It smelt faintly of his aftershave, which had become one of your favourite scents over the last five months. The time had gone so quickly. You’d seen each other practically every day since then, and having the kids meant you’d been fallen into being domestic pretty quickly. The simplicity of it all - him and you and getting to this point so easily - was overwhelming in itself. 

Your first relationship had been so complicated - so finicky and filled with unnecessary arguments. That should have been a sign early on, but then you’d gotten pregnant with Jack and getting married had seemed like the obvious thing to do. His presence meant you wouldn’t have changed anything, not for the entire fucking world, but it made you a little sad to think about how long you’d wasted on what had clearly been the wrong person. Meanwhile, Marcus’ situation had been entirely different; he’d had the right person the first time around and then he’d lost them. You never felt like a replacement to his wife, or even thought about the notion, really. That had been another part of his life. You were a new part and it didn’t mean he was forgetting the past. The two could co-exist without taking away from each other. 

‘You’re deep in thought.’ Marcus observed. He moved one of his hands to rest on your leg, giving it a light squeeze. He did that a lot, usually whenever you were sat beside him at the table or on the sofa. It was just a him thing. 

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You tore your gaze away from the window. ‘My brain always goes a little into overdrive when things are quiet.’

He chuckled. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘You, actually.’ You tangled your fingers with his, thumb brushing over the back of his hand. ‘I was just thinking about lucky I am and how good things are, and how it almost feels too good to be true.’

‘Better believe it, baby.’ He replied. ‘Because it is true.’

‘I know.’ You peered over at him with a smile. ‘It’s just...my only perceptions of relationships were based on the single one I’ve had. Everything was so complicated and exhausting. This is completely different and it’s so nice. And normal. And I don’t know, that sounds stupid-’

‘- it’s not stupid at all.’ Marcus peered over at you, shaking his head. ‘It’s natural to be a little apprehensive after a bad relationship and if there’s anything I can do to help, you just have to tell me. You know that, right?’

Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was just him, but you knew for certain that he meant that. There was sort of a silent agreement now that you were both in this for the long haul. Your mum had always said that you’ll know when you know but you’d always written that off. Mostly because you hadn’t known the first time round. But, now you did. You did know and though you weren’t going to admit that to Marcus, you never doubted him for a second. 

‘I do.’ You said. ‘But he’s in the past now - and hopefully it’s where he fucking stays.’

‘I have contacts. I can find him and set Miracle Guy on him.’ Marcus’ grin had returned. ‘Just say the word.’

‘You make a tempting offer.’ You smiled back at him. ‘But the past is the past and I’m ready to...slam the lid on that dumpster.’

‘Do you think he’ll ever want to come back into Jack’s life?’

You pondered for a moment. ‘I don’t think so, but if he did, I dunno if I’d let him. I never wanna be the person who stops someone from seeing their kids but what he did was...it was unforgivable.’

‘You don’t have to make that decision until it actually happens.’ Marcus gently said. ‘And I’ll support whatever you choose.’

He pulled into the drive way of his house - his nice, clean, sofa-stuffing-and-soup free house. Optimus Prime leapt out the car as soon as the door was open, practically tearing past the two of you and down towards the yard. There was a moment of silence and then a splash!

‘Guess he found the pool.’ Marcus commented. ‘At least it’s heated, I s’pose.’

Truth be told, he loved having the three of you at his house. It felt like whatever had been missing before was slowly making an appearance as your relationship progressed. The irony was that you brought nothing but chaos and clutter with you, but that was exactly what made it feel like a home. It was small things; the painting that Jack had done for him at after school club was now hung up up on the fridge, and there was a photo of him and Missy on the fireplace with Optimus Prime. Half of the thousands of blankets of pillows that had been at your place had ended up on his sofa, thanks to the countless sleepovers. 

If he could have it his way, Marcus would have you live with here all the time. The energy that you and Jack brought made everything feel complete. He loved the evenings where Missy and Jack would play out in the pool, and you two would sit back inside, complaining about the cold. Then there were the nights where you’d take both the kids back here when he was working late, and he’d come home to find you piled on the couch watching an old movie, with your burnt cooking abandoned on the stove, surrounded by boxes of left over take out. It was the kind of thing that was so simple and so domestic, but it was everything he wanted. 

That was probably the flashpoint moment when Marcus Moreno realised he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He already knew he loved you - he’d worked that out about three months in, when you’d fallen asleep in one of his shirts whilst trying to wait up for him - but he hadn’t said it. He’d hinted at it and made back-handed comments but he’d barely admitted it to himself, let alone to anyone else. He knew what you and Jack had gone through before and it broke his entire fucking heart. You both deserved someone who stand by you and support you, someone who would embrace you both for the craziness and warm energy you brought everywhere with you. More than ever, he was realising he wanted to be that person who gave it you. After all, you’d made his life so much brighter without even trying.

Snapping out of his trance, Marcus looked over at you. You’d already ditched your shoes and dropped onto the sofa, pulling one of the blankets with you. This was exactly what you needed. A quiet house, your favourite person and a cable knit blanket. 

‘Hey, baby?’ 

You looked over at him, smiling at the name. ‘Yeah?’

‘You know I love you, right?’

You blinked in surprise, sitting up. ‘I know.’

‘You do?’

‘You’ve never said it, but I can tell.’ You nodded, before offering a smile. ‘And I love you too.’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.’ He slowly approached you, dropping onto the sofa beside you and taking your hands in his. ‘I think I just got so caught up in everything and feeling everything that I forgot.’

‘Why are you apologising?’ You couldn’t help but scoff at him, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. ‘It’s your actions that say it, Marc. Hearing it is good but you showed it a long time ago.’

‘I know, but really you deserve to hear it everyday.’ He smiled against you, helping you move onto his lap. 

‘You do tell me everyday, with the things you do.’ You reminded him. ‘Like meeting me in the parking lot with coffee, or bribing Jack into going to bed early with video messages from your superheroes, or doing my grocery shopping when you know money is short.’

‘Why wouldn’t I do those things?’ Marcus seemed genuinely confused. ‘It’s you.’

‘I love you.’ You repeated the phrase. 

‘And I love you.’

He pulled you into another kiss - this time it was a little firmer, not unlike your second declaration of love. Marcus did all those things without thinking, simply out of his intense want for you to just be happy. He was the same with Missy, always doing little things to make her life easier just because. It was just part of who he was, and it made him happy to see his loved ones happy. 

With your body pressed against his and your hands tangled in your hair, Marcus realised he didn’t want you to ever leave again. He didn’t want you to have to drive home in the dark at ten because all of your stuff was on the other side of town. You did stay over sometimes, but then you’d have to creep out at 6AM with a sleeping Jack in your arms to get home in time to get ready. He wanted you here all the time. You should have been here all the time. 

‘Move in with me?’ 

He both did and didn’t mean to say it out loud. He did because he wanted you so badly to be a permanent fixture in the house, but he also didn’t because the idea might have been a little absurd. Was it too soon? What if you didn’t want to leave your place? He knew you loved your apartment. It was your home and had been for a long time.

‘What?!’ You suddenly pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide. 

‘I mean...if you want to.’ Marcus slowly said. ‘Hell, Missy and I can move to your place if that’s what you want. It might be tight but she loves the dog and I just want to be with you-’

‘- hey!’ You cut him off, planting your hands on his shoulders. ‘You’re rambling again, but that’s besides the point. I would love to live here.’

‘You would?’

‘I would.’ You smiled. 

It made sense. Aside from the glaringly obvious fact you wanted to, it was also practical. It was closer to the school, closer to your work and it had a fucking swimming pool. Marcus was already clearly financially secure and moving in wouldn’t mean relying on him, but it would have meant that things for Jack were a lot more stable. Missy loved the company of you both, and it meant she would finally have the dog she wanted so bad. 

‘Missy would be okay with it, right?’ You asked.

‘She was the one who put the idea in my head, actually.’ Marcus admitted. ‘I’d thought about it but then she kind of asked in passing why you don’t live here, and I couldn’t give her an answer.’

‘Your kid is smart.’

‘D’you think Jack will-’

‘- I’m going to stop you there.’ You cut him off.

‘Right, I probably don’t need to ask that question.’ He chuckled.

‘Exactly.’ You pressed a kiss to his nose. ‘Don’t forget the dog, either.’

‘How could I? I can literally see him peeing on my lawn right now.’

‘Our lawn.’

--

Exactly three weeks later - and after a hefty amount of paperwork and hours of sorting through Jack’s endless amounts of crap that he insisted on hoarding - moving day came. 

Anita had insisted on having the kids again. They were both excited, but perhaps a little too much. They were probably more likely to get in the way of things if anything. Children, a dog and large boxes? It seemed like a match made in hell. Plus, she had a whole ass training course in her back garden and if that didn’t wear the kid out, then you were definitely going to take him to the Heroics to get tested. The thought alone was enough to tire you out. 

You didn’t have too much stuff to move. You’d been half-moved into the damn place before Marcus had even made the formal proposal, so that made things a lot easier. You were keeping your sofa for Jack’s room, but the rest was going to Goodwill. Most of it had come from there in the first place.

‘I think that’s the last box.’ Marcus announced, exiting the bedroom. ‘I didn’t realise that a five year could own so many variations of storm-trooper toys.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ You replied. ‘There’s the original trilogy ones, sequel trilogy ones, dark troopers, shock troopers, clone troopers - and I realise half way through listing them that you don’t care.’

‘I never said that!’ He placed his hands on your waist, pressing a kiss to your forehead. ‘I’m excited to learn.’

‘I’m sure Jack is excited to tell you.’ You grinned. 

Then, it faltered slightly with the realisation you were actually leaving this place. You’d never intended for it to be your permanent home, but it had still been the centre of your entire universe for half a decade. Every room told a story; the crayon marks on the bathroom wall, the dents behind the TV from, the crack in the living room mirror. All caused by Jack, naturally. The last five years was contained entirely within these four walls and you got bleary eyed at the idea of it becoming someone else’s. 

‘Hey, don’t cry.’ Marcus gently wiped away a tear from your cheek. 

‘You know, the rent is still paid till the end of the month so we could revisit the idea of you and Missy living here instead.’ You tearfully smiled. 

‘You’re kidding but you know I’ll do it.’ He pressed another kiss to your nose, grip on your arms tightening. 

‘It’s okay.’ You moved so that the kiss landed on your mouth instead, capturing his lips in a brief kiss. ‘I knew we were gonna outgrow this place. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.’

‘I know. Still kinda feels like it all came out of no-where, huh?’ He replied. ‘In the best way.’

‘You’re right. In the best way.’ You firmly nodded. ‘Can you believe I was 23 when I moved into this place? I found it on Craiglist within ten minutes of finding out I was pregnant.’

‘Do you wanna take a minute before we go?’

‘No, it’s fine.’ You shook your head. ‘We should get going.’

The apartment was just that: an apartment. And the house you were going to was just that: a house. But the people you were with? That’s what made it count. It wasn’t about the four walls or the roof over your head, or whether or not it had a big yard and a jacuzzi bath tub (though, that did help). It was about the laughter and warmth inside; the faces in the photos on the wall and the people you came home to after a long day. It was the smell of your burnt cooking and the pizza you’d ordered in place. It was Jack’s toys left in the exact place where someone could trip and it was Missy using all the hot water in the morning so that Marcus’ showers were practically arctic. It was everyday things that reminded you of the people around you; the people that made it home, and how lucky you were to have them.

That was home. And you’d found yours. 

taglist: @naivara-duneimith @1-2-3-4-5metalfingers @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky​ @lyanna-the-giantsbane @phoenixhalliwell @crazycookiecrumbles​ @bitchin-beskar​ @comphersjost

#marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno imagine #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #marcus moreno imagines #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character headcanons

[evolutionsvoid]

Ho boy, where do we even begin with these things? How do I write this entry without going insane? No real clue. I have to say that I try my best to keep things fair for all the species I write about, regardless if I like them or not. No one is reading my work solely because they want to know what my top ten favorite animals are, they want information! So even if I despise a certain beast, it is my duty to share straight knowledge and facts without steeping it in bias and personal opinions. However, thinking about this species gives me a headache, and it only gets worse as I delve deeper into the details. So I ask for the dear reader to forgive me if I diverge a bit or get a little negative in some parts. I don't mean to do that, but I can't guarantee anything! Now on to the Boracund! The Boracund are a mammalian species, with their relations tied to pigs and boars. With a porcine frame, a signature snout and those nasty tusks, it is easy to see how the three are alike. How they are different should be pretty obvious too, unless all your ham wears armor. Covering the top of the body, tail and upper limbs of the Boracund is a hefty layer of boney scutes and keratin scales. This home-grown armor is surprisingly durable, as it can withstand blades and even deflect arrows! Obviously it is used for protection, though the Boracund tend to use this defense more for other Boracund! This is because of those giant tusks that the Boracund possess, which can easily slice through flesh and gore a hapless victim. Both male and female Boracund grow tusks, but it is the male's teeth that grow to such an impressive, and deadly, size. When your rivals carry around such weaponry, armor is pretty much a must! The habitats they should prefer are in temperate climates, and they tend to be found in forests and surrounding areas. They like forests that produce a lot of mast (which means the fruit of forest trees, for those who don't know), as it provides a steady food source and also lures in other tasty treats. Like many members of the pig family, the Boracund are omnivorous, eating pretty much anything they can get into their mouths. With powerful jaws, razor tusks and a big appetite, there isn't a whole lot these fellas won't eat. Fallen fruits and nuts are a common meal for them, as well as small reptiles, mammals, eggs, and even carrion. Their snouts and teeth can also aid in digging up roots and tubers, which they will also happily devour. They are also capable of downing prey with the help of numbers, as this species travels in sizeable sounders. They rarely go after creatures larger then them and tend to only take advantage of the sick or weak. It is said that predators who live in Boracund territory must be fast in dispatching prey, lest a sounder descend upon the injured target and devour it. With the ability to take advantage of many food sources, it is easy to see how this species is so freakishly adaptable. What an utterly wonderful trait.    

