#Especially if they start chewing on my wires

[sturnsblogs]

Operation: Get the Cat

Boyfriend!Nick Sturniolo x Florist!Julian

Word Count- 1236

Summary: Nick wants a cat. Badly. Julian wants his apartment (and flower studio) to survive. Unfortunately for Julian, Nick is relentless. Like, truly relentless.

“I just think you’re being unreasonable.”

Nick was draped across Julian’s couch like a Victorian ghost bride, legs kicked over the armrest, shirt slightly wrinkled from throwing himself into the conversation too hard.

Julian didn’t even look up from his laptop. “You say that every time I tell you no.”

“Because I mean it every time,” Nick shot back, tossing a pillow at him. “You’re being cold. Heartless. Soulless.”

Julian caught the pillow one-handed and set it aside with the patience of someone used to this exact performance. “Nick.”

“Julian.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“And yet you’re still wrong,” Nick said sweetly, curling back upright like a cat himself. “Let’s review. Reason I want a cat: they’re adorable. They curl up in your lap. They sit in flower boxes. We could name it something stupid like Beans.”

Julian set his laptop aside and gave Nick a look. “You realize that’s the reason I don’t want a cat, right? That exact last sentence.”

“But Beans is cute!”

“No.”

Nick leaned forward, throwing his hands in the air. “Julian. Julian. Just listen to me—”

“You know who won’t listen?” Julian cut in. “A cat. Especially not one that jumps on every surface I own and chews on floral wire like it’s a toy.”

Nick fell dramatically to his knees in front of the coffee table. “You’re thinking worst case scenario. What if it’s a chill cat? What if it’s one of those sleepy loaf ones that just sits in sunspots and watches birds?”

Julian raised an eyebrow. “You think you have that kind of luck?”

“…Okay. No. But that’s not the point.”

Julian got up and walked into the kitchen. Nick, of course, followed.

“Listen,” Nick said, hopping up to sit on the counter, eyes following Julian’s every move. “It wouldn’t even be your cat. It’d be mine.”

Julian opened the fridge. “Then keep it at your place.”

“But I don’t want to leave it at my place,” Nick groaned. “I’m here all the time!”

Julian pulled out an iced tea and handed it to him. “Exactly. You’re here all the time, which means the cat would be too.”

“And it would love it here!”

“It would destroy this place. Do you know how many ribbon spools I have out in the open right now?”

Nick took a sip of the tea and looked smug. “You could kitten-proof it.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to stop until I break, are you?”

Nick grinned. “Not even a little.”

Julian leaned on the counter beside him and sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay. Fine. Say you do get a cat. And it does come here. What happens the first time it knocks over a whole tray of anemones? What then?”

Nick shrugged. “I say, ‘bad cat,’ and you yell at me for not paying attention.”

Julian stared at him.

Nick blinked. “Wait, no, that sounds bad—”

Julian turned and started walking back toward the living room.

Nick hopped down and followed. “Jules. Baby. Darling. Light of my life.”

“Still no,” Julian said, flopping onto the couch.

Nick flopped right on top of him.

Julian groaned. “You are heavy.”

Nick wrapped his arms around him like a koala. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Nick grinned into his shoulder. “So you’ll think about it?”

“No.”

“You’ll consider thinking about it.”

Julian looked up at the ceiling like he was praying for patience. “Nick.”

“Okay, okay.” Nick leaned back and shifted so his chin rested on Julian’s chest. “New deal. I send you cat pictures every day, and you slowly get used to the idea.”

“I will block you.”

“You won’t.”

Julian glared.

Nick smiled even harder. “I’ll name it Julian 2.”

“I swear to God—”

“Middle name: Buttercup.”

Julian shoved a pillow in his face.

A few hours later

Julian knew the second he saw the look in Nick’s eyes that he was doomed.

They were in the kitchen again — Julian sipping coffee at the counter, Nick standing suspiciously close, hands twitchy, gaze determined.

“Don’t,” Julian warned, before Nick even opened his mouth.

Nick tilted his head innocently. “Don’t what?”

“You know what.”

Nick leaned in, smile slowly spreading. “I’m just standing here. Can’t I stand near the man I love?”

Julian squinted at him. “You’re about to beg for the cat again.”

Nick gasped — actually gasped, clutching his chest. “How dare you accuse me—”

Julian turned back to his coffee.

Nick stepped behind him and wrapped his arms around Julian’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder.

Julian sighed.

Then it started.

“Please, baby,” Nick whispered, lips brushing just behind his ear.

“No.”

One kiss to his neck.

“Please?”

“No.”

Another kiss, slower this time, just below his jaw.

Julian clenched his jaw and kept sipping. “Nick.”

A third kiss, followed by, “You’d be such a cute cat dad. Like, sickeningly cute. Tiny cat curled up in your lap while you work. It’d purr while you arrange tulips. Come on, you know that’s aesthetic.”

“You’re being manipulative.”

“Thank you,” Nick said brightly, grinning as he kissed the side of Julian’s cheek. “I’ve been practicing.”

Julian pressed his palms flat to the counter like he was grounding himself. “You are literally weaponizing affection.”

“I am,” Nick agreed, kissing his shoulder. “And I’m good at it.”

Julian tried to step away, but Nick held him tighter.

“Please baby,” Nick said again, voice soft and sweet and far too dangerous. “Just think about it. One tiny kitten. That’s all I’m asking.”

“You just described the thing I don’t want in the apartment.”

Nick nuzzled his nose against Julian’s neck. “I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll feed it. I’ll buy the litter box. I’ll even train it not to go in the flower studio.”

Julian turned slightly. “You can’t train cats, Nick.”

“You can if you believe in them.”

“That’s not how it works—”

“Please,” Nick interrupted, looking up at him with the most ridiculous wide-eyed expression. “Please baby.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “You already have a name picked out, don’t you?”

Nick paused. “…I have three.”

“Oh my god—”

“I just want to love something small and furry with you,” Nick said dramatically, placing one last kiss right over Julian’s heart.

Julian stared at him.

Nick blinked slowly, lower lip stuck out just enough.

Julian dragged a hand down his face. “You are the most exhausting person I have ever loved.”

Nick smiled. “But you do love me.”

Julian didn’t say anything, just reached for his coffee again.

Nick bumped their noses together, hopeful. “So… maybe?”

Julian took a sip.

Nick bounced lightly on his feet. “Maybe a maybe?”

Julian sighed. “Maybe a maybe.”

Nick exploded. “YES. YES! THAT’S A START. I CAN WORK WITH THAT.”

Julian set the mug down and rubbed his temples. “This is a terrible idea.”

“You say that about all my best ones.”

Julian turned to him, pointing a finger. “If I find even one single paw print on my arrangements—”

Nick kissed him full on the mouth before he could finish. Grinning against him, smug and way too pleased.

Julian scowled… and kissed him back anyway.

Because deep down, he already knew: they were getting a damn cat.

A/N- Should they get the cat?

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo @emeraldsturns

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Full of Surprises - Bob Floyd x Reader

A/N: Inspired by @galaxy-of-stories's post

pairing: Lt. Robert Floyd x reader

warnings/content: virgin!bob x fem reader, oral (f receiving), p in v, swearing, hangman actually being a decent friend towards bob.

word count: 3k

minors dni below the cut

Bob chewed on his bottom lip nervously as he watched you from across the beach, his dark blue eyes watching you intensely from behind his wire framed glasses. He rarely took part in off-base activities with the rest of the Dagger squad, but today, he’d been coaxed out by Rooster and Phoenix to join the team for a relaxing beach day. What he didn’t know though, was that you would be there. You were Maverick’s niece, and Bob had pretty much instantly fallen for you. Smart, funny, beautiful and friendly - Bob thought you were the whole package. He loved the way your eyes lit up whenever you spoke about something you were interested in, the way your cheeks blushed whenever Maverick and Rooster started reminiscing about your childhood, having grown up playing with Rooster on occasion when you were little, and he loved the way you were so outgoing, and so unlike him. He always hated his incurable shyness, the fact that he struggled so hard to come out of his shell, he resented it, especially now that it made it next to impossible for him to hold a conversation with you. 

“Hey, Baby-on-Board, you coming?” 

Bob turned his head around to face one of the pilots on his squad, Hangman, calling over to him. Bob rolled his eyes at the nickname Hangman had given him and shook his head quickly, his cheeks turning red again. He prayed that the UV rays were strong enough that day that he could lie and say the reddening of his face was due to too much sun exposure, but he knew that wasn’t likely going to work as an excuse on anyone, much less Hangman. The tall blonde pilot raised an eyebrow at Bob as he folded his arms over his broad chest. 

“Jeez, Bagman, don’t you ever wear a shirt?” Bob laughed dryly as he poked fun at Hangman, who had long ditched his t-shirt to show off his sunkissed skin, trying desperately to attract any female attention he could get on the beach.

“Hey, at least I don’t keep mine on the whole time at the beach.” Hangman shrugged as he sat down on the sand beside Bob. “Why do you anyway? I mean, you do all the same workouts as the rest of us do. It’s because you’re covered in chest hair isn’t it?” Hangman smirked as he playfully shoved Bob, flipping his sunglasses down over his eyes.

“No, I just don’t like to,” Bob shrugged his shoulders, “You know me, I’m not one to draw attention to myself.” 

