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diejager · 5 months

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JAKAJWIH I just saw this post and https://www.tumblr.com/citrusbunnies/732151502028898304

I can’t help but imagine deer!hybrid reader that’s with 141, and they/she/he (it doesn’t matter lol) walked out of the bushes or woods to the team inside and their reaction to it!

Also I LOVE your work, every time I see that you have posted wether it be recently or if they are older and they just appear in my feed. I get excited! 😭 also if you don’t wanna do this, feel free to ignore COMPLETELY! I just saw this and I thought it was so cute😭😭

That deer image is actually funny… this drabble though, not so much.

Doe Cw: hybrid, DARKFIC, IMPLIED DUB-CON/NON-CON, kidnapping, training, implied sex, tell me if I missed any.

They cued in on the rustling sound, bushes ruffling against an unknown body hiding behind the tree line, moving as if they were unaware of the men or uncaring of danger. Rifles pointed towards the source, Price held control of the situation, aware of the danger when hunting feral hybrids. Ferals were unpredictable, unable to find the distinction between friend or foe, but they were smart, cunning and weren’t shy to group together, forming hunting packs. Those that were impossible to rehabilitate would stay in the wild, some causing trouble and others keeping to themselves, living alone or in a community they built on their own.

Despite the trepidataion and tension in their shoulders, the waited, breaths steady and unyielding to the harsh winds of early winter. They expected a wolf - or a few - or a bear to jump at them, but were released to see antlers poking out of the bush, tines interlocked with green and dried leaves still tied to a thin branch, followed by perked ears, rounded ends flicking against the leafage stuck around the antlers. A head soon followed, big, doe eyes with the dilated, rounded pupils staring at them with timid curiosity, uncertain of the danger.

Rather than a big brown bear or a deranged grey wolf, they found a curious deer hybrid. Price raised his fist, ordering the three of them to lower their weapons, holding it to his chest, he took a step towards you, slow and tentative. You jerked back, body moving out of your hiding place, fully exposing yourself to men —men deprived of the gentle touch of a woman and the loving embrace of one. You wore rags, hanging off the small straps of your shoulder and stopped mid-thigh, soft and plush skin; your dress hugged the promiscuous curves of your hips and the swell of your breasts and ass, leaving nothing to their imagination. You were a sight to hungry and deprived men like them, gruff and overworked, tired and wanting a moment of reprieve to relax and work off the stress.

“Hello,” it hadn’t crossed his mind whether or not you spoke, seeing that you were dressed in nothing but rags despite looking clean and untouched by filth, simply delicious to their eyes. “I’m John,” he gave you a smile, his eyes creased and cheeks wrinkled, his lips stretched under his bear-like beard, “Who are you?”

His softer approach made you compliant, mumbling out your name in a soft voice. You were skittish, looking as if a single abrupt movement would have you buck away from them, and they couldn’t have that, you were a source of information and much more. Soft curves and doe-eyed filled with a sort of innocence, able to thrive in the wild with feral hybrids, ye untouched by their rough and untamed character.

“Who… who are they?” Your eyes gazed over the three men behind Price, hands pulled to your chest in an effort to give yourself comfort and protection against the dark gleam in their brown and blue eyes.

“That’s Soap,” your eyes followed his hand, hovering towards the men with striking, blue irises and a weird haircut. “Gaz,” he motioned towards the man with warm, brown skin and a pretty face. “And Ghost,” he was the most intimidating, broad and big, it made you shudder. “What are you doing here?”

The question lingered in the air, you frowned, seemingly unwilling to divulge your reason because you had the same question, wanting to know why big, armed men were threading in your home. You looked away, staring at their feet rather than their strong gaze, feet shuffling around. They watched you bite your lip, pearly whites peaking under your lip to sink down in your glossy lips, perfect for kissing. How would you taste if they got their hands on you? Would your mouth taste as sweet and delicious as you looked? You were temptation on two feet.

“This is my home,” you reluctantly told them, becoming more anxieties by the second. It seemed like you were waiting for the right moment to skip away, to rush through the forest and hide away from the men who had a sudden interest in you. “You?”

“Classified, love.”

You perked up and shied away at the way he called you, his rumbling voice turning soft and disarming, near becoming for a sensitive hybrid like you. You were so adorable when you acted all shy, ears flicking and little nose scrunching up. You were naturally wary of anyone as a prey animal, vulnerable and without claws or sharp teeth against anything bigger than you. They could all see the tension building in your body, ears backed against your head and fingers fumbling around, his voice might’ve soothed you, but his reply made you fearful, suspicious enough to look more and more like you were going to flee.

If you ran, they would follow, Ghost would probably the one to catch you first, surprisingly fast and nimble for someone of his stature. He’d tackle you to the ground, scruff you and hold you down despite your wails and take you back, you had something they needed. Ghost would do the training, prepping you however he deemed fit and punish you if you lashed out. Gaz and Soap could easily break you in, their gentler countenance working in their favour. A push and pull, essentially, with Soap’s puppy-like aggression and mischievousness, and Gaz’s gentle care and grounding hand. Price would keep you in check, sometimes overseeing Ghost’s training and other times participating in it, being the disapproving and sympathetic one when faced with Ghost’s cruel and degrading ways.

You were pretty in rags - you would look pretty in anything you wore - but you’d be the prettiest naked and stuffed on their laps, eyes rolled back and breasts jostling. Taking you would take care of their needs, the temptation pulsing in their crotch. You wouldn’t mind it, would you? It would be better than sleeping on the rough, forest terrain, victim to both nature and the wilderness. You would be protected and taken care of, what else would you want?

“Why don’t you come with us, love,” it wasn’t an offer, it was a demand —an order.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday

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petermorwood · 1 year

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I'm curious about the eating pick, how would you compare using it to using a fork?

It's a lot more fiddly - stab not scoop - and having used both a pick and a two-tine fork it surprises me that the three-tine fork with less space for things to fall through (or maybe even something like a modern spork) wasn't an immediate next step, rather than taking more than a century to arrive and then, AFAIK, only for fruit.

Medieval food was mostly eaten with knife-spoon-fingers, and the pick (again AFAIK) was used more like a carving-fork, to hold large pieces in place so they could be cut to spoon- or finger-size, than to convey those pieces to the mouth.

The well-researched "Wolf Hall" series shows Tudor table etiquette, eating with a spoon and with right-hand fingers kept clean by using the napkin worn on left shoulder or forearm.

Earlier table manners were similar; there's plenty of reference to hand-washing, napkins and so on.

IMO “The Private Life of Henry VIII” (1933) is probably to blame for the pop-history notion of “historical” dining involving whole chickens pulled apart with both hands and bones thrown over shoulders or onto the floor.

This link is to the full scene on YouTube, where the dialogue proves that it’s being done partly for comedy, and partly to show how nervous Henry made his court.

People in the Middle Ages didn't cut their food with daggers; yes, they'd have worn baselards or rondels or ballock knives because those were part of everyday costume (including women, there's pictorial evidence for it), but they wouldn't have used them at the dinner-table any more than they'd have used a sword.

I wonder sometimes if those who claim daggers were table cutlery know how big a medieval / Renaissance dagger could be, or how out-of-place it would look at a dinner table.

There's plenty of evidence for picks and small eating-knives as personal possessions. Here’s a 14th-century painting and a modern reconstruction of the thing on the belt.

...and another painting, “The Peasant Dance” by Breughel, showing both a big fighting-knife (Messer) and - worn by the red-hosed dancer in the middle - an eating-knife and maybe pick.

The armed man is also showing off (look at his hat!) that he owns a pewter or maybe even silver spoon...

Eating-knife and pick, collectively called "by-tools", could also be slotted into the scabbard of something bigger, such as that Messer in the Breughel painting as recreated by Tod Cutler...

...or a dagger like these Swiss ones...

...whose scabbard ornamentation with human figures proves how they were worn...

- horizontally (usually across the small of the back) so their decoration was right-way-up for proper admiration.

By-tools could be part of even larger weapons, a sword or Kriegsmesser (war-knife) like this one, which belonged to Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I:

Besides holding down or picking up food, a pick had other functions for which a knife with edges wouldn’t work as well such as an auger to drill holes in leather, or a fid or marlinspike for splicing rope or laces.

By the mid-1500s, people on the cutting edge (hah!) of fashion started to carry the ornate version of that little eating-knife-and-pick sheath; they had a “dining trousse”, personal table cutlery with its own separate case or scabbard, and a REALLY stylish trousse might even include the latest toy, a fork.

But that was often regarded as a pointless (hah!) affectation, because after all, everyone had fingers...

#arms and armour #food and drink #historical food #historical cutlery

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icemankazansky · 6 months

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icemav again but with somesort of lifeguard au?

Thanks for playing!

I'd say I'm sorry for this, but I'm not. It's also waaaaaaaay more than three sentences. (We all knew I could not stick to that rule.)

Over drinks and dessert, Bradley’s girlfriend, Phoenix, asks how they met.

Ice teases the edge of his tiramisu with the tines of his fork. “I was on the swim team in high school—”

“You captained the swim team in high school,” Maverick counters between bites of Ice’s dessert.

“—and we all made money for tournaments and stuff lifeguarding the pool during gym classes or free use or whatever.”

“You were very cute with your red shorts and whistle,” Maverick adds. “I transferred to Ice’s school at the beginning of the year, like the calendar year—”

“Spring semester,” Ice says.

“Yeah, spring semester. So I was brand new in the middle of the school year. I didn’t know anyone, but I saw Ice at the pool. When he was lifeguarding, yeah, but then I started coming in early and watch him swim laps before school.”

“That’s very normal and non-stalkery behavior of you, Pops,” Bradley says.

Ice cuts in before Maverick can take the bait. “I was really busy. I was taking a full load of AP classes, and I had a bunch of extracurriculars—”

“I don’t blame you at all for not noticing me,” Maverick says. “It probably would have helped if I had, you know, spoken to you.”