  During most parts of the year, Boracund travel in these sounders, with them usually divided into male and female groups. The females sounders will possess multiple mothers with various litters of piglets, who all live under the watch of a matriarch. The male groups, however, have little leadership to them, working more as a friendly crowd that enjoy the benefits that sheer numbers bring. Their time is either spent searching for food, resting in their home shelters or grooming. Their version of grooming and hygiene is taking mud baths, as it helps cool their bodies as well as remove parasites. Things change up for all these sounders when the breeding season kicks in. When it is time to mate, the males grow rather irritable and obsessed, their family groups dissolving as they search for viable sows. Driven by the season and hormones, they scour the land for females, barely eating or slowing during their pursuit. When they find a female sounder, they begin to mark their territory. The piglets and other young members of the group are attacked and driven off, though the ancient matriarch is quick to protect them if things get too violent. Crazed males that kill piglets can incite the wrath of the matriarch, whose age and experience often makes them powerful foes. As long as the male does not cross this line, then they may remain with this sounder and attempt to claim it. Since the first male that enters this sounder is rarely the last, they must turn to defend their claim from rivals. Other males will soon arrive and they will fight to be the top hog. These battles are brutal and bloody, with tusks and hoof leaving terrible injuries. Even decked out in armor, male Boracund get pretty mangled during these fights. When the breeding season comes to a close, all viable females will be carrying, eventually giving birth to four to eight piglets. With a litter that size, and with that many females per sounder, you can see that this species has quite the population boom each season! Why, their reproductive rate is so high, its almost like you could harvest entire sounders and the population would bounce right back without hardly a stumble. How delightful. An incredibly interesting thing to note about the Boracund is that their breeding season can undergo a bizarre change every so often. A decade could go by with things going as normal, males running after females and what not, but then suddenly the next year will become something quite strange. After years of study, the consensus is that this unique breeding season is triggered by a high population of Boracund. When their numbers within an area reaches a critical peak, something in their bodies will be set off when the breeding season kicks in. This powerful change seems to only affect the males, if the females are involved then it is very subtle. When this switch is flipped in the males, their bodies undergo a terrifying transformation. Their armor darkens until it is almost black and their fur takes on a reddish hue. From numerous bony protrusions and pedicles that run along their body, velvety growths will begin to form. Much like the antler of a deer, these structures are growing something flashy and pointy, but it is rarely classy. They will grow all across the head and body of the male Boracund during the build-up to the breeding season, and you can already notice that they are growing agitated. The male sounders will break apart long before the season gets into swing, as they are driven into an angered state from the growths. Just as the season is about to start, the velvet will fall away, or rather be torn off in bloody strips. The furious males will rip apart this fuzzy sheathe to reveal a horrible dagger made of bone. What emerges from this gory ceremony is a beast covered snout to hoof in twisted, gnarled spikes. Bony jagged "teeth" now run on the outside of their jaws, while skewering spines line their backs. Bony spurs jut from their legs, while ivory wings sprout from their shoulders. The whole beast is now loaded with pointy bits and terrible weapons, which fits quite well for what comes next. Not only do their bodies transform, but so do their minds. It isn't so much a "transformation" but more of a "degradation." These males go absolutely berserk. The hormones in their body drive them to an even crazier state, which is further fueled by their gnarled bodies. You see, these bony growths aren't usually shaped to fit their bodies. Their formation is quite erratic, often leading to bony blades that hurt the very beast that wears them. I have seen a male Boracund who was so overgrown with these nasty things that they couldn't even open their mouth, the teeth-like formations grew around the jaw and forced it shut. Even then, its head was covered in gashes and bloody tears, as its attempts to open its jaw just caused its weaponry it dig into its own hide. Absolutely horrible! This pain puts them in a constant rage, and all this is directed into this bizarre breeding season. Now decked out in weapons and on the warpath, the males turn into rabid beasts that rip apart the countryside. They plow through the landscape in search of sows, but they are so blinded by their terrible state that they will literally throw themselves at walls in order to get to a female. What was once a fight between males to claim a group of sows has now become a bloody frenzy, with males shredding each other in the madness. Their battles seem to have no end in this state, they just tear each other to pieces. They lose any concept of surrendering or accepting defeat, they just throw themselves at each other until only one remains standing. Even the females aren't spared! Younger ones who do not have the strength to withstand such punishment can be butchered in the melee, slaughtered by the bloodthirsty males who have lost themselves to this agonizing frenzy. Eventually, the carnage will end and the season will finish. What males remain will lose their extra growths and revert back to normal, while the surviving females raise the new batch of piglets. This horrific breeding season is referred to as "Devil's Rut," when this species goes into this self-destructive state. It is believed that this event occurs to help regulate the population, only activating when their numbers reach a critical state. Too many Boracund could lead to all food sources being wiped out, which would leave them to starve. Reducing their numbers through this season, as well as cutting out those too weak to handled it, helps the population remain stable and strong. Thank goodness it takes years for such a thing to occur, right? RIGHT?!       I have to imagine that some folk have read through this entry and come to a realization. "Hey, Chlora," you may wonder, "you said this species likes temperate climates and lives in the woods, right?" To that I would say, "yes, I did!" With that confirmation you may reply "but I don't live near such a habitat, and yet I see the Boracund everywhere! Why is that?" This would call for a congratulations on my part, as you have read my entry and taken its word to heart. Thank you for your attention and mindfulness! Indeed, you have seen Boracund in a habitat I haven't mentioned and that is because, dear reader, THEY AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE! Boracund love temperate climates, they love forests! You know what else they love? EVERYTHING! Marshes, deserts, fields, grasslands, mountains, you name it, they stole it! Their ability to eat practically anything combined with their adaptable lifestyle and hardy bodies means they can live wherever they blighting please! There are populations of them scattered all across the globe, and every living thing that has to put up with them feels that presence! They strip the land bare with their feeding! They steal resources from other creatures! They tear up vegetation and plants that should have been safe from herbivory! They even chase predators away from their kills! They are a disease, and we cannot seem to freaking stop them! You slaughter a whole sounder of them and they just all pop back after the next breeding season! They reproduce so quickly and they don't go down without a fight! This isn't like the pig farm, you can't just round them up and give them the axe! They are armored, they are vicious and they are cunning! Kill one and the rest scatter into the wilderness! Set one trap and they learn to avoid that area! It is maddening! And to make it all worse is the fact that they undergo that Devil's Rut. When that kicks in, they are a threat to everything. They become insanely aggressive and incredibly dangerous. Driven by smell and pain, they will go after anything they see as a threat or anything they think is a female. Pig farmers have talked about these wild Boracund attempting to break into their own pens to get at domesticated sows, as they mistake them for their own kind. The damages are insane, and that doesn't include the fact that they can maim and kill anyone who tries to stop them! Crops are ruined and trips into the wilderness become dangerous. If you live in an area that is undergoing Devil's Rut, do not let your children outside of the town! These things are dangerous and they will attack anything they come across. Keep your saplings inside and don't even venture out there yourself! Cities and towns lock up their gates during these ruts and many warriors have been hired to ward off these crazed beasts. Good thing this only occurs about once every ten years! Whoops, did I say "ten?" Because with their exploding numbers, it takes half the time to trigger a Devil's Rut in areas they have been introduced! HOW WONDERFUL! They are a plague wherever they have been introduced, as the ecosystem is not designed to handle them! "So if they are invasive," you may ask, "How did they get here?" SO GLAD YOU ASKED Due to their large size, signature armor and impressive weaponry, there are some folk out there that would see them as a beautiful hunting trophy. Look at those tusks! Look at that armor! Think of how much meat we could get off that beast! What a dream, they think, AND THAT IS ALL THEY THINK! They just want to be the cool guy who has a big devil pig stuffed in their study so they can show off to all their friends and be like "look how cool and tough I am!" And then all their stupid friends would think "gosh gee I need one of these crazy beasts in my domicile so that I may too show off how big and cool I am!" And when you get enough people thinking that, then you get the idiots who think "well, all these people want to hunt this big awesome pig monster, why don't I import some for easy cash!" And then they do, and they build a hunting ranch specifically for hunting Boracund so that they can fill their coffers with all the money these showoffs will throw at them and then use none of that gold to BUILD A DECENT FENCE! Nope, just some posts and some boards, that is enough to keep these monstrous creatures contained! Lo and behold, they break out and vanish into the wilderness, where they may breed like rabbits and infest countless habitats! NOW THEY ARE EVERYWHERE, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW!? Oh of course they are! They are thrilled! "I can just go into my backyard and kill one, all while wearing my bathrobe! What's that? Dozens of species are threatened and entire ecosystems are being ravaged by these things? Well, who cares? I get to bag me a pig!" Those gall-headed weeds don't give an ounce of care for the systems they rely upon for their wonderful hobby! What about all the crop damage?! What about all the people who are vulnerable to these beasts?! Not every town has the means to ward them off, and the damage and injury that occurs is horrible! Markets raided, people attacked! It is insanity! It has gotten so bad in some regions that people have called them "Pig Dragons!" OF COURSE THEY DID! NOT ONLY DO THEY DESTROY THINGS, NOW THEY HAVE TO BEAR THAT CURSED NAME! You want a dragon?! I will show you a dragon! You all laugh at me when I talk about the "Dragon's Pig Program," but if I can get that going then there is hope! What better beast to help harvest these monsters than actual dragons?! These animals are a hefty source of meat and hunting them is crucial! If I can convince enough dragons to turn their attention towards this species for a potential food source, then their populations could be easily reduced! I think it is a genius idea, but oh no all the fancy aristocrats are like "Dragons? Near my land? Unacceptable! Those ugly beasts will cause so much damage!" UNLIKE THE HOG MONSTERS YOU PEOPLE BROUGHT OVER! You cause this huge problem and then stick up your nose at every solution! Just because it doesn't affect you! Well you listen hear you overgrown, blight-filled piece of rot! If I ever get my hands on you I am going to take that fancy hunting spear of yours and*   *No further text is provided, save for mention by the editor that several pages have been removed. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian --------------------------------------------------- Behold! The long awaited Pig "Dragon!"  And by long awaited, I mean that I once offhandedly mentioned something about a Pig Dragon in a description I wrote years ago. I am sure no one remembers me naming such a thing, but my memory exists solely to torment me and couldn't let it go.

#pig #hog #boar #swine #monster #creature #art #drawing

[cinnaminsvga]

Taming of the Bridezilla | Seokjin

→ summary: Picture this: You had been (not-so) cordially invited to the wedding of your least favorite cousin—a woman who had been hellbent on making your childhood a living hell. Now older and wiser, you would think that you would put aside your differences and attend your cousin’s special day without any hard feelings, right? You wouldn’t seek revenge, now would you?

→ genre: fake dating!au, i2l, humor/crack, fluff  → warnings: seokjin and oc paradoxically have big yet small brains, fake proposals, not-so fake mutual pining, thinly veiled baby-making jokes, terrible family members, ass slapping (no worries it’s consensual) → words: 6.3K → a/n: first of all, no this is not a horror fic; i just thought the title was funny. unless you consider the stupidity of the characters to be mildly horrifying, then sure you can count this as a horror fic. this insanely ridiculous fic was commissioned by @breadoffoxy!! anyone who loves chaotic jin is an angel in my book. yes, this comm is a bit longer than expected but what can i say... i love me some jin. anyway i hope you guys enjoy!

“You got the ring, right?”

Seokjin pats his left breast pocket and gives you a quick smirk. The bump where the ring should be is fortuitously hidden by his large and garish boutonniere, looking to all the world like he had pinned a whole head of cabbage to his suit. Even then, he still somehow manages to make it work. “Of course I did. This entire plan would be useless if I didn’t have it,” he says.

“What flavor did you get? I quite like the watermelon one,” you muse, smacking your lips in anticipation. “Though it’s hard to remember since I haven’t had a ring pop in years.”

Seokjin laughs loudly, startling a group of aunties gossiping in the corner. They all shoot glares at him, though the effect has lost its novelty as they’ve already been glaring at you from the moment you arrived. You suppose that they have a good reason to, considering that you both arrived at the reception an entire 30 minutes late. You can imagine them cursing you under their breath, saying something like, “You’ve brought dishonor to us all!” or whatever it is that aunties like to say these days.

“I could have gotten you all the flavors available at the convenience store if you wanted, but then we’d be 40 minutes late instead,” Seokjin sighs, pretending to be anguished at the thought.

You snort in the most unladylike manner that you can, grinning wildly when you hear one of the aunties gasp in horrified disbelief. From the way they’re reacting, you might have thought that you just flashed them your Borat-inspired neon green thong.

“I do love a man who can treat me well,” you giggle, earning a soft pinch from him.

“Oh, hush. I know you love it. You nearly burst into tears the other day when I bought you a McFlurry because your broke ass was a dollar short,” Seokjin teases. You squawk indignantly, unable to come up with a retort.

“Whatever! Just because you’re a trust fund baby doesn’t mean you get to bully my impoverished state. Just you fucking wait ‘til I get hit by a wealthy 77 year old’s BMW and then I’ll be made for life,” you huff, your illusion of annoyance quickly shattered by the large, dumb grin on your face. “Hey, would you still love me if I broke all my limbs but had a massive bank account?”

“I’d rather buy you McDonald’s for the rest of your life than see you in pain,” he answers simply, patting you gently on the head. “Though I suppose helping you inject thousands of calories into your bloodstream would also cause you pain later on in life, but hey, at least you’d go down doing what you love.”

“Oh, yes. Keep talking dirty to me. I love it when you talk about the ways you’d kill me by association.” You laugh, casually looping your arms together as you walk past the slowly growing crowd of aunties and entering the reception hall to find your seats. Almost everyone is already in their seats, with a few guests milling about and greeting one another with tight-lipped smiles and hollow laughter. The sight brings goosebumps up your arm, bringing back terrible memories of having to make niceties with these people despite knowing that they despised you and your less affluent family.

Remember, you’re only here as a representative for your parents, you tell yourself. You’d rather bear the brunt of the thinly-veiled insults than to have your parents have to experience this hell. Besides, you have big plans for today, and they would only be brought to an end if your mother ever found out what you wanted to do in the first place.

“As they say… We’re here for a good time, not a long time, which I suppose is our philosophy for tonight as well,” he quips back. He taps you lightly on the hand, wrenching your gaze away from the magnificent chocolate fountain on the dessert table and back to his somewhat less magnificent face. A straight-up lie, but it is the only defense mechanism you have in your arsenal that can keep you from staring at how gorgeous he looks in his suit and tie like a braindead idiot. Denial, after all, hasn’t failed you during the last five years that you’ve been in love with your own best friend.

“What is it?” you ask, curious when he furtively points out one of your cousins near the front of the hall. “That’s Namjoon. Do you know him?”

“Know is a strong word,” Seokjin hums, winking at your cousin when he happens to turn towards the two of you. Namjoon’s eyes light up when he sees him, but his excitement immediately vanishes when he notices who Seokjin has beside him on his right arm. You could see the mental cogs going on inside Namjoon’s head as he stares at the two of you, but you don’t get to see him reach a conclusion before Seokjin is pulling you away, walking in the opposite direction.

