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bookaddict24-7 · 9 months

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REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Books I’ve read so far in 2023!

Friend me on Goodreads here to follow my more up to date reading journey for the year!

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132. Garnet Flats by Devney Perry--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

While I really enjoyed this one, I miss that suspenseful mystery that filled the first book and a little bit of the second book. With that being said, however, I LOVED the tension between the characters here and how he has to grovel to win her back.

I'm normally not a fan of second chance romances, but I ate this one up. I couldn't stop reading it and I just wanted to know why he has to win her back in the first place (like, what did you do, dude?)

The twist was a bit...listen, you need to super suspend your disbelief because this was some telenovela twists and turns LOL. But that spice was spicy (definitely spicier than the first book). I know this is probably mid-spice for a lot of seasoned romance readers, but I think there should be a fine balance.

I have started the fourth book, but my brain isn't in the vacation mentality anymore. Will I ever finish it? We will see.

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133. The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb by R.L. Stine--⭐️⭐️

Sigh.

I never read these as a kid and some of these books make me wonder what 10 year-old me would have thought. This one was just...it feels like a misleading book. I don't know why I expected more LOL. The key is to not expect anything.

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134. Broken Promise by Linwood Barclay--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I am convinced that every book this author writes will always throw me for a loop.

I picked this one up knowing it was the first in a series because I accidentally read book four earlier this month or last month. I needed to know what had started it all! Of course, there were allusions to other characters from earlier books, so maybe I will never truly be caught up lol.

This one started with a bunch of characters and I'll admit that I was lost at first, wondering if I was going to enjoy this. Then twists started to pop up and I was hooked. Then one of the bigger twists happened and my jaw dropped. Barclay is one of the only authors that will ever get that reaction from me. His books are like a drug for those twisty turns.

I will definitely be checking out the rest of this series, where I will probably encounter more characters from other books I still haven't read by him.

Also, another thing to note is how well Barclay is setting up the rest of this series--especially with that cliffhanger.

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135. Jude Saves the World by Ronnie Riley--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I am absolutely adoring seeing all of this representation in younger fiction!

I loved the wholesome friendship between Jude and their best friend, and how open they were to someone new who needed companionship and friendship during a hard time. I also think a lot of kids in Jude's position may be able to relate with the difficulty of living with a mask on in order to not offend the family in their life who might not be able to understand the nuances of gender and sexuality.

I think the most important aspect of this book, however, is how Jude uses their voice to give voice to others who might feel voiceless--especially in a community that might not be as open as others when it comes to the LGBTQ+ community. I think it's so important to not only see the kindness and large heart that Jude has, but how they were able to create a community for others of any age who may not have the space to be themselves and speak out about their experiences. It goes to show that age isn't a limit when it comes to wanting to create a space for others.

This was a sweet, oftentimes jarring, and heartfelt story. I loved all of it!

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136. The Getaway by Lamar Giles--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Listen, a good horror book doesn't have to be gory to freak you out. Giles proves this in his novel, THE GETAWAY. Not only did he create a strangely familiar environment (so we could imagine ourselves there), but he also infuses it with some of the worst behaviours and prejudices (read: racism) in our society.

I didn't know what to expect when I went into this book. The cover was incredible, so I'll admit that this was a complete cover buy. The themes inside the book gave me as much chills as the cover, since the racism and prejudices were unflinching. This made me think of GET OUT if it was set in Disney World. Like...creepy af setting with a super disturbing story of white rich people who are living out their wildest dreams in the face of an apocalypse. Also, a perfect and creepy example of "the good ones" stereotype that we so often see when there is a Black family living among the rich white people.

If you're going to jump into this one, and I highly recommend it, be prepared for the TWs. I'm not kidding when I say that the racism is unflinching in this one. There's the unaliving Black people in a horrible but historical way, and so many comments made that it will make you want to take a breather.

Be prepared.

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137. Bad Cree by Jessica Johns--⭐️⭐️⭐️

While this book had some entertaining points, in the end, I found it to be just OK. I was neither disappointed, nor feeling all sorts of ways by the end of the book. I just shrugged because it felt like it was missing something.

I kind of almost feel like I was catfished with this book, in a way. I did appreciate the Indigenous mythology and they monster (because THAT was pretty cool). I also enjoyed the familial relationships. My meh-ness stems from the lack of horror I felt while reading this. Sure, there were one or two creepy moments at the beginning, but by the end of the book, I was just patiently waiting for it to end.

I feel kind of bad because so many of my friends loved it, so I know I'm an outlier here. But I just expected more?

Anyway, I recommend it if you want to dive into a spooky book that isn't really spooky. Also, if you want to read an indigenous story but explores familial bonds and culture (highly recommend it for those parts!). In a way, it made me think a little of EMPIRE OF THE WILD and how that one freaked so many people out, but I just felt meh by the end.

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138. The Visitor by K.A. Applegate--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

After reading the wild twist at the end of the first book, we jump right into the story where the kids are trying to find a way to keep their planet safe. I liked that this one delved into the effects of these aliens taking over the people around them. It also had some pretty heartbreaking moments since the changes are heavily affecting the friend of the mc of this book. (each book changes narrator between the kids in the group).

I will always find it so fun and fascinating seeing their minds when they change into a new animal.

Loving this series so far and also, justice for the one kid whose life changed so much after book one.

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139. Scorpia Rising by Anthony Horowitz--⭐️⭐️⭐️

One step closer to finishing this series!!

I'll be honest, this wasn't my favourite of the collection. While I enjoyed the later action and twists (even though one twist was like a knife to the heart), I wasn't a big fan of how much we saw of the villain's plans. One of the things I really enjoy about this series is how twisty it can be, but in telling us everything that the villains are planning for Alex, it kind of ruined it for me. I like being surprised, not being shown a map of what's going to happen (and then actually going through with it). It made the beginning of the book a little meh and dragged on.

I'm looking forward to the next books, but while I'm not as excited about this one, like I said before, this one had some fun and typical Alex moments--like the villains completely underestimating Alex. I don't know how this kid is still alive.

I AM curious, however, about how the next books will be after that big twist that just destroyed Alex.

Hopefully will read the next one sometime this year lol

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Have you read any of these books? Would you recommend them?

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Happy reading!

#books #Review #Reviews #book reviews #book list #read #reader #reading #long text post #my writing #my opinion #book blog #book blogger #Features

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nancypullen · 1 month

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Sunday Evening

I'm stretching out the last minutes of this day because I don't want to face another work week. Not because it's horrible, but because this weekend was so much fun. We drove up to Lancaster, stayed in a gorgeous hotel on Penn Square, spoiled ourselves with room service, and just had the best, most relaxing time. On the morning of day one we roamed around the city of Lancaster, spending a good amount of time at Central Market - sort of a huge farmer's market inside a historic brick building. It was hoppin'. Think of any tasty treat, from freshly churned butter to exotic spices and you can find it there. Amish bakeries rubbing shoulders with Cuban spiced meats, Irish stew served up in a booth next to Polish pierogies - you get the idea. Several local dairies offering raw milk, tempting cheeses of all sorts, logs of flavored butter,and so on. The aroma of the baked goods made Mickey weak at the knees. It was so crowded that we didn't even stay for lunch. We wanted to, but decided we'd keep exploring. So we did. I was surprised that Lancaster had such a young, hip vibe. I'm not sure why I expected it to be more staid and full of white-haired folks like us. It's a beautiful city of gorgeous old buildings housing cool new stuff. I loved it. This is a view of Central Market from our hotel room.

Anywho... We hopped in the car and headed out for Intercourse. Get your mind out of the gutter. Intercourse, Pennsylvania along with Bird-in-Hand, and Strasburg are all towns east of Lancaster that offer a peek into Amish life and lots of wonderful garden centers, farm stands, quilt shops, etc. I'm waiting for some of Mickey's photos of the beautiful Amish farms (every one neat as a pin), buggies traveling up and down the roads, and the stunning countryside. I spent a lot of time exclaiming, "I want to live here" Think Tyler and Jamie would drive an extra hour to see us? It's so beautiful. I did snap a few photos. We pulled in to take a peek at the library in Intercourse and I enjoyed the parking lot...

Reserved parking for library patrons...please clean up after your horses. I'll take their horse poop over our bedbug books any day.

We traveled through covered bridges that led us to pretty towns,

and it seemed like we bought a snack at every stop. There is no shortage of tempting treats in Amish country.

ON day two we explored Lititz, Ephrata, and the surrounding area. Mickey wanted to pop into the nation's oldest commercial pretzel factory - it's in an old stone building in the middle of Lititz.

So we had lunch on this street...

and then walked right around the corner and found the Julius Sturgis pretzel place.

Mickey chowed down on a fresh hot pretzel and I picked up some snacks to take home. I mean, how often can you buy dark chocolate dipped pretzels shaped like a horse and buggy?

I'm barely scraping the surface of the fun that we had. We made numerous stops at garden centers and greenhouses because my husband is nice enough to hit the brakes every time I gasp, "Plants!" My favorite stop was a big Amish operation named Reiff's. They had the healthiest plants I've ever seen, all grown in their greenhouses that looked like showrooms. The prices were rock bottom. I filled the back of the SUV for $21. Herb plants were just 99 cents! I also picked up some extra bee balm (always trying to lure more hummingbirds and butterflies) and odds and ends. Their displays were so unique. Check out the succulents growing out of this old sofa.

It's kind of equal parts pretty and creepy, isn't it? Like you might see it in an a creaky old mansion occupied by a witch. This chair is less creepy.

I could have spent hours at Reiff's. While I walked through the greenhouses, Mickey was inside their store buying sauerkraut. He knows the way to my heart. He also bought a big ol' jar of their peaches. The orchards are right there and they boast acres and acres of peaches, plums, and apples. We brought home last summer's peaches and they taste like they were picked yesterday. Heaven! No heavy syrup, just delicious fruit. Does is sound like all we did was eat? I swear that's not how it went. We had a ball going town to town and admiring the picturesque countryside between them. I'd love to see it in every season. Did I mention I could live there? Real estate is quite affordable, just sayin'. Okay, I'm shutting up. I still need to paint my nails and get a few things ready for work tomorrow. I'll be back to share more when I can get my hands on some of Mickey's pretty photos. I'll close by saying that Lititz was my favorite town, the Amish have no fear of carbs, there is a peaceful magic afoot in that corner of Pennsylvania, and my husband is still my favorite travel buddy. It was a perfect weekend. More soon. I have a few long days ahead, but I'll meet you back here for a chat. Sending you lots of love and a sincere wish that the week ahead is a good one for you. Treat yourself kindly. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

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silcorynard · 5 months

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1BLE

The Collective has been growing. Not everyone is a part of it, because the Company was a chimera that not even one man’s word could control, and there had been threat of retribution by some of the investors and shareholders. Some of the miners were scared enough to stay with the status quo, to ask not to be part of what Silco was doing. But the breaks and adjustments to shifts were introduced for everyone, not just for those who were part of the Collective. That, Silco assured them, was the whole point of the Collective: better circumstances for all, and to prove that they would be stronger together, that life would be better arm-in-arm.

It also hadn’t been Silco’s idea to start pooling funds for new projects, but he encouraged the idea once he heard it at the meeting. There was so much that needed to be done in the mines, yes, but the Collective was made up of people. People had needs.

There were plenty of miners who couldn’t work: the injured, the sick, those with inherited conditions, and so on. Sometimes these people were compensated by the Company, but more often they were not. These people still needed to eat; the Collective began to see to it that no-one would be without a meal, or without work. And soon more ideas were offered at the meetings: these folk who could not work in the mines would not be out of work entirely. They could teach mathematics and language to the children who weren’t needed in the mines. Others could clean and maintain the masks and mining equipment, and share the techniques needed for such care and maintenance. There could be classes for literacy and mathematics, there could be classes for cooking and clothing repair and other basic needs, there could be classes for music and storytelling. And, one of the most eagerly-embraced ideas of all, there could be changes made at the mines to make the newly-implemented breaks a little more comfortable.

The Collective Canteen had been built with scrap and rubble, broken carts and rusted beams, squared-off blocks of discarded mine stone, and draped sheets held in place with rail spikes. It squatted near the mine entrance, puffing smoke from jerry-rigged chimneys. It was so beautiful in its ramshackle ugliness, because it had been made by a community with love.

Three months after its opening, Silco lifts the canvas doorway and looks inside with a small proud smile. The ovens, the benches, the shelf of battered pots and pans and implements, the jars of donated grains and spices… it wasn’t much, but all of it was the Collective’s. This hadn’t been his idea: look what the people had come up with on their own, as they pushed for things to be better, as the spark was shared between them. Those who couldn’t work in the mines took shifts here, making meals that children would deliver below to the crews. People could have proper hot meal to fill the belly, not just a smuggled crust of bread in a coat pocket to be eaten while the foreman wasn’t watching, like they used to. The Collective was growing. People were taking care of each other. Things were getting better.

“There’s coffee on the stove.” A voice interrupts Silco’s thoughts. The Canteen saw workers coming and going all the time, each taking their turn with service, but Maryam had been here the longest. An arm injury had brought her here, but a pregnancy had been a good-enough reason for her to ask if she could stay. She was too far along to swing a pickaxe, but she was organised, and trusted, and happy to help.

“I can smell it,” Silco says, letting the canvas fall closed behind him. “I’ve been thinking about a cup since my shift ended.”

Maryam waves her pen vaguely at the stewpot behind her, a huge battered thing, set on top of a broken and overturned minecart. “Then help yourself.” She is busy with tallying the day’s takings, flicking beads on an abacus and counting the thin tin and copper coins in front of her. Not everyone could pay, but those who did made it easier to fill the larder for the rest. And when everyone was fed, everyone benefited.

Silco grabs a scuffed enamel cup from the rack and slips behind the counter. The fire that had been burning under the minecart is down to its last coals, and the dark liquid in the stewpot isn’t steaming. Still, coffee is coffee. He dips his mug to fill it, and takes a quick thirsty gulp of the bitter brew.

“You know Kassandra?” Maryam asks. She glances up at Silco joins her at the counter. “In Work Crew Jussi?”

Silco thinks for a second, then nods. “Yes. Married Tyr last season?”

“That’s her.” She nods, sweeping a small stack of coins to one side. “She has a cousin in Production, in Bergen proper, and might be able to get something to add to the stews. She says the cousin can get her a few sacks of leftovers. Might even be able to make it regular if we’re good to them.”

Silco nods thoughtfully as he sips the coffee. “It won’t be cheap,” he notes, “Even with a family discount.”

Maryam shrugs, her mouth pulling in a wry smile. “Maybe we should invite Production into the Collective.”

He laughs, dryly, incredulous. Why would Production need a Collective? The workers in the city no doubt have protections and wages far better than those who perform hard labour on the outskirts. “We’re doing very well as it is. Better than expected and in such a short period of time.”

“Mmm,” she hums, tapping her pen on the counter. “But we can do better than leftovers and grocery donations from home kitchens.”

“We can?” Silco asks, mildly. When the woman just grins, he laughs and nods to her in salute. “You have an idea. You’re ambitious.” He’s pleased. He so loves seeing the way ideas and hope bloom these days.

“I’ve been here long enough that this place is my baby.” Maryam looks around, proudly, then sets her hand on her belly. “I’m going to have this child here, I’ve decided. Spill blood and bring life out on this hard-packed earth.”

Silco raises his mug in a silent toast. He recognises the words having some kind of rite quality to them. He had never learned his parents’ religion, and had no community outside of the mines. But there are those who toast, and so it follows that this seems like a statement worth toasting; there is power to it, and more the power to her for it. More power to all of them.

“I do have an idea,” Maryam continues, as she finishes her count and swipes the coins into an old lunchbox. “It’s not one that’s gonna take off anytime soon. But there’s plenty of tunnels where the ore’s run dry and the coal’s chipped out. Ones near the vents, so air’s not sour. What if we made use of some of that dead space?”

Silco frowns in thought, nodding as he considers how much of mines gets abandoned or buried whenever it no longer produces. “In what way?”

“Well.” Maryam folds her hands over her belly, smiling, “What if we made a garden? A few boxes of shit and soil, and we could start growing mushrooms.”

Mushrooms. Silco’s mouth involuntarily waters; he looks at the woman in wide-eyed admiration.