“But you didn’t,” Ice says. “You had a different … plan.”

“Look,” Maverick says seriously, gesturing dramatically with his spoon. “You were beautiful and gorgeous and perfect and so fucking smart—like scary smart—and I wanted to know you and date you and kiss you and—”

“We may be getting slightly off-topic,” Bradley says.

“Right,” Maverick says. “So, I needed him to notice me in a way that didn’t involve me putting my foot in my mouth in front of a large audience. So I came up with a plan. A great plan!”

“Was it?” Ice asks, arching an eyebrow.

“A great plan,” Maverick repeats.

“So one day, I’m lifeguarding,” Ice says. “And I notice someone in trouble. Splashing around like this is the first time they’ve ever been in the water. I get up, go to check, and then they go under, and there’s no more movement. So I blow my whistle and tell people to move, and I jump in and pull this poor guy up onto solid ground. He’s limp. Not moving. Eyes closed. I get him laid out on his back, check his vitals. He’s got a pulse, but his chest isn’t moving. No breathing. So I designate someone to call 911, and I start mouth-to-mouth. Airway is clear. I pinch his nose, tilt back his head, seal my mouth over his. I give two breaths, and his chest inflates and deflates like it’s supposed to. I check the pulse again, and it’s fine. But he’s still not breathing on his own. So I presss my mouth to his to give him two more breaths, and he grabs my ass and sticks his tongue in my mouth.”

Phoenix chokes on her drink. Bradley starts laughing in big, braying guffaws; he’s heard this story many times before, and was holding in his laughter until the punchline, and it all comes out at once.

“What?!” Phoenix asks weakly once she’s composed herself.

“I told you, I had a plan,” Maverick says.

“You drowned yourself …?” Phoenix asks. “On purpose?”

“Of course not!” Maverick says. He waggles his eyebrows at Ice. “Not that you’re not worth it …”

“He held his breath,” Ice says. “Once I figured out what was going on, I did something I’m not entirely proud of, but it was instinctual.”

Phoenix looks at him. “So you …?”

“I punched him in the face.”

Bradley is giggling now. Phoenix’s jaw is on the floor. “And so you married him …?”

“And so I got sentenced to two full weeks of afterschool detention,” Ice says. “Only I had extracurriculars after school three days a week, so I ended up having two days of detention a week for almost a month.”

“And you married him,” Phoenix deadpans.

Ice smiles. “Maverick felt bad that he’d gotten me in so much trouble, so he came and spent every single detention with me. At first, he was really withdrawn, apologetic and embarrassed, but I didn’t tell him to fuck off, so he kept coming. Soon he decided it was his job to cheer me up, so he’d talk to me, tell me jokes, clown around. He was funny and sweet. And cute. It didn’t take me very long to stop being mad at him. I started actually looking forward to detention, because I got to spend two hours with Maverick in the back of the classroom with our 600-year-old history teacher asleep at the front of the room, and it kind of felt like just the two of us. I waited until detention was over, and then I asked him to go on a date with me. He agreed, and we had a great time, and that night I kissed him properly for the first time, and things just kind of … kept growing from there.”

Maverick takes his hand, running the pad of his thumb across the simple gold band he slid onto Ice’s finger the day Ice agreed to love him, always. To belong to him, always. To go where he goes, always.

“Thirty-six years and counting,” Maverick says, and looks at his husband like he’s the only thing in the world. Ice looks back, beaming, weaving their fingers together.

“You’re insane,” Phoenix says, dumbfounded. “Possibly literally.”

“They’re in love,” Bradley says. “And if we sneak out while they’re still gazing into each other’s eyes, they’ll pay our check. Don’t worry; we have plenty of time. Finish your dessert.”

#asks answered #fic memes #top gun fanfiction #icemav #my writing #also there's some peripheral brace if you're into that sort of thing #and why wouldn't you be

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slutforsilverfoxes · 10 months

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🔊 Calling my fellow McGarrett girls, gays, and theys:

A McGarrett x reader undercover op at a casino has been begging itself to be written... do I keep going with this? Excerpt below the cut 👀

When your former mentor had contacted you about an opening at her coral reef research lab, moving from Camden to Oahu had been a no brainer. You’d packed up your life in New Jersey and been on a plane to the Aloha State within a week. Your favorite cousin, who’s truthfully more like the big brother you always wanted, had been elated to hear the news, welcoming you at the airport with open arms and two simple rules.

“Always answer the phone when I call so you don’t worry me to death,” Danny had said, holding up one finger, “and two,” he added a second, “you’re an adult and you can date anyone on this island-”

“Thank… you?”

“-but stay away from this schmuck.”

The schmuck in question had simply rolled his eyes, draped a beautiful lei around your neck, and greeted you with a warm hug. “It’s nice to finally meet the famous Y/N. I’m Steve.”

Your confident promise to your cousin had been broken a whopping two months later- and no, you hadn’t ignored one of his phone calls.

“Did you get me a beer?” you ask with a teasing lilt to your voice, wringing out your wet hair before dropping down onto the bench beside your boyfriend of three months. A quick glance around reveals that Danny’s over by the shrimp truck with Kamekona, and you lean forward to steal a kiss before putting some space between yourself and your favorite brunette.

“I surely did not,” Steve sasses back and takes a swig of his ice cold beverage. “Alcohol and diving do not mix. But I did happen to get a mango smoothie from that one place down the road this pretty girl I know really likes.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he responds, a goofy grin spreading across his handsome face. “But, uh, she didn’t show, so I guess you can have it.”

You laugh and give him a playful shove, then let out a content hum as you pop the straw through the lid and take a grateful sip. “So good,” you moan in delight, and Steve has to bite his lip to refrain from making a comment when he spots Danny approaching the table with your regular orders.

“Hey, you.” Your cousin greets you with a kiss on the cheek before taking up residence on the bench across from you and Steve. “Why’re you sitting all the way over there, huh? You like that clown better or somethin’?”

“This guy?” you snort, taking your lunch off the tray and rifling through the napkins in search of a fork.

“Ouch.” Steve winces as if burned by your comment, and you surreptitiously squeeze his thigh beneath the table.

“So tell me about this case you’ve got,” you coax your cousin to change the subject, spearing some grilled veggies on the plastic tines and scooping up a respectable mound of rice on top.

“So there’s a diamond smuggling ring-” Danny starts, and you immediately cut him off with, “Shut up, that doesn’t happen in real life.” You turn to Steve for confirmation, but nothing about his facial expression suggests this is a joke. “Are you serious right now? BFFR, Danno.”

“I don’t- I don’t know what that means. Why are you making me feel old?”

“Be fucking for real,” you and Steve supply in unison, and you smile proudly at him. “You’re learning!”

“Between you and Gracie, I keep up, okay?”

“Oh, between my cousin and my daughter, you- okay, that’s excellent,” Danny says, his tone indicating it’s anything but. “Anyway, they’re using poker games as a cover to uh, collect their product, shall we say.”

“There’s enough rich people on Oahu with actual diamonds?” you ask, incredulous. “And here I am working like a pleb for paper currency.”

��Word,” Steve seconds your statement, raising his beer in a toast. You clink your smoothie against it before taking another refreshing sip. “So how’re you gonna catch them?”

“Well, there’s a high roller tournament on Friday night that we’re betting they’ll hit. We wanted to go in undercover and flush them out but…” Steve trails off and gazes at you thoughtfully, but Danny’s shaking his head before the next words have even formed on the brunette’s lips.

“No, absolutely not. Don’t even think about it, Steve.”

“What?” You turn to him, excitement coursing through your veins at the way his eyes have lit up. “Think about it! And tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You could go undercover with me to the tournament, help me gather some intel. Maybe we get you to confirm the diamonds are actually in their possession and-”

“No!” Danny chimes in again. “What’s the matter with you, huh? These guys have killed two people already, Steve. It’s too dangerous for her.”

“First off, fuck that-”

“Language.”

With an eye roll, you amend, “Forget that. More importantly, shouldn’t Danny go undercover? You kind of suck at poker, Steve.” You feel a sharp pinch at your side and you yelp in protest, slapping at the SEAL. “It’s true, you little-”

“You’re not going,” Danny says definitively. “What about Tani?”

Steve shakes his head. “Tani and Junior have already questioned two of the men involved. They’ll be made before they even get to the table.”

You cross your arms and level your cousin with a smirk. “Sounds like you need me, Danno.”

“Then I’m going with you,” he declares.

“Yeah, no, hard pass,” you backpedal. “Even as a former thespian, there’s no way I can convincingly play arm candy for you without it being weird.”

“So, it’s settled then, little Williams,” Steve says with a grin. “You and me. Friday night. The high roller table at the Ilikai Hotel.”

#pls help #should i write this?#idk if i like this #i deadass need one person to tell me to write it #and my people pleasing will kick in #i crave validation #steve mcgarrett fanfiction #steve mcgarrett imagine #steve mcgarrett #steve mcgarrett x reader #steve mcgarrett x y/n #steve mcgarrett x female reader #steve mcgarrett x you #steve mcgarrett x reader x danny williams #hawaii five 0 #hawaii five 0 imagine #hawaii five o imagine

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gwydionmisha · 7 months

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Personal: For Profit Healthcare and Me

So remember how Peacehealth drove all the independent offices in four specialties out of business, thus forcing everyone to use their clinic, then closed those clinics to force everyone to go to their central clinic two counties to the south? And remember how both the Doctors who were running that clinic made a deal to operate out of a clinic a regional medical conglomerate was opening near the hospital? so instead of me spending all day on a sixty mile each way trek for my treatment I was using the last three months of skeleton crew treatment at old clinic which ended the last Thursday in September? Remember how they said we could all follow our doctors there?

Yeah, about that.