“Seokjin? What was that all about?” you ask, though you have to admit you’re kind of afraid to know the answer to your own question. As much as everything about tonight’s scheme had been your idea, you can’t help but think that Seokjin’s intense enthusiasm to help you isn’t merely out of his own desire to help you as a friend, but rather due to his innate calling to cause chaos wherever he goes.

“I have a secret bonus surprise for the bride and groom once we get kicked out from this joint after we do our thing,” he says. “And, dare I say, it’ll be quite a treat for all the guests here.” The smirk on his lips is downright heinous, only exacerbating the frantic racing of your heart. There must be something wrong with you, not with how badly you want to do unspeakable atrocities to him and his evil-looking ass. Or perhaps he was simply put down on Earth to test your slowly fraying sanity.

He snaps you out of your dumbfounded, horny stupor when he continues, “If everything goes according to plan, then we’ll truly end this night with a bang, no pun intended.”

“What was even the pun there?” You raise a brow, slightly disconcerted by the way Seokjin was struggling to keep his laughter (at his own joke) at bay. “You know what? Don’t even answer. I guess I’ll just have to find out later tonight.”

After some pointless meandering while the two of you locate your seats, you are finally able to locate your table, unsurprisingly situated near the farthest corner of the hall where no one would have to see you. You’re honestly more surprised that your newly-wedded cousin had even remembered to give you a seat, though you suppose that it must have been at the behest of your uncle. While your devil of a cousin has always been rude and cruel to you, you have to admit that at least her father knew some manners, though that only begs the question as to what happened to his daughter along the way. Genetics and expensive etiquette classes can only help so much, you suppose.

“Thank you again for doing this with me. You really didn’t need to,” you say when you take a seat, nearly elbowing him in the process. Your chairs are wedged right beside the emergency exit and a grotesque ice sculpture of the bride and groom, forcing the two of you to sit so close that you could feel Seokjin breathe directly into your ear. If you shifted just slightly to the right, you’d basically be sitting on his lap (which is a prospect that intrigues you greatly, but you refrain from voicing it in fear of creeping him out… for now).

“How could I ever resist the offer to ruin your cousin’s wedding? This has been on my bucket list for years,” he winks cheekily at you. “Besides, you’re my dearest friend, Y/N. You could ask me to fight a bear naked, and I’d gladly let it eat my dick in one chomp!”

“I wouldn’t let a bear eat your dick,” you say kindly, patting him gently on the back. “You can’t afford to lose an inch when you only have two to offer.”

Before you could laugh hysterically at Seokjin’s howls of betrayal, your attention is pulled away when the soft violin music stops playing abruptly. From far away, it’s hard to tell what’s going on until you notice a bright light reflecting off of the sea of attendees, the balding head of the reception’s host bobbing up and down as he makes his way to the front of the hall.

“Attention esteemed guests! We will now begin serving dinner shortly. Please remain in your seats as our waiters attend to you.” The host speaks into a crackly microphone just as a few scraggly-looking underpaid teenagers in black dress shirts come out with the first course of the night.

Seokjin cranes his neck, trying to see what the food is. “What the hell is that? Why does it look like green shit in a bowl?” he murmurs, loud enough so that only you can hear. “I didn’t know your cousin was a Dr. Seuss fan. Are we being served green eggs and ham?” Before you can guess, you watch as his nose crinkles in disgust, a vile stench making its way to your area even though none of the waiters were even close to your table. “Oh my goodness, is that stench what we’re supposed to eat?”

“Smells like a barnyard,” you comment, though you aren’t as surprised as he is by the revolting smell. “Well, my cousin always did like making atrocious vegan recipes on her shitty WordPress blog, so I wouldn’t put it past her if she made up the menu for her own wedding.”

“She’s a vegan and a bully? What are the odds,” he says drily, cringing when he watches one of the guests begin to dry heave the moment a spoonful of the green stuff enters their mouth. “Christ. I didn’t know I was signing up for a life or death mission.”

“At this rate, I don’t think we’re getting served until the end of the night anyway,” you say, observing as the understaffed employees tried their best to get to every table while insufferable aunts did their worst to hinder their progress by nagging and complaining. Why were they so adamant about eating the food anyway? Were they itching to get diarrhea on a Saturday night? You do admit that it would probably be better, so then at least you’d have an excuse to leave earlier. “Though I suppose... Do you think eating the mystery goo while it’s cold would be better or worse?”

“It’s okay, I’ll treat you to McDonald’s when we finish up here,” he says, smiling sweetly at you. Never in your life has the mention of greasy fries and chicken nuggies made your heart race faster than it did at that moment, but then again, it could also be your high-blood pressure kicking up. Either way, you can’t ignore the way your face heats up at his offer, now more excited than ever for the reception to be over.

You and Seokjin chat as you wait for everyone around you to finish eating, not even bothered when the waiters forget to bring your food. You’re in the middle of debating the pros and cons of cock and ball torture when large dark shadows loom over both your heads, much like a solar eclipse. A cold shiver runs up your spine when you look up to find the reptilian faces of your aunts, the fumes of their designer perfume creating a cloud so noxious that you could feel your lungs shrivel into prunes.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s nice to see you after such a long time,” your Aunt Sohee greets, her tone indicating that there was nothing pleasant about seeing you at all. Your aunt, who had gotten so much botox done that she was reminiscent of a plastic balloon ready to pop, has her entourage of fellow aunties behind her, all of whom looked ridiculous in their fake designer dresses. You swear you can see that one of them had forgotten to snip off the Made in China tag before wearing it to the wedding.

“Aunt Sohee, you’re looking… young,” you say after a moment, deciding to settle on lying for now. Even though your main plan for this evening is to create chaos at your cousin’s wedding, your one condition is that you wouldn’t cause a scene with your aunts. While you are hardly in the running for favorite niece, there is still a 1% chance that you could get some inheritance from them once they hit the grave, so you’ll have to grit your teeth and bear the incoming barrage of personal questions coming your way lest you lose out in the long run.

“Why, thank you. I can’t say the same for you,” she huffs, shamelessly grabbing my cheeks and squishing them like stress balls. She peers sourly at your disfigured face, trying to squint judgmentally at you but failing due to her horrendous plastic surgery. “How old are you? Why do you have so many wrinkles?”

You feel your eyebrow twitch involuntarily, unable to respond even if you wanted due to the gorilla-hold she has on your face. You side-eye Seokjin, who is looking back at you with a blank and calm expression. You had already told him beforehand that you wouldn’t be arguing with your aunts, but that doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to be an asshole.

Being an asshole, after all, is Seokjin’s favorite pastime.

“Hello, Aunties. My name is Kim Seokjin, and I’m Y/N’s long-term boyfriend. She’s told me many good things about you,” he says with a polite smile, his hamster cheeks puffing up in that adorably boyish way. The surrounding aunties all begin to coo at his handsome face (unfair!), but they’re quickly silenced by a sharp glare from your Aunt Sohee. She appraises him, giving him a once over with a pursed lip.

“Long-term boyfriend, huh? Are you sure you aren’t paying her or something? Y/N hasn’t had a boyfriend in years. Her cousins have told me that she’s been too busy with other… extracurricular activities to bother sticking around,” your aunt says snidely, her sneer deepening. She lets go of your face, crossing her arms when she spies the expensive watch on his wrist. “Ah, I see that you’re well-off. I just can’t possibly see why else you’d be staying with her if not for other reasons.”

You can feel your blood pressure rising, the veins on your forehead undoubtedly bulging as you try to suppress your rage. Screw your cousin for spreading a rumor that you’re a whore! It’s as if you were the one sucking guys off in the locker rooms when the two of you were in the second year of high school and not her. You haven’t even had your first proper kiss, for heaven’s sake!

Instead of getting angry, Seokjin’s expression hardly changes at all. His serene smile is still plastered on his face, but only you can tell that he’s even remotely bothered by their rude remarks. You can feel the air around him turn frosty, but your oblivious aunties are still too busy tittering amongst themselves, exchanging insults at your expense.

“Oh, are we that obvious?” Seokjin tilts his head, feigning innocence. Your head jerks towards him, your eyes bugging out of their sockets. What the fuck? “You are so right, Auntie Sohee. I’m sure Y/N must have informed you about our predicament. You see, we’ve—”

“Your predicament?” Aunt Sohee scoffs, interrupting Seokjin mid-speech. “I can’t believe the nerve of this girl, bringing her little boy-toy to the holy matrimony of her cousin—”

“—been trying to produce an heir to the Kim Line for months now,” Seokjin sighs heavily, looking off into the distance with glazed, dreamy eyes. You nearly cough out a lung at his sudden proclamation, about to interject and ask him what on earth he was talking about. Your words die on your tongue, however, when he grips your hand tightly underneath the table. He taps three times on the back of your hand: an old sign that you both made back in high school whenever he was busy bullshitting his way out of trouble.

Luckily, none of your aunts notice your blunder, all of them too occupied trying to wrap their heads around what Seokjin had said. Multiple mouths drop open in surprise and disbelief, including your Aunt Sohee. Her penciled eyebrows arch comically high, her smoothened forehead wrinkling infinitesimally (a feat in itself, for you were sure she had long since lost any ability to move the skin on her face.)

“I beg your pardon?” she whispers, staring daggers at Seokjin.

Then beg, you think to yourself. Judging by the way the corners of Seokjin’s lips lift slightly, you have a strong feeling that he was thinking the same thing to himself. Instead, he says, “Yes, Aunt Sohee. You see, I come from a long line of businessmen. Ever heard of Kim Enterprises.”

Her face turns pale. “You mean… the Kim Enterprises? The one that owns—”

“South Korea’s largest chain of department stores? I’m flattered that you’re familiar,” he winks. He leans forward, gesturing for your aunts to come closer, like he’s imparting state secrets to them. “My older brother, who has been married for quite some time, has chosen to remain childless at the behest of his wife. For that reason, my father put me up to the task of producing an heir for the company.”

“An heir?” your aunt repeats, dumbfounded.

Seokjin nods, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s quite unfortunate, but it’s a responsibility I’m willing to take. My family is notorious for planning our lives, even for the next 50 years, so I am forever grateful to have Y/N who is willing to bring me multiple potential heirs to my family.”

“Multiple heirs?” Your aunts shriek in unison, causing a few nearby guests to look over at your table in curiosity. You wave at them awkwardly in apology, hoping to get them to ignore the absolute clusterfuck happening right in front of you.

You feel Seokjin kick you gently in the shin, urging you to say something as well. You clear your throat, channeling all the pent-up Seokjin energy that you had indirectly absorbed over the years of being his friend. “That’s right… My Jinnie has always been so lonely, living in his gigantic mansion with his piles of money. He may have never felt the loving touch of his father, but I’m certain that we’ll be great parents to our children. Why, we’re almost like a pair of rabbits when it comes to—”

Aunt Sohee clears her throat abruptly, a deep flush coloring her cheeks as she glares daggers at you. She looks absolutely peeved, and it takes all your mental fortitude to restrain yourself from jumping up in triumph. Take that, wench!

“I have to admit that this is somewhat… unexpected,” your aunt says carefully, pointing a tight smile at Seokjin. He beams back, positively delighted.

“Y/N is quite the catch. I’m grateful to have her in my life,” he says, his tone growing soft by the end. He looks at you then, and you find a mysterious emotion floating in his eyes that you can’t quite name. When you blink and try to get a closer look, his careful façade is back in place.

Eventually, your aunts lose interest in you once they realize they can no longer bully you, not when you had an incredibly rich boyfriend to back you up. “Must be nice being a rich boy, huh?” you snicker, teasing the blushing boy beside you. Thanks to his hair growing longer than usual, the tips of his ears are miraculously hidden away. When you brush his hair back, they are as red as a baboon’s ass.

“Oh, shut up. You know I hate flaunting my dad’s money,” he whines, pouting cutely. He fingers the watch on his wrist, staring at it uncomfortably. “This isn’t even my watch. I had to borrow one from my brother.”

“Well, you did it for me, so I suppose it’s not all bad,” you laugh, pinching his cheek lightly. “Plus, it was funny watching my aunts shut up for once. They’re just mad that you’re richer than the groom.”

“Really? What does he do?”

“He’s an entrepreneur.” You snort, emphasizing the word with air quotations. “Honestly, he just calls himself that while he waits for his self-made business to pop off or whatever. No such luck so far, if what I heard was right.”

“Lucky for you, you’re stuck with my devastatingly handsome face and stinkin’ rich bank account,” he jokes, contorting his face into a funny expression until you’re left snorting at his antics. Little does he know, you still would’ve l***d him even if he wasn’t any of those things, but that’d be too cringey to say. What are you, some sort of romantic lead protagonist?

It takes a little bit over an hour for dessert to start getting served, by which point the bride and groom decide to make their rounds to greet the guests. “Don’t you think this is the perfect time to put our plan into motion? The dance floor is open and we should be able to make it to the center without anyone noticing,” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you say, but just as you’re about to get up from your seat, a flurry of white blocks your path in an instant. You startle slightly, falling back to your chair and hitting Seokjin in the chest with a soft grunt. “Shit, sorry about that Seokjin—”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my dear cousin,” a voice cuts you off, the disdain in their voice dripping like acid down your ear canals. Your blood freezes instinctively, years of past trauma crashing down on you as your childhood bully stands just inches away from you, her blood-red lips stretched into a broad smirk.

“Kairi,” you greet.

“Y/N,” she responds.

“Seokjin!” Seokjin adds helpfully.

Your cousin turns to him slowly. “Quite right,” she hisses, eyebrows pinched together in thinly-veiled annoyance. “I’ve heard through some whispers that my baby cousin finally managed to snag a rich kid for a boyfriend and I just couldn’t help but let my curiosity drag me over here.” She looks you up and down, snorting at what she sees. “You would think that having a chaebol as a boyfriend would mean you could at least afford a proper dress.”

You glance down at your dress: a hand-me-down from your mother because you couldn’t be bothered to buy a new one, not when you’d rather choke on Satan’s hot fiery balls for all eternity than spend any amount of money just to attend your cousin’s wedding. Despite this, you can’t help your cheeks from heating in embarrassment, an automatic response after years of bullying and torment from that spoiled bitch.

When you don’t reply, Kairi’s smirk widens. “Oh? Cat got your tongue? Sugar daddy couldn’t even be bothered to buy you a dress? While you’re at it, maybe you should ask for a new car too. I’m surprised you even made it here alive in that old metal deathtrap of yours. You’re lucky you were just late to the reception instead of dead on the street.”