“Collective-grown crops for the Collective canteen,” the woman smiles serenely. “And who knows? Maybe we could even start ranching rats.”

“My gods. We’ll eat like kings.”

Maryam laughs. “I s’pose I’m cleared to bring it up at the next meeting?”

“You don’t need my permission t—” He freezes, hearing something outside.

“Well, I thought I’d—”

Glass shatters. Fire blooms against the wall of the canteen. Maryam screams. Silco dives for her, shielding her as best he can with his scrawny frame, hauling her to her feet and moving at staggered, stumbling swiftness as they make for the canvas wall, for outside.

He hears it louder now, the sound of footsteps and angry voices and then, as he and Maryam push out of the flames and smoke, he sees them. Strangers, illuminated by torches and glow-tubes and moonshine-bottle grenades.

Another one of those grenades hits the side of the canteen, and the strangers howl and cheer. Maryam screams again, this time in outrage and fury. Miners still around after their shift are running to sound the alarm, to gather pails of dirt for to smother the fire, and to come to the aid of Maryam.

Silco stares at the fires. His eyes are wide, and all he can see is the canteen up in flames. Everything burns, and he feels cold.

Maryam is still screaming, pulling herself out of the teenager’s arms to address the strangers with curse and fury, but she doesn’t get far. She staggers, and falls, clutching her belly. One of the strangers moves to stand over her, arm raised as though to strike her.

Silco moves, then, whip-fast, charging forward. He doesn’t have the strength to tackle the man to the ground, but he has a pretty knife he carries with him always. A few rapid jabs are enough to drive the man back, but now— Silco grits his teeth and braces himself, standing between the pregnant woman and the angry mob. His hand grips the knife in a tight fist, trying to keep from shaking.

He can see them now, this mob. Rough and filthy and furious, armed with pick and shovel, men and women with bared teeth and fury in their faces. He realises with an odd jolt that he is staring down a group of miners. Strangers, yes, but miners.

“What in the good hells are you doing?” He doesn’t have a voice that carries, not with his lungs burned out, but they’re not watching the canteen burn anymore. They’re watching him, and they hate him, so they hear him. “Why are you doing this?!”

They didn’t come here to talk. They came with fire and weapons and hate. They cuss him out, and call him bastard, and say he and all his kind deserve this. Silco scans their faces, and sees the anger he’s familiar with, the kind of anger that once had him pinned against a tunnel wall with a pick at his throat. They have the same fury he did: he’d thrown dynamite into a tenement with that anger, and in the same way they’ve made their grenades to burn down this canteen.

They’re strangers to him, but they’re miners. They must come from another Company, another part of the mountain. But why are they attacking the Collective? Why are they calling him a bastard?

There’s no time for rhetoric. There’s no air left to speak, because it’s all being used in the fire burning down the canteen. All he can do is hold his ground and protect Maryam, as ash falls down over him and the canteen collapses into charred wood and smoking metal.

Yakob, Maryam’s husband, slam-tackles one of the strangers to the ground, and starts laying in with his fists. He’s not alone; other members of the Collective charge down the hill and throw themselves into the melee. Silco glances to Maryam – seeing her well, but there’s despair in her face as she watches the Canteen burn – before he snarls and charges forward to join the fight, to protect what’s theirs.

It’s a brawl of blood and fists and ash and the gleam of Silco’s knife, under a grey fresh-smoke sky.

---

“Right, that’s the bandages done. Let’s see that eye of yours again,” Vander says, peering in.

Silco obediently lifts the bag of ice chips off his face, squinting with the good side of his face.

The messy-haired youth gives a low impressed whistle. “Swelling’s down, but you’re gonna have a hell of a shiner, Sil.”

“I didn’t even know my face could bruise,” Silco admits, putting the sodden icebag back against the right side of his face. “I thought the gas-paralysis prevented that.”

Vander shakes his head, then resumes his close scrutiny of Silco’s battered hand. For a man with large hands, he is being very careful, very gentle, and very thorough. When he presses against Silco’s knuckles, Silco winces at the pain, and Vander eases his touch immediately. “Describe the pain there, Sil.”

“Uh. Ouch?”

“Sharp, stabbing, lingering?”

“Sharp, I guess? Fades to an ache?”

Vander massages around the ache, then gives a small grunt of relief. “Nothing broken, then. Good t’know.”

Silco blinks with his good eye, his lips pursing in the best smile his face would allow. “And you know this how, exactly?”

Vander opens his mouth to answer. But his father answers first, busy as he is in the kitchen.

“He were apprenticed as a doctor’s boy,” Carlisle Vander grizzles, slamming a cleaver into root vegetables with more aggression than they deserved. “Five years of trainin’ an’ workin’. Waste of a good education, ‘coz he turned tail an’ ran soon as the work got too tough.”

Vander’s face creases in exasperation. “Dad.” It was a warning, a plea, an attempt to interrupt what was clearly an argument hashed and rehashed on-and-off for years.

“It was your ticket to a better life,” the older man throws a scowl over his shoulder. “Did we scrimp an’ save for months to get you the joinin’ fee? That we did!”

“Dad.” Vander gives Silco a look of mild apology. He hasn’t let go of Silco’s hand, and still circles his thumbs around the shape of Silco’s knuckles.

Silco, though, lowers the bag of ice and stares at the messy-haired youth. “You were a doctor?”

“Just an apprentice,” Vander mutters.

“Couldn’t handle it,” his father offers, scathingly.

“Dad, enough. I already tol’ you what it was like.” His accent always became more pronounced when he was at home. “It weren’t a life fer me.”

“Imagine what you coulda been,” Carlisle tossed the rough-chopped vegetables into the pot, where they hissed in the oil in protest. “Coulda had a proper future.”

“Weren’t the future I wanted, Dad, so drop it.” He pauses, and looks at Silco’s hand, and face, and the bandages he’s just finished binding, and a flush of colour rises in his cheeks. “I know enough, learned enough. Didn’t need more. We’ve been over this.”

“You weren’t born a doctor?” Silco feels like he’s missing a significant piece of context. “And you just… you left? You can do that?”

“Well, yeah.” Vander says, managing a lop-sided smile.

“Not everyone’s born into a profession like you, lad,” Carlisle offers, shrugging. “Not everyone in Zaun’s born t’a Company. Some gotta buy their way into somethin’ new, or they pick up what they can, where they can. S’why we’re runnin’ a pawn shop.”

Silco feels the ice in his hand and the ache in his hands and face, and is suddenly conscious of how big the world is when you’re not pinched between stone and darkness. “People can choose where they work.” It’s a revelation. It makes him feel small, and ill, and in the same way he felt when he stood on the edge of the Ironspikes and looked south to see the world unfurled vast before him. A world within view but just out of reach.

“Aye,” Carlisle mutters, giving his son one more dark look, though now at least it is tempered with a grudging acceptance. “They can.”

Vander pulls a face at his father, then gently lets go of Silco’s hand. “You’re stayin’ the night again, Sil?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Silco still has too much adrenaline in his system, after the fight, after dousing the fire, after getting clocked in the face, after having his hand and face touched with such care by Vander. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

Carlisle grunts. “If your Company wanted t’fuck us over, lad, they’d’ve done so already. Not like you two’ve been subtle about your sneaking off.”

“Dad!” Vander buries his face in his hands.

“Dinner’s in the pot an’ cookin’ up.” Carlisle ignores his son and gestures the ladle in a vaguely-threatening way in Silco’s direction. “You’re stayin’ t’eat, but after that I don’t give a rat’s arse what you do with your time or where you lay your head. Get me?”

“Thankyou, Mister Vander,” Silco says, politely, lips quirking as he fights not to smile. He’s familiar with the old man’s surly affection now, and hears the invitation to stay the night for what it is. “I appreciate it.”

The old man grunts, then gets back to work.

“‘Mister Vander’,” the younger mocks, under his breath.

Silco smirks a little. “You’re the one who doesn’t like being called by your first name,” he points out, in the same whispered tone. “Warwick.” Pronounced ‘worrick’; Carlisle, too, was not pronounced how it was spelled, being ‘car-lyl’. It was a habit of Middletongue to pick up and discard rules of language as it saw fit, especially when it came to names.

Vander the Younger flushes a slight pink. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Vander looks like he plans on making Silco shut up, with his eyes dropping to Silco’s lips and a grin starting to form. But then Carlisle calls for his son to set the table, so the young former-and-not-currently-a-doctor Vander sighs and gets to his feet and wanders across the room to help.

Silco puts the ice back against his face. He thinks about being born a miner. He thinks about the miner who gave him this black eye. He thinks about the fire that burned down the Canteen, and the view beyond the borders, and his jaw sets with renewed determination.

---

His cigarette is burned almost all the way through, but he’s barely noticed. He and a few others from the Collective have been watching this other mining site for the better part of two hours now, noting the differences between the Company that runs this place and the one that owns where the Collective toils. The conditions are as different as night and day. Silco nurses his anger.

The whistle has blown to signal the end of shift, but the emergence of miners from below takes agonising hours. Company agents and security check each miner for ore or shale they might be trying to smuggle out. Equipment is collected and scrutinised. Each shuffling, miserable miner is given their scrip and made to depart the property. It’s pitch black, but for the floodlights trained in the ragged folk shuffling out from under the earth.

“Looks like a prison camp,” Gesso hisses softly. Silco agrees, but says nothing. He just finishes his cigarette.

Most miners shuffle off towards the Company-owned tenements. But there’s many more who make their way to the mazelike slump of tents and shacks that pock the mountainside, homes built between the air-pumps and shale-vents. There’s a larger building, sitting humped like a tumour at the start of the path, where signs proclaim in symbol and rough-painted sign of food and drink available. It seems busy. Crowded. Yet it lacks the usual jollity of a tavern. It is the first target for so many, including the crowd the Collective have been observing.

Silco drops his cigarette and grinds it out under his shoe. “Let’s go.”

As expected, he finds many familiar faces. But before they can give him another black eye, he starts to ask them questions and drawing comparisons between this mine and the one they attacked last night. Those who aren’t so deep in their cups can give what answers they can. The hostility remains between these miners and the handful of Collective folk. But Silco knows how to talk. He pulls at their pain, and shows them a spark. Money is a good way to get people to pay attention. But power? Power is a good way to get people to listen.

“Your Company bleeds you, your Company denies you your pay and your freedom, and your Company tells you we are to blame… and you believed that?” He meets the gaze of the man who slugged him across the face, and spreads both palms out, a query to make every one of them think, before he addresses the tavern interior. “The Company needs you. But they need you to be their wretched servants. They can’t ever let you think or fight for yourselves. They’ll tell you it’s for the sake of the business, or necessary for the bottom line. But really, you know what they want. They want you to be numb and obedient and to say ‘thank you’ for every crumb.” He cocks his head, and seeks out the gazes of those who seem the most infuriated. “Don’t you think you deserve better? We did. That’s why we formed the Collective.”

It’s morning by the time Silco and the others return, after hours of sharing their stories and explaining just what kind of steps they took. It’s dangerous, of course it is, to take the steps that the Collective has, to take that risk and challenge the hand that squeezes your throat. But it’s something to think about. So they give these miners time to think.

Over the next few weeks, there are strangers that join the meetings at the Collective, listening, questioning, cultivating their own sparks. And by the time the Collective Canteen has been rebuilt, the next Company over is starting to feel the tables turn, and understands that their plan – to get the miners to squabble between themselves – has backfired in the worst possible way. For the Company, at least.

---

The map is several conflicts out of date, but the shapes of most borders and landmarks is at least recognisable enough for his needs. Silco traces his fingers around the Ironspikes Mountains, the northeast-to-southwest border that encircles Zaun, then further still in an unbroken curve up to the northwest where Piltover claims. Past these mountains stretch vast plains: the indistinct blur of the Freljord’s snowfields and coasts, the river-crossed forests before the rigid borders of sunny Demacia in the west, the rocky gravel-strewn lands of Noxus to the east, and The Great Barrier, the barbarian-settled mountain range that separated the civilised states from the wildernesses of the Shurima Desert, the Voodoo Lands, Urtistan, Kumungu, the Plague Jungles and the ruins of Icathia. Then far far south, Bandle City, safe from wilderness and conquest by these natural and dangerous barriers, but still able to reach the rest of the world due to their flying machines and their access to the coast. The world committed to paper, and yet not all of it. There was so much more in the details lost to paper, and even more across the sea.

Silco traces his fingers over the map again, this time over the rough sketched lines of the trade routes that connect Zaun to Noxus. A war machine is always hungry for ore and stone. The fruits of Mother Zaun keep the tyrant Darkwill’s hunger keen.

“Zaunite iron,” he murmurs to himself, “Beaten into armour and swords, taken all over the world.” Wherever Darkwill’s desire for conquest took him. South past the mountains, east across the sea, even west and north to Demacia and the Freljord, and further still. The rocks that passed Silco’s hands from the grinder and into the shipping bins could end up rusting and abandoned on some foreign shore. It was fascinating to think about.

He turned back a few pages, leaving the world behind, and looking instead at Zaun. The inaccuracies of the map were now even more obvious, with Zaun being divided simply into six districts. Even the river was the wrong shape: it would be a decade or more before towers and factories and Company rivalries started changing the shape of the city and securing the shape of the land into something more defined, more easy to claim and control. But even now, against the back of the Ironspikes, the district that the Collective first bloomed in was known – then and now – as Bergsen. It had been a big district. Now it was one of the many fragments of the Economic Exclusion Zone. A modern map would no doubt show how many shards the EEZ was in, how many Executives had their hands on territory and were refusing to share.

Silco had grown up thinking the Company was everything. To know that they were merely a fragment of the companies that were owned and fed profit back to the head of the district was … something. To know he was a tiny piece of a tiny business of a tiny corner of one of Zaun’s smaller border towns… it could make a man feel almost insignificant.

Instead, Silco took a pull at his cigarette, and swept his fingertip over the southern curve of the Ironspikes Mountain on the old map, letting his vision blur. There were a lot of mines through these mountains. There were a lot of other businesses, too. And the river started here in these mountains as well, fed by underground springs and snow-melt. The underground tunnels - watched and guarded by the private armies of each district’s Executives - might be the way that trade goods from Zaun got through to Noxus, but all of Zaun’s businesses used the river to bring those goods to the border.

Silco swung the heavy atlas closed and tapped his cigarette into the ashtray. “Vander.”

“Yeah, Sil?”

“Your father used to work Freight, right?”

“Yeah?” The young man’s lips twist in sudden wryness. “What’re you schemin’ this time, Sil?”

Silco hummed thoughtfully. “I’m just thinking about making some new friends.”

“An’ you want some introductions?” Vander sighed, chuckled, shook his head. But bright mischief lit up his face. “Well, I might still know some folks. When do you wanna make the trip?”

Silco stands, flicking the last of the ash off his cigarette and grabbing his coat. “Now. Now seems like a good time.”

#the miners' son #fox and hound #some time back #towers and mines #neatly printed on letterhead #cigar smoke

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crazyblondelife · 1 year

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Sunday Edition - This & That

The beginning of 2023 has been a busy time! I’ve been organizing, making a vision board, cooking (a lot), reading and sitting by our outdoor fireplace watching the flames dance! I’ve decided to take a little time to get my bearings this last couple of weeks after being sick over the holidays! It’s been good to journal and really let go of the past year so that I can fully focus on being Fearless in 2023!

You know I love a This & That post and I have so much to share today, from the outfit below, to my Amazon purchases (so much), books and so much more! I hope you enjoy!

First up is this cute look that I’ve kind of resisted wearing for some reason. It’s a little out of my box, but now that I’ve worn it, it will be on rotation! I’ve had these pants for over a month and, as you know…I wear jeans all of the time so wide leg cropped trousers aren’t the norm for me! It’s good to try new things! The sweater is from last season, but I found several others (below) that are similar and…for those who love vintage…one of them is vintage!

I’ve been on a little Amazon shopping spree lately….nothing too expensive, but sometimes, once you get started, you end up with a full cart!