I've been dutifully calling ever two weeks to see if they were letting people schedule appointments yet. They sent out a letter saying they were open. I stayed up Tuesday to get in sorted. it was a whole drama because the automated maze to get to the scheduler was as much of a hassle as Peacehealth's and prone to dropping calls, forcing one to start from scratch each time. so that was frustrating and tine consuming.

Apparently they have no access to our health records, so it was a start from scratch situation. Me, mentally: Shit! This is going to be HOURS. Only it wasn't for all the wrong reasons. They take Medicare, but not Medicare Advantage. So if I want it covered I have to lose most of my benefits including having Medicaid pay my big Medicare copay. O.o. Or I can pay for expensive treatments myself as uninsured.

I was upset, but I remembered superstar medical social worker lady personally calling around town to talk dentists into taking medicare dental coverage for me thus opening up my small city so that medicare patients can now get root canals and crowns instead of learning to live without chewing.

So I still thought it was salvageable. Problem is she's gone and the woman replacing her is a busy supervisor who likes to call me two hours into my sleep cycle without warning and then gets angry at me for not being charming. Previous lady asked when was best to call and would schedule calls in advance for a time when I was able to be awake and functional. it is a lot easier for me to be charming when I wasn't just ripped out of REM sleep and am now being interrogated about something.

New lady is a supervisor and super busy with supervisor things and is made of no and is snippy. I can not make her understand that not only is a 120 mile round trip over mountain passes dealing with the traffic mess along the highway in the major metropolitan area where I once got caught in a four hour traffic jam and couldn't get off to pee, is an entire exhausting day for me and that plus a treatment would not only mean i could do anything useful that day, but the next day to. She can't grasp how much pain is involved in long car trips or how much treatments take out of me. She keeps hard selling me on this and then calling me resistant and recalcitrant like I'm the one being unreasonable for considering this basically insurmountable at my level of disability.

She did not fight the in town clinic for me. She did not try to argue them around.

Her, repeating a suggestion she has made over and over since the closing announcement: You should just get your GP to do it.

Me, explaining for at least the third time because we have this conversation every time we talk: I asked my GP last spring like you asked. They can't do it. It can't be administered by a GP. They'd need to hire a specialist and build new facilities for compounding and for special storage of medication.

Her: Well just ask you GP to give you a different treatment.

Me: There are no other treatments. I have medications to manage symptoms. These treatments are the cure. There is only one cure.

Her: You are being recalcitrant!

Me: There is literally only one cure. No new ones have been invented since last February. The cure is working. I'm getting better. i will get worse again with only symptom management.

But she kept arguing with me because I was being stubborn about facts being facts. My GP can't pull an entire brand new treatment regimen out of her ass. She would not let it go or let me go and I was exhausted because it was hours past when I would normally be asleep at this point and also what was the point of her hard selling me on demanding the imaginary alternative treatment or the 120 mile trip. I ended up giving and and saying something like, "I have to go now," which I know is rude, but we spent this entire conversation with her neither listing not understanding and basically acting like I was the asshole here.

So I'm fucked and I'm frustrated and angry. I was literally at the point where I was going to get better really quickly if I kept doing treatments, but if we stop now I'll be back to square one with it all to do again if another clinic opens.

And it's all like this because Obama and Biden didn't have the balls to stick to their universal free healthy care guns and decided to adopt the capitalist give away Republican health plan in pursuit of bipartisan buy in they did not get, which anyone paying attention told them they could not get, which Mitch McConnell vowed they'd never get as part of the project to make Obama a one term president at all costs. They burned all their political capital on a bullshit give away to insurance companies when they could have taken the same or less of a hit just giving up a developed country level health care system. No fucked up website needed for sign ups. No red tape or copays or catch 22 shit like I'm dealing with now.

#Personal

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kingofthering · 6 months

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motogp rpf survey - results (part three)

When I did the survey, I asked people about the concepts that they would like to be able to read in this fandom. I went through all the answers and classified them by categories. When it made more sense, I separated some answers in various lines. The "contexts" section is supposed to be more precise ideas than the "general" category but to be quite honest, both categories are similar.

Under the cut, you will find ideas for the following categories :

general

contexts

rosquez

vale

vr46 riders

other specific pairings

general

I’d love to see more AUs.

some sci-fi / fantasy, sports AUs

Anything action/adventure with angst like a spy au or smth OR a normal/no motogp au…..maybe rider/mechanic au….TWO mechanics au….other sports au….

Asexuality and polyamory

different soulmate aus like red string of fate, first words, etc. etc. and maybe wish baby aus (see: hockey rpf)

Fake relationship because that's great always

coming from the f1rpf fandom i think i was very spoiled with the mass of fics that exist and the length of some of them and that what i am kind of missing i loove a good slowburn or long fics general and motogp doesn‘t have a lot of those (i know very big coming from someone that doesn‘t write themselfes) i just love being able to explore the relationships in fics very thorough (be it romantic or platonic) like yes give me the pining, the weird flirting attemts, the award first dates (or morning after), the reactions of friends/family to them, give me all of that and more imagine something like „everything changes“ (i hope you are familiar it is basically a f1 fic that outlived both drivers careers and its 5mio words long) of course it doesn‘t have to be in that extent but like going through their entire carrers (together and apart) and seeing how the relationship changes (would work really well with rozquez or pedronzo but also with so many others)

Full long fics

I’d also love more sports aus in general!

Magic Realism

Maybe some kine of soulmate fic? I feel like the writers don’t write about it and if they wrote it is left unfinished -and this is not a dig for them but it is just an observation-, also this one is just for me but as someone who LOVES angst and hurt/no comfort I realised there isn’t a lot of hurt/no comfort but this is only me who loves to cry over fics 😂

More A/B/O stuff or maybe AU where riders (mainly MotoGP riders) have normal jobs and are the guardians or adopted parents of riders in the lower categories

more fluff!

more of the riders being normal people (obviously they are not but like normal people jobs). i think a normal person job contrasted with a decidingly not normal love story would be good. maybe some espionage i would like that as well.

More poly relationships maybe?

Not exactly concepts, but I do think we deserve some long 100k+ word fics! I love shorter single-chaptered fics but sometimes a slow burn is required Also maybe I'm a weirdo pervert sicko but there isn't enough PWP (on ao3 at least). Someone get on that please <3 for me <3

Pure domestic fluff, aus like college/office

this fandom needs more internalized homophobia discussion!! these men are all catholic ik it would be crazy in the brain space for everyone. also marc choking kink tine travel or body swap aus

Oh i like silly fics too, something light and funny and a bit crack is always welcomed! Also text fics, they're great (forgot to put them in the tropes i like, so here). A silly little text fic with a riders group chat could be very funny. Also like i mentioned before, amnesia fics and injury/feelings revelation fics work so well for motogp rpf, id love to see more.

Vampire AU (because I really liked that in 'a few leaps of faith)

I really like genderbending and the challanges being a woman in moto would bring

contexts

Carnivorous circuits for sure.

I'm a sucker for Single dad/kid fics and AUs in general. I also kinda like it when one person is famous/a rider and the other one isnt

Street racing. It's more of a car thing, but I'm sure motorcycles do a similar thing. I'm a suckered for au's like that and I haven't seen nearly enough in the motorsport community as a whole, not the mention motogp has like...none (that I've found at least)

Okay next, i always love a good football au! Any pairing okay, football au are just the best. Long fic, ficlet, national teams, local teams, rivals, teammates... Everything is great <3

rosquez

a long canonverse rosquez from vale’s POV

A lot of the rosquez content I've seen has been post-reunion which is of course lovely but I would love to see more stuff set pre-Sepang...exploration of the ways their relationship was already a little toxic...foreshadowing galore...I Would Like To See It

More rosquez post reunion. Further exploration of agnst-crrnt's rosquez time jumping fic.

If anyone writes the Rosquez baby AU at some point I will be eternally grateful!Longggg vale/Marc from Marc’s rookie season through to vale’s retirement

UH. Well first one is very basic, the more rosquez reconciliation fics there are, the more i will be happy lol. It would be very interesting also to see more Vale dealing with his internalized homophobia (which he definitely has) and the crippling fear he has when it comes to Marc (basically lets get Vale to therapy lmao), and a bit more of how Marc was conflicted with his desire to be with his idol and the desire to be him, and also his feelings after all the injuries and the horrible honda year, like the conflict again with the desire to win and the need to be cared for (put him in therapy too lol). So like, Rosquez reconciliation where they still are two little shits (affectionate) but older and wiser (author sended them to therapy holding them at gunpoint).

Vale and marc as teammates, age gap between various stuff, power dynamics between people, especially between mentors or menteesvale/marc being teleported into a universe where they never argued and seeing what it could have been

just general rosquez reconciliation

vale

hmmm dad vale bc him being a girl dad has my whole heart

The enigma that was young Rossi‼️

vr46 riders

Lots of vr46 academy au's where they have special powers? Personally I would also love some darker stuff too.

Relationships between the VR46 riders. They’ve spent so much time together since they were young and the dynamic isn’t talked about enough. Also, someone please write about the hero worship they have for Vale, the synthesizing of this god like figure they’ve grown up admiring to the very flesh and blood man they’ve come to know.

vr46 harem au

other specific pairings

Dani and Jorge get banged by Vale together

I would like to read more about the marc/Fabio relationship post 2020, especially in relation to the physical and mental difficulties that marc had to face

i would love more aleix poli content we talk a lot abt his boyfriends but it ends up only talk ! let that man fuck all his guys !!!!

I'd love more Marc/Fabio fics. I think their relationship could be a little bit like Marc/Vale but not as passionate and destructive.

marquezcest

pedrenzo arranged marriage au that is 50k but lives only in my head………

Then i have this idea of a Luca/Bezz guardian angel au, where luca is the angel assigned to bez and bez is his usual self who is VERY HARD to keep alive (and he really gets on Luca's nerves at first, cause luca is the type who reads all the manuals and gets the maximum score at text and all of that and little chaotic bez just... doesn't make sense to him). I will never write it cause i'm not a writer, but i want to put this prompt out to the world cause i'd love it so much if someone felt inspired by it!