“I hate to break it to you, Bobby, but you’ve definitely drawn someone’s attention,” Hangman grinned at him as he pointed towards you with his thumb as he spoke, “Mav’s niece hasn’t been able to stop herself from giving you the bedroom eyes, it’s hilarious that you haven’t noticed it yet though.”

“Bedroom eyes?” Bob laughed and shook his head, “What the hell are bedroom eyes?” 

“You know,” Hangman put his sunglasses atop his short blonde hair and grinned, imitating the lustful look he was referring to, the one he was so convinced you had for Bob.

“I have never seen anyone make that face in my life, Bagman. Are you bullshitting me?” Bob raised an eyebrow as he leaned back on his palms in the sand and sighed softly as he watched you again. The breeze blew your long hair back and the sunlight hit your tanned skin just right, making you appear to have a sunkissed glow. The sight alone was almost enough to drive Bob crazy. 

“Hah!” Hangman grinned as he pointed at Bob’s facial expression as he watched you, “You’re doing it to her right now!”

“I am not!” Bob protested, shaking his head. “Look, don’t you have something better to do?”

“No, I know I’m a shitty wingman half the time, but this time, I’m making it my personal mission to be yours.” 

Bob sighed again as he rolled his eyes. He knew he wasn’t winning on this one, and Hangman wasn’t going to leave him alone anytime soon. He just wasn’t ready to make a move on you yet. He’d had a handful of girlfriends over the years, but he’d never gone any further than making out for one reason or another, usually due to nerves. As badly as Bob wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to be humiliated in front of you.

“I’m fine,” Bob said through clenched teeth. 

“Dude, you can tell me what your hang up is. I’m not gonna go blab it, I promise,” Hangman said, placing his hand over his heart playfully to show that Bob’s secret would be safe with him.

“Fine…” Bob exhaled and shook his head, “I don’t know what the bedroom eyes are or anything because I’ve never, you know…gone to the bedroom…with anyone,” He said as he gave Hangman a pleading look, his facial expression begging him for some sympathy and compassion instead of the relentless teasing he expected from him.

“You mean, never?”

“Never. Not even close. I think I’ve made out with a girl once. I was like 18 though.” 

“Wow,” was all that Hangman could muster out.

“So now you get it?” Bob asked softly, “It’s not that I don’t want to ask her out. It’s that I’m scared I’ll screw it up because of that.”

Bob sighed and shook his head again as he stood up. He brushed the sand off his shorts and forced a laugh.

“I’m gonna head home, Hangman. See you later.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hangman laughed as he put a hand on Bob’s shoulder, his firm grip stopping Bob from walking away, “You’re at least gonna talk to this poor girl. She’s been interested in you the whole time she’s been here visiting Mav. Christ, even Mav’s noticed it,, and we all know how observant he is.”

“What if you’re wrong though and she’s not interested in me? Maybe she’s just being nice. I bet you’re more her type anyway.” Bob frowned.

“Me? No, she’s uh…she’s made it very clear I am not her type,” He laughed softly, shaking his head, “I tried. She outright told me “the cute guy with glasses” is her type. And how many guys with glasses are on our squad?”

“Just me…unless she meant sunglasses. Then it could be anyone.”

“Robert, I swear, you’re the dumbest guy I’ve ever met sometimes,” Hangman laughed as he rolled his eyes, “She meant you, jackass. She likes you. She told me. Now, what are you going to do with this information?”

“Talk to her…?” Bob tried, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he thought about it.

“Attaboy, Baby-on-Board, you got this,” Hangman grinned as he stood up, “Now, do me a favour? Try to look a little less like you’re about to shit your pants over this ok?” 

Bob rolled his eyes and took a deep breath as he approached you, a friendly smile on his lips as he nodded his head towards you. 

“Hi, I don’t think I ever properly introduced myself,” Bob offered his hand out to shake and smiled, “Lt. Robert Floyd, everyone calls me Bob, sometimes Bobby though.” 

“Hi Bob,” you grinned and shook his hand, “Y/N. Nice to meet you. My uncle’s told me a lot about you. You’re a WSO, right?”

“Yeah, I’m the backseater, it’s kinda fun, I’m a big nerd, so I get to use a lot of math in it to calculate where to aim the lasers and all that.”

You let out a giggle as he explained his role to you and he couldn’t help but smile and laugh along with you. Hours passed between the two of you conversing together, Hangman proudly watching Bob impress you from the background. After a while, the rest of the squad cleared out from the beach, leaving just you and Bob there by yourselves. It was beginning to get dark outside when you stood up beside Bob and smiled warmly.

“Want to come back to my aunt Penny’s? She’s not gonna care if I bring you over, she and Uncle Mav speak very highly of you. Aunt Penny always says you’re incredibly polite, and Uncle Mav called you a “good kid” so I doubt they’d mind if you came back to hangout for a little while.”

Bob nodded his head and smiled politely at you, the sunset making his eyes shine as he turned to face you. He leaned forward gently and pressed his lips to yours in a soft, gentle kiss. He pulled away after a moment and shook his head. 

“God, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I’m not usually that forward. I mean, I wanted to, obviously,  I just normally ask first. And now I’m rambling, fuck sake,” He laughed and shook his head again.

You smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, quieting his anxieties and insecurities as your lips met once again. He moved his lips in time with yours as he kissed you, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip, as if he was asking permission for it to enter your mouth. Your tongues swirled together with passion and lust as you made your way across the sand and over to the front steps of your aunt and uncle’s home where you were staying, your lips barely breaking contact as you walked. You felt Bob put a hand gently on your waist as you pulled him inside through the patio door, into the sunroom where you were staying. You breathlessly pulled away from Bob to come up for air, shrugging your cardigan off your shoulders as you did so. Bob, finding a sudden burst of confidence, grabbed you by the waist with one hand and pulled you into his body tightly, pressing his lips to your neck. As his lips found your sensitive spot on your neck, his hands palmed their way over your breasts, gently cupping them and squeezing them as he felt you up. 

“Mhmm, Bob,” you groaned softly as he made contact with your sensitive skin. 

Bob pulled away for a moment and frowned slightly, remembering his earlier confession to Hangman. He let out a deep exhale before turning to face you, his facial expression full of concern as he spoke.

“Listen, I have to tell you something before we go any further, ok?” His voice was quiet and low, almost in a whisper as he spoke.

You nodded in response and waited, listening intently as Bob spoke.

“I’ve never…you know,” He finally said.

“Never?”

“No, never.”

“Do you want to though…?” You asked after a few moments of contemplation.

Bob bit his lip and laughed softly as he nodded his head quickly. 

“Believe me, I really do.”

“Then I’m honoured to be your first,” You nodded your head and kissed his cheek gently.

His cheeks flushed a bright scarlet red as you spoke. Without further hesitation, Bob leaned in and kissed you passionately again, tangling his fingers gently in your hair as he pulled you in closer to him. He pulled away ever so slightly as he spoke and laughed nervously.

“You’re going to have to tell me if I’m doing any of this right, ok? Kissing is about the only thing I know how to do.”

You giggled softly as you nodded your head reassuringly to Bob as he drifted his lips down your neck to your collarbone. He gently ran his hand up your leg, his fingers brushing against the hemline of your sundress as his hand drifted slowly up your thigh. You felt him take a deep breath as he pressed his lips to your collarbone again, his fingertips grazing your underwear gently. He looked up at you without saying a word, his lips still hovering above your collarbone, as if to ask for permission to keep going. You bit your lip, holding back a grin as you nodded your head, giving him the signal to continue.

Bob’s fingertips grazed against the dampening fabric of your underwear again, moaning softly into your collarbone, he looked up at you as he slowly dragged them down off your legs and laughed softly. 

“Wow.” he said, trying to hide his mix of arousal and curiosity, “You’re uh…you’re pretty into this, aren’t you?” He laughed as he tossed your underwear to the floor. 

“Mhmm,” You smirked at him as you guided his hand, his fingers gently brushing against your folds, feeling your arousal as it began to gather on you. 

“Shit,” Bob laughed softly as he shook his head, “This is where I start to not know what I’m doing.” He gave you an apologetic look.

“Everyone has a first time, Bob, I’ll show you what to do,” You smiled reassuringly at him as you continued to guide his hand along your core. He smirked as his wandering hand found your clit, two of his fingers pressing against the sensitive nub as he discovered it. The sound that fell from your lips was almost enough to make Bob lose all self-control on the spot. He arched his eyebrow at you as he continued to gently draw circles on it with his finger. 

“Y-you can use your mouth there too,” you nodded, trying your best to think clearly as he pleasured you.

Bob bit his lip gently as he positioned himself between your legs. He took his glasses off and sat them beside your leg as he ducked his head down in between your legs. He gently pressed soft kisses to your folds, his tongue carefully lapping up your wet arousal as he kissed at you. You let out a loud moan as Bob’s lips made contact, but before he could lift his head up to see if you were ok, your hand was grabbing a handful of his sandy blonde hair, pulling his head into you gently to tell him to keep going.

Taking the hint, Bob continued to leave soft kisses on you, grinning as he heard you moan out. 

“Feels s’good, honey, keep doing that,” You encouraged as he began using his lips to suck at your sensitive clit, your hips bucking upwards against his mouth, your body craving being as close to him as humanly possible.