The last thing I ordered should show up today and I’m so excited about it! It’s a book that was recommended by Juliet of Make Mine a Spritzer so I know it’ll be a good one! The book is A Place at the Table - A Recipe for a Delicious Life in Paris by Alexander Lobrand. Another book that I’ve been pouring over is An American in Provence, Art, Life & Photography by Jamie Beck! This book is so gorgeously done and you’ll want to pack up and move to Provence after reading! It’s the story of Jamie’s move to Provence but it’s also filled with beautiful photography, recipes and advice…just in case you decide to move to Provence! In my last post, I mentioned Maman the Cookbook - All Day Recipes to Warm Your Heart by Elisa Marshall and my obsession continues…it’s such a well done cookbook with mouthwatering recipes! To help me read all of these books I’ve ordered, I needed some new reading glasses and these are so cute and supposedly, Oprah’s favorites!

As you can see, I have a minor addiction to books…mostly decor books and self help books! Speaking of self help books, I also ordered The Mountain is You - Transforming Self Sabotage Into Self Mastery by Brianna Wiest. I’ve read several of her other books and they are filled with golden nuggets for living a more fulfilled, happier life!

I’ve also been cooking up a storm recently and I’ve had to organize my cabinets so I could see what was in there! The holidays left them very unorganized and depleted! My daughter Rebecca is an excellent organizer and helped me to get everything together! I ordered a few Amazon items that really helped coral everything into neat categories! These cute little spice jars are great for holding spices that come in bags (why do they do that). I had so many bags of various things from Zaatar to curry powder and they are all neatly put into jars and labeled so I can find them! I also ordered these one gallon glass jars with lids to hold chocolate chips, brown and confectioners sugar and I’ve filled one with homemade snack mix! These smaller stackable plastic containers are perfect for holding dried beans, lentils etc! It feels so good to have everything in place!

I order some items in bulk on Amazon, such as organic black peppercorns, Maldon sea salt, and my favorite Honey Aleppo Pepper that I use on everything from chicken to fish to roasted veggies! It is the yummiest thing you can imagine!

Did I mention that I also collect cookbooks? Ina Garten’s new cookbook Go-to Dinners, is one of her best…I gave several as holiday gifts and they were very much appreciated! I haven’t tried any of the recipes yet, but because I have every cookbook she’s ever written, I can guarantee that the recipes in this book are amazing! I’ll keep you posted!

I’m planning to make creme brûlée for Valentine’s Day, so of course, I ordered a small culinary blow torch to caramelize the sugar on top! It’s also great for making the most delicious grapefruit half! Lastly, I ordered an avocado keeper that has been very handy!

After taking a little break from working out because I’ve had such a terrible cough, I’m happy to say I’m back at the gym and very sore! It’s always nice to refresh your workout clothes for the new year because they seem to get worn out so quickly!

To be perfectly honest, after binging Emily in Paris, we haven’t really watched anything! I keep hearing that 1923 is worth watching, so that’s on the list! I love anything with Helen Mirren! The trailer is below if you’re thinking of putting it on your list. Have you watched and what did you think?

youtube

There is not much better than a warming soup or stew when the weather is cold outside! With the Super Bowl right around the corner, I’ve been looking for some new recipes and this White Chicken Chili from Half Baked Harvest sounds so amazing!

#This & That 2023 #lifestyle

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wastelandsurvivalguide · 1 year

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Part 2: The First Grocery Trip

Today, I find myself having to make the crucial first grocery trip everyone has to make when starting their life over. While it must remain simple and cheap, there is no reason to have to eat like you're in jail. Firstly, grilled PBJ sandwiches taste far better than uncooked ones. That is the basis of this operation here: It doesn't have to be super complex but it has to be warm and filling. Hot food is better for you, this is just a fact of life. When proceeding to the store for your first nomadic shopping trip, you have to keep some things in mind. First off is finances. It's entirely possible that you don't exactly have a lot of extra cash right now, and that's okay. The key is to keep basic essentials on hand always and use those to spruce up the boring stuff. The first thing you need is salt, pepper, and basic spices. This doesn't have to get super fancy or expensive, but it will definitely help you start turning canned dinners into cheap gourmet eats. Garlic and Onion powders are instant flavor bombs you can add into almost everything. Another couple good spices are seasoning mixes such as Tony Catcherie's and Chef Cavander's. These spice blends will comfortably mix and pair with almost any food you cook, instantly elevating their flavor.

So we've addressed flavoring the food, but what exactly are we going to be eating? Assuming you have access to a fridge, you can pick a meat like ground beef and begin arranging dinners off this. Ground beef, vegetables, and seasonings sounds like a basic meal but I assure you, it's far more filling than ramen noodles. Potatoes are a great vegetable to keep lying around because they're filling, keep forever, and if you're savvy (and keep reading on in this guide) you can even use old potatoes to grow new potatoes. However, if you don't have the means or space to keep fresh potatoes, Instamash is your best friend. With a little bit of milk or water, salt, pepper, and some butter, you will instantly have a poorman's meal that will fill you up and keep you going. Another good tool in the pantry is canned everything. Canned veggies can be added to one-skillet mixes like a Shepherd's Pie kind of dish, or eaten alone just cooked and seasoned. Canned meals like spaghetti and ravioli are also very good quick meals to eat as they don't require any prep except for cook time. The key is to take the bare minimum you have access to and learn how to combine different random foods to create something you don't hate eating together. Sure, it's always going to be nicer and easier to go out to a restaurant, but it's also a lot more expensive. The goal of this section is the encourage you to stretch your food budget as far as possible so that you don't ever have to worry about it.

So we've talked about sandwiches, the importance of hot food, instamash, and canned soup. That's already a pretty good basis to keep us alive, but let's go a little bit deeper. Canned corn beef hash, a couple eggs, and some toast will definitely bring you back from the dead in a heartbeat. If you have access to refrigeration, some ground beef will instantly open up a whole new world of good eats for you. Most of cooking, mind you, is just combining meat, vegetables, and usually involving some kind of sauce. If you keep this in mind, the sky's the limit. Most pasta dishes are pasta, meat, and sauce. If you have the budget to get jars of whatever your personal favorite sauce is, you can add water and a little flour to make the jar last almost twice as long. As long as you keep your pantry small, go grocery once per week, and use your perishable items first, you will be more than fine. If you have access to refrigeration, ground beef and hotdogs are the two cheapest methods of adding a meat of some kind to your foods. You could always add a chili sauce can for "meat", but nothing will ever be better than it being fresh cooked.

It's always a good idea to have snacks on hand for inbetween meals. Whether its some crackers, cookies, whatever tickles your fancy, it never EVER hurts to have quick food on hand. This keeps you from having to waste an entire meal in a situation where you might just be moderately hungry. You can get creative with your snacks as well; taking a single piece of bread or a tortilla and making a peanut butter and jelly roll up is a good quick snack. Ironically, mayo and bread is also a tasty snack that you can easily throw together in a pinch. The sky is the limit on what you can cook, it just depends on what you want to eat and how creative you're willing to be to get that meal!

Another good way to get ideas for meals is through old cookbooks, especially from times of economic hardship. These books will be filled to the brim with tried and tested meals to help you get through even the toughest of times. Write down a couple recipes every time you see one and soon enough you'll have your own cookbook.

Foods that are instantly filling and can be used as a "base" for your cooking are pastas, rice, and potatoes. These are easy and filling carbs that can "do most of the work" so-to-speak. These will help make your dishes stretch in your stomach as these filler ingredients help to take up space. A meal can definitely be completely different just by serving it with rice or bread.

Tomorrow I set out to gather the last bit of household essentials for myself (such as a bowl or two and a towel) and my initial shopping trip. It kind of looks like this: Bread, Eggs, Milk, Cheese, Butter, Spices, Canned Soups, Peanut Butter, Jelly, Instamash, Canned Beans and Vegetables, Saltine Crackers, Teabags, Oatmeal, Sugar, Maple Syrup, and potentially some fruit or berries for some sweetness. You don't need a whole lot, just enough to keep a healthy variety in your life.

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imagines-hoarder · 3 years

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House Warming - Bucky Barnes

Summary: Hopping through some standout moments in making Bucky's apartment a place worth coming home to. (This definitely could have been a headcanon but I refuse to do headcanons at this time.)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2.6 k

Warnings: fluff with a lil angst

A/N: I have finished all the assignments left for my degree and decided to sit down and write today. This is probably trash but idc because it has been written and therefore I may as well release it. It's been a while since I've written and years since I've truly tried dipping my foot into a different fandom, but I figured I'd give it ago. Please don't forget to leave comments, I love interacting with y'all. Thank you @bwbatta for the dividers! xoxox

Masterlist

It all started with a damn candle. A ‘sandalwood & vanilla orchid’ candle tucked away in a reused cyan jar.

“I found it at the art market down the street last weekend,” you said as you placed it in the corner of the living room window. “You know we have to support local business.”

“And I shouldn’t assume this is your way of telling me my place smells, right?” Bucky quipped from the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He’d just gotten back from a 12-day mission with Sam, and the last thing he had on his to-do list was to buy candles.

The smile grew firmer as you put yourself into his arms. “Complete opposite, actually. I bought it cause I thought it smelled just like you.” You hid your face within his chest, and he thanked the stars that you couldn’t see the warmth rising in his cheeks. His barren apartment felt a little bigger with a candle in the windowsill.

From there it became decorative pillows… and a couch to hold them. The small living room had quickly become a mess by the time you both had brought it up to his fourth-floor apartment, furniture wrap and packing peanuts strewn everywhere.

“I still don’t know why you needed to buy a sofa this big,” Bucky grumbled as he leaned over the back of the beige three-seater, looking down at your splayed out across its cushions.

“Don’t get me wrong, babe. I love the transient bachelor look you’ve got going on here, but you need more furniture than an armchair,” you mumbled between heavy breaths as you tried to regain control from maneuvering the couch into the apartment.

“And the pillows?” A laugh fell from your lips as you watched him look at the indigo cushions with a remarkable amount of disdain. Who buys pillows made just to look nice on a couch?

“They add character.”

“I didn’t think character was an area we were lacking in. Transient bachelor, remember?” He walked around the couch and shifted you over so he could lay beside you. You instinctively curled into him as you both closed your eyes. For a second the place felt like home. “I also don't know how you plan for us both to fit on this couch every day along with the pillows.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You looked up from his chest with a mischievous glint that made his heart skip. “It’s a pullout bed too. I’m sure it’ll be firm enough even for you.”

The home improvements didn’t stop there, but Bucky refused to admit how much he enjoyed them.

He liked having a place and person to come home to. After you had bought neutral bedding for his room, you’d spent an evening putting together ‘his and hers’ trestle bookcases for either side of the bed. He’d try to keep up his crabbish demeanor as you argued that ‘you needed a place to set your books for when you slept over,’ and a side table could no longer contain the small collection you had spilling over. Even still, he couldn’t find it in himself to banter much about the minor changes you made to make the place feel lived in.

And God, did he love living with you around. Between missions, his continued therapy, and trying to find his place in a world that had tripled in opportunity since his youth, he knew that he never had to question who he was and where he fit in when he walked through that door. You still occasionally slept at your own apartment when he was away, but he could always count on you being asleep in his bed by the time he came home.

One toothbrush in a glass became two, and from there, hand creams, face masks, and cotton pads cluttered the bathroom counter, packed away in their clear containers. You had made sure to keep lavender bath salts on hand for the late-night baths you took together when he woke up in a panic, unable to close his eyes again for fear of falling back into a nightmare.

It took time and working through plenty of hesitation before Bucky could progress from sleeping on the pull-out sofa to the bed, but ever since, you found your nights attended by restlessness whenever you weren’t wrapped in his arms.

Once your lease was up and you had a lengthy conversation about your inability to rest without him, you quickly filled the apartment with brown boxes. Bucky had been no less than astounded by how much you fit into them. From then on, no nook or cranny was without a vase or shelf.

“How many mugs does one house need,” Bucky asked skeptically while he continued to carefully pull them from their paper wrappings.

“Oh, come on! They’re fun!” You exclaimed, wrapping an arm around his waist as you took the Charlie Brown mug from his metal palm. “Plus, we go through enough coffee around here to justify some extra mugs.”

After you put the mug into the lowest shelf of the cabinet, you busied yourself with filing away the spices one cabinet over. No matter how much he tried, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from you, lost in your own world as you chipped away at unpacking your belongings, making yours his, and vice versa. The domesticity in the little things you did was something he could get used to, and he wanted to return the feeling of normalcy as much as he could. He was far from the average boyfriend, but you remind him that could be a good thing. You never wanted to be average, but in these small moments, as you both did what normal couples do, he felt that he could create a new normal with you.

“So your Christmas gift came in already, and it’s too big to hide.” Your awkward tone carried over the phone as he exited a station ten minutes away from the apartment. Even though his neck ached and the cold nipped at the top of his ears, he couldn’t stop himself from releasing a breathy laugh.

“I thought you said you were good at this gift-giving thing, doll,” he teased you as he maneuvered his way to your shared apartment.

“Oh, don’t you fret, baby. I am the best gift-giver in all of New York City. I just slightly miscalculated how big this thing was and have realized it won’t fit into our closet.”

He tsked with a smirk on his face. “If you say so.”

“Hey, you gave me my Christmas gift a week ago.”

“Yeah, that’s because I didn’t know if I’d be back before Christmas.”

“Well, you will be, and I’m glad you are,” your voice softened lovingly as he pulled out his keys to the front of the building.

Bucky had gotten used to your love, but he’d vow to never take it for granted. All the pain he’d endured had somehow led him to you, the person who didn’t see his broken pieces as a burden or a project but as a potential to be whatever he desired.

When he hung up the call and unlocked the apartment, his brows furrowed into one; the apartment was pitch black. It was only when he heard your soft footstep walking towards the entrance that his face relaxed.

Before he could even kiss you, you had your palms firmly placed over his eyes. “No peeking; your gift is in the living room.”

The uncertainty in what you could have got him made his stomach clench. “Is it an animal?”

You slowly dragged him through the front hallway, making sure to avoid crashing into the entryway storage table. “I’m sorry to say it’s not alive.”

“Is it a nice welcome-home spread with candles, fruit, and the pullout bed all set up?”

He could feel your eyes roll to completion. “Easy there, sergeant. That’s for later.” You pulled him down to sit on the couch, and he kept his eyes closed as you pulled your palms away, moving to turn on a lamp. “Okay, Buck. open up.”

When he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing nestled against the wall; when he did recognize it, he could only form two words “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit indeed.”

He was quick to stand up and cross the room, eager to get a good look at the walnut centerpiece. “Does it work?”

You scoffed as you moved to kiss his cheek. “What kind of girlfriend would get her ancient boyfriend a broken phonograph console?”

He didn’t even attempt to answer as he bent down to wrap his arms around you, his lips eager to find yours. “A fucking Magnavox radio and phonograph,” he mumbled against your lips.

“A working Magnavox radio and phonograph, you mean.” When you pulled away and saw that his face held a glow reserved only for special occasions, you knew you had made the right choice. “I’ve got some records wrapped up if you want to open those now too.”

You yelped in surprise as he picked you up and made his way towards your bedroom. “I’ve got something else I’d like to unwrap first.”

Bucky Barnes had grown up in a period when the average family could seldom afford nice things or much of anything at all. The Great Depression has resulted in the slogan ‘Make it do or Do without,” being ingrained into what memories he still had, and 'doing without' had become commonplace for the Barnes household.

That’s why every gadget and gizmo you added to your household left him in awe. For much of his life, including the decades he spent as a weapon for Hydra, he hadn’t been allowed to call anything his own; he was still getting used to living so plentifully, both in love and in life. But now, he could barely move and he thought it had all been taken away from him.

The attack was supposed to have been contained, at least three miles away from the apartment. Anything less, and he would have made you visit your family upstate instead of just suggesting it. By the time Sam had told him that there’d been some confirmed damage within a block of the apartment, Bucky was already on his way home. He couldn’t think of anything but the worse: you trapped in a collapsing apartment building or pulling up to find no building there at all.

He felt his lungs fill with air again as he pulled up to your building, completely intact regardless of the severe damage less than a five-minute walk away. It felt like both seconds and hours between when he parked his outside and unlocked the front door.

“He doesn’t have his phone on him, mom. How am I supposed to…” you trailed off from your call as he walked into the living room, turning your head away from the Breaking News report you’d been glued to for the last hour. “Wait, I’ll call you back. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you back.” Your eyes never left his as he walked over to you, hanging up the phone with worry in your eyes. “Buck, are you oka-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he pulled you off of the couch and into his arms. His grip was less reserved than he usually kept, but he made sure not to hurt you, eager to keep you in his arms, where he knew you were safe. A single tear fell from the corner of his eyes as he realized the real possibility that he could have lost you if you lived even 5 minutes closer to the attack. You stayed like that for a while, gathered tightly in his arms as you both settled onto the floor You didn’t push him to verbalize his fear; you already understood it. And it took this occurrence for him to realize he never wanted to experience this feeling again.