You can sense Seokjin staring at you from your right. Your fists are clenched tightly on your skirt, your nails nearly tearing the fabric in your searing rage. Slowly, carefully, Seokjin slips his hands underneath yours—he pries your death grip open until he can lace his fingers in between yours. At once, your anger melts at his tender gesture, your focus pulled away from your cousin and back to him. He thumbs the back of your hand, as if assuring you that he’d handle this himself.

He smiles at Kairi, not a single ounce of kindness in his eyes. “Yes, indeed. It is my mistake entirely for not ordering a dress much sooner. Y/N is so incredibly humble; she’d rather wear a vintage outfit than wear one of those paper-thin dresses from YesStyle that you and your bridesmaids seem to favor,” he sighs, pretending to be pained.

“Paper-thin? YESSTYLE?” Kairi screeches, her voice breaking the sound barrier. You watch in fascination as her skin turns an unflattering ruddy shade.

Unperturbed by her murderous aura, Seokjin prattles on. “Quite right,” he mocks her with her own words, smirking ever so slightly. “Though, I must apologize for being late to the reception. That was my fault as well. My father had a general meeting this morning for all the employees at the company, as he had wanted to announce that I would be the Vice President starting next Monday. We tried to leave sooner, but everyone had been too busy congratulating us,” he apologizes, though not apologetic in the slightest.

Your cousin could cosplay as a walking crack pipe with how much steam was puffing out of her ears. She’s livid, so much so that her fury was preventing her from formulating any sort of comeback. “You—how dare you—I swear on my—” she stutters incomprehensibly, her vulture-like nails tearing her dainty paper-thin skirt into shreds.

Just as she looks about ready to blow, her father comes around to your table. He places a hand delicately on his daughter’s shoulder, immediately understanding the situation when he sees you. “Kairi, I think it’s time for you to greet the rest of the guests. Uncle Iverson said he has a gift for you that simply cannot wait,” he says, doing his best to appease you. He gives you a genuinely regretful look; you shake your head, waving off his concern.

“It was nice seeing you, Kairi. I hope you and your husband will have a wonderful year together,” you say. You gasp exaggeratedly, holding a hand to your heart. “Oh, sorry. I meant to say I hope you have wonderful years together. Pardon my mistake.”

Before the scant amount of brain cells in your cousin’s brain could process your words, her father pulls her away, dragging her to the next table over. Once they’re out of earshot, you heave a sigh of relief. Beside you, Seokjin lets out a laugh that he had been undoubtedly holding in the past few minutes, sounding like a fish gasping for air with how much he is shaking with mirth.

“Fuck, that was hilarious. Did you see how angry she got? Beautiful,” he says, wiping away a stray tear. “Love that for us!”

“Damn. I knew you were good at bullshitting, but even your acting skills almost convinced me,” you whistle lowly, impressed. “You sure you’re not a con-artist in disguise?”

“All good businessmen are con-artists, my young padawan,” he snickers, winking at you. He shrugs. “You get used to dealing with assholes like her when you attend enough rich people parties. Besides, all good lies are rooted in the truth, after all. That’s what my father taught me when I was seven.”

“You must have been a terrible child, then.” You laugh, before realizing what he had just said. “Wait. Rooted in the truth? What does that mean?”

“Oh. Well,” he clears his throat, giggling nervously. He rubs his neck, embarrassed. “I am the vice president of dad’s company now. I just lied about the meeting being this morning. He announced it a day ago or something. Not that it’s a big deal or anything…”

You gawk at him, speechless. Not for the first time in your life, you are once again stunned by the absurdity of the man before you. How did men like him exist outside of cheesy k-dramas? He’s handsome, rich, funny, AND well-mannered? It’s almost like some love-crazed author had penned him into existence for their entertainment.

Seokjin breaks you from your reverie, tapping you thrice on your shoulder. “Shall we go? The dance floor is still empty. It’s now or never.”

You nod excitedly, standing up to head towards the center of the hall. This time, there is no one stopping you as the two of you make your way towards your destination. The lights near the dancefloor are still dimly lit, as most of the lighting is currently focused on the guests as the bride and groom make their rounds to greet everyone. Even if Seokjin got onto his knees right now, only a few people nearby would notice, so you’d have to do something to catch people’s attention.

“This is going to be moderately to highly embarrassing for a few moments, but I think that’s the atmosphere we’re going for, isn’t it?” Seokjin whispers, his mouth embarrassingly close to yours as he holds you gently by the waist. There isn’t a need for him to stand so close to you, but you have to admit his presence is mostly calming—minus the fact that he’s been your crush for five years and he’s going to be fulfilling one of your deepest fantasies in front of your entire extended family. No biggie.

“I suppose so. What are you gonna do to get their attention?” you ask, palms beginning to sweat. Despite this, Seokjin still takes your hands into his own, a small smile on his lips.

“Just watch,” he whispers, before slowly getting down on one knee.

Ba-dump. Here we fucking go.

“My dearest Y/N… The apple of my eye, the straw to my berry, the con to my dom,” Seokjin says, projecting his voice so that it can be heard even above the music. One of the violin players is even startled long enough to stop playing, further causing more heads to turn in their direction. You hear a gasp coming from your left, but you force yourself not to look. Instead, you stare right back into Seokjin’s sweet brown eyes, your heart beating a mile a minute.

This isn’t real… This is just a prank, bro. Get over yourself, you hiss internally, but your heart refuses to listen.

“You’ve been in my life for almost half a decade, and not a day goes by wherein I don’t wonder what it would be like to live the rest of my days with you. In many ways, I wouldn’t be the person I am if it hadn’t been for your presence in my life,” he says. If you look deeper into his eyes, you can almost trick yourself into thinking that they looked wetter than they had just a moment ago.

“Y/N, you are the person I’ve loved for years now. I used to think you didn’t like me as much as I liked you, so I was always scared to pop the question. I had many opportunities to ask, but I suppose tonight just felt like the right moment. I was afraid that if I didn’t do it now, I might never get the chance to ask again, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you slip away out of cowardice.”

For some reason, his words seem almost too real, like he was speaking the truth. You have never doubted his acting skills, but would you be willing to wonder if there was even a small possibility that there was some truth to his tale? You swallow thickly, the need to ask just dangling on the tip of your tongue.

He rifles through his jacket pocket, procuring a small velvet box. He thumbs it almost reverently, his hands shaking slightly, but you can blame that on the nerves from hundreds of people watching you. He takes a deep breath, opening the box with a soft click. “My dearest Y/N… Would you give me the honor of spending the rest of my days with you?”

You feel your breath get knocked out of you in an instant, the genuine adoration in his eyes too much for you to handle. You stammer slightly, too busy staring at him to properly register the loud claps, screams, and hollers all around you. “I… Seokjin… This is…”

“MAKE THEM STOP! SOMEONE KICK THEM OUT RIGHT NOW!” You dimly hear your cousin screaming obscenities somewhere, but you are still too caught up in the moment to care. The world only consists of you and Seokjin—nothing else matters right now.

When you look down at the box in his hands, fully expecting to see a comically large ring pop nestled in its cushions, but instead you find—

You gasp, nearly doubling over in surprise. “Oh my god, Seokjin. Is that a real fucking diamond ring?!”

He shrugs, smiling wryly. “Only the best rocks for the girl who rocks my socks off every night,” he jokes, but his nervousness is palpable. He’s sweating, a drop trailing down the side of his face despite the strong air conditioning.

Oh shit. It hits you right then that his proposal is real. The damned idiot is fucking proposing to you in front of your most hated family members, and he’s proposing to you for real.

“Kim Seokjin, please fucking explain yourself—”

But before he can have the chance to open his mouth, you feel rough hands grab you by the shoulders, pulling you away from him. “I’m sorry I have to do this, ma’am. Bride’s orders,” one of the waiters says, awkwardly escorting you to the exit. When you turn back, you see another waiter pulling Seokjin away as well, the box with the ring still clutched tightly in his hand.

The two waiters deposit you outside the hall, bowing stiffly before heading back into the room. You’re still breathing heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Seokjin isn’t any better, bent over with his hands on his knees. From your vantage point, you can see how red his entire neck is, his blush reaching even past the collar of his shirt.

“Seokjin…” you trail off, unable to say another word. You’re completely flabbergasted, elated, annoyed, and mostly just mind-fucked because when on earth did Kim Seokjin ever have a crush on you?!

“I’m sorry. That must have been quite a shock,” he coughs out a laugh. He rubs his face, embarrassment rolling off of him in waves. “I just… It was sort of a last-minute decision I made. I’ve been into you for years now, and I know I’m kinda putting you on the spot by proposing like that, but I knew if I didn’t do anything soon, you might just slip away before I can say anything.”

“Wait. So are you really… proposing to me?” You squeak out the last bit, your face mirroring his reddened state.

“No!” He shouts suddenly, before covering his mouth with his palm. “S-sorry, what I mean to say is, it wasn’t really a marriage proposal. It was more like… just a general proposal? I do want to live with you forever, but I know that thought must be daunting and—oh god, I don’t even know if you like me like that, so this must be incredibly weird and out of line. Please excuse me while I shove a cactus up my ass—”

“Seokjin,” you interrupt, silencing his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut. “Are you… asking me out?”

He nods his head. “Yeah…”

“And what you said is true? You actually like me?”

“No, you don’t understand. I love you,” he says, before getting shy again. He looks down at the ring box. “Fuck. This isn’t a real engagement ring, by the way. It’s more like a promise ring, so you don’t have to feel bad for rejecting me.”

“Oh my god, I’m in love with an idiot,” you groan, pulling him into a hug. You nestle into his chest, giggling hysterically into his shirt. “I fucking hate you.”

“Wait, I’m getting mixed signals over here,” Seokjin says, gasping when he feels how tightly you embrace him. He doesn’t complain, however. He returns the gesture in kind, nuzzling deep into your neck. “So, does that mean the feeling is mutual?”

“Yes, you idiot. Now give me my ring.”

“My pleasure, princess.” He laughs, drawing away slightly so that he can slip the ring on your finger. The diamond shines brightly under the fluorescent lights, but nothing brings you more joy than having the boy you love in your arms.

As the two of you are sharing a sweet moment, it takes a second for you to realize that the commotion from inside the venue still hasn’t stopped. When you crane your heads, you spot one of the doors had been left ajar, allowing you to slip your heads through the crack just in time to see Seokjin’s beautiful bare ass being projected onto a large screen.

The musical notes of Rick Astley’s most popular song play loudly on the speakers, drowning out the sounds of the bride screaming bloody murder as the IT people tried their best to sort out the mess. The Seokjin on the screen slaps his ass in time with the tune, his glorious moon-shaped globes shaking mesmerizingly for all to see.

When you look to Seokjin for an explanation, he merely shrugs his shoulders. “They really should do background checks on the people they hire for these things. Taking that one video editing course in university really does pay off, huh?”

“Sure does,” you grin, linking your arms together. “Now let’s get some fucking McDonalds.”

And so, you lived happily ever after—the end.

#hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #bts scenarios #seokjin scenarios #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #jin scenarios #jin x reader #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts crack #fake dating au #kim seokjin #seokjin fluff #seokjin crack #bts fanfic #bangtan #AHHHHH I LOVE YOU KIM SEOKJIN #MAN AFTER MY OWN HEART #sorry for writing insane jin again i only have one flavor of jin apparently #but you have to admit... its fun to write ;-;

[willowaus]

yuletide

For Nabrina Winterfest Day 2: Yuletide. This is set in my Before the Devil Breaks Me universe when Lucifer wasn't awful.

Sabrina hummed a Christmas tune as she headed into the kitchen, pressing a kiss to Nick’s cheek. She ignored Zelda’s huff over her choice of tunes, watching as her aunt shifted her newspaper a little higher. Ambrose and Nick were already doling out the different breakfast foods, Salem sitting below them and waiting patiently for a piece of bacon to fall to the ground.

Sabrina headed over to Hilda who was at the stove, working on cooking the eggs. The scent of gingerbread wafted from the oven and Sabrina spotted the batches of icing ready to go once those cookies were cooled.

“Auntie, how hard would it be to accommodate two more people for dinner?” she asked after giving Hilda a quick hug.

“You know I cook for a small army, love, so not difficult at all.” Hilda handed over a mug as Sabrina fiddled with the coffee maker. “Are Rosalind and Theo going to be joining us?”

“No, um,” Sabrina leaned against the counter, pausing for a moment. It was probably best to just come out and say who it would be. “Lilith and my father want to come.”

Hilda nearly dropped the spatula she’d been using for the eggs, sputtering as she looked back over at her niece. Zelda lowered the paper she’d been reading, setting it down on the table, while Ambrose had stopped eating, his fork halfway to his mouth. Only Nick and Salem continued on with what they had been doing.

“The Dark Lord wants to eat with us?” Zelda asked, looking pointedly at her niece.

“I think Lilith is the one who wants to eat,” Sabrina replied as she turned back to the coffeemaker and picked up her mug. She shrugged as she sat down, trying not to make a big deal of the situation.

“She’s a fan of mortal food,” Nick added as he handed a plate of pancakes to Sabrina. “He just wants to spend time together with us.” He arched a brow at how much syrup she was pouring and leaned toward her, adding a whispered, “You still have to come even if you give yourself a stomach ache.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“What do I even serve them?” Hilda asked, her face pale as she thought about the menu she’d had planned for ages.

“You don’t have to change anything that you’ve already got planned,” Sabrina started as Zelda clucked her tongue.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sabrina,” Zelda interrupted. “It needs to be fit for the Dark Lord and Lilith.” She rose, opening one of the kitchen drawers and removed a pad of paper and a pen. “The usuals will not do.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re going to want what you’ve already planned considering how enthusiastically Sabrina talked about it all at our last dinner with them,” Nick replied and Sabrina nodded along with that, but Zelda was already scribbling away on the pad, her sister looking over her shoulder.

Ambrose simply shook his head and added more pancakes to his plate.

“I was just doing a ham--I could possibly manage a turducken, but it takes quite a bit of prep work,” Hilda suggested and Zelda wrote that down. “I’ll have to see if I can find a turkey and we’ll need to give it time to thaw--oh I supposed I could use a spell for that.”

“We always have ham,” Ambrose grumbled. “With that honey glaze and the fresh rolls.” Turducken wouldn’t be the same. Sabrina wrinkled her nose, clearly agreeing with him.

“I think a turducken would work wonders,” Zelda agreed, lips pressed together as she considered the rest of the list. “We’ll need more sides as well.”

“I want ham,” Sabrina started, rolling her eyes as her aunt held up her hand.

“But is that what the Dark Lord will want?” her aunt asked.