Your compliment to Bob’s skill turned something on in him, and suddenly, he began moving his lips in the same rhythm but with more passion, like he’d just discovered his God-given talent on this earth was using his mouth to pleasure you into oblivion. As you reached your boiling point, Bob continued to lap his tongue at you, his lips sucking on your clit as you rode it out. He pulled his mouth away from you before pulling his t-shirt over his head. He wiped his mouth on his shirt before discarding it to the floor and working to unbuckle his belt before dropping his shorts to the ground. His boxers were tenting with arousal as he looked down at you, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. 

“Do you…do we need anything?” He asked as he tried build up the confidence to do what he was about to.

“I’m clean and on the pill,” You nodded your head and laughed softly, “So you’re good.”

“Right,” Bob chuckled softly as he nodded his head before peeling his boxer briefs down off his body. 

Bob stroked his length before lining his hips up with yours. He took a deep breath and looked to you for an indication that you were ready, that you were sure you wanted to go through with this. As you flitted your gaze to him, biting your lip as you sized him up, you couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. Bob looked at you, somewhat mortified as his eyes widened.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing, you’re just…bigger than I’d pictured, if you get me. You might need to take a pause once you get started so I can adjust to you, mkay?”

“Gotcha, don’t worry darlin’,” Bob nodded knowingly and laughed as he ran a hand through his hair. 

You let out a sharp exhale as Bob lined his hips up with yours and gently pushed himself into you. As promised, he paused for you to adjust to his size, waiting for you to tell him you were ready for him to start. Once he heard you give the ok, he began thrusting his hips in and out of you, a deep grunt escaping his lips as he felt your body tighten around him, your arousal dripping from you and onto his cock. 

“Fuck,” Bob groaned as he thrusted deeper into you, finding his rhythm, “You feel so good, darlin’.”

“Keep going, baby,” you purred at him, encouraging him to continue before throwing your head back in ecstasy, moaning his name loudly.

Bob felt your walls clenching against him, gripping his erection tightly as he pumped himself in and out of your body. He felt as you arched your back against the bed, bucking your hips upwards into his thrusts as you came close to your climax again. He groaned loudly in pleasure as his thrusts became sloppier and more frantic.

“Fuck, darlin’, I’m so close,” He hissed as he let out another flurry of sinful sounding moans and grunts as he came.

The two of you sighed in unison as you rode your pleasure out together. Bob panted as he pulled himself out of you, his cheeks red from breathlessness as he tried to compose himself. He hovered over you, a smirk forming on his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. You pressed your lips to his passionately, moaning softly against them as your overstimulated body struggled between wanting more from him, and wanting to take a break.

“How was I for my first time then?” He grinned at you. 

“I never would have believed you if you told me that was your first time after we’d done it. I also don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before this either.”

Bob smirked as he laid himself down beside you in bed, putting his glasses back on.

“Well, apparently I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?

[artdcnaldson]

hiii it’s 🎀 coming off anon :0 i finally caved and made a challengers fixation blog

n e ways …. puppy art with his needy little puppy teeth has been chewing the wires of my brain bc this mf is not used to getting denied, he’s usually such a good boy and gets everything he wants and more (deserved) !! but i also think he has a brat streak that doesn’t come out until he’s more comfortable, especially when patrick enters your dynamic.

maybe you and patrick start getting closer. the two of you end up taking on a sort of mommy and daddy type dynamic for art when he’s in his puppy headspace, which translates well to the two of you occasionally hooking up when art is busy (cough and talking about him while you’re getting each other off, but he doesn’t know that). he notices that you and patrick get more comfortable with each other, more casually affectionate, and it spikes jealousy in him at the worst time bc all of you are busy and can’t play that week for whatever reason. so, art starts acting out. he’s snappier with you, he’s passive aggressive in general, he’s serving balls to patrick that feel distinctly aimed at his face.

need him to brat out so bad that you and patrick are forced to punish him. he’s been a bad puppy and bad puppies don’t get treats. bad puppies have to watch patrick give you orgasm after orgasm while he’s not allowed to touch. bad puppies have to sit next to the bed, hard and drooling. he starts out so huffy and angry, rolling his eyes and growling at you both, but by your third orgasm, the bratty attitude is long gone. little sobs are catching in his chest. he’s literally watching you like this.

he’s rethinking all his choices :(( he doesn’t wanna be a bad puppy, he doesn’t wanna be in puppy jail :((( he wants to be a good boy again but he’s sunk so deep in his headspace he can’t talk anymore, just whine and cry :(((

aaaauuuuuuughhghghhhhhh

Oh he’s so possessive, so bratty :((( it’s not fair that mommy and daddy get to play when he’s not there :((( he wants to know what you’re talking about, what you’re thinking. What you do to each other.

Patrick kisses you in front of him, before you head off to work on a major project for one of your classes and leave them alone at the courts. It’s a hungry, intense kiss. He sees your tongues licking into each others mouths and he scowls. When you go to tell him bye, you go for a sweet kiss on the cheek and he turns, captures your mouth hungrily, clumsily. His teeth clack against yours, his tongue presses between the seam of your lips and he imagines he’s licking every trace of Patrick from inside of your mouth.

His eyes are a little wet around the lashes when he pulls back, his anger clearly visible. You give Patrick a look over your shoulder, he just shrugs. No use on worrying about it now, not when you all had shit to do.

But then Art starts talking back, getting a bratty little attitude. You text him hey, wanna watch a movie tn? He responds shouldn’t you ask patrick?

It makes things click. Patrick had dealt with his attitude on the court, his icy demeanor. You were dealing with getting ignored and his bitchy, jealous attitude.

You have established plans on Saturday, ones Art wasn’t going to back out of and just give you two the chance to fuck around without him. The second you walk into their dorm, he’s on you— his hot tongue licking at your throat, his strong body pinning you against the door.

You’re quick to strip, to reveal every inch of your body that he’s been dying for all week. He strips obediently, until he’s bare and aching for you to touch him, to let him use his body to please you. “Patrick next,” you coo, and he’s on Patrick immediately, kissing him hungrily as he peels off every article of clothing on the brunette.

“Missed you,” he whines.

“Yeah?” You ask softly. You meet Patrick’s gaze over his shoulder, smirk slightly. “Well, mommy and daddy think you’ve been a bad puppy this week.”

He huffs, jaw clenched as he steps back from you. Patrick grabs onto his shoulders, pushes him down onto his knees beside the bed. His cock twitches where it stands upright between his thighs, all pink and droopy with need.

“You can’t have a treat if you’ve been bad, Art,” you tell him. “We don’t want to reinforce bad behaviors, and you’ve been so territorial lately.”

He gets so pouty when he doesn’t get his way— he’s so good at bringing pretty little crocodile tears to his eyes. “I just don’t want to be left out,” he whines. “I’ll be good, just lemme—“

Patrick silences him with two fingers deep in his mouth. Art’s moan is muffled around them. “Puppies don’t talk. Now sit there and watch so we can rub your nose in it.”

He starts salivating at the sight of your bare pussy— all wet and needy, aching to be filled. Patrick purposefully takes his time, spreads you out with his fingers so Art can really see the needy flutter of your hole. He growls, really growls, feels himself sinking deeper into the headspace as he’s denied what he wants.

“This could’ve been yours to play with if you weren’t such a bad boy, Art,” Patrick says with a grin. Art watches as Patrick sinks one finger into your cunt, then a second. He’s so close he can smell your need, that he can hear the wet pass of Patrick’s fingers fucking in and out. He huffs, goes to turn away, only for you to grab him by his hair and force him to watch. His jaw clenches and he rolls his eyes.

Three thick fingers buried in your pussy, art whines at the sight of your body accommodating them— at the peek of pink inside. You cum easily like that— stretched on Patrick’s fingers with his thumb on your clit. Art’s cock leaks pathetically on his lap, kicking and drooling stringy beads of precum that pool onto his thigh.

Art’s mouth waters when Patrick eats your pussy, sloppy and messy and feral. He feels his mouth filling with drool, has to swallow it down over and over as he itches to lap at your pretty, glistening folds. Patrick moans at your taste, slows down so art can really watch the way his tongue parts you, the creamy arousal that clings to his tongue. The tip of his tongue flicks at your clit, makes your thighs twitch and tremble.

Art’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, he feels himself drooling but can’t help it. He’s so lost in the punishment, in being a good puppy and learning his lesson. Your hands dig into Patrick’s hair, rough and needy as you guide his mouth where you need it. Your hips cant off the bed as you desperately grind against his face, seeking your finish.

A gush of wetness escapes you, soaking Patrick from nose to chin. He grins, licks his lips, and cleans off the mess between your thighs with his mouth. Art’s squirming by then, hips bucking up against the air, drooling down his chin, needing attention, needing to taste.

He wants to just die when Patrick sinks into you, when he watches your pussy stretch to fit his fat cock inside. He wants to lick at the place where you’re joined— taste your slick off the base of Patrick’s cock, clean the ring of creamy white that forms with each rough thrust. Your nails dig into Patrick’s shoulders, leaving angry red scratches as he pounds you.

Frustrated, pathetic tears slip from Art’s eyes, and he whines over and over again, desperate for attention. You finally reach over, scratch your nails through his hair affectionately. He gives a pleased little whine, watches Patrick fuck you as you pet him.