Okay last thing (i'm sure there is PLENTY more but i don't have so much space lol), a Tony/Fabio full story would make my day, it doesn't even to be long, i'd just be happy to read more about them <3

#motogp #valentino rossi #marc marquez #rpf #motogp rpf survey #motogprpfsr #maybe this can give inspiration to some people #this was fairly interesting to read through

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kuzann · 2 months

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Vlad is stuck at home, Danny learns about the Key of Memory, Jack has a nightmare, and Valerie makes up her mind. FINALLY got this chapter done. It became really easy to write after I focused intensely on a completely different story for a month lol. Maybe keeping multiple AUs active at once really is the way to go for my creative process.

Excerpt:

Valerie didn’t draw attention to the fact that Danny, Sam, and Tucker had disappeared around half an hour ago and had yet to reappear. The most obvious explanation was that there was some sort of ghost issue going on that the three were dealing with.

She wanted to help him too. But would he keep trusting her if he knew she’d figured things out? Would their past and her continued association with Vlad get in the way of their friendship going forward? It was an association of convenience at best, but things were sour enough between Vlad and Danny that it might not matter...

The two families dispersed around mid-afternoon, with the kids promising to meet up again later for fireworks watching atop the Ops Center when night fell.

Valerie passed the hours before then with exercise, a bit of reading, and catching up on chores she still had to do. The Fourth of July had never been particularly special to her unless they were going to the parade or some other big event. It felt like any other day, save for the promise of fireworks later.

She was taking a trash bag out to the can just before sunset when she noticed something odd from the corner of her eye. Valerie froze, her breath catching in her throat, and turned her head to look.

The stag creature lay in the shadows under the fence halfway between their house and the back of their yard, only partially visible in the weakening light. Its head was down and its eyes closed, its entire body slack with exhaustion.

Valerie slowly resumed her walk to the trash cans, keeping her eyes on the stag all the while. She lowered the bag in, careful to keep her movements slow and measured, then returned to where it lay.

The stag stirred as she came closer. Its golden eyes were dull, and its movement sluggish as it lifted its head and gave her an imploring look.

She wasn’t sure what to do. It was only hostile when attacked for the most part, she knew that, but animals could get panicky when they were injured. The last thing she wanted was to catch a tine if it decided to take a swing at her.

Still… The way it looked at her… Was it really ‘just’ an animal?

Valerie crept a little closer. “Can you understand me?” she asked, balanced on the balls of her feet in case he started thrashing.

The stag nodded. He was trembling now, though from fear or fever she couldn’t tell—the wound in his haunch was still oozing blood even now.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Valerie said. She lifted a hesitant hand, but stopped short of reaching out to him. “I noticed that you aren’t trying to pick fights…” The bout with Plasmius came to mind, but that she could excuse by Vlad having somehow started a fight with the stag first. “For the most part,” she added. “Can I help you go home? You just need to get to the Ghost Zone, right?”

The stag shook his head.

Valerie blinked with surprise. “But you’re a ghost, aren’t you?”

Again the stag shook his head.

“So… What are you, then?”

The stag’s ears drooped as he gave her a look of utter misery.

“Right, I guess you can’t talk…” Valerie stepped closer and got a good look at the wound on the stag’s haunch. It looked deep, and given her sheer lack when it came to veterinary knowledge she had no idea how to treat it. “Would you like some food and water maybe? Would that help?”

The stag’s eyes widened, and he nodded.

“Okay, just lay low out here for a bit.” Valerie returned to her house at a fast walk, still wary of startling the stag if she moved too quickly. She took their largest plastic platter down from a cupboard and stood frozen in the kitchen for a few moments. What were deer supposed to eat? Plants, obviously, but other than that she had no idea given that her interaction with normal deer was very limited, having lived in the city her whole life. Lettuce would probably be a safe bet at the very least.

There was a tub of assorted greens in the veggie drawer. Given how bad she and her dad were at eating them before they spoiled they wouldn’t be sorely missed. Valerie put the tub on the platter, then added a few carrots and a cucumber for good measure.

It didn’t seem like enough, given the size of the stag. Valerie added some zucchinis and a few apples as well.

Next Valerie found a suitably large bowl and filled a few bottles with water to pour into it. She paused at the back door. The stag was dirty and haggard, going gray with dust when she’d gotten close enough to notice. He would be more comfortable if she could clean him up a bit…

Valerie left the food and water by the door and dashed up the stairs to get one of her old hair brushes; she wouldn’t feel guilty if this task finally did it in, given that she’d only kept it as a spare after getting a new one.

On her way back down she grabbed a few big garage towels as well, and with all she could think of gathered together she went back outside into the fading afternoon.

The stag lay exactly where she’d left him, again lifting his head as she drew near. His ears perked up at seeing the food.

Valerie set the water and food out for him, upending the tub of salad greens onto the platter with the other food she’d chosen, then left the stag to eat and knelt down by his neck. She gently ran the brush across the stag’s mane, ducking when he lifted his head to regard her again.

She could feel the gratitude in his eyes, the misery of his situation making her heart ache. The stag gently nuzzled her cheek in thanks—as wary of startling her as she was of doing the same—and returned his attention to the food.

A calm silence fell over them, filled with the rasp of the brush, the sigh of the breeze, the rumble of the occasional passing car, and the crunch of the stag munching away on his meal.

Valerie let her mind wander, and it promptly found thoughts of Danny yet again. She had to tell him, had to make sure he knew that she was on his side. They would be able to coordinate against any of Vlad’s schemes much more easily that way, and ghost hunting in general would be safer for both of them if they teamed up. Things had gotten better lately, and they could get even better if she summoned up the courage. But something told her that Sam and Tucker still wouldn’t like it—

An early firework went off a ways down the street, startling both of them. She and the stag shared a slow glance, then she relaxed.

“That was just a firework,” Valerie said, giving the stag a reassuring pat on the forehead. “There’s gonna be a lot more where that came from, so be ready.”

#Danny Phantom #Phanfiction #DP Fanfic #Danny Fenton #Valerie Gray #Vlad Masters #Jack Fenton #Jazz Fenton #Kuzannfic #Danny Phantom Paradigm Shift AU

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farrwoodss · 3 months

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The Zemira Sisters.

Woods actually draws other ocs that aren't Skye Asterism?? More likely than you'd think (and won't happen again until the next leap year).

3/6 of the main cast! That being:

(✦) Skye Asterism

(✦) Drift Zemira

(✦) Mist Zemira

(✦) Emory Cassian

(✦) Farren Cassian

(✦) Vesper Tines

Briefest of deep dives. Literally can not stress ENOUGH how I want asks about these guys. At some point I'll post a big lore dump!!

Skye Asterism is Project Songbird's protagonist. She's Drift's older twin and starts out as a starry-eyed kid in a ruffian village just beyond Kalopsia's border. She always was a wild and impulsive thing, overly sensitive and sentimental. A lycan that cried seeing deers be brought home from the hunt. her mind always ticked as restlessly as she did. Just like her mother, she had a certain passion for the stars. If only the similarities to her had ended there. But weak, little Skye Zemira couldn't have known she would become what she admired so fervently; a star of the less desirable sort, an unravelling supernova.

Drift Zemira is something of a glass child. She grew up bitter and neglected, taken under the wing of her Aunt Tyche instead of Lilah's, her father. As a result, she became a highly unlikeable teen, a delinquent characterised by flashing teeth and flying spit. She resented Skye for getting all their father's attention despite his insistence that she would understand when she was older, the eyes behind the words so blue and sad. Rage was a balm for the wounded beast hulking behind her ribcage. She's also ginger <3

Mist Zemira is the oldest of the three, two years older than the Zemira twins. She's their half sister after Lilah served as surrogate to her mothers. They're beloved to the ruffian den, their home a flourishing medicinal herb garden and a medical practice in one, one a gardener and the other a medic. The platonically bonded (but hopelessly devoted) pair decided to have a child together, someone to raise to be a speck of goodness in the world. Lilah was willing and Mist was born. She's a kind yet hardy lycan, exceptionally skilled at medicinary. She keeps Drift afloat in all this. Her hands are scarred from tending to the garden but you will never feel a touch gentler than hers.

Too bad all three are doomed by the narrative.

When the Zemira twins are age 14, Mist age 16, they flee the ruffian den. Lilah had vanished a month prior. With Mist's home an orange blaze behind them, fellow lycans crowing for the end of the "three cursed Zemira sisters", Tyche leads them into the spasming heart of the unknown: the Redwood Sea, heading towards the distant land of Kalopsia.

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xirayn · 8 months

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I asked a chef (my spouse) to critique Joseph Quinn's knife handling skills in this photo:

1) He's holding the knife with three fingers.

2) He's pushing on the tine, thus making the knife off balance.

3) He isn't supporting the blade with the thumb and forefinger on each side.

4) His palm has absolutely no grip strength in this pose.

5) He's not even touching that tomato.

6) He's not watching what he's doing

7) That's a boning knife. Nobody cuts vegetables with a boning knife because the blade is too flexible. It's meant to cut meat from bones and slide into joints.

8) His stance all but guarantees he's not going to get even cuts. Face your cutting board!

9) His feet aren't planted, making him off-balanced, thus his cuts are all going to be different.

10) His limp-wristed grip offers no control during any kind of cut.

11) The position of the knife suggests he's going to do a chop, but again, that's a boning knife, which doesn't have a big enough blade to chop

12) Square your shoulders. FFS!

In conclusion: This whole picture reeks of "let's have the front of house manager take a picture in the kitchen to show how much of a team we are."

#joseph quinn #he's cute though #and looks like he knows this shot is ridiculous

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angsthology · 3 months

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𖤓 intro to camellia ayudisha (ft. the commentary by yours truly)

-> series masterlist

Camellia, oh, Camellia.

She is as pretty as her namesake and as delicate as its petals.