Bucky was quiet for the rest of the evening, and while it worried you, his fear had been evident enough not to require questioning. The city-wide cleanup had lasted all hours of the night; for the first time in all the years you had lived in the city, the sounds of the whirring of vehicles clearing debris off the street had been too close to ignore. The sun was rising before a single word was said between you and Bucky, tangled together on the sofa as the first ray of light made itself known.

“You’ve spent so much time piecing this place together, doll.” His voice was raspy. You know he hates when you see him cry, but his pain was always evident in his voice. “And it could have been all wiped away in seconds.” You let a heavy silence settle between you as you traced a pattern into his shoulder. He couldn’t bear to say it, but you knew what he meant: You could have been gone within seconds. “I just… I don’t ever want to feel like this again.”

You’d both gone through so much to make your relationship work. Nearly normal was as close as you would ever attain to being an average couple. The distance, the days without contact, and the ever-present fear that anything could pull you away from one another was something that had taken time to work through.

You looked around the living room and saw the place you had built together. There were photos and books scattered on any flat surface, a leftover mug half-filled with cold tea, and a record left out on the phonograph. The apartment looked like what love felt like; a messy combination of everything you and Bucky. But this apartment could not contain everything that ‘home’ was; only Bucky could do that.

The words fell from your mouth before you could restrain them. “Maybe we should move.”

Your eyes found each other, and you both sat in silence, though it felt lighter, invigorated with the new proposition.

Before he even responded, you could see tension dissolve from his shoulders. “Where do you want to move?”

You hadn’t thought that far ahead, only being able to provide him with a shrug. “I don’t know… maybe upstate, maybe somewhere else.”

“Your mom would like you being Upstate.”

“My mom would love us living next door too, but I don’t see that in the cards anytime soon.” You got a ghost of a smile for that.

“We could probably afford a house if we moved out there,” he said as he moved his lips to meet your forehead.

“Buck, I’d move anywhere with you. As long as we have each other, then we have all we need to rebuild this place.”

He pressed soft kisses to the crown of your head, and you swore you felt his chest flutter. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna look for some places, bigger ones too.” He tilted your head up to find your eyes, and you were sure that all of the love you carried for each other was incredibly visible at that moment. “You have made this apartment something worth coming home to. Now let me give you a house to make a home.” Your skin tingled with adoration as you pulled him as close as possible, burying your face into his neck.

You didn’t want to let go. You wanted to lay in this room, in this bed, and in this moment until the end of time, but you knew that something bigger and better was on the horizon for you and Bucky.

“All I heard is that you’re buying me a house.” His laugh was music to your ears.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff

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keilemlucent · 3 years

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prey and promises

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

word count: ~2.1k

keigo is a people pleaser at heart, and you’re his person. you want to try some new things in the bedroom. you do the math.

warnings: light restraints, light predator/prey (ish), praise kink, service dom keigo

a/n: people pleasing keigo is my kink, service dom keigo is my kink, here’s some pwp. this was originally my drabble for the exchange, but it got a wee bit long so it’s its own bastard now. enjoy some h word and happy valentine’s day loves!!!! 💗💗💗

“That too tight, dove?”

No, and honestly? Not tight enough.

The rope binding on your wrists was a bit too loose, a bit unpracticed, but a good effort despite all of that. Keigo really tried his best for you, and you could tell.

The bedroom was dim, for the sake of romance, suspense, or both. Only the flicker of a few perfectly placed jar and pillar candles lit the room, allowing Keigo’s wings to cast large, beautiful shadows across the room.

You watched, mesmerized by just his shadow.

That wasn’t mentioning the man who was straddling your hips, chest level with your face as he futzed with your bound wrists.

He worried to himself, nervously speaking just above breathing.

Who would’ve fucking thought, that number two, pro hero ‘Hawks’ was a goddamn sweetheart in bed?

He was a notorious playboy (wrong, but tabloids work harder than sinners on their knees), and unabashed flirt (true, but before you, he’d always been shit at the follow-through). Yet, he’d been worrying about the state of your bound arms for what had to be at least ten minutes.

As much as you appreciated the care, you were practically dripping onto the bed from all of the teasings he’d led up with (kissing, sucking, torturing your poor nipples until they were hard, flushed, and bitten.) It had been too long since you’d had the proper time to spoil each other, and Keigo was exploiting the opportunity for all it was worth.

Some time ago, he must’ve had the rope shipped to your shared apartment without you knowing. It wasn’t too thick, not too rough, just perfectly oiled and deep scarlet. It was worn by the time he’d brought it out to you that night, a surprise for you, but not him. He’d obviously been practicing knots in the little spare time he had.

It showed how much he cared, truly.

You’d mentioned, offhand, a month or two ago over a shared bottle of wine that you’d like to ‘spice things up’ in the bedroom when you had the chance to. Keigo had been intrigued, dug in a little more, and got you blushing and revealing a good handful of kinks.

And he delivered, the best he could anyway, with the experience and research he’d been able to put together.

“Not too tight at all,” You tug on the restraints, wiggling a bit below him, antsy and needy already. “Now get down here, or I’m gonna leave hickeys in some very visible places.”

Keigo ‘ooo’ed and flopped to rest his chest against yours, the chill of the barbels through his nipples making you shiver. He gives you a pleased smile, eyes sharp and half-lidded all at the same time, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both, if you keep talking and not touching,” You really tried to keep your tone from getting whiney. Keigo was content, always content, to be a tease, and without your hands, it was even easier to fall to mush beneath him.

“Needy,” Keigo clicked his tongue, snapping the elastic of the garter over your thighs. With his weight over your hips, and your arms high and held to the headboard, there wasn’t much you could do other than writhe a bit and plead with your eyes.

“If you were in my position, you’d be the same way,” you hissed.

“Maybe,” He mussed, lips trailing over the skin of your throat.

Keigo stole any retort and the breath from your lungs as he chomped down on your neck (really, he bit down) and suck at the skin. The bruise he was leaving began to ache almost immediately, teeth kneading away even as you arched and gasped beneath him.

You bucked your hips, begging silently for just a bit more—

And Keigo growled against your pulse. His hands gripping the fat above your waist and pressing you into the mattress with his body weight.

His wings puffed up and outstretched before your eyes as your breaths became more labored with each moment.

He’s really fucking turned on.

Keigo pulled back to sit over your hips, pupils wide and having eaten the amber of his eyes long again.

You tried to grind up into him, desperate for just something—

And Keigo pressed you to the bed again, wings widening to cover the two of you as a low rumble broke from his throat. You swallowed dry and your lips fell open as you watched Keigo, somewhat in awe and very horny.

“Here’s how tonight’s gonna work,” Keigo sounded way too pleased that you’d finally stilled. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and let me decide how and when you get to feel good. You can do that, can’t you?”

You didn’t have a lot of fight left in you, not with the way he was looking at you, not with the way his hands were stretching and squeezing over your curves.

The small part of your brain that was still functioning recalled your tipsy conversation from months before—

...

“I dunno,” You giggled, leaning on Keigo’s side. “I just think I’d be nice to feel a little bit smaller, and weaker. In like a hot way.”

“... Small and weak is hot to you?” Keigo’s word only slurred slightly.

“Nah, not like that!” You pushed against his shoulder, hiding your bashful grin in his bicep. “Like... Use me a bit, you know? However you want to fuck me up, fuck me up.”

...

Apparently, Keigo had taken your request to heart. Did some serious ruminating. And was planning on delivering.

“I said,” His wings half-flapped (oh, you were fucked)— “‘You can do that, can’t you?’”

He ran the tips of his nails (talons) over your ribs, the fucking bastard.

The nail in the coffin was the way how he dragged them up and up. Over the curves of your sides, your tits, heaving chest, and collar bones to plant either hand on the side of your head.

And Keigo leaned over you, naked and leaking, wings extended high with a fucking delicious and terrifying gleam filling his eye.

The sharp talon on his thumb ran over your cheek, and your stomach dropped. You felt your cunt clench around nothing as you pulled at the restraints.

“Yes, y-yes, yes!” You sputtered, lost in the pitch of Keigo’s pupils. “I can do that, it, whatever you want, please.”

Keigo visibly shuddered when you begged, but you hardly noticed. You were far more focused on how he shifted a knee between your parted legs, nudging his own flush with your bare cunt.

“Then fuck yourself on my thigh.”

Your hips moved without thought, the muscles and flesh on your tummy flexing to get just a morsel of him.

“Oh, I think I like this,” His breath felt so fucking hot against your ear, you swore you were scalded. “You’re just so fucking gorgeous when you doing just what I want you to.”

A strained, little sound dribbles from your lips as you nod, ‘yes, yes, I’m sure I look nice but I need more’, turning your head to drag your lips over his cheekbone.

His feathers ruffled, wings fluttering and flexing, the primaries scraping the ceiling but neither of you had a mind to care. Keigo had never really had this energy before, and you were a fucking glutton for it. You needed more, more of him and whatever he was willing to give.

You were begging for it without even thinking about it.

Keigo sat back on his heels, chest and cheeks flushed enough to match his wings.

He was so fucking pretty.

You took him all in, lips parting and just a bit of drool spilling from the corner of your mouth. Just a little bit.

All the while, you kept grinding on his thigh, soaking Keigo in slick that he oh so fucking sinfully gathered up on two fingers that he then sucked clean.

Bastard, bastard—

And impatient bastard.

“Such a good little dove,” Keigo purred, palming his cock with his saliva-soaked hand. “My good little dove. I’m sure you want something to fill you up, don’t you? Tell me. Use that mouth of yours.”

And you spewed.

You slurred about how hot Keigo was like this, how much you needed his cock, because, I don’t know, for fuck’s sake, without it you might as well die. You licked your chapped lips as he grinned above you, more smug than you’d ever seen him.

And thank fucking god, he threw your legs over his shoulders and fucked into you clean with one, single motion.

You shrieked, stretched and stuffed without a moment to adjust but you didn’t fucking care. The burn was grounding, the heat spreading from your cunt to the tips of your toes and fingers as you tugged at the restraints, begging for more until your voice went hoarse.

And, as... predatory as Keigo was presenting himself, large and sharp and intimidating, he was ultimately still your dutiful lover who wanted nothing more than to have you ruined for anyone else on his thick, pretty cock.

“FUCK!” Your voice broke high as you took Keigo’s cock, eyes rolling white as he moved, so fast— “K-Keigo!”

The tempo he set was something worse than brutal. It tore the breath from your lung with each slam of his hips. Each slap of skin on skin had a high moan ripping from your throat in time with the creek of the headboard. The way his cock hit everything so perfectly was overwhelming, but all the same you wanted to drown in it, take it between your ribs and absorb and it and be—

“Whose are you?”

His, Keigo’s, his, his, HIS—

“Y-Yours, yours, YOURS!”

Your vision sparked on the edges as you came, spin curling off the bed, back blown to high hell but you didn’t fucking care. All you could focus on was the pleasure of it all and the way Keigo didn’t slow—

The bastard sped up.

You sputtered something, a weak ‘too much!’, but with no safeword (no need to use it, you felt more alive on his cock than you had in a long time), Keigo kept up his pace, sweat pouring down his temples and feathers twitching blurrily in your vision.

A hand slipped between your bodies, “Y-You’re so perfect, baby, best f-fucking girl in the world for me.”

“Y-you’re best girl?” Your voice broke into a whine as pummeled that knot of nerves, your gut overheating in the best way—

“Yes, fuck, my best girl,” Keigo took only a moment of pause, catching his breath before continuing at a pace and depth you didn’t think you could take but you were— “My b-best, perfect, girl. You’re fucked for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded dumbly, watching Keigo’s bow forward with the curve of his spine.

“Good, good,” Keigo’s voice was just as rough as yours, weak for you and your spent, perfect body and self. “You take me so well, gonna take all of me so, so—”

The finger rolling your clit sped up, and heat shot through you, cunt clenching and sending the two of your tumbling with each other.

“GOOD!”

Keigo’s hips finally stuttered, slamming into yours once, twice, and third time before he spills into you, stuffing you so full you swear you can feel it in your tummy.

You were cresting at the same time, swimming in the sensation of him, slick soaking your thighs as Keigo gave a few shallow thrusts, stuffing you.

And you came down together.

You were only half lucid as Keigo pulled out, laying thick praise on you with words and little kisses to your undoubtedly sore legs. A feather or two loosened the ties around your wrists, so your arms could drop limply to your sides. The rope left the prettiest indentations that you made a not to ogle at when you were more present.

Keigo flopped beside you in the sheets, greedy hands pulling you close to mingle in sweat, sound and breath.

“So, how was I?” Keigo asked.

Someone less practiced in knowing him would assume his tone sounded over-confident, the lazy smirk he was wearing only adding to his incredible acting.

But you could tell from the tension still bound up in his wings, and the little crinkles between his brows, and the thick swallow he gives you, that he is indeed asking you, genuinely, ‘how did I do?’.

You replied with a deep breath, fumbling a bit to grab his hips, fingers dancing up his spin to rest the roots of his wings between your spread fingers.

“You did so good, Kei’, please fuck me like that again sometime—” It would probably be smart to let your very blown out back heal, but—

Keigo kissed you, hard and hot with a hand pulling your jaw just right.

“‘Sometime’?” Keigo murmured, nibbling your bottom lip, the fucking whore. “Why not now?”

You had no reason to refuse, so why not?

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #mha x reader #hawks smut #idk how to tag anymore #anyways enjoy uwu

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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Prompt: Favorite Food Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: G Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt a gift, and it makes Geralt realize he doesn't know enough about what Jaskier likes. He forms a plan to figure it out. ao3

The small cheesecloth package that was dropped in front of him wasn’t necessarily a surprise, but the way that Jaskier hovered as Geralt picked it up was.

“What’s this?” he grunted, sniffing the air subtly. The little package smelled like honey and flour and cream, and the thick, sweet smell of-- “Are those dates?” He pulled the cheesecloth off to reveal a neat little tart, gently browned on the edges, about the size of his palm.

“It is!” Jaskier leaned over him slightly, his arms holding several more packages. He continued, sounding a little nervous. “I know you don’t usually enjoy sweets, but I know the dates are your favorite. Must feed that witcher metabolism, no?”

“No,” Geralt eyed the tart. “Our metabolism is more efficient, not faster.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, deflating slightly. “Well, if you don’t want it I guess I can--”

“How did you know that date was my favorite?” Geralt interrupted, looking back up at Jaskier. Oddly, he could see the bard color slightly at the question, an appealing pink spreading across his cheekbones.

“You bought a jar of jam from that merchant from Toussaint, remember? You never buy jam, unless it’s for me, so I assumed you must have a preference for it. I mean, unless you don’t, which is fine, I can… Well, not eat it, I hate dates, but I’m sure I can find some mangy child to give it to, or a dog, or something. Do you hate it? You hate it.”

Geralt picked up the tart and bit into it, giving Jaskier a raised eyebrow. It was honestly more of a miniature pie than a tart, the flaky crust filled with dates and prunes covered in a custardy filling, sweetened through with honey. The flavors burst across his tongue, the tart still warm. Jaskier must have picked it up at the market and come directly here to give it to him. Geralt swallowed the first bite, looking into Jaskier’s apprehensive face, and said, “Thanks.”

Jaskier visibly relaxed, shuffling onto the bench across from Geralt and beginning to relay the events of the morning market. Geralt hummed where he was meant to and sipped his watered down ale and ate his tart. If Jaskier noticed his absent mindedness, he said nothing.

Jaskier… knew what his favorite fruit was. The knowledge should not have come as a shock, Geralt knew. Jaskier was often getting him gifts - oil for Roach’s tack, new clothes when Geralt’s last threadbare shirt gave out, potion ingredients when he ran low. Sometimes he bought Geralt useless things, little bobbles or trinkets he saw that he thought Geralt might like or find amusing, and Geralt kept them safely at the bottom of his bag, or in his room at Kaer Morhen. He cherished those things, things that told him Jaskier thought about him when he wasn’t near. It was nice, to be thought of.