Patrick’s balls press against you with each thrust, make a soft plap against your arousal-slick flesh. He wants Patrick to cum, to empty his balls into your cunt so Art can be good and clean you up. Patrick looks over, moans at the sight of Art so disheveled and fucked.

His face smeared with drool, pupils blown, flushed down to his chest. Pretty pink nipples drawn all tight, cock throbbing an angry red. God, it’s so hot when he gets this way.

Originally, Patrick planned on torturing art a little longer, but how can he when he’s so fucking adorable? He cums, spills hot and thick inside of you. When he pulls out, your twitching cunt expels a gush of his seed, pretty pearly white and slipping down towards the sheets.

“C’mon, puppy, clean up.”

Art’s on you in a second, licking at your cunt with a fervor neither of you have seen before. Long, quick laps of his tongue as he grinds against the mattress. All he feels is the hot pleasure of friction on his cock, the taste of Pat’s cum and your juices. He could’ve been down there forever— he loses time. He’s just being a good boy, doesn’t even notice when he cums and goes oversensitive. He just keeps humping the bed and licking at your cunt.

You cum hard into his mouth, warm and wet, accompanied by another rush of Patrick’s cum slipping out. He cleans it up, keeps licking you until you can’t take it and you have to pull him by his ear to join you at the top of the bed. He licks your neck your cheek, anywhere he can reach.

“You’re such a good puppy, Art. You made mommy and daddy so proud, didn’t you?”

He nods, sucks a bruise onto your throat. You click your tongue, keep your voice soft. “We need to hear you say it, okay? Need you to come back to us now.”

Patrick rubs his back affectionately as you hold his face, make him hold eye contact with you, breathe slowly. You see his gaze return to normal, lose that haze. He kisses you softly on the lips, then turns and kisses Patrick.

“I made you proud,” Art repeats, and the words feel a little foreign on his tongue after not speaking for a while.

“Mhmm,” Patrick says, scratching his hair. “You just needed some training. But you’re our good puppy again, baby.”

[armiliadawn]

Hot Ones

Word count: 3500

Masterlist

Synopsis: On the deck of Victoria Punk, a simple chilli challenge turns into an unexpected duel between you and Kid, the strong-willed captain. As the pain intensifies and participants drop out one by one, a new dynamic emerges in this game of pride. But who will be the first to give in, and at what cost?

Tags: Kidxgn!Reader, SFW, platonic, consumption of unconventional food, very mild sexual innuendo at the end.

Notes: This one-shot was originally written in French, which is my first language. It was initially supposed to be written with my OC, but I thought I could turn it into a little xReader. This is the first time I’ve translated one of my texts into English, so I hope I didn’t make too many mistakes, and if I did, please don't be too hard on me 😅.It was inspired by the show Hot Ones.

Tag list: @jintaka-hane @novemberhope @imveryyellow @pandora-writes-one-piece Thank you for asking to be tagged ❤️

That day, the radiant sun bathed the deck of the Victoria Punk, flooding every corner of the ship with its golden light. The fresh, invigorating sea air carried bursts of laughter and enthusiastic shouts to you, immediately catching your attention. As you moved toward the source of the commotion, you noticed several of your companions gathered around a large table. Their voices were lively, punctuated by challenges and jokes.

As you got closer, you saw that the table was laden with chillies, each stranger and more colorful than the last. Some were small and bright red, while others were long and twisted, with hues ranging from bright green to burnt orange.

"Quincy, what are they up to?" you asked as you approached her.

Quincy, with an amused smile on her face, replied, "A chilli-eating contest. The aim is to eat increasingly hotter chillies and last as long as possible without giving up."

You shook your head in disbelief, addressing the members around the table, "You guys are completely loony!"

Kid, who was sitting with the participants and holding a chilli in his hand, heard you and turned to you with his usual arrogance. "What? Are you afraid of a few little chillies?"

You frowned, sensing the provocation in his voice. You knew Kid loved to tease you, but you weren't in the mood to let that happen. "I'm not afraid of your chillies, Kid. I just think it's... stupid."

Kid arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms, a smirk stretching across his lips. "Stupid? Or maybe you know you won't last," he replied.

Your pride took a hit. You hated being challenged like that, especially by Kid. You knew he was playing on your ego to get you to participate, and it was working. "All right," you said, straightening up, determined. "I'll show you what I can do."

You joined the table under the astonished and amused gazes of the other crew members. There were now a dozen of you, including Bubblegum, Wire, and Killer. Heat, for obvious reasons, wasn’t participating; he was playing the role of referee.

Wire watched you settle in, wondering if you knew what you were getting into. "Are you sure? These chillies are fearsome."

You kept your gaze fixed on Kid. "I'm ready. Give me those chillies."

Kid stared at you, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He knew he’d won this little battle by provoking you. "Welcome to the competition. May the best one win." He handed you a long green chilli, the mildest one to start with.

"May the best one win," you replied, not lowering your eyes as you raised your first chilli in defiance.

Heat announced the start of the challenge. Without hesitation, you bit into the chilli, feeling an immediate but entirely bearable burn. You chewed and swallowed, your gaze never leaving Kid's.

The first round started off gently. The chillies were moderate in intensity, and everyone ate them without trouble. You felt a slight burn - nothing unbearable - but you knew it wouldn’t last.

The following rounds intensified quickly. With each new chilli, the participants' faces contorted in pain, their eyes filling with tears. Bubblegum and Hip dropped out after only three rounds, and Papas had to forfeit in the next round, choking on the seeds of his Apache chilli. Only you, Kid, and Killer remained stoic. When Wire threw in the towel, trying to tear out his tongue, only the three of you were left in the competition.

The chillies were lined up in front of you, each one redder and smaller than the last, signaling increasing intensity. Kid and you continued to eat while challenging each other with your eyes, your faces reddening slightly from the heat. The other crew members watched with fascination and amusement.

You chewed another chilli, this one quite strong. The burn spread through your mouth and down your throat. It took great effort to contain yourself and not show how painful the sensation was. You noticed that Kid was also beginning to falter under the heat, his breathing becoming heavier, and sweat beading on his forehead. Yet, he refused to give up before you did.

To divert attention and show Kid that you knew exactly what you’d gotten yourself into, you asked him in the most impassive tone you could muster, "Do you know what the Scoville scale is, Captain?"

Kid looked up at you, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Scale of what?"

You smiled, making yourself comfortable. You leaned back in your chair and put your feet up on the table, looking relaxed despite the intense burn invading your mouth. "The Scoville scale," you repeated. "It’s a measure of the strength of chillies and other spicy substances. It assesses the concentration of capsaicin, the chemical component responsible for the burning sensation."

Kid shook his head, surprised. "Never heard of it. And first of all, how do you know all this?"

You could detect a slight hint of annoyance in his voice. Seeing you so relaxed seemed to exasperate him, which delighted you.

Managing to keep your cool despite the fire in your mouth, you took another chilli, chewing it slowly to show you were still holding out. "I read it in a book once and remembered it, but who cares how I know that? It’s not important. The more capsaicin a chilli contains, the higher its score on the Scoville scale. For example, a mild chilli like a bell pepper has a score of zero. Jalapeño peppers - the ones we ate at the beginning - have around 2,500 to 8,000 Scoville units. And these that we're eating right now," you pointed to the small, bright red chillies in front of you, "are probably well over 100,000 Scoville units."

You let those words hang in the air, watching your captain's face with interest. You could see from his posture and the intrigued look in his eyes that he was thinking about what you had just explained.

Kid stared at you, trying to hide his growing embarrassment, but he couldn’t deny that your little explanation had piqued his curiosity.

"And the strongest ones, how many units do they have?" he asked.

You smiled at him, pleased to have captured his attention.

"The strongest can reach over two million Scoville units. That gives you an idea of the torture we're putting ourselves through. Beyond two million, we’re talking about self-defense weapons and harmful substances."

Kid grunted, trying to maintain his arrogance despite the obvious pain. "You might know all that, but here, it's practice that counts."

You straightened up, your eyes gleaming with defiance. You couldn’t deny it, he was tenacious, and it didn’t surprise you. But you refused to back down in front of him. You were going to win this little game, even if it meant losing half your taste buds. It’s worth it!

"Very well, Captain. We'll see who lasts the longest."

The words left your mouth with determination, and deep down, Kid felt something different stir within him. It wasn’t just pride or the desire to win. It was a strange mix of respect and amusement, something he wasn’t used to feeling. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had looked at him with such defiance without backing down. Until now, few people had dared to stand up to him, especially not in such a trivial challenge as this. But this time, something was different. You didn’t waver, showed no sign of weakness, and that stirred his curiosity as much as his pride.

He bit into another chilli, trying to dispel these thoughts by focusing on the pain spreading through his mouth. But even the intense burn couldn’t silence that little voice in the back of his mind, the one whispering that this challenge was different, that you were different.

"You know you can still back out," he said, trying to keep a disdainful tone, but the grimace of pain twisting his features betrayed his bravado. The pain was real, but what worried him more was the idea that you wouldn’t give up as easily as the others. And a part of him - a part he wasn’t ready to admit yet - found that strangely... exciting.

"Dream on!" you retorted with a confidence that shook his certainties. Your piercing gaze, your categorical refusal to give up… all of it stirred an unexpected curiosity in him, mixed with a hint of admiration.