If Jupiter was a hail-storm disrupting one’s lives (the so-called journalists are very dramatic, they should try writing a screenplay instead), Camellia was the gentle breeze in the early morning greeting your skin. If Jupiter has the sky and storm in her control, Camellia was the wind god that has control over whether or not your hair is going to stick to your lip gloss.

Not everyone can understand her beauty but anyone who does has been blessed with the right retinas.

Her presence is one that people debate whether she should be driving at all when she feels like royalty (and let’s be honest, a passenger princess), someone in deserving to the throne under that crown.

She is the person you think of when you hear the phrase ‘pretty girl’. Fitting to her name, she looked like she was hand-picked in the prettiest flower field; sweet dark chocolate-colored eyes under her long lashes (everyone, me included, very jealous of those) — her dark, once black hair turned brown from her continuous sun exposure (especially the one that is in her hometown), her skin that warm-toned tan color. And you could never miss her delicate face, cheekbones high and visible on her round face—(something everyone goes crazy for? Post-race glistens where all of her light makeup is either gone or has become one with her skin giving her face that glow).

When people throw around the term ‘Grid Princess’ it only truly sticks to her and only truly serious with her.

Everyone knows the story, the ‘myth’ of Camellia Ayudisha; had her father not meet her mother, had he not marry her, had he not created Camellia, she would be a princess—well, she’d also be nonexistent but if she did exist—she does, but under different circumstances—she would be.

You get what I mean.

She is how one might say… perfect.

The perfect role model, perfect ‘intro’ of sorts, the perfect woman.

She was, the firs and foremost of ‘her kind’, she set the path for women in motorsports, and there was no one better to do it than her. She is perfect.

Perfect Camellia is the media angel, perfect Camellia would never go against the rules, perfect Camellia would never out-do her teammate in equal machinery. (well, she still did.)

The perfect male fantasy as to what a female Formula One driver should be.

Well, she was perfect to them. For the first three years of her career, she was as well-behaved as everyone expected her to be, she didn’t fail anyone’s expectations. The perfect fantasy.

“WHAT IS THIS? Camellia Ayudisha’s Toro Rosso has overtaken Nico Rosberg in the Mercedes! If she keeps this up for a few more seconds she will be making history as the first ever woman to win a Formula One Grand Prix… Oh my Goodness! SHE CROSSES THE FINISH LINE! THE CHECKERED FLAG HAS WAVED FOR THE FIRST TIME THIS WEEKEND! CAMELLIA AYUDISHA HAS WON THE TWO-THOUSAND-SIXTEEN JAPANESE GRAND PRIX!” the commentator yells into his mic, cheers following in the background at what just happened.

The crowd was loud with their gasps and cheers, even those who weren’t her supporters managed to had the jaws slack.

Her radio was much worse,

“THAT IS P1! MEL, YOU JUST WON A GRAND PRIX! YOU’RE THE FIRST WOMAN IN HISTORY TO WIN A GRAND PRIX! CONGRATULATIONS! P1 oh I can’t take this, take it in Mel… you’ve just made history.” Her engineer and entire team celebrated in her ears, prompting tears to form in her eyes.

When they heard her voice again, her emotions were contagious, “Demi apa… Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God… I did that…” her voice giving away her tears. “I can’t believe it…”

“Oh, you best believe it, this is your day! A day for women and girls everywhere, we all thank you.”

“Okay, Ray, I mean this in the nicest way possible… please shut up.”

And when they thought she was done talking to cry by herself, they were wrong.

“THIS IS FOR YOU MALIQ!” she cried into the radio, saying the words with her Indonesian accent heavy on her tongue.

They’ve just witnessed history live in front of their eyes.

Then there are the luckiest interviewers to have been blessed to get her first few words minutes by the history-maker herself.

Right after she was done getting weighed, Camellia walked over to her post-race interview. Her mouth in a permanent smile, one might mistake her for having just inhaled glue with her entire face.

“Look at you!” the interviewer greeted happily, “You’re glowing!”

She laughed lightly, “First time I’m hearing that. Thankfully not in a different circumstance…” her comment making the reporter and herself crack another laugh.

“No, seriously, you’re beautiful!” she can only smile at the compliment, “I guess winning does that to one, huh?”

She chuckled again, “I guess so…”

All-the-while she didn’t realize the visible tears that had ran down her cheeks, the tears that were still running down.

“Are you crying?” he asked with a light-hearted laugh.

When it came to her attention, Camellia immediately wiped it away and looked at the tear on her knuckle, “I can’t stop it, I swear…” she replied with the same light-hearted laugh.

“You just made history! I wouldn’t be able to stop crying too if I were you!”

It was known from then on, Camellia was not afraid to show emotion, her vulnerability. She took it all with great pride.

Many says she was ‘weak’ but more stated that she was unafraid, she was fearless.

“Wow, look at that, only nineteen-years-old and had just marked her spot in history by winning her first Grand Prix.” The commentator narrated as the dark-haired girl was seen walking towards the podium with the 1st cap in one hand and the other pushing her hair back.

“Even the way she walks, just look at her! So elegant.” As she stepped on the top podium, teeth shining with her smile. So sweet, so beautiful.

“Now let’s hear it for the Indonesian national anthem.”

The smile on her face was the smile no one has seen before — which was saying a lot cause Camellia smiles for ninety percent of her life.

As her anthem plays, she removes her winner’s crown only for it to be replaced with the sun as if she wore a halo as her crown.

To the world, she could’ve done no wrong.

Until,

Ugh, until…

Jupiter Nightshade once again ‘ruined something that was once great’. — the media claimed.

Maybe there was always a flame inside of Camellia that the world had yet to see before ever in her Formula One career, a flame that was only set the season she met the rookie in Renault.

When the rookie won the driver’s championship in a Renault—it triggered something in her.

A rookie… had won… a championship before her. —In a Renault of all things! The first Renault driver with a championship since 2006! That was three histories she made in her first year.

In the early days of 2019, after months-long silence from the driver and her team, emotions and tension bubbled over the internet over their radio silence.

Until eventually, it broke out:

BREAKING: Camellia Ayudisha to leave Red Bull.

BREAKING: Camellia Ayudisha to join Mercedes in 2019.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

The reactions to her move grew opinions from the internet.

One spoke, ‘I need to lie down.’ (me too, and I did kinda) — another yelled, ‘her and Lewis as teammates… SIR LEWIS HAMILTON AND THE PRINCESS, I won.’ (they do look beautiful together, who doesn’t love colonizer and colonizee royals as teammates) — unfortunately another man spat; ‘who does she think she is? Red Bull quite literally boosted her career.’ (she is Camellia and she did everything she has achieved herself, thank you very much and shut the fuck up.) — but when a man speaks (again, unfortunately) another person (as delusionally great they are) says; ‘CAMELLIA AYUDISHA 2019 WDC!’ (I like the spirit and enthusiasm, keep it up, you’re going to need it.) — ‘damn, no more Indonesian colonial times teammates [broken heart emoji]’ (I mean, well. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that.) — and you obviously cannot forget the ones who is always going to be there for her; ‘I’m glad she left, I did not like the way they treated her there. To hell with that rocket ship, as long as she’s happy and okay that’s all I’m going to need for now.’ (she appreciates that a lot).

I mean, it’s not like any of that will matter, Camellia was known to be chronically offline. A grass-toucher, if you will. But by her profession, you could say gravel-toucher… enough.

Her name eventually became the equivalent to ‘surprise’. ‘Cause somehow, just somehow… she shocked the world again the time 2021 came around.

BREAKING: Audi to join Formula One for the 2021 season.

Carlos Sainz Jr. to drive alongside Camellia Ayudisha in Audi for the 2021 season.

The Royalty, the Flower, L’Angelo; Dewa Ayu Camellia Anisha Primaningtyas.

not proofread | taglist; @disneyprincemuke @eugene-emt-roe @nikfigueiredo @treehouse-mouse @sadieurlady @trouble-sistar @almostjollypizza + ask to be added (crossed out means i cant tag you)

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one x oc #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x original character #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x female character #f1 smau #formula 1 smau #formula one smau #formula 1 x oc #f1 x driver!reader #f1 x you #tine’s the big three #f1 x original character

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classificationhell · 2 months

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How would Alastor, both Lucifers and Fizz + Ozzie react to their little with chubby cheeks, which they (the little) feel a bit insecure about? (Sorry, this is kinda weird, basing it a bit off personal experience)

I mean have you seen Fizzarolli's cheeks while eating?

Still, they'll try and get you to accept yourself chubby cheeks and all. They think it's adorable. They'll even try to get you into therapy if necessary, they want you to be happy in your own body.

Alastor doesn't really understand the big deal. It's all in attitude and how you view yourself, Mimzy is on the chubby side, and he finds her adorable in a way. He'll try to get you to see the beauty in yourself and raise your overall confidence. He won't be able to help himself at tines though and pinch your cheeks especially when ymregressed because you're just too cute.

Both Lucifers are upset that this upsets you, and if this stems from somebody and they're in hell hoo boy Mourningstar is gonna have some fun >:D They're doubling or tripling up on the praise and showing you exactly how much they think of you. Lucifer is commissioning an artist to draw a new royal family portrait with you him and Charlie, or just you and him if Charlie doesn't want to, maybe he'll do three one with each of you, one all together, oh maybe he'll do five and have each of you do your own. Mourningstar meanwhile will painstakingly teach himself how to paint while you're sleeping. He'll probably be painting you every night for months on end until surprising you with a portrait day were he'll paint the most beautiful portrait you've ever seen with you as the subject.

#ask response #classification hell au #classificationhell #thank you #lore adjacent #reactions #lucifer mourningstar #alastor reaction #fizzarozzie #fizzmodeus

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eyobis-andthe-bunnycats · 1 year

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[ID Start: lineart drawing of Rainy, an anthropomorphic jackalope with a big bushy tail, and three tines on each antler. They are smiling at and waving to someone out of frame on the left while they skip away to the right. /End ID.]