“It will be if he knows what’s good for him,” Sabrina grumbled, stabbing at her pancakes a bit viciously.

Ambrose snorted at that, while Nick at least had the decency to hide his laugh behind his elbow.

“I suppose we should do a cake instead of the pie,” Hilda murmured, pulling one of her cookbooks off the shelf. “I’m not sure which would be elegant enough.”

“I’m telling him no if you keep trying to change what you already had planned,” Sabrina butted in, and Zelda slammed the pad of paper down on the counter before she turned to look at the girl.

“You want us to serve a measly apple and pumpkin pie to the devil?” she asked, brow arched as she pursed her lips, clearly thinking that wasn’t enough.

“He wants to try it, Aunt Zelda,” Sabrina replied with a shrug before motioning between herself and Nick. “We’ve been saying that Aunt Hilda makes the best pies around. And the ham, plus the mashed potatoes and the green bean casserole and everything we usually have.”

“Hopefully you told him about the fresh rolls that melt in your mouth,” Ambrose murmured, and Nick gave him a thumbs up. They had definitely included those in their recountings.

Zelda simply stared at the three of them.

“We can use the really good china?” Sabrina suggested in an attempt to get her to come around.

“Of course we are going to use the good china,” Zelda snapped, looking at the lot of them like they had lost their minds. “We’ll need to do a thorough cleaning of the mortuary as well.” Hilda nodded at that, picking up the pad of paper and flipping to a new page to write down what else was needed. “New centerpieces--I expect you all to help with that. Place settings. We’ll need to get some new cloth napkins. Good ones, I’ll send you to collect them from the house in France, Ambrose. You two will be in charge of making sure the Yule tree and everything else is in tip top shape.” She looked pointedly at Nick and Sabrina. “There will be more. Expect to have your set of duties doled out to you later today.”

The three of them let out a groan as the two aunts continued to go over the ever expanding list.

“I told you we should have suggested a Yuletide dinner at a restaurant instead,” Sabrina murmured, poking Nick in the side.

“Pretty sure that would have just given us a different kind of headache to deal with,” Nick countered as he caught her hand, bringing it up to press a kiss to.

“He’s right, cousin,” Ambrose added, before reaching over to snatch a piece of bacon from her plate. “Plus we’d miss out on Aunt Hilda’s apple pie.”

True. And Sabrina really didn’t want to miss out on that pie.

#nabrina #nabrinafest #my drabble things #sabrina spellman #nicholas scratch #spellman family things

[sabraeal]

Traffic Lights Are Burnin’

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @nebluus‘s birthday! She asked for some WFB, and of the options I gave she chose the next part of our Six Flags saga...only the beginning scene of that chapter ended up ballooning out into this so...it ended up being less Amusement Park Shenanigans and more Wholesome Boys Will Be Boys Content. I’M SURE MADI WILL BE JUST FINE WITH THAT TOO 😂

“Are you making an omelette?”

English is not, functionally, Mitsuhide’s first language. Not that he thinks of it like that-- first or second, third or fourth; there’s no ranking in his life, no moment in which one language followed another. There was English with Mama and quebecois with Papa; a plan quickly scuttled by Mitsuhide being the fifth Lowen sibling. Refusing to be pigeonholed into a single language no matter how many times Mama repeated consistency is key, his brothers mostly spoke a tossed salad of both and assumed he’d understand the lettuce.

Coupled with the fact that all his cousins lived in Toronto anyway, Mitsuhide had hardly begun talking himself before it became outside quebecois and inside English. Unless they left the province, in which case it was a free-for-all that left his few monolingual aunts and uncles dizzy.

Which is to say, Mitsuhide only becomes aware of the precise inner ranking of his languages in moments like this, where gut immediately kicks out a dry ‘j’essaie.’ The translation is vetoed on the grounds that although in quebecois he’s never met a word he couldn’t steep in sarcasm and smuggle in a sacre, he prefers to keep his English so clean it squeaks.

You’ve got it all backwards, Kihal had told him as he sweltered under the San Juan sun, English is fake, you can be as much of an asshole as you want it in, it doesn’t count.

It’s true, there’s something that’s more real to him in French, that’s more real about him, but, well-- there were far fewer cousins to tattle on his potty mouth this way. And now that he knows Obi...

Well, if Kiki ever made good on her threats to teach him any of his “church swears,” he’d probably never sleep easy again. So instead, he scrolls through his mental rolodex of possible appropriate replies before settling on, “Would you like one?”

Zen glances up from his array of pamphlets, glossy paper glaring beneath the overhead lamp. It matches the way Zen is looking at him. “We don’t have time for that.”

Mitsuhide frowns, giving his eggs one last vigorous whisk before pouring them into the pan. “There’s always time for breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

He glances over just in time to see Zen’s grimace. “Shirayuki really could be your sister.”

There’s really no reason he has to look so horrified by the idea. His brothers may all be broad shouldered, barrel-chested giants, but plenty of his cousins made pocket money in high school through catalogue modeling. And they’re all very nice girls.

He doesn’t mention it. A conversation never ends well if you have to whip out photos of female relatives to prove your point. “Would you like one?” he repeats instead, a safer tactic overall.

Zen’s nose wrinkles beneath some dubiously drawn eyebrows. “Are you putting spinach in there?”

“Kale,” he agrees. “And chicken.”

“In a breakfast omelette?” He clucks his tongue, just the way the Wisteria’s chef would when he attempted to cook at the estate. Quel dommage, he would say, sighing over the cutting board, why would you do that to perfectly good eggs? “Why would you do that?”

Because these muscles don’t come cheap; Mitsuhide chokes down a truly staggering amount of chicken in order to keep them. Roasted, of course-- boiled is technically better for protein, but even he has to draw the line somewhere. The eggs have less, but they are calorie efficient; he’d eat more of them if he could stomach the slimy, snake-like sensation of swallowing them down hard boiled.

But explaining his diet regime usually ended with glazed eyes, so he settles for, “I could always put something different in yours. There’s ham.”

Fancy ham, Obi calls it. It’s just from the deli counter, fresh sliced from whatever quality cut’s on sale, but considering how the first time Obi saw a charcuterie board, he shouted, Oh, Lunchables!--

Well, Mitsuhide can accept that maybe they have different benchmarks for fancy. And somehow just the simple act of calling it that does make it taste better. Or at least more satisfying when it’s shoved between a Hawaiian roll and deli cheese.

There’s a soft shuffle by the kitchen door, and a wild thatch of bristle peeps around the frame. Mitsuhide shakes his head with huff. That’s a new one-- just think the devil’s name and he appears.

Obi lopes into the kitchen, all long limbs and smooth movements, blurring right into the background without any effort at all. He’d gotten Mitsuhide a few times when he’d first moved in, popping up wherever it was sure to be the most inconvenient, grinning like a cat with feathers in its teeth. But once you knew the trick of it, well-- it’s no effort to keep the kid in his sights.

Which is why he has a full, uninterrupted view when Obi slips right up to Zen’s elbow, and asks, “Whatcha doing, chief?”

“Wah!” Pamphlets fly up, a glittering flock of wings swooping beneath the lamp. Zen slaps them down before they can skitter off the table’s edge. “Obi! Make noise for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” he sing-songs, not a sincere note in it. Two long fingers pluck a pamphlet off the wood, twisting it between them. “What’s all this? They starting to put theme parks on exams now?”

“No.” Zen scowls, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m just making today’s itinerary.”

Mitsuhide slides his omelette onto a plate, turning just in time to catch the glance Obi sends him. It somehow says is he fucking with me while also implying I’ll hold him down if we gotta send him to the doctor. “An itinerary?”

He leans a hip against the island, fishing out a fork. What was it Obi always said? Dinner tastes better with a show. Time to find out whether it extends to breakfast too.

Zen fixes Obi with a look that could have had trenches with all its affront. “You can’t go to an amusement park without a plan. How else do you get on all the coasters?”

“It’s only Six Flags New England.” A week ago, the name alone made Obi flee like a cat from a bath, but now every syllable drips with derision, like a sommelier reviewing boxed wine. “They’ve got what? Superman?”

Mitsuhide shoves a corner of his omelette in his mouth. It’s not as good as a sausage, mushroom, and cheese, but, well, it’ll do. “Bizarro.”

“Bizarro.” Obi scoffs. “See? Nothing. Besides, I thought you were the kind of guy to spring for fast passes, boss.”

Zen’s always been sensitive; the sort of kid who tended to pop off when a situation came to a simmer instead of trying to turn down the heat. When Izana had been sitting president, he’s spent half his tenure fielding tense calls, sometimes even climbing into a towncar at a moment’s notice to be taken back east. The school, he’s always say, lifting a shoulder, my brother is proving to be a challenge, and my mother is...unreachable.

He’d thought this Zen kid must be like the ones he knew on the ice, punching first and asking questions later, complaining about being put in the box. All temper and no temperance, Mama used to say when she drove him home, can’t talk when you got plastic between your teeth.

But then he’d met him, undersized and stick-limbed, living in that house with people paid to be invisible. A kid with too much on his shoulders and too many eyes to watch him stumble under it. He’s come a long way from there.

So when Zen squirms in his chair, red already starting to lick up his neck, Mitsuhide doesn’t enjoy it. On the contrary, Zen’s discomfort is his discomfort, a failure of him to keep the watchful eye on him that Izana asked him to.

But it also doesn’t stop him from adding, “Shirayuki believes that waiting in line is part of the amusement park experience.”

Obi looks as though he’s just been told it’s his birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one. “Of course she does.” His mouth sharpens to a wicked grin. “So you’ll be lowering yourself to the peasant’s lines today, huh, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, swatting him away. “No one’s being lowered anywhere. We won’t be running into any of them so long as we get there early and hit the coasters in the right order.”

Obi coughs. Or at least, makes it sound like he is. “Uh-huh.”

“Where is Shirayuki anyway?” Zen glares at the empty doorway, brows heaving like thunderclouds over the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said you’d get her.”

“I did.” Obi twitches his shoulders; as good as a shrug, from him. “She’s getting ready.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” Zen’s glare changes target to him, thunder rolling in the tone of his voice. “Shirayuki doesn’t take this long to get ready.”

When Mitsuhide glances up, chewing around another stab of egg, kale, and chicken, Obi’s eyebrows are already there to meet him. His head tilts, just the barest degree; this is your show, big guy.

Mitsuhide coughs, trying to clear his throat of leaf bits. “Girls,” he starts, the ground sinking beneath him with each word, “like to look nice. Especially when they are on, uh, dates.”

“This isn’t a date,” Zen informs him, more than a little put out. “Obi’s going.”

The sound Obi makes can only be termed as distressed. “I didn’t want to.”

For exactly this reason, is what he doesn’t say. Doesn’t even show it on his face, though it has to be lurking beneath it, considering how he--

Well, considering nothing Mitsuhide knows for sure. But certainly a few things he reasonably suspects.

“Chief.” Obi flips the chair next to him, straddling it. “You know, I really thought it couldn’t be true. I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But to hear you now--” he leans in, one narrow brow raising the same time his voice drops-- “you really do chicken out when it comes to getting chummy with Doc.”

Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his chicken.

Zen’s red all over, like someone pulled him from a boiling pot and put him on a plate. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” he says, so easy. “Doc told me.”

“She said that?” His skin’s so flushed Mitsuhide’s half afraid he’ll pass out, but instead he just collapses against the ladderback, head buried in his arms. “Shirayuki?” 

“Pretty much.” Obi sighs, hands braced on the table. “I mean, is it so hard to say she looks nice when she dresses up? Or that you like her hair, or--” he stumbles, shaking his head-- “no, not the hair. Too loaded. But you know, one of her floaty little numbers. Her freckles. Something.”

“I have!”

Obi lifts a dubiously narrow eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Ah...” Whatever the answer is, it’s not helping his blood flow problem. Mitsuhide nearly opens his mouth, searching for a good way to make himself a target-- “The Big E.”

Well, there goes that plan.

Obi’s inquisition crumples into confusion. “What? When did you--”

Every word ekes into the air with the utmost resistance. “When she was wearing your hoodie.”

“When she was wearing my--?” Gold eyes round to coins. “Chief.”

For a solid minute, that’s the only reaction-- wide-eyed disbelief, earned from two sides. But Obi coughs, mouth twitching, and it’s a snort, a smirk, and--

And then Obi launches himself away from the table, both hands still gripping the edge as he falls apart utterly. The chair’s back keeps him from putting his head between his knees, but spiritually he’s there, tears tracking down his cheeks as his laughs wheeze out of him

One hand finally slaps the table, like he’s asking for a time out. Zen frowns down at him, red finally fading to a painful pink. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is,” Obi squeaks, and Mitsuhide has to shove his last bite of omelette into his mouth to stifle his own noises. It’s no good-- Zen whips around and gives him the same glare he’s been saving for Obi.

“If you don’t cut it out,” he says loftily, “I’m going to let a freshman stay in your room.”

Well, that brings Obi up. “Fine,” he coughs, voice still ragged from laughing. “But still. My hoodie.”

“The sleeves hung over her hands! It was cute.” Zen huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine, if I’m so bad, why don’t you two show me how it’s done?”

There’s a pause, long and loaded; enough that Mitsuhide glances up from his plate to see just what tomfoolery he should brace himself to break up--

Only to find Zen staring at him.

Intellectually, Mitsuhide is aware that Zen is a Wisteria. He met him through Izana, after all; he’s been over to the manor, he’s even met their prodigal mother on one of her rare stopovers between vacations. But when he thinks of the name, it’s Izana who springs to mind, the gears churning behind his eyes.

It’s not often that Zen reminds him of his brother; Cookie’s always said that Izana takes after their mother with that long and lean model build, while Zen has always been Kain’s child. But now, now--

He sees it, and it sends a shiver right through him.

With a quirk of his lips, Zen says, so like Izana that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t know any different, “You first, Mitsuhide.”

Obi’s mouth curves into a leer. “Yeah, Big Guy. Show us the skills that got you Ms Kiki.”

This probably isn’t the time to tell them that it wasn’t him who got her; Mitsuhide hadn’t been trying to do anything more than be the friend she needed, to be a person she could confide in, could trust. People like that were thin on the ground for girls like her; heiress tended to make men see dollar signs instead of personality. But Kiki--

Well, she had other ideas. Ones he’d only cottoned onto when she climbed on top of him and shoved him against the couch cushions with her mouth.

“D-Don’t look at me!” he manages, trying to busy himself with anything. But there’s only a plate to be put in the sink, and a pan to be wiped. Not enough to fake a decent amount of responsibility. “I’m not--”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Man. Don’t leave us hanging.” Obi leans back, grin so wide it practically splits his face. “Lemme paint the scene. You’re single, Doc is adorable, and she’s waiting there--” he gestures to Zen, who flutters his eyelashes in precisely the way Shirayuki doesn’t-- “for you to make your move. Go!”