But for some reason this little gift felt different. Jaskier had known his favorite food, and Geralt had never told him. Dates weren’t particularly common in the North, and it was rare that they were far south enough to meet merchants who carried them up from Nilfgaard. Geralt could remember when he’d bought the jam, hoping it would last him a while, but he couldn’t recall a single other time in recent memory that he’d eaten dates, or even mentioned them. He didn’t tend to wallow on things that were unavailable to him.

His eyes lingered on Jaskier as he spun a tale about haggling in the square. No, Geralt didn’t make a habit of wishing for what he couldn’t have.

Still, there was a problem at hand, one he had to solve. Jaskier knew Geralt’s favorite food. He might know Geralt’s favorite everything. Did he know that Geralt’s favorite color was blue, the wide, free color of the sky on the first day of spring? Did he know that Geralt’s favorite thing to drink wasn’t wine or vodka, but warm honeyed milk like his mother made when he couldn’t sleep as a tiny child? He certainly knew that Geralt liked the scent of chamomile and sage best in his bathwater, and that he preferred cotton shirts over linen, and that he would pick a song with a sad ending over a happy one. If he’d been paying this much attention, there was probably quite a lot that Jaskier knew about him, without Geralt having said a word.

And he didn’t know a thing about Jaskier.

What was Jaskier’s favorite color? Was it blue, like the doublets he so often wore, or was that just to match his eyes? Did he really like wine the best, or did he just like it better than ale? What was his favorite season? His favorite weather? Did he go to Oxenfurt every winter because it was where he could find work, or did he prefer Novigrad, or Vizima? Geralt could tell how Jaskier was going to react every time someone recognized him on the street, anytime a young lad or lass winked at him, even what he might say if Geralt gave the right sort of hum. But he didn’t know much about him, at the end of the day.

He needed to find out. As they packed up their belongings and set out on the road once again, leaving the small town behind them, Geralt ruminated on what could be done to rectify this situation. He couldn’t very well just ask Jaskier about all these things. After all, Jaskier had figured it all out with nary a word from Geralt. He didn’t need to ask; he was paying attention. Which made Geralt’s chest feel oddly warm and heavy, knowing that Jaskier was watching him, paying heed to his reactions and filing them away. Maybe it should have felt invasive, to know that he was being read so easily without his knowing, but instead it just felt… nice. To be known.

He wanted Jaskier to feel known too. He wanted to know Jaskier.

He would start small. Jaskier had given him food, something he knew Geralt would like. It couldn’t be that difficult to figure out what Jaskier liked. Geralt could start bringing him small things, pass it off as returning the favor, and guage Jaskier’s reaction. It would be simple, he mused, eying Jaskier from atop Roach as they walked side by side. His hair was mussed slightly from sleep, still, and he hadn’t bothered to fix it before heading out for the day. No one to impress, Geralt guessed, just the two of them and the road. He liked Jaskier this way, less pinned up and proper, more open. Letting Geralt see him without all of his armor, because that’s what it was, as surely as the leather on Geralt’s back was his. Right now, Jaskier was an open book. All Geralt had to do was pay enough attention to read him.

It was not easy to figure out what Jaskier liked.

The problem, Geralt quickly found, was that Jaskier was enthusiastic about almost everything. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. When he disliked something, he made his distaste abundantly clear. He was dramatic, which should have made it even easier to determine what delighted him the most. Geralt expected that, when he found it, poetic stanzas would be flowing like wine from Jaskier’s tongue, praising whatever it was. He had no reason to expect Jaskier to be subtle about his preferences.

And he wasn’t. The issue was that he seemed to react with the exact same level of excitement about everything Geralt brought him. On the first day they arrived in a new town, Geralt went to the market and brought Jaskier a small basket of strawberries, which Jaskier enthused over for half the morning. Geralt was pleased. Maybe it had been that easy, and he’d intuitively known what Jaskier liked. Maybe he had unconsciously been paying attention all along. He congratulated himself on figuring out at least one piece of the puzzle, and began thinking about how he might approach the next step.

But then he unthinkingly bought Jaskier a few sweetbreads when he was out the next day getting lunch. He’d been getting himself some, he thought of Jaskier sitting in their shared room, composing a ballad about the hunt Geralt had been on the night previously. He’d brought him the extra meats, and Jaskier had nearly the same reaction. Gushing over the gift, thanking Geralt for thinking of him. Lamenting his own forgetfulness, for getting so caught up in his work that he would forget to eat, as Geralt expected he might have. And Geralt was confused, because he didn’t think a few offal from a market stall in a half pint city in Velen was what Jaskier would like. Certainly not something he could call a favorite.

But he’d reacted the same to the sweetbreads as the berries. So Geralt was back to square one.

He reevaluated his metrics. So Jaskier reacted that way to anything he liked, apparently. It was odd; Geralt had seen Jaskier enthusiastically dig into a wide variety of foods over the years, but he didn’t praise them and rave about them the way he had done the berries and the meats. So he must have legitimately enjoyed both of them more than he would any old dish. But neither of them had seemed to outweigh the other. He still didn’t know what Jaskier liked best.

Over the next several weeks of their travel, Geralt bought Jaskier enough tortas and crepes and stews that he knew it was boarding on suspicious behavior. If it was any other situation, any other two people, he knew it might come off like courtship. Every time he offered Jaskier some new morsel, he could feel the back of his neck grow hot at the implications. But Jaskier only ever grinned in delight at whatever Geralt offered him, flushed and pleased no more or less than he had been at all the others. If he suspected any sort of foul play, he never said anything.

It was infuriating. After three weeks of spending more coin that he cared to count at markets and roadside stalls and taverns, he was no closer to figuring out Jaskier’s favorite food than he had been at the outset. It all seemed to go over well, which was gratifying, but he couldn’t tell what Jaskier liked the most of it all. Maybe he just wasn’t as good at reading Jaskier as he thought. He’d thought he was a master of it, at this point - he could tell when Jaskier was tired during a performance, even though his smile never flagged; he could tell when Jaskier was being dramatic about an injury and when he was actually in pain; he could tell the difference between righteous anger versus petty versus hurt. In most respects he felt like Jaskier was an open book, but there was nothing in his reactions to Geralt’s gifts that said he was anything less than entirely pleased to receive them.

He was running out of ideas. Giving Jaskier gifts one at a time was clearly not working; either none of them were right, or Geralt was misremembering Jaskier’s enthusiasm for the ones in the past. He needed to give Jaskier a selection and see for himself what was best, side by side.

It took another week to plan, mostly due to location. They needed to stay in one place for a few days, so that Geralt could collect the things he would need, and it was rare that the two of them were in one town for more than a day. Large contracts were few and far between, and it never took Geralt more than a single night to clear out some ghouls or drowners from an area.

As luck would have it, however, they were only a few days out from Carreras. Geralt pointed them in that direction, claiming that they would likely be able to find multiple contracts in one place there, and that Jaskier could take a few days to play for their small selection of inns and taverns. It wasn’t entirely a lie; there probably would be more contracts posted in a larger settlement, which would mean a solid few jobs to refill Geralt’s pockets. He would need the extra coin to execute his plan.

The first two days of their stay were filled mostly with real work. The city had been having issues with contaminated water, which sent Geralt out to investigate all the wells, and by the time he found the drowner that had fallen into the water supply a full day had passed. He was able to fill another two contracts on their second day, but the triple confrontations over less than 48 hours left him feeling bruised and exhausted.

It was Jaskier who suggested it, in the end. Pulling a comb through Geralt’s hair as the witcher let himself soak in the bath, Jaskier said, “What if we stayed for an extra day or two? The crowds have been good, and Barclay - the innkeeper, I don’t know if you’ve spoken to him - he offered us a discount if I play tonight and tomorrow.” His hand fell to Geralt’s shoulder, warm and comforting. “You could… take a few days.”

It had been his plan to stay, but Geralt felt an ache behind his breastbone at Jaskier’s careful suggestion. Always trying to take care of him, as if Geralt were someone who needed protecting, someone who deserved something like a vacation. He didn’t think he did, but it was nice, as always, to think that Jaskier cared. “Hmm,” was all he said, a soft sound of agreement. His eyes slipped shut as he basked in the quiet content of Jaskier’s company, and they said nothing else on the matter.

The next day he felt rejuvenated, the burn of overexertion in his muscles faded after a hard night’s sleep. Jaskier had played after getting him out of the bath and settled into bed, but he’d returned later, smelling of sweat and rosemary and catgut. Geralt had slept well with his solid weight by his side, pressed into the too-slim bed.

He spent most of the day preparing. The market was busy and bursting when he found it in the afternoon, though not as packed as he was used to seeing in larger settlements like Novigrad. There was a bakery on the corner from which the rich scent of fresh bread spilled out into the square, and the people at the stalls were standing around amiably, chatting about local affairs and peddling their individual wares to one and other. It was a homey little trade network, and despite his strangeness, Geralt didn’t feel unwelcome.

He made several minor purchases before he found his way to the bakery. It wasn’t as crowded as he’d feared, and he waited until the one or two customers before him had made their way out. The woman working the counter was twig thin despite her occupation, thin blonde hair tied up away from her face and covered by a light cloth, probably to keep flour out of it. Her eyes were blue, pale as diamonds. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier’s were nicer.

He made her nervous, it was easy to see, but she quickly warmed to him when he told her what he was looking for. Whether it was his gold that excited her or his plan, he couldn’t say, but regardless she helped him pick out his desired items with enthusiasm.

“If you’re planning to use them later tonight, I can make up a basket and have it ready for you. So nothing goes cold,” she explained, her forearms resting on the counter. “The pies are really best that way.”

Geralt nodded, and handed over her coin.

Jaskier would be back soon from where he was playing the lunch crowd at one of the taverns. Geralt rushed back to their room and put the purchases he had with him at the bottom of his pack, a blanket spread over them. Jaskier returned not fifteen minutes later, flushed and grinning. A successful performance, then. Good. When Jaskier was in a good mood he was more amenable to doing what Geralt said. “When do you play this evening?” Geralt asked, not looking up from where he was cleaning his sword at the small table they’d been provided.

Jaskier set his lute case down gently against the wall and then flung off his doublet with much less care, flopping down on to the bed. Geralt forced himself to keep his eyes on his work, though the image that awaited him - Jaskier, spread out, his shirt falling open to reveal the smooth line of his throat and his sharp collar bones - burned against the back of his eyes anyways. “Not until nightfall,” Jaskier answered with a content sigh. “After the dinner crowd. Why? Do you have plans?”

“Do you remember where we stopped on the first day, the hill just before town? By the brook.” He set his steel sword aside and reached for the silver, which was the one that truly needed attention. So many contracts in a row had left her chipped in a few places, and dull all around. Geralt set his whetstone down, but didn’t draw it across the blade yet. Waiting for Jaskier’s answer. He felt his stomach twist with something like nerves, which was ridiculous. This wasn’t anything risky, anything that Jaskier would read into - probably. Probably.

“Sure,” Jaskier answered easily.

“Can you meet me there?” Geralt asked. “An hour or so before you have to play?”

He heard Jaskier sit up, could feel the bard looking at him curiously. His gaze warmed the side of Geralt’s face, and he refused to look up and meet those bright blue eyes. “Did something happen? Do we need to get out of town?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, amusement bubbling up within him. “No. Nothing bad. Just… meet me?”

Jaskier was silent for a long moment, long enough that Geralt gave up and turned to look at him. He was regarding Geralt with a curious expression, almost guarded. But all he said was, “Alright. I can do that.”

Geralt nodded, satisfied, and returned to his task.

He left before Jaskier, stating the need to drop by the herbalist's shop and that if he wasn’t back - as he didn’t intend to be - that Jaskier should go to the meeting place on his own. Geralt made his own way back to the bakery, where his basket of goods was waiting as promised. He tipped the girl well, and set out with his pack containing the blanket and other purchases on his shoulder, and the basket on his arm.

It was a nice evening, warm and thick with the last hints of summer. It would be fall soon; he could taste it in the faint hint of decay that lingered on his tongue whenever he took a deep breath of the air beyond the city. But for now it was still hot enough during the day that the evenings were comfortable. Geralt found his way back along the road to where they’d stopped to water Roach at the nearby stream, just before the landscape dropped down into the shallow valley that held the large town. He made his way off the path, far enough away that they wouldn’t be obvious from the road, to a raised patch of earth that looked down over the fields as they spread out below. It was a lovely sight, the landscape rich in the evening light, the dying sun casting the rooftops of the city in rich gold. Jaskier would appreciate the scenery, at least.

Geralt quickly set up, laying out the blanket and pulling out the supplies from the basket. He’d maybe gone slightly overboard. There was a meat pie, several stuffed rolls, a hearty cabbage stew in two small bowls kept covered by plates tied to them; a loaf of fresh rye bread, with cheese and jam and honey to go with it; berries and apples with cream; a plethora of desserts, including an entire apple pie, along with little marzipan candies and several little cakes. Two bottles of wine, one white, one red. As he laid out item after item, Geralt felt unease stir within him. It was too much, he realized, seeing it all together. That had been his goal, after all, to see Jaskier eat as many things as possible, to get a sense, at least, of where his preferences lay. But this was overwhelming. Jaskier would realize something was amiss. A picnic, laid out in perfect detail, in the warm light of the evening, fields spread out beyond them and the forest to their back. It was obviously, sickeningly romantic, he realized. So very obviously beyond what one might do to spend an hour eating dinner with a friend. Panic rose in his throat, choking him, and he grabbed one of the wine bottles, thinking to put it away. If he could put some of it back, maybe it wouldn’t look so much like--

“Geralt?”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting the desire to curse, and turned around. He hoped none of his apprehension showed on his face.

Jaskier was a few feet away, carrying nothing but his lute on his back. He was looking down at the spread with a shocked expression, eyebrows pulled up nearly into his hairline and eyes open wide. “What’s… all this?” he asked, his gaze flickering back up to meet Geralt’s.

“Dinner,” Geralt grunted, putting the wine bottle down. In for a penny, he thought grimly.

He watched several different expressions flicker across Jaskier’s face, too quick to parse. For a moment Geralt thought he looked almost… sad, or maybe anxious, but then he broke into a wide grin. The honest delight pouring off of him made Geralt let out a slight sigh, relief blooming in his chest. “Oh, well isn’t this just wondrous,” Jaskier laughed. He pulled his lute from his shoulder and set it in the grass beside the blanket, and folded himself down amongst Geralt’s offerings. A hand reached up towards him. “Are you going to join me?” Jaskier asked, raising a playful eyebrow. Geralt grumbled, but carefully sat down next to the bard and began dishing out the food.

It was good, all of it, but Geralt hardly paid it any mind, focused entirely on Jaskier’s reactions. The constant flow of conversation was interrupted every time Jaskier took a bite of something new - “This is delicious, have you tried this yet?” and “We must find out what spices they used for this stew, it’s absolutely the best I’ve had in months” and “Geralt, where did you find marzipan? Look at these little things, the details are impressive.” Throughout it all, Geralt watched his face, listened to his words, paid attention to what he returned to and what he didn’t.

And by the end, he was ready to tear his hair out.

Jaskier seemed to enjoy everything. He finished every helping he took, praised every dish, thanked Geralt for each and every selection he’d made. Even with so many choices, it didn’t seem to matter. Jaskier liked them all, but Geralt couldn’t tell what he liked the best. Not the way Jaskier apparently could do for him.

Finally Jaskier flopped back into the grass, one hand on his stomach. “I don’t think I’ve been so full in years,” he groaned, staring up at the sky with heavy eyelids. “Probably since the last banquet I played at. You really outdid yourself, my dear.”

Fuck it. He had to ask. “Anything you liked in particular?”

Jaskier hummed, closing his eyes. “Mm, how could I choose? Everything was so lovely.”

Frustration clawed at him. Before he could stop himself, Geralt heard himself ask, “Do you even have a favorite food?”

Immediately he clamped his mouth shut, jaw clenched hard. He hadn’t meant to ask that. He wasn’t supposed to, he was supposed to--

“Oh, I don’t know if I have a favorite favorite,” Jaskier droned, blinking his eyes open to peer up at the sky again, this time with a thoughtful expression on his face. “There’s just such a range, you know. I suppose when it comes to desserts, there’s these custards that they make in Toussaint, have you had them? Tiny things, very sweet, with saffron and cinnamon. Delicious. We’ll have to get some next we go so far south.”