As part jackalope myself (ish lol), I've been dying to draw @rainyjackalope fursona for ages. Finally got some time to do it! I'm a little out of practice so please excuse the rough lines.

#furry art #jackalope #furry #rabbit #deer #b-k art #b-k draws #b-k describes #image description #Rainy #doing a big steppy

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oh-for-fic-sake-library · 2 years

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Please Do Daddy

Masterlist

Ask: @viking-raider asked, What if Daddy checked your SM, for whatever reason, and found you posted a kinda naughty photo. What would he do?

Warnings: ddlg, daddy kink,non conventional little space?(little in a sexy mood) bdsm, derogatory names, dark/dom! Walter, swearing, sexual threats(consensual), spankjng threats, reader is a little brat, spicy/almost smut

A/n: so this took a fery different turn and became borderline smut. Sorry @viking-raider if this wasnt what you had in kind, my horny brain ran away with me 🥺🥺 This is from the angle that even a little can be a fithly sex kitten too.

Walter growled as he made his way into the house. Slamming the door behinde him. He was on a mission, an important personal mission.It took him a matter of seconds to stride through the house, bypassing the kitchen stairs and living room and made it to the back door.

And there you were, well your silhouette in the opaque window sitting on the side of the new hot tub. Clearly having the tine of your life as you flicked your feet in the water.

He paused, tipping his head to the side as he heard the low beat of music playing from inside the small hot tub house.... was that hanky panky? Madonna. Fuck. He grunted palm itching to cease his naughty baby bear and redden your hide. You were such a brat on the phone today, hexd been counting the mineuts untill he ha finished his paperwork from his latest solved case and could return home. Little did you know he was takeing a weeks vacation now, so he had all the time in the world to toy with you. To treat you like the naughty baby you were and parade you naked throuh the house, keeping you on the edge of cumming so you remain noce and wet for whenever the mood struck him and he could rut you into a lusty drunken haze. You may be his baby girl, but you were also his wonton sex kitten.

He shook his head ridding the images of past holidays where he had fucked his frustration away. Though this time would be more then three of four days, the promotion gave him more dyas off, and he intended to use all of them to the fullest. He smiled eyeing the party shed. It was one of the best things he'd done since moving here, when he decided to get the hot tub instead of a below ground pool he was only planning on the basics. Hot water and jets with a little cover and somewhere to hang the towles.

In the end he got one with seats, lounger, jets, lights and built in music player with a big old privacy 'shed' surround ...That had opaque frosted glass windows... and sliding doors and an outdoor shower... and outside kitchen slash bar attached. Yes he will admit things had got out of hand quickly but it wasnt entirely his fault, sy was a surprisingly good carpenter and diy extraordinaire a talent he had found since leaving the forces. His cousin had jumped for joy when walter had said for him to 'knock yourself out' with the plans.

Walter stalked forward slowly, useing all histraining as he crept along side the party shed. He eased himself in without making a sound and slipped himself into the corner behinde you.

His jaw dropped as he saw your swimsuit in person. Tiny pink and lilac strings that glittered in the light... but that was it! It was fucking strings of fabric criss crossjng over your supple back. Arching high over your hips.

You wiggled cutely to the music doing your little happy jig enjoying your own little party. It was only now he could spot the small mermaid doll in your hand. He couldnt help smirk even in the most provocative swimsuit and naughty song playing in the background you were still his cute little cub.

He huffed through his nose like a rageing bull. His body tightened, cock jerked. He cleared his throat loud enough to make you yelp and jump, spinning around so fast you lost your balance on the edge of the lip and plunged into the water.

"d-daddy? what are... what are you doing home early?" You whimpered as you moved slowly through the water kneeling on 9ne of the seats your tiny fingera curling around the rim of the tub as you blinked and spat out the water from you mouth.

Walter frowned and blinked eyes skimming the threads that were a the most sorry excuse for a swimsuit he had ever seen. The top barely covered your nipples both threatening to pop out frommthe deep v that almost reached your navel, held together but the same tiny criss cross strings on the back and sides.

You looked down and yelped quickly ducking down in the water making your shoulders submerge. Your tummy flipped unease creepjng across your face as you took in walters solid form. Feet planted wide, arms cross and a less then impressed look across hos face.

"Phone." The word was accompanied by a hand being help out waiting patiently for the device to be placed in his hand. You hesitated wondering for a moment if your earlier tantrum over the phone had lost yor the device for a few days.

"What? No i dont hae it... its not here i swea;" the lies were out before you could stop them, luckily... or unluckily walter wasnt letting you dig yourself a hole today... well no bigger then the one youd already dug.

"Now cub." His firm voice was nothing to be sniffed at and you hung your head reaching over to the towel that had your phone safely tucked away from the water. But stopped as walter crossed the small space and began unraveling the towel.

"Daddy what are you;" you cried as walter took the phone from the side of the tub and unbeknownst tp you disconnected the internet and 4G and flicked it onto aeroplane mode just for good measure. He didnt want to risk anyone accidentally seeing his babydoll in the next hour or so.

"Come on out" he uttered holding the phone up and flicking it to video recording you. He grinned to himself he was going to enjoy this more than he thought he would.

"Out? But my swimsuit" you uttered eyes growing wide as you realised you could be in bigger trouble then you previously thought.

"You didnt mind showing the internet, why is it a problem now brat" it was then you realised youd pushed your daddy too far with the provocative selfies posted on the internet. You had been attempting to get a rise from him. Especially when he'd phoned asking about the naughty pics, youd teased him about his jealousy and pushed all his buttons. You had so much fun being a brat that you hadnt even flinched when he'd warned you about the consequences when he got home. You had planned on getting out the tub and cleaning the kitchen and livingroom and ordering in his favourite dinner to get out of trouble. But he had got home a few hours early and there was no escape from what ever he had planned.

"Well i err... its not"

"Good then you can get out for daddy, nice and slow baby girl" he directed making sure to get a good veiw as you slowly rose from the water. He groaned watching the beads roll down your skin. Fucking hell. He almost lost track of time as you climbed from the hot water and stood on the floor before him, doe eyed body shivering. Not from the cold with the doors shut it was like a sauna in here no it wasnt the cold. It was arousal.

You were two peas in a pod, though you were his little baby doll, his princess who he would never let any harm come to. You enjoyed your special play times just as much as he did. At first he was ashamed to admit the fear and trepidation in a naughty subs eye turned him on like nothing else, he had learned to embrace it. Especially with you.

"Thats a good girl, now why dont you do a spin for daddy? Hmm show daddy your pretty little swimsuit" he encouraged. Stepping to the side and tapping the screen to make the lense focus.

You swallowed dryly and began to turn stiffly, your body growing hot under the intense gaze of you huge papa bear. You knew he wasnt going to go easy on you, the tight denim of his crotch was enough of a warnjng. Daddy was hard and ready to fuck, but he hadnt pounced you yet. He was going to play. You whimpered as your body quivered in need, your nippes suddenly puckering at the thought of being held accountable in the most rapturous of ways. Your toes curled jnto the anti slip tiles below your feet as you finally made it full circle and faced your daddy.

"Fuck princess you know how to tease huh?" He grunted shifting on his feet, one hand comeing to his waist tugging his jeans trying to ease the pressure on his hardened cock. His eyes couldnt stop roaming over you as you spun for him. The water trickling across the curves he knew too well, the supple rise and fall of your delicious body, a delicious body begging to be bitten~

"Im sorry daddy" you uttered, breathlessly trying not to rub your thighs together as he held you in jis heated gaze, pupils blown wide making him look both sinister and drop dead gorgeous. Like some tempting devil ready to coax you into the most luxurious sinful ecstasy.

"Ah ah ah. No no its okay cub, your fine... your very fine~ infact daddy thinks your so fine he wants to... have a little keep sake... a momento of his brat being a tease" he spoke slowly, letting you soake up his words and mull it over for a few seconds. He maybe irritated and want to have some rough sex as punishment for your behaviour but he wasnt that much of an asshole to record you secretly without permission. He'd never take things further then you were comfortable with.

"Momento? like what daddy? Pictures?" You quized stil. Slightly dazed from the way things were turning out. Excitment and arousal thrumming through your veins making you dampen your swimsuit, thighs rubbjng against one another as your needy princess parts greedily sought out any friction it could find.

"No princess, daddy wants to make a little video. A private one just for us." He chuckled shaking his head stepping closer and waved the phone at you slightly drawing your attention to it, whislt still recording the your pitifully needy form.

"I... i dont know daddy?" You admitted but walter could see through the innocent naive act. Your pupils were growing wider, your hips rocking and squirming on their ownna testament to just how horny his little cub was.

"Aww dont tell me your camera shy now brat. Besides it ,iht do you good haveing a little video to remind you of how naughty girls are corrected." He teased you lowly whislt aslo informing you of his intentions. You moaned loudly before bitjng your lip, trying to keep the noises to yourself and have some semblance of self control.

"Hmm? A little video to remind you how bad babies have to bend over and have their bottoms blistered? To remind you of how sore it is sitting on your hot bottom as daddy fucks yout throat? How uncomfortable it is to have daddy fuck you from behind with a tender tush" walters words were dripping with promise, dangling a delightful torment infornt of you willing you to take the bait. He was waiting, humming and hissing the most perfect threats making you melt before him. Trying to force you to your knees with little more then teasing words.

"Oh daddy please~" you whined to him inching closer, locking eyes with him. You were salivating at the thought of fallig prey to him. You wanted everythjng he was offering. You moaned as one of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb tracing the apple of you heated cheek. The trailed down pressing insistantly to your lips.

You opened obediently sucking the wide digit into your mouth and hollowed your cheeks suckling as hard as you could. Making sure yo look at him and the camera still pointed at you. He moaned a deep ferocious noise rumbling from his huge frame. He pulled his thumb from your mouth and began smearing your own spittle over your lips and licked his own lips eagerly before smirking.