He could point out he’s not single, and that he doesn’t have any plans to change that anytime soon-- but that only ends in one way: a two-pronged mockery with additional ridicule provided by the impending arrival of his better half. He could also point out that of all the people in this room, he’s the only one who hasn’t wanted to date Shirayuki, but-- well, the problems with that one were obvious.

Instead, Mitsuhide takes in a deep breath, learns on the counter, and says, “Why, Shirayuki! You’re looking beautiful this morning. Those shorts really flatter your legs.”

There is a long silence, and then to everlasting embarrassment, they burst out laughing.

“Her shorts?” Zen’s hand is pressed to his chest, like he needs support to keep upright. “That’s all you can think of? Her shorts?”

“Well, Obi said not to do her hair,” he protests. “Complimenting her dress seemed like low hanging fruit. I was trying to be unique.”

Obi doesn’t even bother to remain horizontal, sprawling himself over the long forgotten maps. “So you went for her legs?”

“There’s nothing wrong with legs!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Zen sputters out in an effort to keep his mouth straight. “Definitely a very neutral place to comment on.”

“Definitely not known for being attached to things like asses.” Obi’s mouth twitches, as much a sign for danger as thunder rolling in the distance. “Or puss--”

“I was not trying to comment on that.” He’d felt bad for Zen earlier, but the sentiment doesn’t seem mutual. “It’s not typical, sure, but Kiki never seems to mind when I compliment--”

“Kiki?” Zen squawks. “Kiki?”

“Well, I think we’re all learning a little too much about Big Guy today,” Obi wheezes. “Mainly that it’s Ms Kiki that chased him, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah.” Zen shakes his head, long and slow and solemn, like a doctor about to give a terminal diagnosis. “No game at all.”

Mitsuhide’s not a competitive man. Sure, he was forward on the ice, the kind of player that got sent to the box before the end of the first half and slid right into the captain spot when it was vacant. Aggression is part of the game, competition laced in every turn of his skate and lift of his stick, but that’s a different situation, a different language--

But it’s that part of him that surges beneath his skin right now, that makes him want to saunter over and put both hands on that rickety, painted wood until it creaks. That makes him want to take a full minute to bend down, showing off every centimeter of his one-ninety plus, and ask real low if either of them has made a girl beg on their cock lately, but--

He puts it in its place. That sort of talk always sounded better en français anyway.

Zen waves his hand, slipping his pamphlets out from under Obi. “Anyway, enough messing around. Are you still making omelettes, Mitsuhide?”

“Ohh, omelettes?” Obi spins to him with wide eyes. “Can I get mine with fancy ham?”

Mitsuhide blinks. “Wait, aren’t you going to do your take?”

“Nah.”

Zen shrugs. “Joke’s over.”

“So I just did that for no reason--?”

“I wouldn’t say no reason,” Zen wheedles. “It was very educational.”

Obi grins. “Mainly about how Big Guy likes legs--”

“Oh,” drawls a voice that makes his body go cold and hot at the same time. When he turns, it’s Kiki leaning against the jamb, a single elegant brow raised, excusing amusement and menace in equal measure. “Am I to take it that the show is over?”

“K-kiki,” he stammers. “How long--?”

“Hm.” She saunters over to the counter, slipping onto a stool with a casual grace that still leaves his mouth dry. “Long enough. I have to admit, I was looking forward to seeing a display of Obi’s fabled moves.”

“Ms Kiki,” Obi simpers, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’d be happy to give you a personal demonstration anytime.”

Both her brows raise. “Did I say I was desperate?”

He’s saved from Obi’s answer by Shirayuki padding into the kitchen, flushed and breathless. “Oh, you were right Kiki! Everyone is already ready. Sorry to make you wait.”

There’s a hesitation in the air, and Mitsuhide can’t figure it out, not until he sees-- she’s wearing shorts.

Shirayuki blinks. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kiki hums, sending him a gaze so wicked it should be illegal outside the bedroom. “Do you have anything to say to her, Mitsuhide?”

“No!” It comes out a little too harsh, a little too loud. “I mean, I, uh...like your sandals!”

“Sandals,” Obi snickers, a sound that’s only covered by Zen’s hushed, “Shut up.”

“Oh!” She blinks down. “Thank you. I got them at Payless. I, um, don’t think they make them in your size.”

“No,” he manages mildly. “I don’t imagine they would.”

“You do look real cute, Doc,” Obi chimes in, slinking out of his seat to circle around her. “Did you dress up for today?”

Zen makes a noise, somewhere between a choke and a gasp, but even with the pink brushing her cheeks, Shirayuki’s too used to his antics to do much more than sigh.

“Of course I did, Obi.” Her fists perch high on her hips, cocked as she talks to him. “It’s the last time we’re all going to be going out together, isn’t it? What could be more special than that?”

Mitsuhide may not be a competitive man, and especially isn’t a malicious one, but when Obi’s jaw goes slack, the tips of his ears darkening just the slightest bit, well-- he does indulge in the slightest bit of schadenfreude.

“Well,” Zen says, a little sharp. “Let’s get going.”

“Aw!” Obi whips around. “What about fancy ham?”

“I don’t think you need--”

“Oh, I haven’t had breakfast either!” Shirayuki adds, eyes wide. “Do we have time?”

Zen hesitates, and then with a sigh, relents. “We’ll stop at Dunkies.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #modern au #my fic #ans #mitsuhide gets so few POVs in the fic I can't help but let them get away from me okay #he's a gift #the actual six flags chapters are gonna have rotating POV #and it was just supposed to START with him #but then i was like WHAT IF I INCLUDED THE SCENE FROM BEFORE THE CANON DATE #and now we are here

[spikebhm]

Today was a special day for Spike. They were attending their first American Thanksgiving. Spike had been stay in America since summer & it was not November & one of the biggest holidays had finally come. Thanksgiving! Being a gainer & staying with a feeder this was going to be a fun first Thanksgiving!

“Hey Spike I hope you’re ready! My family cooks big for this holiday & I was told there was going to be even more food this year to make up for missing last year’s thanksgiving & I’m so excited for you to try it. Plus you’ll get to bring home leftovers!” Says the feeder

Spike smiles & nods. They had been looking forward to this day since coming to the states. Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated in Germany. They parked on the street & made their way inside.

“You look amazing & comfy by the way”

Spike blushed, “Thanks! I hope I’m not too overdressed” Spike was looking very soft especially in their cream colored sweater that was just a bit roomy. And their maroon twill joggers that fit their lover body snugly. To finish off the outfit they wore a nice black pair of casual shoes. Very comfy but very stylish. Their hair was looking very thick & full & even darker brown

Spike was welcomed in & introduced to everyone. Everyone was nice & welcoming. Compliments from everyone. The mom especially was ver flattering. Saying things like “You look healthy” or “Looks like someone enjoys food” and laughing it off. Spike blushed & just smiled. About two hours in & it was time to eat. The 12 person dining table was set like something out of a magazine. The big juicy, golden brown turkey in the center. Stuffing & cranberries surrounding it. The holiday ham with pineapples next to it. The basket of rolls glistening with butter & the casseroles plenty. About 5 different ones to be exact. The deviled eggs, mashed potatoes, the greens, the cornbread & all the other food just looking so delicious. Everyone sat, prayer & thanks were said, the children plates made & them sitting at their own table. Food was passed around & Spike modestly loaded his plate. The mom noticed & said “Don’t be shy have some more & scooped up a nice heaping spoon of mashed potatoes on their plate. She smiled & handed his the gravy bowl. Spiked thanked her & added some more food. Time passed & so did more food. There was laughter & good talk. The men excused themselves to watch the game & some stayed to continue talking & eating. Spike & I enjoyed our time but it was time to go. We said our goodbyes & made way to the door. I noticed that Spike’s sweater was a little less roomy. Before we could get out the door mom stopped us & handed us to big bags fulls of food & sweets. We thanked her, hugged her & drove off.

“You look liked you enjoyed yourself. Imagine if I cooked for you like that once a week or so. You’d be growing faster babe.” I lay a hand on your thigh as we drive.

“I definitely enjoyed myself & your family. All nice people & shocking no political or family drama talk. Thanks for having me & I can’t wait to get home to unleash this beast.” Spike pats his tummy & smiles. “I could use a belly rub when we get home too.

“They we’re on their best behavior this year & we normally don’t do politics at the house. It’s a mood killer. But the family drama is always fun to a point. One year my aunt threw water on her sister, not my mom, became my other aunt didn’t know when to stop talking about said aunt’s dating life. It was crazy. And yes babe you can definitely have belly rubs”

We arrive at the house & I help you inside & to the couch were you collapse & catch your breath. I set the leftover on in the kitchen & get comfy beside you. I slide my hands under your sweater & feel the massive orb that is your belly. The heat radiating off it from it being full & trapped in your sweater. Pushing your sweater up I expose it to the cool air. You moan as you cool off & get a belly rub/massage. Not even 5 minutes in & I hear you snoring. I rub/massage your belly for another 30 minutes before I too finally give in to sleep. I snuggle next to you & use your belly as my pillow. Your soft snoring & the rise & fall of your belly lulling me to sleep.

*An hour later*

You nudge me awake. “H-Hey there sleepy. I’m hungry.” You say. I smile up at you & give your belly kisses before heading to the kitchen to get the leftovers.

•

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•

•

•

•

Should I make part 2

Y-yes please!!!

#Talented anons are kicking my butt again #that is written so well thank you!!!! #Ask Spike #fat fiction #feedism fiction #stuffer #getting fatter #fatty #feedist #chubby belly #belly play #belly button #bhm #bhm weight gain #weight gain

[justkending]

One Night Flame (Epilogue)

Series Summary: Y/N is a 3rd grade teacher, who had a really bad breakup. To help cheer her up, her friends convince her to go out to a bar on a school night, something she never does now a day, and things take an unpredictable turn. The stranger she meets, and later has a one night stand with, may be harder to get rid of than she thought.

Pairing: Y/N Carter x Dean Winchester

Word Count:  2200+

A/N: Pretty sure I wrote this series last year, and I’m just now getting around to writing a epilogue... OOPS! Anyway, finals are this week, so as soon as Friday comes... I’M FREE FOR 6 WEEKS BEFORE THE NEXT SEMESTER!! Which means, hopefully I can sit down and write:) So, enjoy the little I can write right now, and if you haven’t read the series yet! Please do! It’s a good one;)

Epilogue:

“The turkey Dean! The turkey!”

“Right! Right! I’m getting it…” Dean came from the living room, running through the backdoor as the timer went off for his experimental smoked turkey he was trying out for thanksgiving this year. 

“How do you think it’s going to go?” Sam asked, grabbing his wine glass that you had already refilled twice since he’d been there. 

He was helping you with the side dishes as Jess and her grandparents were in the living room, playing board games, waiting for dinner to be ready. Mon and Benny were also there for your feast since you and Dean had introduced them to each other about a month ago. They had really hit it off actually. Hence, spending thanksgiving with friends this year since they didn’t have really close family. 

“Honestly, pretty good. As soon as he got that damn smoker, he hasn’t stopped researching and finding recipes to use it. Even did a few practice rounds with brisket and pork,” you replied, putting the last bit of the deviled eggs on the platter in front of you before setting it up nicely. 

“Ok, but a whole turkey compared to brisket?” Sam questioned, raising his glass with an eyebrow just as high. 

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s why I doubled up on the sides, and I have a ham in the oven,” you chuckled, placing your hand on your belly unconsciously. 

Sam looked down at the motion. Everyone close to you knew. You told them pretty soon once you found out everything was healthy and on the right track in the pregnancy. 

“So… When do you guys figure out the sex?” Sam said, stepping closer and with a smile. “It’s getting close to that time right?”

It was. You were a little over 3 and a half months pregnant. You were the tiniest bit showing, but as soon as the bump became even a little visible, Dean couldn’t keep his hands off of your stomach. It was like he had magnets connected to them. You actually had gotten the results back yesterday, but were waiting to tell the whole family. Dean wanted to wait until his parents were in town, but as soon as you got the letter he almost ripped it open in excitement. Lucky for you, you hid it and convinced him to wait one more day like you planned. 

“Yeah actually. We, um,” you leaned in making sure no one snuck into the kitchen while you told him the little secret. “The letter came yesterday. We’re planning on opening it with all you guys after dinner.”

“After?!” Sam shouted, getting a hush from you. “Aw, come on. You’re going to make us wait?”

“They don’t even know their waiting,” you giggled, turning to the rolls now. Making sure the butter and silverware was out for final touches. 

“But I do, and now I have to wait,” Sam kinda pouted reminding you of Dean. 

“Hey, you asked, and I answered. Plus, you’re going to be waiting 45 minutes max. Who’s to say Dean can even wait that long,” you laughed again rolling your eyes. 

“Ok, turkey is done, and boy do I have a good feeling about it,” Dean said coming in with a proud smile. 

“Have you finally mastered the smoker?” you asked, placing a hand on you hip and the other on straightening your shirt. 

“Oh sweetheart, can’t you smell the victory. I’ve more than mastered it,” he winked walking over and placing that magnet of a hand on your belly without even thinking twice. 

“It’s not just in the smell. We have to taste it too,” Sam snorted. 

“Shut up bitch,” Dean huffed. 

“Dean,” you groaned knowing Jessie was in the other room. 

“Jerk,” Sam retorted instantly. 

“Children!” you interrupted. “Dinner smells amazing, and we should probably invite our guest to eat it before it gets cold. Hmm?” you said poking Dean’s side. 

“Ok, ok. I’ll start carving the turkey. Sam go get everyone,” Dean leaned in giving you a peck on the cheek before moving to the giant bird wrapped in foil. Once Sam was out of the room Dean pulled you close to where he was. “So, you have the envelope?”

“It’s still tucked away from you, you little sneaker. I’ll grab it once we finish dinner.” You maneuvered to where you leaned your cheek on his shoulder and a hand around his back as you watched him carefully begin to carve the turkey. He wasn’t wrong, it did smell amazing. 

“I was thinking maybe before dinner, and then we eat in celebration,” he said bargaining with you. “I mean, I was just thinking…”

“Just thinking? Like thinking all night, just thinking?”

“Maybe…” he dragged out. 

You let out a sigh with a little laugh as you squeeze his bicep. “Ok you impatient man. I’ll go get the envelope. We can do it before dinner if that’s ok with everyone.”