Geralt was hardly listening, even though he knew that had been the entire point. He’d failed. Jaskier had told him the answer to his question, which meant he was never going to have the chance to prove that he could learn Jaskier as Jaskier had learned him. He couldn’t prove his friendship, his affection, through his actions. Jaskier would never be interested in Geralt the way that Geralt was in him, but he’d hoped he could at least let some of his true feelings bleed into his actions, into the careful way he paid attention. Jaskier had already done so as nothing more than Geralt’s friend. Now he would never be able to pay him back in kind, not truly.

Jaskier turned his head to look at him, brow furrowed curiously. He must have been silent for too long. Geralt quickly schooled his features into neutrality, but some of his distress must have peaked through, because Jaskier frowned at him. Geralt could feel the incoming conversation before Jaskier even opened his mouth. He tried to get ahead of it, talking over the beginning of Jaskier’s soft inquiry. “We should head back,” he grunted, rising abruptly to his feet. “You have to play.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, in a tone that made Geralt’s stomach fill with dread. That was Jaskier’s no nonsense, absolutely-you-will-not-be-getting-out-of-this tone. He turned back towards Jaskier, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The bard had clamoured to his feet when Geralt stood up, and was now stepping around the blanket towards him. Geralt wanted to retreat further, to shove the remains of the picnic back in his bag and hide the evidence, but he knew it wouldn’t save him. He was being too obvious, and Jaskier knew him too well.

The bard eyed him suspiciously, but there was a note of concern in the way his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, this time a bit softer. “I thought we were having a lovely time.”

“We… It was. It was nice. I just think it’s time to go.” Jaskier gave him a shrewd look. Not buying it then. Geralt sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s not you.”

“I certainly hope not,” Jaskier chuckled. The sound was thin, like that was exactly what he had been worried about. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. I wondered if-- Well. But if it’s not about me, it’s something else? Are you trying to butter me up for something? Is there a big scary adventure you’re about to tell me I’m not allowed to come on?” His gaze turned sharp again, but this time there was something like fear underneath it. “Are you leaving me behind?”

“No,” Geralt said quickly, his hands rising in a placating manner. “I’m not leaving you, Jaskier, I swear it. It’s just…” He petered off, unsure how to continue. How to explain.

“It’s just what?” Jaskier demanded. “Why have you been so damnably nice to me lately? Are you dying?” His eyes widened. “Am I dying?”

“No, Jaskier, of course not, just--”

“Then why the gifts?” Jaskier spread his hands around their little picnic, an easy example of exactly what he was talking about.

Geralt’s resistance shattered. “I was trying to figure you out,” he snapped. “I don’t know you, not like you know me. You know everything about me. You pay attention, even when I don’t say anything. You knew I liked dates because I bought jam months ago. You know me better than anyone, but I don’t know you. I don’t know what your favorite food is, or your favorite color, or what you like to wear, or what your favorite kinds of songs are, or your favorite season. I’ve been looking. I tried to figure it out, I tried to bring things I thought you would like and see what you liked best, but it seems like you like everything. You don’t always… say what you mean. I can’t tell when you’re faking and when you’re not.” Geralt was tense, fists clenched at his sides, jaw hard. He knew he looked angry. Jaskier probably thought he was mad at him, for some reason, but all Geralt felt was fear. He wasn’t good enough. Jaskier had to see that now. Geralt had known him for years, and he couldn’t even say whether Jaskier preferred blueberry jam to strawberry. What kind of friend was he?

A hand took his, gently pulling his fingers apart. He jerked his head over to stare as Jaskier stepped forward to slip their fingers together, squeezing softly. When he looked up, Jaskier was regarding him fondly.

“My favorite color is yellow,” he said. “I wear the silk doublets a lot, because they’re in fashion, but I prefer a linen shirt because it’s not as sweaty. I like songs about adventure, but books about romance.” His other hand lifted to brush a bit of hair away from where it was stuck to Geralt’s warm cheek. His expression was difficult to look at, earnest and painfully affectionate. Geralt was trapped by those blue eyes, like falling into a clear sky. “And my favorite season is spring. You could have just asked.”

Geralt swallowed. “You never had to. I just didn’t want you to… I don’t want you to think that I don’t pay attention.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, laughing a little, “I know you’re not always paying attention. I’m talking constantly. There’s a lot to keep up with. I know you tune me out most of the time, it’s fine.”

“I’m still paying attention to you,” Geralt insisted, because it was important, critical that Jaskier know that even when he wasn’t listening, he was still attuned to Jaskier. His presence, his voice, the sound of his heartbeat always in the back of Geralt’s mind. Whenever the bard was around he could scarcely focus on anything else.

“Knowing my favorite color or food or what have you isn’t what proves that you’re my friend,” Jaskier said, still smiling. “You know me. It’s alright.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me if you didn’t like the things I brought you?” Geralt asked, feeling unmoored. “You acted like you loved everything.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his chuckle was nervous. The hand he held in Geralt’s was sweaty, and his heartbeat, always in Geralt’s ears, was a bit fast. “Well, they were from you,” he said with a half shrug. “Of course I loved them.”

“But they weren’t--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaskier interrupted, soft but firm. There was a slight, bitter twist in his lips that Geralt wanted to wipe away. “I just… like to know that you’re thinking of me.”

They were standing so close together. Jaskier’s hand was in his, palm to sweaty palm. They were nearly of a height, but Jaskier was just the tiniest bit shorter, so he had to tilt his chin up ever so slightly to meet Geralt’s eyes. Now it was Jaskier who was tense, his shoulders squared as if to absorb a blow. He nervously dragged his teeth over his lower lip, leaving the hint of an impression in the soft flesh. Geralt watched raptly, swallowing against the urge to soothe the spot with his tongue. “I’m always thinking of you,” he finally said.

Jaskier took a shuddering breath, and Geralt watched as his eyes dropped down to flicker over Geralt’s mouth before they dragged back up to meet his gaze again. “When I saw all of it spread out like that, I thought maybe it meant something,” he said, nearly a whisper.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, helplessly. He lifted the hand not clutched in Jaskier’s toward his neck, tracing his fingers along the delicate line of Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier’s other hand came up to fist in Geralt’s shirt, inhaling sharply at his touch. It was an intoxicating sound, making his head spin more than the bottle of wine they’d consumed between them.

“Did it mean something more?” Jaskier pleaded, his eyes bright. His hand clutched at the fabric over Geralt’s heart, the fingers between his own tightening in a deathgrip. “Did it?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Jaskier gasped at the first press of their lips, opening for Geralt easily and without hesitation. He tasted like sweet white wine and meat pie and marzipan, and Geralt greedily mined the flavors from Jaskier’s tongue. He tried to pour all of the things he found himself unable to say into the press of his teeth against Jaskier’s lip, into the flick of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and the way his fingers tangled delicately in Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier gave as good as he got, humming encouragingly into Geralt’s mouth and hauling him closer by the hand in his shirt. He didn’t release Geralt’s hand from where he held it in his own, and Geralt made no move to extract himself.

Finally, Jaskier pulled back, panting against Geralt’s lips as he set their foreheads together. His eyes were closed, and Geralt watched them flicker open, savoring the dazed expression on his face. “I think I’m going to be late to play that show,” Jaskier rasped, and a thrill went through Geralt at the sound. And indeed, the sun had begun to set, dipping over the edge of the mountains in the far, far distance, coloring the air around them in rich purples and reds. Jaskier’s face was soft and ethereal in the glow, and Geralt never wanted to let him go, never wanted to leave this moment.

“Why spring?” Geralt found himself asking.

Jaskier smiled, and his face softened even further. “Because it’s when I get to see you again, of course. You should have known all along; you’re my favorite.”

It was a corny sentiment, and by Jaskier’s grin he knew it, but Geralt couldn’t help the way it warmed him up from the inside out, radiating out from within him and making his lips pull into an answering grin. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier again, and again, and a third time, in quick succession, each more soft and lingering than the last. When he was finished Jaskier had that dazed looking expression back on his face, and Geralt decided it was a good look on him. “Want to know something?” he asked, teasing. Jaskier nodded, the hand on Geralt’s chest snaking up to wrap around his neck, holding the both of them close. Geralt leaned in to press his lips just behind Jaskier’s ear, to press his secret against the soft skin there.

“You’re my favorite too,” he rumbled, and Jaskier laughed, bright and joyful, and both of them knew that it was true.

This is my last s&s fic!! So excited to be done with the challenge, and happy that I was able to finish! Thank you to all those who encouraged me over the last two months, your kind words and support mean more than I could say <3

tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire, @theamazingbard

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #fic #fanfic #my work #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #s&s #fluff

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witchesbe-like · 3 years

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Spirituality is EXPENSIVE. And for every new witch just starting their craft it can be a lot to try and get all the things for every kind of spell. You’ll need herbs for your ritual baths, candles in all different shapes and sizes, oils, incense and crystals. Notebooks and journals and shelves or trunks to store your new items. And it all adds up, fast.

My best advice is to start small. Just pick up a few things here and there. Before you know it you’ll have so much shit you’ll be giving it away. So speaking from experience here are some more of my favorite go-to budget witchcraft spells, supplies, tips and tricks.

MOON WATER IS EVERYTHING

Make your own Moon water by leaving a container filled with water outside during the next full moon. Use this water for ritual baths, spells, water representatives on your altar, or to water your witchy plants.

ORANGE SLICES FOR CLEANSING BATHS

I like to slice my oranges really thin and dehydrate them in the oven on low, so I can keep them around longer. Toss them into your bath for a citrus cleanse.

SALT SALT SALT AWAY

Salt a line over your front door for protection. Leave glass bowls of salt water out to absorb negativity or to cleanse the energy in a room. Flush the water after.

DIY EASY BLACK SALT

Add your incense ashes to regular table salt to make your own black salt.

ONE STONE THAT DOES IT ALL

If you can’t pick up every crystal, start with a clear quartz. It’ll pretty much do anything you need it to do or at least start in for any stone you currently don’t have.

CAKES FOR EVERY OCCASION

Bake that cake! And add a spell to it. Mix clockwise to increase what you want, counterclockwise to decrease. Just focus and say aloud what you want to manifest. Bake and eat your cake when you’re done. Bonus points if you add witchy spices. Box cake’s work well with this.

MAKE THAT SOUP HARDY

Same for soups. A hearty soup that I always made to increase to keep the good health of my family was a basic vegetable soup made of garlic, onions, carrots, potatoes and tomatoes. Sauté each chopped veggie in olive oil and simmer in chicken or vegetable stock until the potatoes are done. Salt and pepper to taste.

MORE USED BOOKS PLEASE

If you’re at the bookstore and see the book of your witchy dreams, check the used price on Amazon first. Even new publications will usually have a copy for cheaper on the used section.

FREE APPS

Check your phone for free apps. Look specifically for tarot apps and apps that will have the current moon pages.

DOLLAR STORES AND THRIFT SHOPS

So many things to purchase at these stores. At the dollar store you can pick up notebooks and some art supplies for creating your spell book (book of shadows). You can also grab altar decorations and candles. I’ve found boxes, jars, candles, crystals, little cloth bags at local thrift shops.

JARS JARS JARS

Use them all. Salsa jars, jars for spaghetti sauce, dip jars. Sometimes I’ll paint the lid if I’m sick of seeing the logo on it or something. Wash them out in HOT water, if they still stink rinse them out with Florida Water.

SACHETS AND SPELL BAGS

Use felt, old shirts or even socks work well. Felt has been my go to for a long time. You can pick up single sheets at Michales for I think less than a dollar.

CLAY FOR RUNES AND LOTS OF THINGS

The dollar store usually has clay, sometimes it’s air dry and that’s even better because you don’t have to bake it. Make your own pentacle, or alter bowl, Runes, or whatever you need out of clay.

GROW YOUR HERBS

I’m not a plant witch, but I have successfully grown herbs in cups on my windowsill. You can sometimes find a basil plant at the grocery store and that would be perfect. Growing fresh basil is perfect for increasing your wealth.

COLLECT YOUR LEAVES AND STICKS

Anytime you are outside keep an eye for things you can use. Flat rocks or stones, sticks, animal bones, seashells or feathers. I have found so many things by just walking around. Of course if it feels off, then do not take it home. And only take what you need.

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prongssprank · 3 years

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Marauders Dietary/Food Headcanons:

CW/TW: food/relationships with food

(Because I had a random idea and now I’m running with it)

Lily Evans:

- Has been vegetarian basically her whole life

- She did go Vegan for a few years but didn’t keep it up (partially because she missed honey so much)

- Lily loves to cook and create her own recipes

Dorcas Meadowes:

- Suffers from Celiac so they eat gluten free

- They love to bake, they never buy bread from a store

- Dorcas also always brings a plate of food or a treat to share when they visit someone else’s home, always keeping people’s dietary requirements in mind

Sirius Black:

- Surprisingly to some, Sirius is actually not to shabby in the kitchen, he prefers to just help but can make a few dishes quite easily

- Prefers sweets to chocolate, and is a sweet tooth

- Loves seafood, particularly mussel (oysters)

Remus Lupin:

- He was anaemic when he was younger so now he eats red meat at least once a week

- Can follow a recipe… most of the time, but would much rather get takeout than cook for himself

- Remus is also a big comfort eater

Marlene McKinnon:

- Vegan and a big lover of oat milk

- Cannot cook for the life of her, except pancakes, they are her one specialty

- They’re allergic to nuts

Mary Macdonald:

- Is intolerant to a fair amount of foods as she suffers from IBS (irritable bowel syndrome)

- Gets moody when she’s hungry and even more moody when she gets bloated (as a result of IBS)

- Her random talent is making the best sandwiches, all of her friends often beg her to make them sandwiches

Peter Pettigrew:

- Is lactose intolerant (I know, ironic) not severely so he sometimes has dairy products anyways

- Has always hated vegetables, loves fruit but can barely stand most vegetables

- Has an amazing sense of smell when it comes to food and is a pretty good cook (totally not ratatouille vibes shh)

James Potter:

- Okay hear me out, he hates red meat. Cannot stand it but he does like chicken and other white meats

- Enjoys cooking and can make some pretty good stuff, every now and then he may go overboard with experimentations, especially different herbs and spices

- Has always wanted to try seafood like crab and shrimp but unfortunately he has a shellfish allergy

Alice Fortescue:

- Is obsessed with breakfast foods, it’s her favourite mealtime ever

- Is good at cake decorating, often teams up with Dorcas

- Alice is also one of those people who often fills their days so much that she forgets to eat sometimes which is part of the reason she never leaves without having had a good breakfast

Andromeda Black:

- AMAZING cook, can bake as well. Honestly just a wiz in the kitchen but never accepts help from anyone because she likes to be in control without distraction when she’s cooking

- She’s not a fan of pastries, she’ll have cake and brownies on occasion but she’s never loved pastries

- She definitely gave cooking lessons at one point in her life

Regulus Black:

- His secret food pleasure is olives, they don’t even need to be with anything he’ll eat them straight out of the jar sometimes

- Has a few different allergies including egg, soy and peanuts

- Never really tried cooking before until he turned 17

Frank Longbottom:

- Great at cooking and loves to do it, flipping pancakes and spinning pizza dough are his favourite thing to do

- His favourite food is Fish and Chips, it’s so plain but he adores it

- Frank loves diversity and when he and Alice would travel he would always explore new cuisines, he loves almost everything he tries

Ted Tonks:

- Always carries toffee with him, Andy always teases him that he’s like an old grandpa, he doesn’t mind

- Is probably one of the least picky eaters you’ll ever meet. Seriously he’ll eat anything

- His all time favourite food is Dino nuggets because it brings out his inner child, that and they’re easy enough for him to make when Andromeda is too tired to cook

Narcissa Black:

- Another vegetarian, stopped eating meat around the age of 9 by herself (meaning her family were not vegetarian)

- Had an unhealthy relationship with food for most of her teenage years but she slowly learned to love it and herself again

- She’s always had a soft spot for eclairs

Kingsley Shacklebolt:

- Very tolerant to spicy food, he would always have competitions with people, James was the only person who ever came close to beating him

- Not technically food but he was an avid tea drinker, he and Remus would always drink tea together

- Kingsley was also that person who would rarely have snacks or packaged food, he would always have proper meals that he cooked

Side note: these are just some of my personal opinions and headcanons! Everyone has their own, please be respectful <3

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hawkeykirsah · 3 years

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212th Food Challenge

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30879167

As so often, it all started with a simple observation.