"Please what? Please dont choke me on your cock? Please dont spank my naughty bottom? Please dont fuck me for hours bent over the hot tub? Please daddy~ please dont record me being your little fuck toy, please papa please dont punish me?" Your heart just about stopped when his condescending words echoed in your ears. The cruel sadistic tease made your knees quake below you.

You couldnt form coherent thought let alone words! Your mouth moved trying to form words but it was futile. He chuckled and let his hand drop to your chin tipping your face up to him whilst stepping closer, completely swallowing your entire gaze. He tipped his head to the side stareing down at you and gave a fake pout mimicing you. And then his head dropped further skimming the shell of your ear with his nose and scoffed into your skin warming it.

"Or please do?~" he asked sinisterly before latching onto your lobe tugging the soft flesh into his mouth and bit just enough to make you wince.

"Pl-please do daddy" you squeaked out completely lost in the hypnotic lust. The weightless arousal that flowed through your body like lava finally winning over what ever trepidation or fear of consequence. And more importantly granting permission to start a scene and fuck every hole you owned whislt recording the entire thing.

"Thats a good girl, now turn around a show the camera that naughty little back side of yours" he hummed patting your cheek making you grin at his praise before turning on the spot eagerly and bending over the side of the tub. You grinned to yourself, youd started the whole scenario because you were horny and needed attention. And you were pleased, you were getting exactly what you wanted. Unbeknownst to you was that walter was aware of this, and he wanst just playing into your hands. Oh no, this was gojng to be a punishment, if his baby doll wanted to cum she will. Again and again and again untill she was a sore boneless mess of a woman weeping and begging for mercy whislt straddling his cock.

#henry cavill #cavillry #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #walter marshall x y/n #walter marshall #walter marshall imagine #oh for fic sakd fics

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year

Note

you mentioning breg and fasma during bregs heat as me wondering (*coughhopingcough) if you have written anything for that.

[I mean- I could, it'll be funny if nothing else!]

TW: Dubious consent at first.

Another day another dollar.

Fasma doesn't really like the things he has to do to make a living- Oh, who is he kidding? He fucking loves it. One day he's gonna die from this shit, but like Hell he cares.

He's glad Ludwig calmed down though, the guy deserves better, he's not scummy enough to steal and scam like Fasma. And he would rather beat someone senseless than actually kill them. Fasma knows he'll never see that pepper-shaped fucker with a gun in his hand. Good for him. Anyway-

He made extra today. Extra cash means an excuse to indulge, which has him sat at the same bar he's always half-melted over. Life is not good but it could be much worse, he thinks as he basically absorbs a whiskey bottle. Ohhh babyyy, here it comes. His head spins. Is he vibrating? Yeah, he might have overdone it. Which is saying something, for someone whose tiny plasma body is basically 80% alcohol these days.

There's a poke to his side. The small monster just groans. One poke becomes two, the three, Fasma only chuckles stupidly before his head is yanked up by one of his tines and he's slapped across the face. It felt soft, but he may just be too hamered to register the full brunt of the impact.

" You know, one of these days I'm just going to let the others eat you. " The bartender gargles. No, he's speaking fine, the alcohol's just floating around in him. Fasma rubs the sides of his head and groans again.

" Go home, you're sad and melting on my counter again. " The last part is more a sneer as Gallon scrapes the white off the wooden surface. He waits for Fasma to pick himself up, tilted to the side as he sways idly. A look of mild discomfort crosses the slime's features.

" Yer such a pain in the ass, why do I even keep comin' here? " The smaller monster grumbles, handing Gallon his membership card.

" My friend, I am unfortunately the only one that will put up with you. " Gallon mock-laments, quickly swiping the card in a nearby terminal and handing it back with a water bottle, tentacle making sure to press it against the other. " Drink. Are you going to waddle home on your own? "

" I ain't payin' fer this. " The other warns, taking a swig nonetheless. " Whadd'ye think I am? Some kinda damsel in distress? No god will ever let me die, Gallon. "

The bartender only snorts.

[...]

By the grace of certainly not anything benevolent, Fasma makes it home mostly in one piece. A little sloppy, but strung together. Victory.

He slams the door behind him in a slurred, drunken blur of movement and immediately tenses at the subsequent snarl that rings out. Someone's angry.

" Breg? " Where did the fucker go? " Pal? " Fuck, the whole house's a mess, what has this little shit been doing the whole day?

Fasma trudges into the living room, blinking at the mess of toppled over shelves and missing couch cushions, even the curtains were torn off! Some of his best grabs lying broken on the floor! In the back of his mind, he knows this is fucked up and something's very wrong. He knows he should just leave- But what if something happened to Breg? Sure, the guy's big and tougher than a fucking armored tank, but he's not invincible. Maybe someone finally figured out where he lives and decided to teach him a lesson, catching the breeder off-guard.

His sloppy footsteps carry him through the hallway, keys thrown at the floor. " 'Ey dickhead- Fuck's sake, Breg, where y- "

He bumps into something in the darkness of the living room. It's cold and smelly and has... Goosebumps? Oh. Oh, is that him? Fasma's about to open his mouth and berate the breeder when another fierce, guttural snarl cuts through the air, sending him all but backwards on his ass.

" B-Buddy? " The plasma monster scoots back, attempting to spot Breg amidst the darkness as he instinctively backtracks to the illuminated hallway.

Breg follows. From the shadows leading to the rest of the apartment emerges a towering, midnight black giant. Full, extended rows of teeth glistening with viscous, foam-like drool, tongue lolling to help the sweaty monster cool off while two fat, swollen cocks twitch and leak a considerable amount of slick to the floor. Something in the older monster withers and dies as he's forced to see Breg in a state of frenzied arousal. Dark eyes linger on his junk, reflexively. Huh, they don't call them breeders for nothing, the plasma monster supposes. Now is not the time for morbid curiosity however, because the gloved drunkard can't tell if he's being looked at by someone who's hungry or horny. Maybe both.

" H- Hey champ, uhhh- Yer not doin' so hot there, are ye? " Fasma tries, beyond uncomfortable and basically this close to shitting himself.

The breeder snorts, seemingly confused by the verbal chatter, mimicking the pitch with isolated vocals and chirps. Oh yeah, he's totally out of his fucking mind already... Now. Fasma knows that a very important survival rule entails not turning your back on a lion, or running from a bear. You don't run from predators unless you want to get chased. But what the fuck else is he supposed to do? Play sitting duck and possibly get eaten alive by this horny freak?! Yeah, no.

With all the grace of maimed roadkill, the plasma monster mimes taking a step towards Breg's left. Then bolts to the right. It disorients the breeder for half a second before Breg's hot on his trail. Fasma sprints aimlessly, sometimes even in circles, his small size being the only saving grace here, as the breeder nearly trips and fumbles trying to catch him. Arms extend, slapping everywhere in hopes of reaching a lightswitch. Sometimes they succeed, other times he just hurts himself. Adrenaline and alcohol make it hard to feel anything more than a light throb however.

Along this game of perverse cat and mouse, even more items are destroyed and a racket is audible to the neighbors as Fasma screams for dear mommy and Breg growls and hisses after him like a brainless animal. At some point, the gloved monster manages to run enough loops around Breg that the breeder's brain fails and he trips over a tilted coffee table, jaws snapping closed around his tongue and forcing a keening whine out as he tumbles to the ground with a small earthquake, coloration reverting to white.

Fasma doesn't have the time to feel sorry or worry about possible trips to an ER, his vision swims and sloshes when he hurriedly stuffs himself inside a kitchen cabinet. The world is spinning, his whole body feels like jelly- He's old and out of shape, God damn it! He can't be pulling shit like this anymore. He's not a twenty-something rapscallion!

Exhaustion steadily takes hold, the plasma monster's thought process slows to a grind and he leans back, just about ready to sleep everything off with no regard for his own safety- Until the cabinet door is ripped off its hinges.

To say Fasma made a little girl's shrill shriek is an understatement. He sounded more like a dying goose the moment a taloned hand yanked him out of his safe space by the neck.

Breg holds him like a squeaky toy. Fasma can see remnants of poorly cleaned blue blood cascading down the breeder's chin from when he apparently bit his own tongue, a deep frown on his deformed face. Yeah no, buddy over here doesn't look too happy.

" B-Breg? " The drunkard tries. " Pal, I'd really like it if ye didn' fuckin' kill me. " Excellent strategy.

The monster in rut, cares little for the meaning behind his prey's vocalizations, leans in to sniff at the creature he can't quite identify. Fasma stays stock still in the other's grasp, watching the gears slowly turn in that shiny hairless head. Threat...? No. Food...? Breg licks up the side of his entire body, rancid saliva-stinking breath nauseating him. No.

Fucktoy...?

The breeder squeezes his entire body. Once. Twice. That eyeless gaze switches between the plasma monster and his own body, particularly the lengths still bobbing in the air after all this time. Fasma's brought a little closer for clumsy evaluation. Alcohol or not, it takes very little for the apparent direction of this situation to click in the black-eyed monster's head.

" Oh no. No no no. Breg?! " Fasma nearly squeals once he's turned upside down. " Are ye fuckin' serious?! I'm more than twice yer age, ye fuckin' loser! " His legs are being spread, he can feel the other sniff and snort, looking for something. " Put me down! Lil' bastard, whaddye think yer- GHK-! "

Something decidedly humid pokes at his pucker. Fasma's entire body freezes in place as the action is repeated over and over, as his own client, the monster he took under his own wing, licks his ass. What the fuck is his life anymore? Fasma flusters, unsure how morally reprehensible this is, not even recalling the last time he got laid. That's no excuse to let Breg slobber on him, but it's also not like he can evade Breg in a rut. A flash of pain and pleasure blinds him the moment the breeder tires of gentleness and pierces his tongue deep into Fasma's ass. It's a mostly exploratory gesture, less concerned with providing pleasure than it is on studying the length of his inner walls and their stretching capacity.