Dean pumped a fist in the air before giving her a big kiss on the cheek. “You go grab that, and I’ll finish carving up this bad boy. Hey Sam, you got everyone?” he shouted toward the living room as Y/N walked out. 

A few minutes later, everyone was in the kitchen looking at the buffet style of thanksgiving goodies scatter across the counter tops. Mashed Potatoes, rolls and biscuits, turkey, gravy, vegetables, stuffing, sweet potato and green bean casserole, the list went on. Y/N walking in last with the envelope in her hands discreetly. Dean saw her slightly wave it at him and he smiled before clapping his hands together. 

“Ok everyone, first off, thank you for allowing Y/N and I to host this year and bring you to our house. We are so very thankful for each and everyone of you, and could not ask for a better group of people in our lives.” Dean smiled as Y/N came and positioned herself into his side. Reflectively, his arm wrapping around her waist pulling her as close to him as he could get her. “We are also very grateful for another thing that happened to us this year,” he grinned, moving a hand to her belly. 

“Immensely,” Y/N smiled at him. The crowd in front of them happy to see their love. “Because of that, we thought why not have some of our favorite people here to share the next step in our news.” She turned back to them. 

“Wait, what next step?” Mary asked, standing next to her husband.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Sam cheered, getting a small slap to the arm by his mom at the language. “Sorry.”

“Wait, do you guys know the gender?” Smart little Jessie spoke up.

“That we do,” Dean grinned all proud. 

“Hey Jessie,” Y/N said, bending down some to her level. “The results are in this envelope. Do you want to open them and read it for us?” 

“I don’t want to mess it up,” she said, slightly nervous. 

“That’s ok. I’m sure your dad would love to help you,” Y/N encouraged.

“Yeah, come on over here Jay. I’ll help ya figure it out,” Sam said squatting with open arms. 

She nodded, taking the envelope and Dean helped Y/N back to her feet before they stood next to each other ready for the reveal. 

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Monique jumped up and down. The rest of the room balancing on their toes in excitement watching Jessie and Sam open the little white paper treasure chest. 

“I’m going to have another grandbaby!” Mary cheered her hands held tightly together as John laughed. 

“Ok, let’s see,” Sam said, scanning the paper for the information, and then pointing it out to Jess. “You ready?”

The excitement for the parents caused them to hold each other tightly in anticipation. 

“Can I say it?” Jessie asked, waiting for confirmation as she looked at her dad. 

“Yeah, go for it.” 

“It’s a girl!” Jessie jumped up and down as Sam smiled. “I’m going to get another girlfriend!”

“Oh my God!” Dean shouted, turning to Y/N and picking her up off the ground gently. The rest of the room cheered and jumped with joy as well. “We’re having a baby girl!”

“We are!” Y/N laughed holding onto Dean.

Once everyone had had their moment to jump and scream, they went around hugging and congratulating the couple. 

“I say we dine to that,” Dean said, raising a beer. 

“I agree with that,” Y/N nodded, raising her sparkling cider. 

Everyone dug into their meals and conversation went around the table. Some about school, some about the fire station, some about John thinking of adding on to the garage he ran. But the main topic of interest… Baby names? Nursery ideas? Who do you think she’s going to look like? When is the wedding again?Are you going to take off extra time at work? Have you gone dress shopping yet? How about babysitters? Do you know any around the area? 

“Oh, don’t worry about babysitters. That’s what the grandparents are for. And since I work from home, I’ll gladly take her off your hand when the time comes,” Mary winked. 

“We’ll definitely be calling you sometime mom. Don’t worry,” Dean laughed leaning back after a full meal. “Now, where’s the pie?” 

______

Later that night.

“So a girl? You think you can handle that?” Y/N smiled as she pulled the covers back and maneuvered to her side of the bed. Her nightly routine was all done as Dean brushed his teeth in the connected bathroom. 

“Of course I can handle that. I helped Sammy raise Jessie. What? You think I can’t do it? Think of me as a boy dad?” Dean wrinkled eyebrows after spitting the toothpaste out. 

“Dean, no one said anything about you not being able to do it. I’m just saying, and even Jessie hasn’t got to this age, girls tend to grow up and-” she started. 

“No, no. I’m not talking about growing up and starting dating, if that’s what you’re getting at. Cause she’s still a little bean in your belly, and even after she comes out, she’ll be a little bean forever,” Dean started.

“I was going to say that I feel like teenage angst with girls is a lot harder, but you just skipped right to the dating part,” Y/N laughed, grabbing her book on her bedside and gently running a hand up and down her stomach. 

“Either way, I’ll take care of it,” Dean said as he flossed in the mirror. “By the way, any of those names mentioned at dinner sound any good to you?”

“Although I love your mom, I don’t think Bertha is going to be up there…”

“Yeah, I don’t know where she got that. I think it was a family name way back when, but I’m not even so sure about that,” Dean cringed coming back in the room. “What about Daisy? That was Jessie’s, wasn’t it?”

“Eh, not bad, but I feel like there is something better. No offense to Jess.”

“Yeah, agreed,” he said, sliding in the bed and making himself mold into Y/N’s side as she read her book in one hand, and played with his hair in the other. 

“What about Winona?” Y/N offered. 

“Like Ryder?” Dean perked up.

“Well I guess, but that wasn’t who I was thinking of. Just liked the name,” she chuckled.

“What about Ryder? That’s badass,” Dean said no in his own world. When he didn’t get a response he looked up to see Y/N with a bitch face. “What?” 

“Nothing, dork,” Y/N sighed. “But let’s keep our options open. 

“Ok, hit me with another.”

“I like Reese…”

“Not bad, not bad. What about Dakota?” Dean countered. “I have a really good friend that lives up there in South Dakota.” 

“Who do you know in South Dakota,” Y/N shrugged, going back to the book in front of her. 

“Same person who was able to pull some strings and get me your address when I first met you,” Dean admitted. 

“What?” Y/N said looking back at him. 

“Her name’s Jody. She’s in the police force up there, and she has some outs and ins with the big people,” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. 

“You little rascal. You really went above and beyond to bring me that scarf back,” Y/N laughed. 

“I had to see ya again darling. Can you blame me?” Dean leaned up kissing her cheek. “Hey, let’s talk about all this tomorrow. Cooking up Big Bird himself made me tired. Then you add in-”

“The 3 slices of pie you ate on top of your thanksgiving plate? Yeah, you’re about to have a carb and sugar crash.”

“You guessed it.”

“Get some sleep Dean-o,” she smiled as he cozied up into her while she read her book. Within minutes his soft snoring took up the room. Like every night, he had to fall asleep with at least one of his hands on her stomach. She woke up with him doing the same thing too. “You’re going to be an amazing father, Dean Winchester. Glad I’m doing this with you.”

One Night Flame Tag:

@a-magey @thatgirl1456 @marvelfansworld @shadowkat-83 @death-unbecomes-you @closetspngirl @perpetualabsurdity @deansyahtzee  @vicmc624 @classydreamerprofessorpeanut @sisterslytherinog @carryon-doctor-lock @spndeanlover1967 @akshi8278 @jjlevin @parinarain @capsiclehan @word-scribbless @kind-im-gedankennebel @camillechan @larpandtherealgirl @winchestergirl82 @i-am-a-mes @atomicloverdonkeyperson @tranquility-or-chaos

Supernatural Tags:

@flamencodiva @hobby27 @sucker-for-dean @deans-baby-momma @squirrelgirl67 @death-unbecomes-you @snffbeebee @larpandtherealgirl @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @musiclovinchic93 @vicmc624 @carryon-doctor-lock @perpetualabsurdity @herscrunchiehairtie @spnwoman @shamelesslydean @monkeymcpoopoo @winchestergirl82 @luciathewinchestergirl @deansyahtzee @thatgirl1456 @sucker-for-dean @atomicloverdonkeyperson @screechingartisancashbailiff​ 

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @traceyaudette @kakakatey @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @snffbeebee @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan  @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted

#spn au series #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester firefighter #dean winchester firefighter au series #dean winchester firefighter au #reader x dean winchester #justkending #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #supernatural au series #supernatural au #spn series #spn au

[hopetofantasy]

Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E3

Zaterdag 08:10

Perfect parallel: An upset Robbe being little spoon to Noor this episode, him being a relaxed little spoon to Sander in the last one.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Moyo has half eaten wafers cookies on his bed. Between the cellphone time and timestamp, it took Robbe five minutes to get dressed and to the beach. The beautiful angel pendant makes its first appearance.

Bonus: This cinematography trick of using a wide shot with nobody else in the sight, makes us actually feel how lonely Robbe actually is. 

°

Zaterdag 08:23

C is for culture: “Vamanos” - As you may have noticed, Flemish has a lot of words that aren’t typically Dutch. These are called ‘leenwoorden’ (= ‘borrowing words’). In some cases, the language has made the word its own, with their conjugation or sound (like barbecue - barbecuet - or e-mail - ge-e-maild), other times the expression is copied completely (like smartphone or laptop). There are various reasons as to why people don’t want to change it: globalization, wanting to be more vague/cool, general laziness, ...

Perfect parallel: 

Sander’s playful “Are you the manager?” and “That’ll be zero stars on Booking.com” to Robbe when they meet in this episode, Sander’s sheepish “Zero stars on Booking.com” and Robbe’s pointed “Where is that manager when you need him?”, when they have their fall-out in a later episode. 

Sander saying “When I booked this room, I explicitly asked for room-service” here and him actually booking a room with room-service for the both of them later on.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jens’ keyboard is lying on top of the closet. Sander grabbing his keys (to his car?).

°

Zaterdag 08:44

C is for culture: The option to use self-scanning is pretty common in Belgian supermarkets, especially in shop-and-go city stores. You pick up the scanner, scan the stuff you buy, go to a counter, pay and walk out with your groceries. A sales assistant is still present to help out with problems or do random routine checks. It’s fast, easy and cost-efficient. The downside? Shoplifting becomes a bit easier this way.

That’s character: Sander is putting up a ‘cool guy, devil may care’ facade. He jokes about not scanning everything, dismisses Amber’s list, whirls the shopping cart around and sings David Bowie to this boy. He wants to make a lasting impression on Robbe. If he’s the most charming, chaotic and adventurous version of himself, then he doesn’t have to think about other stuff like his own crumbling relationship. (Also the reason why he doesn’t answer the question about Amber: they simply met through Britt). As the boxes fall down, so does Sander’s tough exterior, as he never intended to hurt Robbe by playing around in the supermarket.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +3, he almost topples off the cart twice and drops the chocolate bars on the floor. (The crash with Sander isn’t his fault though)

Oopsie: 

Sander is wearing a leather jacket, but we don’t see it in the previous clip. Either he left it in his car or it’s an ‘oopsie’.

When Sander accidentally tosses Robbe into the boxes, we hear glass breaking. However, in the next shot, the boxes seem to empty (and they were supposed to be filled with chips, which don’t make that sound).

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Sander is wearing black Converse. They bought Jupiler beer. Robbe pulls out ‘Delhaize’ Biscuit chocolate bars and Florentin cookies.

°

Zaterdag 13:13

C is for culture: "Croques” - The word ‘croque’ is an abbreviation for ‘croque monsieur’ (= ‘crunch mister’). These are grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches, a typical greasy snack at taverns, markets, carnivals, your home, ... Other versions include the ‘croque madame’ topped with a fried egg, ‘croque bolognese’ with bolognese sauce, ‘croque hawai’ with a pineapple slice.

That’s character: It’s clear that Robbe has no idea how to eat properly. All throughout the season he eats unhealthy breakfasts (choco spread with cookies), snacks (chips, cookies) and dinners (Aïki noodles, frozen lasagna). But here we see the reason: he doesn’t seem to know how to cook or work a stove. Exactly why he buys prepackaged or instant food options. So, it’s probably for the best that Zoë helps out his eating habits.

Perfect parallel:

Robbe making an unhealthy breakfast in the previous episode, Sander providing him with an unhealthy snack in this one. (The way to a man’s heart is through the stomach)

Britt’s condescending “Listening to David Bowie again?” in this episode, her calling Robbe his next obsession similar to David Bowie later on. 

Sander’s “Do you know where I can find the coffee?” to Robbe in an earlier scene and his “Was coffee on the list?” to Amber here.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +2, he stumbles backwards after Sander touches his shoulder and burns himself after turning the ‘croque’.

Nod to the OG: This kitchen scene is the equivalent of the ‘5 fine frøkner’ scene, as Sander sings his favorite song to Robbe and makes breakfast, whilst both flirt with each other (subtly).

Oopsie: They supposedly went to ‘Delhaize’ for all their groceries, but the ketchup bottle comes from ‘Carrefour’ and the butter from ‘Colruyt’. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Sander messes up the first words to ‘Under Pressure’ - it’s ‘pressure’ not ‘under pressure’. He mixes the weed with tobacco for his joint. The conflict on Sander’s face at the end.

°

Zondag 16:34

C is for culture: "What kind of shit question is this?” - They’re playing ‘De Slimste Mens ter wereld’ (= ‘The smartest human on earth’), a board game by the popular Flemish television show with the same name. The quiz is very challenging. People have to solve associative, general knowledge and out-of-the-box questions with multiple answers in different rounds. Points are awarded in the form of seconds, which are used during the game. The candidate with time left at the end, wins.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The group is drinking white wine out of plastic cups. Sander studied at ‘de!Kunsthumaniora’, the same school as Noor. Sander’s wearing his combat boots again.

°

Maandag 15:12

C is for culture: Aaron is wearing a bunny costume for the paintball game ‘Hunt the bunny’. This is usually played by people on a bachelor party or a corporate team building (with the groom/boss as the bunny). The goal is simple: the bunny has to cross the field from one corner to another, whilst the hunters shoot as much paintballs as possible to ‘kill’ it. Which is... rather painful, especially at close range. 

Oopsie: What they’re doing is actually illegal or even impossible. People aren’t allowed to play paintball in protected environments, like dunes. Unless they’re doing it with a specialized organization who’s trained for these games (and are present at the time of playing) or have the written permission from the ‘Agency of Nature and Forest’, the police, the city, ... There is a whole heap of permissions, administrative papers and laws to deal with. 

Lost in translation: Britt saying “Doe normaal” (= “Act normal”) has nothing to do with her dismissing Sander’s mental health. This Flemish phrase is often used to calm people down, telling them that they’re acting rather irrationally or childish. It’s an angry way of saying “Can’t you behave yourself? Calm down. What are you doing? Be rational!”. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The blue and red flags tells us that they’re going to play ‘capture the flag’. Some of the ‘pfff’ gun sounds you hear, indicate that the air pressure needs to be checked. Moyo took off his protection mask, which is dangerous and sometimes considered a foul during the game.