The troopers couldn’t miss the fact that Kenobi did the same thing at every meal.

They watched their General yet again pull out a bottle filled with a red sauce and liberally apply it to the proffered food but no one approached the man himself. Instead, whispers filled the mess hall.

“Did you see the red stuff the General put on today’s rations?”

“He took something out of a bag and sprinkled it over the meal.”

“Do all Jedi do that?”

“Some kind of seasoning, I’d say.”

“Alpha, what did the General add to his food?” they asked the ARC trooper who had spent even more time with Kenobi than any of them so far. Alpha-17 simply smirked.

They had heard of seasoning of course but food in the mess hall was much like food on Kamino—a nutritious sludge with little taste—and the less said about ration bars, the better. For now they watched, glancing among themselves and wondering which brother would be the first to cave and ask. The Jedi Commander, Skywalker, they noticed, tended to add much less of the seasoning to his portions, and never the red sauce the General was so fond of.

***

Over the next two months small changes took place. Alpha-17 returned to Kamino to become lead instructor at the training facility in Tipoca City (taking Cody with him), Skywalker was promoted to General, taking command of his own unit and leaving the 212th without a Commander for several weeks until Cody returned, but still no one asked the General about the red sauce.

***

They watched the General offer Cody a seat at his table, who hesitated briefly before sitting down.

"Sir," the commander asked, eying the bottle the general had just set on the table. "can other troopers sit here as well?"

Kenobi looked up in surprise. "Why, of course."

Wooley glanced around before sliding into a seat, followed by a number of other troopers. Wordlessly they watched him uncap the bottle and generously apply it to the daily serving of mystery meat.

“Is something wrong, gentlemen?” the general asked mildly. He looked down at his armor and frowned. “Did I get red on me?”

“No sir,” Cody answered. He took a deep breath, finally bringing up the nerve to ask the question that had been burning in so many troopers’ minds. “We were just wondering what it is you put on all your food.”

All eyes were on the general. Kenobi put his head back and laughed. “Is that why you’ve all been watching me like shriek-hawks at every meal?” He pushed the bottle toward the middle of the table. “It’s a hot sauce. Go ahead and try it. Don’t use too much of it, though. A few drops will probably be enough.”

“But sir,” Waxer spoke up, giving the bottle a careful shake, “you added more than a few drops to your food.”

Kenobi dipped his head. “Ah, yes. But I’m also used to it. It can be an unpleasant sensation for someone not accustomed to it.” He paused and sighed. “Anakin never quite developed a taste for it, I’m sorry to say. Wooley, you don’t want to put any more hot sauce on that.”

Wooley frowned at the red dots dappling today’s mystery meat and handed the sauce bottle to Boil.

They all added hot sauce—and all reached for something to drink, coughing as the burning sensation ran down their throats.

“Do all Jedi enjoy spicy food?” Crys coughed, thumping a fist against his chest. “My lips are tingling.”

“Not at all,” the general replied. “There are so many different species living at the temple that the taste and variety of food is quite numerous. Some enjoy the different flavors spices add to a meal without the heat, others eat food that makes this,” he pointed at the sludge on his tray, “seem almost flavorful, and again others enjoy food that is so spicy your eyes will begin to water when you enter the room. One of my friends does not enjoy spice at all and Anakin always claims the only reason I need so much hot sauce is because I’ve cauterized my gustatory nerves by now.”

He glanced at the troopers around him and found matching alarmed looks on their faces.

“Oh, don’t worry, my taste buds work just fine,” the general said, smiling. He went on softly, “You can get used to it but you don’t have to. There are other spices you can add that, ah, are less likely to inflict pain. If you wish, I will share some of my spices with you during our next meal.”

***

The General made good on his promise.

The next day he set a variety of powders down in the center of the table and gave them a quick overview over each sample, explaining the different kinds of heat from earthy-warm to tangy-sharp.

Cody turned a jar over in his hand thoughtfully. “I think we should introduce these to our cooks.”

Kenobi hummed. “Perhaps I should give them a quick rundown. Don’t look at me like that, Cody. I promise I will advise caution. Additionally we could put spice racks on every table in the mess hall. I will add it to our next requisition order.”

***

The spice racks found their way onto the mess hall tables and it was only a matter of hours before the first trooper voiced what had been in the back of their minds to one of his squad.

“I bet I can handle more heat than you can.”

There was no way his brothers in arms could let that slide and they squared off surrounded by their squadmates. It did not take long for a small crowd to form around the table, watching the two troopers slowly increasing the amount of hot sauce in their servings. Bets were placed, credits changed owners once one of the two troopers conceded, and a new challenge was offered. Somebody asked “Do you think the Corrie Guard has tried any of these spices?”, a hint of envy tingeing their voice at the thought that their brothers on Coruscant didn’t have to rely on mess hall food. Cody snorted. That was surely the only positive thing about being part of the guard, and it by no means made up for having to deal with snobby politicians on a daily basis. Still, he would have to ask Fox or Thorn or Thire the next time they talked.

The Commander watched the same spiel take place over several days before putting his foot down and the rules for the 212th Food Challenge up. If there was to be a competition, it should at least be organized.

***

Naturally it was only a matter of time before somebody got too sure of themselves after winning several rounds in a row and asked the General for a match. Cody suppressed a sigh watching his superior officer flash a grin at the trooper and take a seat. Kenobi eyed the hot sauce.

“What are the rules? Are we only allowed to use the hot sauce or can we add various spices?” he asked. “Because this dish calls for a different kind of spice than this particular hot sauce.”

“That’s assuming the cooks actually use the spices you requisitioned, sir,” Longshot pointed out.

Kenobi frowned. “I would hope so. I gave them the base recipe for this after all, along with a few suggestions for variations. But I suppose the flavor of the dish isn’t the main focus here, is it? It’s solely about the heat, not about staying true to the flavor.” The corner of his mouth quirked up, “In that case, Blaze, do try to live up to your name.”

Cheering erupted around the table and the trooper in question blushed and took the first bite.

Some time later Blaze called quits, his eyes watering and his nose running while their general looked mostly unaffected.

“Sir,” Blaze sniffled as credits changed hands between the surrounding troopers, “how do we know you’re not cheating with the Force?”

Kenobi laughed and leaned forward, beckoning Blaze closer. The trooper followed suit, looking at his smiling general expectantly.

“You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Tumultuous laughter exploded around them and more credits changed owners; the food competition was not the only thing being bet on in the 212th.

#obi-wan kenobi #cody #commander cody #alpha-17 #waxer #boil #longshot #crys #wooley #blaze (oc clone character)#212th attack battalion #star wars crack fic #not beta read #not posted to AO3 #yet #I might do that eventually #hawk writes

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theyscreamjade · 3 years

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Okay but hear me out! Bakugo, Shinsou, Hawks, and Dabi with an s/o from the south (Like Texas or Atlanta) and she’s as thick as her accent. She calls em “Baby, Honey, Sugar, Sweetie”: Whatever she calls em, that accent is the cherry on top. Sis got the meals down pat (yes, she will make fried chicken for Bird boy with Mac n cheese and collard greens). Don’t get me started on how she don’t take shit from no one but she’s the sweetest thang they’ve met! 😩

Southern Bell

HONEY! YOU AINT SAY NOTHING BUT. A. WORD! As a Floridian and a BLACK one add that, Imma add some spice to this. I hope you like it.

————————————————————————————————————————

Keigo Takami

* Imma be honest with you. IF HE DOESNT MARRY A SOUTHERN WOMAN. I swear!

* This man will be BLESSED TO HAVE YOU! BLESSED.

* I can hear that grease popping now and swoop, there he is. HE. IS. READY. FOR. THAT. CHICKEN!

* You make that smacktastic meals that’ll have him just drooling at the mouth for that buttery goodness of dinner.

* Someone put him on chicken livers and gizzards. (I’m south as hell, I know.)

* Everyone gonna wonder why he’s READY to get back home after work. Cause them greens be calling his name!

* Call him Honey and see what he does. See what he does!

* That little ego of his goes and he’s a blushing man. His wittle burst heart just explodes.

* That attitude though, you’re sweet a sugar but violent as hell. You almost murdered Endeavor because he talked shit about that sweet potato pie.

* Talking about pumpkin and sweet potato tastes the same. You turned a piece of chicken into a weapon and those feathers had to swoop your ass before you could do damage.

* He almost got smacked into the next century.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hitoshi Shinsou

* Him with a southern bell is on my bucket list of things to see. I know that’ll become cute shit right there.

* His calm and quiet demeanor with an adorably thick beauty like you is a match made in the highest heaven.

* It’s rather adorable to see him so curious to watch you cook because you add your style to it. If it was playing music, humming, or just going by your hands and letting the seasonings in like that.

* It’s cute that you do that.

* How in the hell you go from making a small meal to a full-course dinner is beyond me but you know he’s gonna eat it.

* For some strange reason, I see Shinsou as a pound cake guy. He likes how simple and sweet it is but it came to be made into a variety of delicious desserts.

* Fried pork chop is his favorite meal and you can’t change my mind. He needs a pork chop, some sweet peas, mashed potatoes with gravy and BUTTER, and lastly a tall glass of RED kool-aid in them granny cups.

* Shinsou gives me the biggest sugar or babe vibes more than anything. He won’t admit it, but he loves it when you call him that. It’s cute to hear that southern accent slide with it.

* On another note, Denki almost got killed one time. Yep, Sparky did.

* He walked into the kitchen during thanksgiving and pointed at the pot of greens in the sink...AND PROCEEDS TO TOUCH IT...imma stop there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katsuki Bakugo

* PLEASE HAVE YOUR HOT SAUCE READY WITH THIS MAN! NOT SRIRACHA, HOT SAUCE. THE REAL KNOWS THAT KYRSTALS ARE ALWAYS ON POINT.

* Just know it’s going on EVERYTHING!

* In greens, chicken, beans, corn, cabbage, everything.

* Bless him with that cream corn, smothered corn beef, and rice.

* GIVE HIM THE SUNDAY, WAITING ALL DAY AFTER CHURCH MEAL. That one meal you skip breakfast for because it’s so good but the pastor gotta carry that sermon for longer than necessary to get a point across.

* Even though he doesn’t eat sweets as much, he loves your peach cobbler. The delicious flaky crust with a delicious peach filling, just makes him happy.

* Katsuki likes to be called sweetie by you. That little southern twang slaps off your tongue and he silently admires it every time.

* He was nearly falling from his chair when Izuku nearly saw his life flash before his eyes for the nineteenth time and he’s why.

* Someone needs to educate him on the difference between cleaning your chicken and FULL BLOWN WASHING THAT BITCH WITH DAWN DISHWASHING SOAP.

* Never again, Deku. Never again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Touya Todoroki

* Right off the fucking bat, Imma say this. You’re the honorary chef of the group and you’re in charge of making the meals.

* Everyone hated how Dabi was being blessed with your meals and they weren’t getting any.

* Haters gonna hate. You opened them to a whole new world of delicious things including the amazingness of fried foods within the hideout.

* Each day is a day of unexpected wonders and trust me, they’re not picky. Not anymore, that��s another story for the end.

* Dabi gives me a more biscuits guy than cornbread or rolls.

* And when the kitchen isn’t used as a area of fornication, he’ll offer his assistance. If it’s something that’s too hot or a jar you need him to open, he’ll open it.

* But it’s more you and Twice thing though, it relaxes him a bit and chills those bipolar thoughts of his when his minds at ease a bit. You teach him new things and he appreciates it.

* Dabi loves it when you call him sweetheart, sugar, or he’ll even his name. Your accent is very obvious to him and he loves hearing it in his ears.

* Dabi eats anything and doesn’t blink an eyelash when he sees the large plate you made for him.

* Shigaraki, on the other hand, learned his lesson. Dusty almost got smacked for saying your chicken was dry. YOUR CHICKEN?!

* You didn’t have to roast my baby that hard that night though..comparing him to a Popeye’s biscuit.

#my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction #i hope you like this #my hero academia scenarios #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha hawks #bnha shinso hitoshi #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #shinsou x reader #bakugo x reader #hawks x reader

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bnhabadass · 4 years

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Pairing: Hawks x Reader Warnings: N/A Genre: Fluff Word Count: 4.5k Synopsis: You're surprised when your best friend tells you she's dating pro hero Hawks. As you get to know him throughout his frequent visits to the tea shop you work at, your uncertain despisal of him may just turn into romance.

When your best friend told you that she was dating the number two hero you laughed in her face. “It’s true!” she pleaded. Her eyes gleamed against the hanging lights in your kitchen. She looked as if she were a lovestruck middle schooler doodling hearts and writing her initials in the margins of her notepad. But you knew her like the back of your hand and you were well aware of her habit of compulsive lying.

You spent the following week teasing her relentlessly for making up such an outlandish lie. Yui Nakamura, your best friend in the world. She was an up-and-coming actress who claimed that she was slowly taking Japan by storm.

“I guess I just caught the number two hero’s heart from my last film,” she told you. It was all she could talk about for a solid week, leaving you rolling your eyes and sticking your tongue out in a fake gagging motion every time his name was brought up.

It wasn’t until she brought him into your place of work that you finally realized she was telling the truth. The small jingle bells tied to the doorknob of the shop rang as you were crouched behind the counter, sorting loose tea leaves into their respective jars.

“This is my favorite place to get an iced tea in this hot weather,” her sickeningly sweet voice cooed.

Your ears perked up. Grabbing one of the jars of tea leaves, you stood up with a big smile on your face, ready to greet your friend. That smile, however, didn’t last long. Instead it was replaced with a punch in your gut and a ringing in your ears as you saw the person standing in front of you holding hands with your best friend was the number two hero in Japan.

You should have known something was off when the few people sitting in the leather chairs and at the counter looking out into the street had gone silent. Everyone’s jaws were slack in amazement at the hero before their eyes. A few people whispered about how much more handsome he looked up close or how they didn’t realize how vibrant his wings actually were.

The only person who didn’t look shocked or happy that he was there was the number two hero himself.

“(Y/n)!” Yui exclaimed. “How’ve you been?”

“Um, good,” you managed to choke out. Your eyes never left the winged hero.

“I see you’ve noticed my boyfriend,” she giggled. Her happy-go-lucky smile never left her face. It seemed as though her biggest wish had come true. It’s no secret that she had been pining after the hero for years, playing back footage of his rescues and showing them to you over and over again. She would always cover her eyes when watching his fights because she “couldn’t bare to see his beautiful face get hurt” and you would have to tell her when the scary parts were over.

“Hawks,” you spat out.

His golden eyes dug daggers into you. “Yes?” His tone was uninterested and very clearly bored. It left a sour taste in your mouth.

“I, um, well I, ya know, I didn’t–”

Yui cut off your stumbling with a fluttering laugh, the kind of laugh they romanticize in a shoujo manga. “(Y/n)-chan didn’t believe me when I told her you were my boyfriend,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Now come on, Hawky, what do you want?”

Hawks visibly cringed at the nickname she had given him. Hawky, like the sport but spelled like the bird. Even you could admit that it was pretty bad.

“I think I’ll have the iced hibiscus tea,” she said. Her hands fumbled for her wallet.

“I’ll take a small sencha.” You never expected the winged hero to drink tea. It seemed so unlike him. He seemed much more of a coffee kind of person, needing the extra energy to fulfill his hectic life.

“All right, your total is 540¥,” you said. As you brewed their tea, you couldn’t help but keep an eye on Hawks and the little things about him. Sure he was attractive, but was that really enough to satisfy your friend? He didn’t seem very interested in her as she tugged on his sleeve like a little kid clinging to their parents.

As you called their names with their orders in hand, you were surprised when neither of them went to grab their drinks. Instead, Hawks sent two of his feathers to grab them out of your hands. They were so delicate yet so strong.

Yui smiled as the feather fluttered around her before presenting her drink in front of her.

“Let’s go,” Hawks said, still with a look of boredom plastered to his face, but maybe there was more to him than you thought.