" Hhg- Fuh- Fuckin' pervert! " The smaller one yelps and squirms like a worm on a hook.

Apparently, Breg likes what he finds. Because, with a nauseatingly gross slurp, that drooling appendage is zipped back into place and the plasma monster is lowered to a pulsing deep blue cock. The organ is flushed and almost painful looking in its state of constant arousal, Fasma eyes the ridges and curves of it and gulps, furiously blushing like a virgin. Breg's clumsy, jizz-soaked brain attempts to line Fasma with his girth. But it misses repeatedly.

Instead, the breeder's cock ends up poking and rubbing at a good portion of his hody, marking him with precum as it twitches, seeking more friction. Breg makes a frustrated growl before he finally manages to slot his tip against Fasma's sloppy and drooled hole.

" Lord help me. "

Hah, as if.

Numbed by alcohol and already stretched by the breeder's tongue, Fasma's easily impaled on Breg's dick. It's... An overwhelming sensation. One of the uh, features, of usually being less than half the size of your partners, is that penetration makes him feel like a sock. And honestly, Fasma doesn't even want to look down, because he knows Breg's hilted, and he knows that cock is pushing everything around. So he just groans, which very quickly turns into a sob of overstimulation, fat tears pooling in the corner of his rolling eyes as his hands shake in the breeder's hold and his legs jerk uselessly.

He's so glad he's a plasma monster. If he were some other small, much less flexible type of creature, he would have probably gotten ripped in half from that.

There's no energy in his brain left to form words with, just hideous little noises while the much larger monster hunches and pants in audible, monumental relief. Finally, he's found a barely suitable hole to breed. At first, it almost seems like Breg isn't going to move, shuddering in place while he gets used to the tightness of his new stress reliever. Fasma takes the small mercy to steady his breathing and sag in the other's tight hold, resigning himself to getting fucked by his giant client turned roommate.

There's already too much swimming in his head, he doesn't want to think about how awkward things will be after this. Hell, maybe if he drinks more he'll just mercifully forget Breg used him like a fleshlight. Yeah, let's hope for that.

All of a sudden, a switch must have flicked in the breeder's brain, because his body comes alive with motion and he spreads his legs, lifting Fasma, only to slam him onto his cock again so hard that the poor monster thinks he's going to spit his lungs out. Aside from jostling his brain a little, it takes a moment for Fasma to realize he's hard. It'd be difficult not to, with that beast of a cock brushing everywhere at once. He doesn't have enough breath to scream, but Breg is making more than enough noise for the two of them.

In seconds, the gloved monster is being rapidly fucked onto his rutting friend's member, barely able to see anything past Breg's frequently readjusting claws and the blur of movement. Fasma knows he's drooling, sobbing and moaning and he's pretty sure he came already, but everything's melting together, including himself. He doesn't know for how long this is going on and he can only hear splatters of wetness on the floor while Breg growls hard and starts to whimper, so very desperate to cum.

Eventually, more items are knocked out of the way as Breg sinks to his knees, both hands coiled so tight around Fasma's lithe body that he thinks he's going to pop like a balloon at any moment. His next thrusts are brutal enough to deform the plasma monster, a claw slipping into his mouth when he opens it to shriek in overstimulation. Fasma sputters out what might have been a "wait", hands trying to touch anywhere to grab the breeder's attention, interrupted by more savage pistons until- With a roar loud enough to wake the entire apartment complex, Breg finally climaxes.

It's obscene.

Fasma begins to panic as the throbbing loads apparently never cease, flooding him time and time again until the tiny monster's pretty sure his body is making emergency holes to void cum from. Even his mouth, God he can taste it everywhere, it's behind his eyes, it's in his fucking brain!

Breg pants and clips out moans, a lolling, stupid grin in his face as he impulsively jostles the plasma monster a couple more times to milk his orgasm. In the end, they're both sloppy and dazed, sharing a couple of relatively peaceful moments wherein Fasma slowly dislodges himself from the other's hardness. He collapses on the floor like wet flour and just lays there, ready to pass the fuck out, call it a day.

Unfortunately, there's no such mercy for the poor drunkard.

The breeder flips him around, takes one long look to evaluate his work- More than successful, Fasma's coated in his seed from top to bottom after all- And licks his teeth, yanking him into a tight grasp once again.

Fasma doesn't know whether to sob for mercy or curse the breeder into oblivion when the nasty fucker rubs his right cock on his flustered face, clearly promising the gloved monster that there's a lot more to come.

Why didn't he just stay at the bar?

#Bregory #Fasma oc #pinnie's art

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 6 months

Text

Moment of true happiness: 6 Nov. Destiel Month

s9 au, human Cas, deancas ust

The apples piled in the big metal bowl made a fetching still life, their green and mottled red skins a mirror to the leaves on the maple trees Cas knew were lining the streets of Lebanon. He hated to peel away the vibrant, cheerful colors. The recipe didn't say anything about the skins being poisonous, or even annoying. He ignored the peeling edict.

He also discovered, quickly, that he didn't enjoy cubing anything. Who wanted to eat a mouthful of little cubes? Surely the apples would be soft by the time they were being consumed, but cubes still didn't seem appealing. He cut the apples through their cores and then made thin, or thinner, wedges of them. He liked the look of that.

He did remember to turn on the oven around the time he was slicing a lemon in half. The bunker oven tick-tick-ticked at him, like a scolding teacher. The lemon squirted juice onto his face, rudely, as he tried to douse the apple slices to keep them from turning a sad, bruised hue. He wiped off his cheek and tossed the slices with his hands, which is how he realized he had a papercut on one knuckle.

Cas hissed and went to rinse his stinging finger in the sink.

Next, sugar. The recipe called for white sugar. In the sugar canister, only a half a cup remained. He'd make up the rest with brown sugar. Or would he… The brown sugar he took from the large shelving unit near the door seemed to be a solid brick in a plastic bag. When he dropped it on the counter, it thumped strongly and a skillet hanging above the counter dove off the rack as if fleeing a bombing. Cas broke a large chunk of the brown sugar into the apple bowl and poked it repeatedly with a fork; the chunk somewhat came apart, looking a lot like a toppled sand castle.

The recipe said ginger, nutmeg, and allspice were essential ingredients. Cas found cinnamon and guessed a sprinkling or three would be acceptable. The recipe said to add a fourth of a teaspoon of salt. Cas threw in two pinches, which were probably close enough. He flopped in a little flour and then a little more for good measure; the bag said the flour had expired almost a year ago but he didn't smell anything strange or see any bugs. He stirred everything in the bowl with a large wooden spoon and ignored the trickle of sweat inching between his shoulder blades.

Taking one of the pre-made pie crusts out of its box and unfolding it into a glass pie plate was one of the most nerve wracking moments of Cas's long life. The softened crust drooped disconcertingly like the hide of an animal. He patted it down and shuddered. He scraped the apples into the crust, shook them into a single layer, and unfolded the second pie crust on top.

He would have to keep touching the unsettling dough if he wanted to, as the recipe recommended, "flute the edges prettily." He used a fork to smush the edges together and found the little lines the tines made pleasing.

Cas made three cuts in the top crust, right in the center like a star or – and he thought this was charming – a cross-section of an apple. He put the plate in the oven and set a timer for fifteen minutes, which was when a necklace of aluminum foil would need to be placed around the edge of the crust, ergo he had fifteen minutes to find the aluminum foil.

He let out a long, shaky breath of relief.

Ten minutes later, he was halfway to genuine grief: if there was aluminum foil in this cursed kitchen, he had yet to see it with his own eyes, and he'd rummaged through every bin, drawer, and shelf five times already. He was kneeling on the floor, scrabbling through a cabinet full of dubiously dinged-up Men of Letters era pots and pans and lab equipment, when Dean yelled, "Holy shit are you baking a pie?" and surprised Cas so badly Cas banged his head on the cabinet door.

"Fuck, sorry, man," Dean said at a normal volume as he dove down to join Cas on the floor. His palm was as cold as an ice cube as he placed it on Cas's forehead. His other hand gripped Cas at the shoulder and he was looking into Cas's face like he expected to find a gaping wound.

"I think I'm all right," Cas said, sitting back on his heels.

"Yeah, you're good; no bleeding." Dean gave him a sheepish grin and lowered his hands with what seemed like reluctance. "What're you looking for?"

Cas sighed. "Aluminum foil."

"Kevin or Sam might have the roll. They've been up to something they think can help us track Gadreel." Dean glanced up at the stove. "You're making pie though?" His eyes were amazingly green.

Cas ignored the clench of his heart and started to climb to his feet. Dean helped him up and stood very near, as though worried Cas's skull was more damaged than initially assumed.

"I saw a recipe and thought it sounded simple enough." Cas hoped his face didn't look as warm as it felt. "I wanted to contribute to the household."

Dean's smile was like a kid's, genuine and full of light. "You already have been, but don't let me stop you from expanding your roster." He seemed happy to keep looking at Cas. "Next time, I want in on the action."

"Help me find the aluminum foil and you can help this time." Cas took a chance at not breaking eye contact, even though he wasn't quite sure why saying something innocuous felt…coy.

"Sure," Dean said easily and took Cas's hand, like leaving the kitchen's safety required a buddy system.

Maybe lots of things did. Cas let himself be pulled along; by the time they located the roll of foil on a library table beside two rabbit skulls and a vial of crushed banshee teeth, he was gratified to note that Dean's hand was much warmer than it had been earlier.

The pie turned out to be edible. Kevin, Sam, and Cas each ate one piece, and Dean ate three. Cas wondered if Dean would taste of spice and apple and hoped nothing of the wondering showed on his expression.

(Later, he conceded it must have. But being softly kissed by Dean was well worth the failure.)

#destielmonth23 #destielmonth #deancas #destiel #spn #fic #snippetfic

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