Kid clenched his teeth, not only to endure the burning sensation but also to suppress the smile that threatened to betray his thoughts. He couldn’t help but wonder just how far you were willing to go. But one thing was certain: this challenge was no longer just a trivial contest for him. There was now a much greater stake than he could have imagined, and the idea of discovering where all of this might lead fascinated him more than he would have thought possible.

You grabbed another chilli, your eyes locked on his, defying any apparent pain. You could feel the burn traveling down your esophagus, and you knew your limit was close, but you had to hold on just a little longer! Kid was about to crack; you could sense it.

Kid, feeling the pressure, continued as well, but his movements were becoming less and less assured. Around you, the other crew members murmured among themselves, impressed by your resilience, your ability to withstand the pain, and especially by your audacity in standing up to the captain like that. Quincy, in particular, watched you with an amused smile.

Meanwhile, Killer, still unperturbed, ate his chillies with disconcerting ease, as if the burn didn’t affect him at all. Despite his apparent nonchalance, he didn’t miss a single moment of the showdown between you and the captain.

This wasn’t the first time they had faced off in a chilli duel, but this one was particularly entertaining. Rivalries and challenges within the crew were commonplace, but this competition had a special flavor, a mix of reckless bravery and misplaced pride.

Killer, as an astute observer, had noticed something that made him even more attentive: Kid, usually so self-assured, seemed unsettled. He had caught the way the captain looked at you, a mix of frustration and astonishment in his eyes. Your confidence, your tenacity. It was new to him, and it was throwing him off balance. Killer knew that Kid wasn’t used to this kind of resistance, especially from someone like you.

Seeing his friend, usually so arrogant and domineering, gradually lose his composure in front of someone who didn’t back down was a rare sight. And Killer, despite his impassive demeanor, relished every moment of this duel, wondering how it would all end.

House, always on the lookout for an opportunity to make things even more interesting, had taken the initiative to start taking bets from the crew members, further fueling the enthusiasm and excitement around this ridiculous competition.

Kid, despite his efforts to remain stoic, could no longer hide the pain. His face was now as red as his hair, and he was sweating profusely. Each chilli seemed to be an increasingly unbearable ordeal. Finally, he placed his half-eaten chilli on the table, breathing heavily.

"Alright, you got me," he said grudgingly.

You let out a small cry of joy, savoring your victory.

"That's what I thought." You set down the last piece of chilli you were holding and turned toward Killer, who still seemed as comfortable as ever. This man definitely isn’t human!

"I suppose you're the undisputed champion?"

Killer nodded with a smirk that you could sense beneath his mask.

"As usual. But you can always try to beat me if you feel up to it," Killer replied with his usual calm, his voice steady in contrast to the excitement buzzing around you.

A collective murmur of excitement swept through the crew, stirred up by the barely veiled challenge from the blond-haired man. The already charged atmosphere crackled with renewed energy, and all eyes were fixed on you, eagerly awaiting your response.

You narrowed your eyes upon hearing Killer's remark. You hadn’t expected this provocation from the First Mate, but the dopamine and endorphins coursing through your body gave you a rush of confidence, and you didn’t hesitate long before responding.

Taking a deep breath, you bit into the last chilli, the most formidable of the selection. The burn that followed was immediate and devastating, as if a wave of fire was crashing through your mouth, quickly spreading down your throat and into your stomach. If up until now you had never been aware of your insides, you certainly were now. Your face contorted in intense pain, and you felt your eyes fill with tears. Every breath became a challenge; the air entering and leaving your lungs seemed to amplify the burning sensation. In desperation, you pounded your fist on the table, trying to contain the pain, but it was too much. Your body reacted in every possible way to make the agony stop: your forehead was drenched in sweat, your stomach was knotted, and it felt like molten lava was pouring inside you. Your hands trembled as you gripped the table, hoping to find some anchor in this storm of heat.

"Okay! I admit defeat," you finally gasped, your face flushed from the effort and your eyes completely blurred by tears.

Killer finished his last pepper with an almost arrogant nonchalance. He leaned toward you, a satisfied smile forming beneath his mask.

"Well played," he whispered in your ear. "But it seems I’ll be keeping my title a little longer."

Around you, the crew members clapped and laughed, some rubbing their hands together as they collected their winnings from House. Even Kid, though defeated, seemed impressed by your determination.

House, having finished collecting the bets, approached you with a glass of milk to soothe your burn.

"You’ve earned it," she said, handing you the glass.

You took the glass with gratitude and sipped it, hoping the cool liquid would finally extinguish the fire raging in your mouth and throat. You felt slight relief, the milk offering a brief respite from the intense pain.

But as the laughter and cheers continued around you, you felt the burn return, more insidious and persistent. The milk had soothed the surface, but the lingering heat from the chillies continued to gnaw at you, relentless. You knew you needed to find something more effective.

A few minutes later, you found yourself in the kitchen, desperately searching for something to soothe the unbearable burn of the chillies. You opened the fridge and spotted a large can of whipped cream. Without hesitation, you started emptying its contents directly into your mouth, savoring the soothing sensation of the sweet coldness on your inflamed tongue.

The relief was immediate. The cool sweetness of the whipped cream coated your tongue and throat, finally quelling the fire that had tormented you. Leaning back against the counter, you savored the feeling of respite, eyes closed, a sigh of contentment escaping your lips.

As you continued to empty the can of whipped cream, a part of you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the crew’s reaction - especially Kid’s - if they saw you in this situation.

At that moment, Quincy walked into the kitchen. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw you, cheeks puffed out with cream, an expression of satisfaction mixed with embarrassment on your face.

"Well, it looks like someone had a tough day," she said, laughing softly as she walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

"You're lucky it was me who walked in," she continued. "If it had been one of the guys, you’d be getting smutty comments that would follow you to the end of your life and beyond."

You lowered the can of cream and wiped the corner of your mouth, trying to appear somewhat dignified. "You can say that again. Those chillies were... worse than I thought."

Quincy approached, a teasing smile on her lips. "And yet, you lasted longer than Kid. He’s never going to live that down."

You shrugged, taking another sip of whipped cream. "It wasn’t just about beating him. It was a matter of pride. I couldn’t let him think he could outdo me that easily."

Quincy laughed and pulled up a chair to sit across from you. "You know, I think you impressed him," she said. "So, how does it feel to be the new chilli champion?" You smiled at her, despite the lingering burn. "I’m not the champion. Killer remains unbeatable. But I have to admit, it was intense. I’ve never felt something so... painful and exhilarating at the same time."

Quincy nodded, her smile widening. "I always knew you had a competitive spirit, but you’ve surpassed all my expectations this time." She glanced at the can of whipped cream in your hands. "So, is this your secret remedy?"

You burst out laughing, instantly regretting it as the pain flared up again. "The milk wasn’t enough. And honestly, whipped cream... it’s a stroke of genius right now."

You paused, staring at the silver can in your hand. "I’ll need to come up with an explanation for Killer; he hates it when we rummage through the kitchen without his permission."

Quincy nodded in agreement, looking at you with undisguised admiration. "You know, it doesn’t surprise me that you’re capable of anything. You and Kid, you really are an explosive duo."

You raised an eyebrow, curious. "What do you mean by that?"

Quincy smiled enigmatically. "Just that you push each other to be better. Even in the most absurd things, like eating chillies." She stood up and headed toward the door. "Take your time. Get some rest. And maybe avoid chilli challenges for a while, okay?"

You shook your head with a grateful smile. "Yeah, I think I’ve had enough for a lifetime." You raised the can of whipped cream in a gesture of thanks. "Thanks, Quincy."

Quincy gave you a wink before leaving the kitchen. Once alone, you leaned back against the counter, savoring the coolness of the whipped cream and reflecting on what had just happened. The pain from the chillies was slowly fading, replaced by a sense of satisfaction. You had taken on the challenge, and even though you hadn’t won, you had proven that you could stand up to the best, and that was enough for you.

After emptying a good portion of the whipped cream, you finally felt ready to head back to your quarters. As you stepped out, you ran into Kid in the hallway. He looked agitated, holding a glass of milk that he was sipping frantically, but it was clear the burn wasn’t easing. His features were still marked by pain, and he shot you an exasperated look as he saw you.

"This damn milk isn’t doing anything," he grumbled, visibly frustrated by the lingering burn.

You couldn’t help but tease him a bit as you saw him like that. You offered him the half-empty whipped cream spray that you still had in your hand.

He looked at you first with confusion, then with a hint of suspicion. "Seriously? Whipped cream?"

You shrugged with a mischievous smile. "Trust me, Captain. It’s more effective than milk."

Kid hesitated for a moment, but the persistent burn convinced him to give it a try. He took the can, pressed the button, and within seconds, a cloud of sweet cream filled his mouth. His expression softened slightly as the soothing coolness brought immediate relief.

Kid closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the calming effect of the whipped cream. It was far from the most manly or elegant solution, but at that moment, he didn’t care at all. The burn was fading, and he could finally breathe without feeling like his throat was on fire.

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a mix of gratitude and a hint of irritation. "I hate to admit it, but you were right," he mumbled reluctantly.

You couldn’t help but smile, impressed by his admission. "Don’t worry, I won’t brag about it... well, not too much," you replied before turning on your heels, ready to head back to your quarters.