You got to know Hawks a little more during the next few months. It’s true that when you first met him he was not your cup of tea. He and Yui would come into the shop and as Yui chatted your ear off about all the sweet nothings he would tell her, Hawks always seemed to zone out or lose interest in the conversation relatively fast. From the outside it looked like he didn’t care about her and that made your blood boil. But there had to be more to it, right? You’re sure that Yui wouldn’t bother with someone who didn’t seem to care about her.

It was at the end of summer when Yui told you the exciting news. She was cast as a major role in a new film and would be flown to Yakushima Island for the shoot. As she told you the good news, her smile never faltered. It was as if all her dreams were coming true and the different pieces of her life were being put together like a puzzle.

“I’m really happy for you,” you said while pouring hot water over a tea bag with oolong in it. “I can’t wait to see the film when it’s released.”

“I can’t wait for you to see it too! It’s going to be rough being away from Hawky for so long but I think we’ll both manage.”

You turned around before she could see you rolling your eyes at the ludacris nickname. You’re not sure how it managed to stick throughout the months, and every time you hear the words pass her lips it triggers a shudder to run through you. “When do you leave?”

“Next week. You have no idea how excited I am, (Y/n).”

You were happy for her, you really were. Yet part of you felt like you were being left behind, stuck in the mud. While she had her handsome top pro hero of a boyfriend, you spent your nights alone and as she went off to chase her dreams of being one of the most famous actresses in Japan, you were still pouring hot water over tea leaves as you have been for the past two years. It didn’t seem fair, but you would never let her know that.

The next week went by quicker than you had hoped and Yui was off to the airport. She, of course, stopped by for one last cup of tea before she left.

Once she was gone the leaves began to change. Red, orange and yellow leaves fluttered through the air onto the ground and gusts of wind would push them across town, occasionally dropping them off in front of the tea shop’s door.

This time of year was always your favorite. The smell of cinnamon and spice floating through every tea, pastry and coffee shop always made you smile in delight. A new shipment of pumpkin tea had just arrived and you couldn’t resist ducking down to stick your nose in the box and smell the leaves through their packaging under the counter.

The homey smell ravished your senses. Your mind was instantly filled with wonderful fall memories. Jumping in piles of leaves as a kid, drinking hot tea by the window and watching the rain outside trickle down the gutter of your childhood home. Carving pumpkins and dressing up in inappropriate halloween costumes back in your college days. It all came back.

“Do I even want to know what you’re doing?”

The all too familiar voice of Hawks startled you, and as you leapt up out of shock, you hit your head on the counter top. “Ow,” you croaked. Reaching for the fridge next to one of the display cases of teas, you grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and placed it on your head. “Hi.”

“Hello to you too.” There was a cocky grin on his face, unlike what you’ve seen of him before.

“Yui’s out of town.” Why was he here? There was no reason for him to be if his girlfriend was gone. Since he started showing up with Yui, the shop had gotten much more traction. More people had shown up asking when the pro hero was coming next or which seat he sat in. You were sick of it all.

“I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t get a cup of my favorite tea from my favorite barista.” His cheeky smile grew and you beat yourself up for blushing at him compliment.

“What’ll it be then? A small sencha?” You grabbed one of the small to-go cups in preparation.

“Nah let’s switch it up a bit.” He eyed the list of teas up and down, ogling the glass containers with delicate tea bags placed inside. “What box were you sticking your nose in just now?”

You looked down at your feet in shame, cheeks heating up at the memory. You had hoped he would forget about what he just saw or at least wouldn’t mention it out of pity for you. “Pumpkin tea. It’s a new shipment that just came in.”

“Huh,” he pondered. “Is it good?”

Your head shot up. “Seriously? You’ve never had pumpkin tea before?”

“Nah the commission doesn’t really like it when I eat or drink things that aren’t in my diet.” He wove his hand through his blonde locks, pushing them back out of his face. “They’ve been a bit more chill about things since I started dating Nakamura, but I’m still on a pretty strict food regiment.”

The fact that he referred to your best friend by her last name almost made your heart ache. For how much she doted on him he barely seemed to care. “That sucks,” you said. “Do you want to try it?”

He chuckled a bit. “Yeah, let’s give it a whirl.”

You heated the water and poured it out in a hot stream over the tea bag. “Here you go. That’ll be 280¥.”

He slid the coins over to you and held the piping hot to-go cup up to his nose, breathing in the heat and letting it run through him. A soft smile overcame his features and he pressed the cup to his lips, letting the brew hit his tongue. His eyes shot open. “Wow. That’s incredible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Isn’t it really good?”

“It is!” He smiled up at you and you couldn’t help but drink in every detail of it. It was a happy and relaxed smile, one that a child would give after tasting candy for the first time. His eyes grew brighter than the sun as the tea coated his taste buds and pulled him into euphoria.

“Um, excuse me?” a small voice croaked from behind Hawks.

He moved to the side, revealing a small young woman holding hands with a little boy. He was chewing on an action figure and as he pulled the head out of his mouth you could see the bright flames of Endeavor coated in a layer of thick saliva.

“Hey there,” Hawks said. “I’m sorry, do you need to order?”

“No no no!” The rosey cheeks of the young woman deepened as chills of embarrassment filled her. “My son here is a really big fan and, well, we were hoping we could get an autograph.”

You weren’t sure how something like this would play out. You’ve seen the stares and the hushed whispers people give when watching Hawks and Yui in the shop. They almost look too scared to approach him, yet this flustered woman came out of nowhere.

“Yeah of course!” Hawks’ cheeky smile widened. He squatted so he was eye level with the boy. “What’s your name, little guy?”

The kid slid behind his mother’s hip, unsure of what to do or say.

“I see you like Endeavor. You have good taste. He’s one of my favorite heroes too.”

You watched in awe, jaw slack as if you had been slapped in the face, as you watched Hawks laugh and ruffle the kid’s hair. He signed a notebook that the kid’s mother gave him and just as he was about to say goodbye, the kid shot his arms up in Hawks’ direction. You could feel yourself melt on the spot as he picked up the giggling boy, spinning him around. It was so unlike him to do that, but at the same time it was everything you had ever imagined in the stories that Yui would tell.

That was the first time that you realized you were beginning to fall for your best friend’s boyfriend, and after that nothing would be the same.

Hawks came in and out of the shop more and more frequently, only now ordering a small pumpkin tea. As the days went by, the weather grew colder. Chilly winds howled past the store and jingled the chimes out front.

Hawks sauntered in, giving you the grin and nod he was now accustomed to.

“Small pumpkin?” you asked, gripping your scarf and holding it closer around your neck.

“You know it,” he winked.

You hated how every time he walked up to the counter your breath would hitch and your heart would skip a beat. The little wink he gave you definitely didn’t go unnoticed by you. You hid the flushed feeling by burying your face up to the tip of your nose in your scarf.

“So what’s been going on in tea land?” he asked. His fingers danced across the display of cup sizes and tea cakes to the side of the register. They stopped, resting on the side of the jar labeled “TIPS” in a fat black marker over bright colorful construction paper.

“Same old,” you replied. “How’s hero work?”

“Same old.” The two of you had grown comfortable with minimal conversation, almost finding it endearing that the two of you could communicate so much with so few words.

“And Yui?”

Hawks took a moment before answering. You looked up from the tea you were preparing but averted your eyes the second you realized he was staring at you. “I’m thinking of breaking up with her.”

You couldn’t pay attention to what he said next. All you could hear was the ringing in your ears at hearing his words. He was breaking up with her. The recent nights you had spent fantasizing what it would be like to be the one held in his arms at night seemed more in your grasp. The thought scared you a little.

“Hey, are you listening?”

“Huh?” He snapped you out of your thoughts. “Sorry, I think I zoned out a little.” You could feel your face heating up. “Why are you breaking up with her?”

“It’s been about four months,” he said, still toying with the rim of the tip jar.

It bothered you a little how he kept looking at it. Either put in a tip or leave it alone, you wanted to yell at him.

“Four months,” he repeated as if he needed to double check. “That’s when our contract is up, at least.”

You were confused. What was he talking about? “What do you mean?” The skepticism on your face made you look like a puppy being taunted with a bone.

“Heh, you’re cute when you’re confused,” he said. “Our relationship,” he trailed off in thought, trying to find the right words. “It was never real, I guess. Never has been.”

As Hawks spoke about the contract the two of them were under, that her agent and the people working at the commission made them sign, your jaw became more and more unhinged.

“Why did they force you to date in the first place?” The shrill of your voice was hard to tame.

“Her agent knows my people well,” he admitted, referring to the commission. “And they thought this would be good for her publicity. They were right since it got her the big movie she’s working on, but they told us if nothing happens after four months we can end it.”

“I see.” You were still trying to put the pieces together in your mind. “So you never really loved her.”

He couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “I thought that was pretty obvious,” he admitted. “Look, I know she’s your best friend and all but she’s kinda hard to be around and to get along with at times.”

Deep down you knew he was right, but hearing it come from someone that you knew Yui loved and trusted made your blood boil. What made you feel even worse was the growing hope within you that if Hawks didn’t like someone like her, he could possibly fall for someone like you.

He looked down at his phone to check the time. “Shit, I have training with my intern in ten minutes.” As you slid his drink towards him he fished into his wallet to pay. Taking out an extra bill, he folded it up and put it in the tip jar. “Promise me that when I break things off with her you’ll be there to comfort her?”

The question took you off guard but you nodded anyway.

He smiled a deep and genuine smile that showed so much more emotion than could be understood by the human brain. “Thanks. She’ll need a good friend like you to keep her company.” And with that, he dashed out the door quicker than your eyes could follow.

A week went by and you heard nothing. Hawks didn’t come into the shop to tell you how it went and Yui hadn’t texted you with any of her usual updates for how the movie was going. It wasn’t until you were locking up shop on a Friday night that you received a FaceTime request from Yui. You texted her, assuring her that once you got home you’d call her back. You knew that he did it and she needed to hear from you right now.

Snuggled into the plush fabric of the side-of-the-road sofa in the middle of your living room, you called her back. It only took one ring before she picked up. Her face was blotchy and red and the makeup she wore on set was streaking down her features.

“What happened?” you asked, fully aware of the situation.

She explained in detail everything that had happened, from the warm tea she was holding in her dressing room when he called her to break things off to the way his eyes shimmered with both sadness and relief as he told her what was on his mind.

You tried to reason with her as she blew her snotty nose into tissue after tissue. Phrases like “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you” and “You’re better than him anyway” often came up. Truth be told, you were only paying attention to her side of the story half the time. You slipped in and out, mind wandering over to where Hawks may be and how he must be doing.

“Maybe he had a reason for doing it,” you finally said once she had started to calm down.

“What?”

“Do you think he, I dunno, wasn’t happy?” You shrugged a bit. Your eyes traced the rhombus patterns on your carpet as they avoided Yui’s saddened expression. “Maybe he just wanted to be a free bird is all.”

You looked up from your carpet and came face to face with Yui’s eyes. Once doughy and glossed over with a thick layer of gelatinous tears, they now held a form of anger and hurt that you have never seen from her. “How could you say that?” she asked. “How could you even think of taking his side?”

“I’m not taking a side, I–”

“Yes you are!” Her face was turning red and as much as you wished to defend the man you had caught feelings for you also wanted to be there for Yui. “I don’t know how you could defend him right now, you guys aren’t even friends.”

Hearing her say that hit you deep in the chest. Of course she didn’t know how often Hawks had swung by the shop. Of course he wouldn’t tell her.

“You barely know him, (Y/n), so why are you defending him?”

Why were you defending him? Even with Yui out of the picture, there would still be a slim chance that Hawks actually felt the same way you did. He’s the number two hero, an icon in more ways than one. His fangirls pooled at his feet constantly. Why would you, just a simpleton working at a tea shop, have a chance with him?

“I can’t even talk to you right now.” She was looking down, refusing to make eye contact with you through the small screen.

“Yui, I–”

“No. Just,” she trailed off. “Call me when you know whose side you’re on.”

And with that she hung up and you were left alone. You felt terrible, like the worst friend in existence. You needed something to calm yourself down after the shitshow you had a feeling would be your last conversation with her for a long time.

Your shaky figure got up off the couch and went into the kitchen, putting up the water for a cup of tea. Your hands visibly calmed down once you gripped the hot mug with the pumpkin tea bag swirling inside.

“Hey baby bird.” As you walked into the living room, the person lounging on your sofa startled you. You let out a scream and the hot tea sloshed out of your mug and hit your chest, the thin material of your shirt and the knit sweater you dawned doing little to nothing to stop the burning sensation. “Ah shit.”

Hawks ran up to you and pressed the sleeve of his hero costume against your chest. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

The wince you gave him let him know his answer. “What are you doing here?” you managed to croak out once the heat subsided. “And how the hell do you know where I live?”

“Followed you home,” he said like it was nothing.

“So you stalked me.”

“I like to call it stealth training.” The grin on his face resembled a snarky cat and as pissed off and angry you were about him and Yui and everything, you couldn’t help letting out a laugh.

The aura between you two was both friendly and awkward. It seemed as though you both wanted to say something but didn’t know what. As Hawks kept rubbing his sleeve against your damp clothes, his eyes trailed over your face and tried reading into what you were thinking.

“I talked to Yui,” you finally let out. “She’s mad at me.”

“So I heard.” He stopped moving and rested his arm on your shoulder. “You deserve better friends.”

You looked away. “No. She does.”

He let out a laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You, (Y/n), are kind, compassionate, care about your customers and you actually take time to listen to others. And I know Nakamura would say the same thing.”

Somehow the use of your friends last name didn’t bother you as much as it used to. What did cause you to blush was the sound of Hawks saying your own name. The sound of it leaving his lips had an imprint on you like no other.

“And those,” he continued, “are some of the many reasons why I started to fall for you.”

You felt a sting in your cheeks as they grew hot from his words. He liked you? Did you hear that correctly? He fell for you? The same way you fell for him? The only thing you could think to do was let out a “huh?”

And Hawks let out a toe curling laugh. “I like you. Have liked you for a while now.”

You didn’t know what to say. You were so overwhelmed with emotion. All you could even think to do was stare at him with your mouth agape.

“Hello?” he waved his hand in your face. “Earth to (Y/n).”

You shook your head and the rest of your body, getting any jitters out. “Um, yeah.”

He barked out another laugh. “So, do you got something to say to me or are you gonna leave me hanging?”

You took a sharp inhale. “I think that I might also like you,” you said. “A bit.”

“Now was that so hard to say?” He took a step forward, raising a hand to cup your face. He wasn’t ready, however, when you stepped away, shielding yourself from him. “What’s wrong?”

“Yui is what’s wrong.”

It dawned on him how difficult and confused you must’ve been feeling, especially if you’ve liked him for as long as he’s had feelings for you. Yui Nakamura is your best friend so of course having feelings for her boyfriend, her ex boyfriend, would make you fall into a pit of despair.

“I’m sorry.” You turned away, walking back to your kitchen.

Even though you clearly wanted to be left alone, Hawks followed you and stayed in the door frame as you put up water for another cup of tea. “You remember when I caught you sniffing the heck out of that box of Pumpkin tea?”

You made a disgruntled noise of agony as you buried your head in your hands.

He chuckled. “That’s when I realized I had feelings for you. When did you know you had them for me?”

You sighed. “Look, Hawks. I really wish that things were different and that Yui wouldn’t be mad at me, but–”

“It’s a simple question, baby bird.” He reveled in the nickname.

Your eyes wandered over to the kettle and the soft heat that rose from the stove. “I think it was when I saw you give that kid and his mom and autograph and, I don’t know, you’re just...really good with kids is all.”

“Is that really all?” His cocky smirk struck you and you couldn’t help but hit him playfully.

“Shut up, asshole.” The kettle went off and you grabbed two mugs, placing pumpkin tea bags in each. “I like you, but I love Yui.”

“So I’m assuming that it would be inappropriate for me to kiss you right now?”

You handed him one of the now full mugs, your face lowered to hide your subtle embarrassment. “You are correct.” The two of you stood there in the middle of your cramped kitchen, neither darring to take a sip. “But,” you started. “We can maybe cuddle on the couch a bit and talk, if that’s something you want.”

His golden eyes brightened. “Yeah, baby bird. I’d like that.”

#my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha hawks #hawks x reader #mha hawks #autumn #fall collab #sweater weather collab #bnha sanctuary #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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