°

Dinsdag 20:02

C is for culture: "Do you know how to make s’mores?” - Toasting marshmallows above a campfire, isn’t really a tradition in Belgium. So that’s why the girls don’t know how to make s’mores. 

Lost in translation: ’Smoor’ is a Flemish dialect word for smoke or the act of smoking. It does sound a lot like ‘s’mores’. This is why Luca thinks Aaron wants to hold the marshmallow into the fire. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Of course Robbe had nothing to lose with Noor, he wasn’t actually interested in her. With Sander, however, Robbe doesn’t dare to do anything.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Aaron is drinking ‘Bock’ beer. Amber looks at Aaron like she really likes him, when he’s preparing the s’mores.

°

Woensdag 20:42

C is for culture: 

“An old german bunker” - The province of West-Flanders as well as its coast still has a lot of remnants left from WWI. From German bunkers to trench-networks, burial sites and museums, the 'Great war’ left its traces. Unsurprisingly, every year, people still find around 300 tons of (active) bombs underneath the fields.

“Around ‘All Souls’ Day’ they come back to life” - ‘All Souls’ Day’ is a christian holiday on the 2nd of November, on which the dead are commemorated. However, since that day isn’t an official holiday in Belgium, people visit the graves and honor of their loved ones on the 1st of November, ‘All Saint’s Day’. 

The group drinking ‘jenever’ shots - ‘Jenever’ (known in English as ‘Dutch gin’ or ‘genever’) is a traditional liquor in Belgium and the Netherlands. Young people usually drink these colored, high percentage spirits at Christmas markets, pre-drinks or parties when it’s cold outside. Different flavors include vanilla, chocolate, berries, lemon, apple, ...

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The wooden panel behind Jens says ‘Volg de pijlen’ (= ‘Follow the arrows’). Aaron and Amber are holding hands after their fall. Robbe downs a chocolate-cream ‘jenever’ shot at the end. 

°

Woensdag 21:53

Perfect parallel: Robbe lashing out at his friends in this episode - he feels left out and confused about his sexuality - and blames the pranks. Him doing the same in the next - he thinks his friends are hypocrites by saying homophobic comments to him yet defending the gay teacher - and blames the vlogs. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The second living room has a spinning disco light.

°

Donderdag 21:12

C is for culture:

“In dat jeugdhuis” - A ‘jeugdhuis’ (= ‘youth house’) is a meeting place, run by young volunteers. All teens and young adults are welcome to hang out, throw parties, drink at their bar, organize concerts, attend workshops - just making the space their own. 

“He sounded like a begging Romanian” - Luca is referring to Romanian Romani families, who roam around in the streets of Brussels begging for some money. These ethnic groups have a mostly negative image amongst the Europeans. Which is why she states this harsh and hurtful comparison.

Perfect parallel: Noor asking Robbe for a playlist so she can listen to his favorite songs here, Sander actually making a Bowie playlist for Robbe in the next episode.

Lost in translation: Luca is mocking the West-Flemish dialect by copying what the boy said, namely “Moe’en julder ok ‘n flyer ‘ennen?”. This dialect is known for blowing their ‘g’ and ‘h’ so that they sound similar, conjugating their 'yes’ or ‘no’, having double subjects, seemingly swallowing some letters, among other things. It’s one of the most confusing and difficult dialects for the Flemish to understand themselves.

Oopsie: When Aaron asks Amber if she needs a drink, Britt and Sander are dancing right behind him. When she answers and walks away, they’re suddenly gone, only to be seen again when Moyo walks over.

Nod to the OG/Wink to other remakes: The ‘call your girlfriend’ kiss, duh! 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jana is wearing one white contact lens.

°

Vrijdag 08:43

Perfect parallel: 

Sander searching for coffee first thing in the morning earlier this episode and him pouring a cup before any task in this clip.

Sander’s “Maybe I’m scared that I will never find someone” here and Robbe’s multi-layered “I’m so happy that I found you” in the last episode.

Oopsie: When the boys walk to the recycling spot, the lighting changes from sunny to clouded to dark in a matter of seconds.

Funny coincidence: Sander referring to his relationship as ‘ups and downs’, probably similar to his experience with bipolarity.

Wink to other remakes: An almost kiss near trash, remind you of certain Italian boys?

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Amber delegating tasks, but doing nothing herself. Robbe smiles for a few milliseconds, because Sander touched him. The flash of panic in Robbe’s eyes afterwards.

#wtfock #wtfam #cpm rewatch #skam #skam belgium

[final-servamp-banter]

White Day Event: Youtarou

He’s cute :3 And has a lot of choice branches. And a long route.

Youtarou: Ah, hello? [Your name]?

Youtarou: Sorry for calling you so suddenly~ Do you have time tomorrow?

Youtarou: Tomorrow is White Day, isn’t it? Since I got Valentine’s Chocolate from you, I was wondering if you’d like to have some afternoon tea with me as a thank-you gift.

Youtarou: …… You have time? That’s great~! I’ll make a reservation at the restaurant!

Youtarou: I’m planning to pick a casual restaurant, so there’s no special dress code. Don’t worry about it and just come in your everyday clothes.

Youtarou: Ah, right! If possible… It might be best if you come without eating lunch first! If you have to eat it, make it a light lunch!

Youtarou: All right, see you tomorrow!

(He hangs up)

You: (… I wonder if I’ll be in London again when I wake up…)

~ 3/14 ~

Youtarou: [Your name], thanks for spending some time with me today! I’m glad we get to have tea together.

Youtarou: This is a casual restaurant, so you don’t have to get so worked up. But the tea and the snacks are both delicious! I come here with Gear from time to time!

Youtarou: You can get as many refills on sandwiches and scones as you want. That’s why I told you to only have a light lunch~

Youtarou: So, do you want some more?

You: (Well…)

Player Choices [Note: There’s a lot of splitting. I’ll mark when all the routes here merge into one, and I hope I managed to make it obvious which option belongs where]:

1. I’d like a scone

2. I’d like a sandwich

3. I’m fine for now

Option 1:

Youtarou: A scone, huh. I’ll take one, too.

Youtarou: … Ah, [Your name]. There’s some cream stuck to the corner of your mouth.

You: (Eh? There’s cream… How embarrassing…)

Player Choices:

1-1. Wipe the right side

1-2. Wipe the left side

[Both options lead to the same dialog]

Youtarou: … Ah, the other one, the other. I’ll wipe it off. Sorry, hold still…

Youtarou: … See, here.

Youtarou: All right, done. Scones are delicious if you eat them with a lot of clotted cream and jam, after all! So it happens that you’d get some on your face!

Youtarou: … Are you okay? You tensed up.

You: (… He wiped it off for me…)

Player Choices:

1-1. … I-I’m fine

1-2. … Th-Thank you

[Both options lead to the same dialog]

Youtarou: ……… Ah!! I-I’m sorry!! Of course you’d get startled if someone suddenly touches your mouth, right?! Ahhh, sorry! I-I Just…!

Youtarou: Ah, I-I’ll get some refills……! ……

You: (Even Youtarou-san…)

Player Choices:

1-1. You’re blushing…

1-2. You tensed up…

Option 1-1:

Youtarou: … D-Don’t look at me that much… I got embarrassed, too…

Youtarou: Ah, d-did you try these snacks? Th-They’re delicious!

Option 1-2:

Youtarou: Ah, d-did you try these snacks? Th-They’re delicious!

[Scone option merges with the rest after this]

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

Option 2 (“I’d like a sandwich”):

Youtarou: A sandwich? Which one, the ham sandwich, egg sandwich, or salmon sandwich?

You: (Uhm…)

Player Choices:

2-1. Ham

2-2. Egg

2-3. Salmon

Option 2-1:

Youtarou: The ham one? I’ll get one, too. They’re delicious, so I always end up eating too much.

Youtarou: Gear keeps getting refills for the ham sandwiches for ages. He may not look like it, but he eats a lot.

Youtarou: He eats his meal, and since sweets are his favorite food, he also eats a lot of dessert. If you take your eyes off him, he’ll finish eating in an instant. It’s downright funny.

Option 2-2:

Youtarou: The egg sandwich? I’ll take one, too.

Youtarou: I make egg sandwiches a lot, too~ On nice days, I’ll take one for lunch and go out.

Youtarou: There’s only few sunny days in London, but sometimes you can enjoy a deep blue sky. I’d love to go out with you next time that happens~

Option 2-3:

Youtarou: The salmon sandwich? I’ll go for that one, too.

Youtarou: Ah, did I tell you? I planned tonight’s main to be fish, too! The way it’s prepared is completely different, though.

[Sandwich option merges with the rest after this]

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

Option 3 (“I’m fine for now”):

Youtarou: Really? All right, then let’s eat these sweets. This one might be caramel? And this is strawberry…

Youtarou: Mh! This strawberry macaron is delicious! You try it, too! I took a bite of it though!

You: (H-He’s holding it out to me…)

Player Choices:

3-1. Open your mouth

3-2. Hesitate

Option 3-1:

Youtarou: All right, say “ahh”.

Youtarou: So? Do you like it?

You: (*munch munch*)

Player Choices:

3-1-1. I-It’s delicious…

3-1-2. Th-This is embarrassing…

Option 3-1-1:

Youtarou: Right! And the scent of strawberries is so nice!

Option 3-1-2:

Youtarou: … Ah!! S-Sorry, I just…!

Youtarou: I-I did that… Haha, I’m getting embarrassed, too…!

Youtarou: I-I was so happy, please forgive me… Ahaha.

Option 3-2 (“Hesitate”):

Youtarou: … Ah!! S-Sorry, I just…!

Youtarou: I-I did that… Haha, I’m getting embarrassed, too…!

Youtarou: I-I was so happy, please forgive me… Ahaha.

[”I’m good” option merges with the rest after this]

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

[Finally, all the choices above merge into one!]

Youtarou: … Ah, right. I brought you a White Day gift!

Youtarou: If you want it, I’d like you to have this.

You: (This is…)

Player Choices:

1. A pouch?

2. A stole?

Option 1:

Youtarou: Yeah. I could’ve also made you a sweater, but I thought it’d be good to give you something you can wear regardless of the season.

Option 2:

Youtarou: Yeah. It’s thin, so I thought it’d be perfect for the coming season.

[Rest is the same]

You: (Is this…)

Player Choices:

1. Did you make it?

2. Did you add some of Gear-san’s fur?

Option 1:

Youtarou: Yeah, I made it. I sell accessories, clothes and dolls like this in an internet store~

Youtarou Ah, that’s not one of the goods I sell there. I made if for you, so I’d be happy if you’d use it.

Option 2:

Youtarou: Ahaha, no, I didn’t! Gear’s fur is really powerful, even if I only weave in a tiny amount.

Youtarou: That has its good sides, but it can be dangerous, too. This is just a normal thing I made.

[Rest is the same]

You: (My White Day gift…)

1. Thank you

2. I’ll cherish it

[Both options lead to the same dialog]

Youtarou: You’re welcome! I’m glad if you’re happy about it.

You: (By the way, today…)

Player Choices:

1. What will we do after this?

2. What’s Gear-san doing?

Option 1:

Youtarou: Ah, I’ve made a reservation for dinner, too. Huh? You’re asking whether it’s a reservation for three people?

Youtarou: … Ahh, I see! On Valentine’s Day, we ate together with Gear, didn’t we?

Youtarou: You see~ Today, I tried making the reservation myself. There’s a delicious fish ‘n’ chips place. When you come to London, you’ve got to eat fish ‘n’ chips at least once, don’t you think?

Youtarou: So… We’ll have dinner just the two of us tonight. I’m a bit nervous.

Youtarou: … Though I say that, it’s not a formal place. It’s the restaurant I always go to.

Youtarou: For me, the best thing is being able to enjoy some calm, relaxing time with the people I care about.

Youtarou: [Your name], thank you for spending the day with me. Let’s leisurely spend our time together until the night.

Option 2:

Youtarou: Gear? I told him in advance that I’d be going out today, so I’d assume he’s doing what he wants on his own.

Youtarou: He said I didn’t have to wake him up in the morning, so I just let him sleep when I left this morning. I think he was up doing something until late yesterday, so he might still be asleep~

Youtarou: You know~ Recently, he’s been really into playing online games with someone. I wonder what he’s paying? It seems like he’s talking a lot on voice chat though.

Youtarou: I don’t do that kind of stuff often, so I don’t really understand it well~ I think you’re put into a team with someone online and then play? Maybe.

Youtarou: Sometimes he comes down into the kitchen in a really bad mood. I’m sure that’s when he was in a fight with the other players. He gets super irritated.

Youtarou: But since it’s through a screen, even someone like Gear can’t hit the opponent. Ahaha, so I figured it’s fine, and just let him do what he wants.

Youtarou: If they were to get into a fight face to face with Gear, they wouldn’t survive it~ If you confront Gear like that, he’s got a really short temper.

(His phone rings)

Youtarou: … Speak of the devil, I’m getting a call from Gear~ Sorry, hang on.

Youtarou: Hello? Gear? What’s wrong? …… You just woke up? You’re sleeping too much.

Youtarou: Dinner? I made a reservation to eat dinner with [your name]. Do you want to come, too?

Youtarou: Okay, got it. See you at 7.

Youtarou: … [Your name], I made a reservation at a fish ‘n’ chips restaurant for tonight’s dinner. Gear wants to come, too, is that okay?

Youtarou: I’d love to relax while talking to the both of you again. Just like Valentine’s Day!

[End]

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

T/N: Youtarou calls you at noon your time. Youtarou is in England, you are in Japan. Noon in Japan means 4AM in London. I’m not judging, my sleep schedule isn’t any better, I just wanted to mention that lmao.

Also, dude brings his knitting stuff to a date lmao. Like I’m aware it’s just, like, his avatar (like how Mahiru has Kitty Kuro with him), but several other characters like Jun, Toru, Misono, or Lily did get separate avatars for the White Day date, so...

[ID: Youtarou from Servamp, who’s standing while knitting a long scarf that’s partially wrapped around him. He has an extra pair of knitting needles in a little pouch on his hip.]

I love how when Gear talks about Youtarou he sounds like a proud dad, but when Youtarou talks about Gear he kinda sounds like a mildly exasperated older brother ashdakldhj

#Servamp #Servamp Youtarou #Youtarou Servamp #youtarou tsumugi #Tanaka Box #Translation #White Day Event #Servamp White Day Event #I wanna eat fish 'n' chips now... #I think this is the longest route so far lmao