As you walked away, you could feel his gaze lingering on you. Although Kid didn’t say anything further, you sensed that something had shifted in the dynamic between you. He might not be ready to acknowledge it, but this exchange, light as it was, had left a mark. A small, silent victory that followed you to your cabin, leaving you with a satisfied smile on your lips.

***

The next morning, as everyone gathered for breakfast, a shout of discontent rang out from the kitchen.

"Guys, who emptied the whipped cream can and put it back in the fridge empty?"

Killer, visibly annoyed, stormed into the common room, holding the empty container aloft, his sharp gaze scanning the room for the culprit.

You couldn’t help but sigh as you imagined what must have happened the night before. Kid, in his infinite wisdom and unable to resist the temptation to finish off the whipped cream, had discreetly placed the empty can back in the fridge, hoping to go unnoticed.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, thinking to yourself that you were going to have a word with your idiot captain.

[annaswrites00]

When the Dust Settles

LN4 x gf!reader

(1.2k)

Summary - After crashing out under Jeddah’s lights, Lando spirals—until you find him. One quiet moment, one grounding touch, and suddenly he’s not falling alone… warning - angsty, sad

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆

You found him before the press could.

The paddock had already quieted. That electric, too-bright buzz of Jeddah’s street circuit was winding down—technicians packing up, journalists swarming drivers still giving soundbites under harsh lights. But Lando had disappeared.

You’d seen the crash from the garage—brief, violent, and abrupt. The kind that knocked the wind out of you, even from behind a screen. He’d walked away, yes, but not unscathed. And not just physically.

You found him behind the team motorhome, in the shadowy space where the generators hummed and no one bothered to look. He sat on an overturned equipment case, race suit unzipped to his waist, black undershirt clinging to his chest, hands clenched into his curls.

He didn’t hear you at first. Or maybe he had and just didn’t care.

You moved closer, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.

“Lando…”

Nothing. Just the low thrum of the circuit’s bones and the weight of his silence. His elbows dug into his knees, shoulders heaving slightly as he sat with his head down. You could see it all over him—tension wrapped around his spine like steel wire, breathing too tight, jaw working like he was chewing over every frame of the crash on a loop.

“You okay?” you asked softly, crouching down in front of him.

Still nothing.

You sat down beside him, knees pulled to your chest, watching the light from the garage flicker across the pavement. For a while, you didn’t say anything. Just sat with him. Let him breathe. Let him be.

Then, finally, like a dam cracking: “I fucked it.”

His voice was quiet. Hoarse. Full of venom, but not for you. For himself.

You looked over. He was still staring at the ground.

“I ruined everything,” he said again, harsher this time. “All that prep, all that work—and I fucked it. I don’t even know what happened. I just… I”

“No, you didn’t,” you said, gently but firmly.

He scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. “Yes, I did.”

“Lando, you hit a wall. It happens. It’s racing.”

“It’s my job not to hit the wall.”

You turned, facing him more directly now. “Ok, but it is your job to get back in the car and keep going. You’re safe. That’s what matters right now.”

But he didn’t seem to hear you. He shook his head, that angry little breath catching in his throat again. “I shouldn’t have clipped it. I knew I was too close. I just… I didn’t react in time. I thought I had it. I should’ve had it.”

You could hear the spiral starting, the way his thoughts chewed through the same self-loathing loop. Every mistake picked apart, every millisecond stretched under a microscope. You’d seen it before—after Silverstone, after Spa. The version of him that couldn’t forgive himself for being human.

You reached out, placed your hand lightly on his arm. “You’re allowed to mess up.”

His eyes finally met yours then, sharp and shining. “Not in this sport.”

“Especially in this sport. No one is ever going to be perfect.”

His jaw clenched. “Tell that to everyone waiting for me to prove I’m more than second-best.”

“You don’t owe them anything, Lando,” you said softly. “Not tonight. Not when you just climbed out of a car going 200 at a wall. You’ll have an opportunity to prove yourself tomorrow. But please don’t do it for them. Do it for yourself.”

He exhaled, shaking his head again, but slower this time. The anger wasn’t boiling anymore. Just simmering. “It’s just—every time I feel like I’m close, like I’ve got momentum, it’s something. And lately it feels like it’s just been me. I want this to work so bad. I want to be better.”

Your heart cracked a little at the way his voice broke over that last word.

You scooted closer, wrapping an arm around him. He didn’t resist. Just leaned into you slightly, like he’d been holding himself together on strings and they finally snapped.

“You are better,” you whispered. “You’re not just some driver. People do love you. They love the way you drive. The way you fight for it, every single time. You make people feel something.”

His head dropped onto your shoulder. You felt the weight of him sag against you. “That doesn’t count for much if I keep hitting walls.”

“It counts for everything when you get back up and keep driving.”

You sat in silence for a while after that. Just holding him. Just breathing in time with each other. The buzz of the paddock faded further into the background. Somewhere, an engineer laughed. A jack slammed into the ground. But here, in this small space, it was just the two of you. Just the crash and the aftershocks.

Eventually, Lando sat up. Rubbed his face. Looked at you like he didn’t deserve your calm, your quiet reassurance—but grateful for it anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to—dump all that on you.”

You shook your head, brushing a piece of hair off his forehead. “You never have to apologize for feeling something. Especially not with me.”

He stared at you, something flickering in his eyes. Not the usual cheeky gleam. This was softer. Raw.

“You always know how to pull me back,” he said quietly.

“Only because I’ve seen what it looks like when you fall too far in.”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be that guy. The one who can’t handle bad races. The one who needs someone to clean up the mess afterward.”

“You’re not a mess,” you said simply. “You’re a man who cares. Too much, sometimes. But it means you’re not numb to it yet. That’s what makes you good.”

Lando nodded slowly. Took a shaky breath. “I feel like I’m holding on by a thread some days.”

“Then I’ll hold it with you.”

You didn’t mean for it to sound like a promise. But maybe it was.

He leaned in and kissed your temple, a slow, aching thing. Not lust. Not heat. Just gratitude. Just closeness. The kind that only comes when someone sees you at your lowest and doesn’t flinch.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and this time, he meant it.

You sat there for a little longer—until the paddock lights dimmed, and the last mechanics rolled away their carts, and the night stretched quiet and blue around you.

He didn’t need to smile. He didn’t need to crack a joke to feel okay. He just needed you. And for once, that was enough.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆

Thanks for reading!!!

🧸ྀི 🧸ྀི 🧸ྀི

[watatsumiis]

(A soft, fluffy continuation to this post about Xiao's reading and writing skills (or lack thereof)

Teaching Xiao how to read and write would be a tedious and difficult endeavour for everybody involved. He may not catch on to what you're doing at first, but once he does he'll do everything in his power to try and avoid it. He's super embarrassed at how far behind he is, and he doesn't want to be perceived as weak in any way, shape or form, especially not by you, someone he's sworn to protect.

It may seem like he's pushing you away at first, and eventually an intervention needs to be staged - whether you bring in Zhongli and some of the other adepti to help explain it all, or confront Xiao on your own, he'll respond better once you've been open and direct with him about what you're doing and why.

Though he is genuinely trying his best, Xiao simply isn't accustomed to sitting still and trying to learn. He's hard-wired for vigilance and combat, so it's nigh on impossible to get him to stay in his seat. He's up and about, wandering the area and trying to keep an eye out for any possible danger, no matter how much you assure him that there's none to be found. You can only get him to sit down for five or ten minutes at a time before he needs a break, or else he starts to get destructive.

Once he's settled a bit and started to write, it comes out stiff and awkward - he always holds his brush like a weapon, no matter how much you try to teach him otherwise. You can say it as often as you like, but Xiao simply cannot pull himself out of combat mode. To him, this is a battle like any other, he's just conquering worksheets instead of demons.

He always makes an utter mess of the inks and chews on the writing tools when you take your eyes off of him - he likes the texture of the wood splintering between his teeth.

His embarrassment and shyness also mean that he finds it really difficult to speak up when he's having trouble with something, no matter how much you reassure him that it's okay to ask for help. He also does well when you're working alongside him, even if it's on something else.

Teaching Xiao these skills is an arduous task, but he retains the information well, even after long gaps between lessons. You may find that occasionally rewarding him with little treats may also boost his productivity somewhat. Not necessarily food, but small trinkets, head scritches and hair brushing tend to be great bribes to coax Xiao into working towards a goal.

He'd never tell you, but one of the main reasons he said yes to your teaching proposition is because he wants to be able to read and enjoy your favourite books alongside you. He even ends up spending some extra time around others so that he can ask them for the definition of words he's not sure about as he slowly but surely progresses through the book during quiet restful periods of time.

One day, you'll find that he's speaking in an awkward, stilted sort of way, perhaps saying things that don't exactly fit into the context of the situation. How quickly you realise depends on what your memory for quotes is like, but you come to the conclusion in the end anyways - he's quoting your favourite books to you, trying to tell you that he read them without outright saying it.

He's secretly really proud of himself for being able to make it through an entire book. Though he may not fully understand certain parts of it, and the deeper meanings still elude him, he's just delighted that he was finally able to share something so special and meaningful with you.

You may even start to receive mysterious, unsigned letters on important dates and holidays - rolled up in pretty, loose ribbons and covered in blocky, awkward handwriting. Unsigned, but filled with love nonetheless.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or copy - pasted into bot or AI technology

[wylanvaneckreal]

I Hate You Peralta.

Me after not writing for 10 decades... So heres something I cooked up!! My baby Jake Peralta. I NEED HIM IMMEDIATELY.

Jake Peralta x fem!reader. Enemies to... Somewhat lovers? Very rushed and poorly written, but cuties!!!

You weren’t sure what cosmic crime you committed in a past life to deserve this, but you were almost certain it involved arson, tax evasion, and maybe kicking a puppy or two. Or ten. There was no other explanation, no forgiving universe would pair you with Jake Peralta.

He was chaos in sneakers. A walking disaster armed with a badge, and enough terrible puns to warrant psychological evaluation. He wore immaturity like a badge of honor. Loud, reckless, and allergic to anything resembling responsibility, he made everything a joke, even crime scenes. Especially crime scenes.

You, on the other hand, were order incarnate. Meticulous. Efficient. You lived and died by the rulebook. Deadlines were sacred. Paperwork was gospel. Emotions were optional, and jokes were, well, only when carefully scheduled.

Naturally, Captain Holt, in his infinite wisdom, thought partnering you two would be “good for morale.” "Balance each other out," he said. "Like yin and yang," he said. What he didn't say was how quickly you’d develop a migraine every time Jake opened his mouth.

Day one of the partnership, he nicknamed you “Sergeant Killjoy.” Day two, it became “Captain Cardboard.” By week three, it had escalated to “The Terminator, but like, if she was super into filing systems.” You told him, repeatedly, to stop. He, of course, translated that as “say it louder.”

And still, despite your protests, there was… something. Something magnetic. Irritating. Maddening. Unshakable.

Every case turned into a turf war. Every conversation spiraled into a verbal sparring match. Every time your hands brushed, whether over files or evidence bags or that one time he stupidly dove in front of you during a suspect chase, it felt like touching a live wire. Sharp. Electric. Instant.

You mocked his hideous sneakers, neon green and orange like traffic cones gone rogue. He mocked your handwriting, calling it “a cry for help in cursive form.”

You glared. He grinned. You scowled. He winked. People started placing bets.

Even Holt began assigning you both to opposite ends of the precinct whenever possible, clearly weary of the daily tension that rippled out like nuclear fallout from your desks.

Still, some part of you, a very deeply buried, possibly concussed part, started to enjoy the battles. The way his eyes lit up when you clapped back with something especially sharp. The way he kept testing your limits, like he wanted to find the point where you’d finally crack. Like he wanted to see what was underneath the cold mask you wore.

And, sometimes you wanted him to.

It all came to a head on a rainy Tuesday night. The stakeout from hell. You were cramped in an unmarked car that smelled vaguely of old French fries and regret, parked across from a suspected arms dealer’s apartment. The rain drummed on the roof in an endless rhythm, and visibility was garbage. You had been sitting there for hours.

And obviously, Jake had brought snacks. And gum. So. Much. Gum. Snap. Pop. Snap.

“I swear to God,” you muttered, gripping the edge of your seat like it might ground your sanity. “If you chew that gum any louder, I will jump out of this car and let the perp take me.”

Jake grinned like a man who hadn’t known fear since 2009. “What, this?” he said innocently, blowing another bubble and letting it pop with theatrical flair. “Just trying to make this stakeout less soul-crushing. Maybe if you didn’t treat every assignment like a funeral, you’d actually enjoy your job.”

You turned on him, bristling. “I do enjoy my job. I just don’t feel the need to soundtrack it with mouth noises. And forgive me for thinking that professionalism matters.”

“Newsflash: there’s a difference between ‘professional’ and ‘completely dead inside.’ Ever consider letting someone see you smile? Or laugh? Or, I don’t know, not glower at everyone like they insulted your filing system?”

You blinked. “Wow. That’s rich coming from a guy who once wore sunglasses shaped like dollar signs to a crime scene.”

"It was themed!” he protested. “We were investigating a counterfeiting ring! It was clever.” “It was embarrassing.” “You’re embarrassing!”

Lightning cracked outside the window, briefly lighting up the space between you like a flashbulb. Your faces were close. Too close. Inches apart. You could see the flecks of green in his eyes, the raindrops clinging to his lashes. His jacket smelled like cheap cologne and coffee and something undeniably him.

The air turned thick. Charged. “I hate you,” you breathed. Jake’s smile faded. “I hate you more.” Silence stretched. The kind that’s not empty—but waiting.

Then, without thinking, without planning, which was terrifying for you, you surged forward.

And he met you halfway.

It wasn’t a kiss so much as a collision. A clash of teeth and breath and weeks, no, months, of pent-up frustration bursting free like a dam. Your hands were in his hair. His were under your coat. Somewhere in the chaos, your seatbelt caught, but neither of you cared.

The rain pounded harder. The windows fogged. Your heart tried to beat its way out of your chest. You broke apart just long enough to catch your breath, lips swollen and pulses racing. He stared at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of physics.

Jake reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “Still hate you,” he said, voice rough. You let out a shaky breath. “Hate you more.”

And then you kissed him again, this time slower. Still intense, but like maybe it wasn’t war anymore. Maybe it was something else. Something worse. Something better.

Later, back at the precinct, you walked in at separate times. He made a dumb joke. You rolled your eyes. Business as usual.

But you were both off. Too calm. Too composed. Too aware.

Amy stared between you like she was doing math in her head. "…Something’s weird,” she said slowly. Rosa, without even looking up from her phone, muttered, “They 100% finally made out.”

Jake choked on his water. You went bright red, nearly dropped your folder.

“I still hate him,” you blurted. “Still hate her,” Jake echoed, wiping his mouth..Neither of you looked at the other.

Nobody believed a single word.

And somewhere, deep down, under all the hate and sarcasm and insults, you kind of hoped they never would.

[teaandmisanthropy]

We had to say goodbye to Snookums a few weeks ago, on August 16, 2024. These are some of the last pictures I have of him.

He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as a result of (probably) lymphoma and had been losing weight for a couple of months and his digestive system was deteriorating.

He got lots of attention and extra treats at the end of his life, and he lived to the age of fifteen and was a happy, goofy, lazy snugglebug who was full of affection for us and friendly to everybody, including multiple dog acquaintances. He was a devoted, biddable sidekick to the BB (Arwen) (2007-2021) and a wonderful adoptive uncle to Tristana (2020, adopted April 2021-). And despite being a mellow fraidy cat who had always been submissive before, he didn't hesitate to become the senior boss cat and tell off Anubis (who is young and unusually strong and was about half again his size) and actually defended Tristana from Anubis's attempted attacks a few times when he managed to breach containment.

Snookums was my baby, and what you might call my familiar animal or one true cat, from the time we brought him home. He spent three days hiding in a blanket cave in the sauna at our old apartment in Turku and wouldn't eat for over 24 hours, until I finally got him to by feeding him from my hand.

He was afraid of crackling noises and especially plastic bags and loved chasing/ collecting hair elastics and chewing on rubber bands and silicone oven mitts and old wired earbud wires, all of which had to be hidden from him. He loved kisses and his method of kissing was to headbutt you in the head, earning him the nickname "butthead".

He was also the most talkative cat we had ever met when we got him, and used to meet me every time I came home and make a long speech that I referred to as the Kittysburg Address. He purred very loudly and was terrible at cleaning his own claws, which was perhaps partly because he was already missing a couple of the tiny teeth when we got him at age 1.5, but mostly because he was lazy. So he had to have toe gunk cleaned from his claw sheaths basically his whole life and he hated it, but was fundamentally non violent, so the most resistance he ever offered was occasionally squirming in a half hearted escape attempt.

When he was young he also used to wake me up in the middle of the night wanting to play, and I woke up many times back then to find his toys (usually hair bands and silicone oven mitts) in or around the bed. But even when young and irrepressible, Snookums was pretty lazy and spent much more time snoozing and snuggling than the BB, who often ran around bouncing off the walls without him, even though he was her constant companion and playmate.

In later years he got more lazy, as well as becoming more like himself in other ways (snuggly, silly, food-motivated), and he also acquired diabetes, which reduced his energy a lot. But he lived for about six years with his diabetes under control after his diagnosis, and was doing very well recently. The final illness was probably not related to his diabetes.

For many years, actually since he was very young, I used to periodically just start crying while I was holding him in my arms, because I loved him so much. The spectre of losing him someday, even when it was far in the future, was already scaring me. (We got him two years after the death of @waxjism's One True Cat, Lily, so this wasn't out of left field.) Maybe I did some of my grieving in advance. I felt like I didn't have time to grieve right after, but even though the sadness is massive, I have had an easier time adjusting my brain to the new reality than after the loss of past pets. Cornish rexes are very snuggly and affectionate cats and most of them spend a lot of time lying on people's laps, giving out hugs, basically, but Snookums is the only pet I've ever felt was comforting and soothing me just as much with his snuggles as I was soothing him.

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Seventeen: The Crew’s Favorite Disaster

Life aboard the Sunny had become… a little too normal lately.

No marines. No sea kings. No spontaneous fire.

So naturally, the chaos had to come from you.

And the crew had, for better or worse, gotten used to it.

Luffy loved it.

You were his favorite unpredictable teammate. One day you’d steal half a fruit cart, the next you’d be upside-down on the crow’s nest shouting “I AM THE WIND.” Every meal, you showed up with a new trinket tucked somewhere under your shirt and a suspicious sparkle in your eye.

“You’re like a living treasure chest!” he giggled once, as you coughed up three gold coins and a spoon.

“Thanks,” you wheezed. “That one was under my ribs.”

Chopper looked up to you, obviously and dangerously.

He’d started mimicking your sneaky prowling behavior. You caught him trying to “borrow” Nami’s favorite pen once, then hiding behind a barrel.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“I’m being stealthy,” he whispered proudly.

You paused. Looked left. Looked right. Then patted his head. “Steal better stuff.”

Robin, nearby, sipped her tea and murmured, “You’re going to break him.”

“I'm going to train him.”

Nami claimed you were a walking liability—but when you dropped two rare gemstones into her lap after a “quick” walk through town, she gave you a very long sigh.

Then:

“You’re my favorite again.”

Sanji just called you “trouble” with a grin and handed you snacks. You suspected he secretly liked when you swiped things for him, especially rare spices or hard-to-find cooking knives.

You were, after all, his black-market bestie.

But Zoro?

Zoro was the enforcer.

He was the only one strong enough, fast enough, and unbothered enough to actually frisk you on a daily basis.

You’d walk by, jingling suspiciously.

He’d sigh.

“Stop.”

“I have nothing,” you’d say, already trying to shuffle away.

“Give it.”

He’d corner you against the rail and start patting you down like you were a feral bag of holding.

“…Three silver rings, someone’s watch, and my whetstone?” he muttered, holding them up one by one.

“They were lonely,” you mumbled.

He gave you a flat stare and kept going.

“Why is there a shrimp skewer in your boot?”

“Emergency-snack.”

“Why is this hot?!”

“I run warm.”

It became a routine.

Zoro would frisk you every morning before breakfast.

And every evening before bed.

At first it was about stolen items. But eventually, it just became... habit.

You'd pretend to sneak past.

He'd grunt and grab your wrist.

You'd groan, “Oh nooo, not again—”

He'd pat your pockets, lips twitching in amusement.

And maybe—maybe—you’d let him.

Because no one else got that close.

And because being known, being caught, and still being wanted… felt kind of nice.

One night, you dropped a little gold trinket into Zoro’s lap without a word.

He blinked at it.

“…This yours?”

“Not anymore,” you said, tail flicking. “Consider it a frisk tax.”

He smirked and tucked it away.

“You’re still getting checked tomorrow.”

You grinned.

“Can’t wait.”

-----------

Franky wasn’t exactly... your biggest fan.

You knew it.

Everyone knew it.

He didn’t dislike you, not outright. But he had that look in his eyes whenever you strolled past the workshop—like he was bracing for you to chew on a wire or steal a wrench mid-repair.

“Don’t touch anything with buttons,” he’d say, every single time you got within five feet of his tools.

“Too late,” you’d reply, grinning.

He never laughed.

The others said he just wasn’t a cat person. Didn’t like the unpredictability. The twitchy movements. The constant threat of scratching and stealing.

So naturally, you made it your personal mission to change that.

Day 1: You brought him a wrench you found (definitely not stolen).

He stared at it. Sniffed it. Grunted. “…This is mine.”

“I knew that,” you lied.

He snatched it back and kept working.

Progress: Minimal.

Day 3: You perched on the edge of his bench like a loaf and watched him fix a gear system for two full hours without touching a single thing.

He kept glancing at you like you were a bomb about to go off.

At one point, he whispered, “Weird.”

Progress: Passive Tolerance.

Day 6: You helped.

Kind of.

Held bolts in your paws. Passed him the right wrench before he asked. Only chewed on one wire sleeve (and replaced it after).

When he finally looked over and muttered, “Huh. Not bad,” you almost fell off the bench.

Progress: Cautious Curiosity.

Day 9: You fell asleep in his lap.

You hadn’t meant to. You were watching him install a new cooling system, curled on the floor nearby, and the hum of the machinery, the smell of metal, the warmth from the tools—it lulled you.

Next thing Franky knew, there was a very fuzzy, snoring lump curled over his thigh, tail twitching and claws gently flexing like you were dreaming of treasure.

He froze.

Looked down.

Whispered, “Oh no.”

Tried to move.

You purred louder.

Tried again.

You clung.

Eventually, he just… sat there. Stiff as a board. Working one-handed while you napped across his lap like a weighted blanket made of chaos and fur.

By the time you woke up, you stretched, yawned, and blinked up at him.

“Did I drool on you?”

He looked shell-shocked.

“…A little.”

You grinned. “You’re warm.”

He huffed. “You’re heavy.”

You stuck your tongue out. “No I'm not. I'm 90% floof.”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t push you away, either.

Progress: Emotional Damage (Good Kind).

By Day 12, Franky let you hold the soldering torch.

Supervised. But still.

He even said, “You’ve got good paws for detail work,” and didn’t flinch when your tail knocked over a measuring tape.

Later, as you handed him a bolt and nuzzled into his shoulder like a sleepy gremlin, he gave a long sigh and muttered:

“…Damn it. I think I like the cat.”

You purred louder.

Victory.

[dragon-queen21]

okay since i got the okay i will ramble!!! sorry for the no puncation and poor spelling i am a native speaker i just wasnt taught well and i cant remember words well kanon banjo my beloved insane little man who is wired about fighting is def a system to me and a age regressor since hes no longer a furin student he doesnt really regress in a safe space so hes a wreak i like to think hes a regressor that likes to connect his regression to angels i like to think after manga situations his serect caregiver is hiiragi if umemiya ever found out i like to think umemiya would want him to come back to furin so he has a safe space to regress and such i could go on but idk the limit to asks

~Hi hi! First of all no limits to asks! Send as many as you want, as long or as short as you want. I love getting to hear people talk and I honestly use it as the excuse to ramble myself ^^ Especially about Wind breaker as I don’t usually talk about how much I love it.

~Okay I really need to get back into the manga for this series! After I finish the current demon slayer manga I am on right now I think I’ll start books ummm… I think I was on 6 or 7 of the manga. Ack- I can’t remember ;-;

~I don’t know anything about him- so we are going off vibes here whoo! :D

~I like that idea with the angels. Not sure how that would work, but still, very cool. Ooh and also vent regressing because he isn’t safe enough to voluntarily regress, so he just pushes off his headspace until the very breaking point.

~Kiddo looks like he would absolutely destroy a pacifier from biting at it all the time. Hiiragi tries to get him to use a teether or chew necklace instead. But little logic says, teethers just aren’t as fun, so he’s constantly having to replace his paci’s or just continue to chew on his hand/nails

[youhavehitawall]

Didn’t want to spam your ask box, but I realized I was forgetting what I wanted to ask so here it is, maybe. Some of it might’ve been lost.

You mentioned at one point that Ratchet had mobility issues, but not what they were exactly.

Ratchet and Reg are battling to be my favorite, Austin is too similar to me to be my favorite unfortunately.

I can’t help but what to meddle with stories I really like, for instance I want to be a bit of a stalker and send Firestorm a picture of Ratchet in Backwater Downs, maybe with a clue on the back. I feel like that’s a fun idea to mess around with.

Most of Ratchet's mobility issues are in the parts of him that self-repaired instead of being fixed by a mechanic. His Plymouth Fury heritage gives him advanced self-repair, which is what kept him alive (that, and the roll-cage) during and after his crash. The mechanic that fixed him was hesitant to undo the self-repair's work since Ratchet was so precarious. The mechanic also did a lot of jury-rigging work, as Plymouths are a rarity in Australia. Now, his biggest issue is, his parking brake is useless. He can't do big hill starts anymore. Reg often drives behind him so that, if he gets stuck on a hill, he can roll back into Reg and do a normal hillstart. He also slips near cliffs or on beaches, and will roll if he falls asleep on an uneven surface. He can also be physically pushed around even with his brakes on. His left side axles were crimped in the crash and he can't go full lock to the left anymore. He also struggles with offroading, anything more than a dirt track is very difficult for him. He can't race on dirt at all anymore as it puts too much stress on his chassis. His A, B, and C pillars are all dented and were hammered and self-repaired into shape. His eyesight is much poorer than it used to be, and his muteness comes from the same damage. His brain simply can't connect the words and the sounds anymore. The front of his chassis rails are permanently twisted inwards which can feel uncomfortable for him, especially when he's turning hard - again, no offroading. His tailfins are not quite symmetrical anymore and it throws him off his line at high speeds and makes him stray to the right. His headlights also don't work 100% of the time, and his highbeams flicker terribly. The wiring is fucked.

His jaw clicks when he chews. This isn't a mobility issue but it didn't do that before the crash.

Austin I feel like doesn't get the full rep he deserves on here. It's very difficult for me to pack his entire character into a little comic because he has so SO much character. He is motivated by rage for decades and it twists him up inside. He's angry and bitter and anxious and horny and that's his 'good day'. He loves the dead and used to steal parts from graves and upgrade himself without anaesthetic. There is something deeply deeply wrong with him. He's absolutely my favourite because he is so fucked up but he's also so kind and loyal all the time. He would do anything for his friends and partners at the drop of a hat. But he also 100% is waiting for Reg to drop dead so he can take that delicious V10 for himself. And I do mean delicious. Which is to say just remember the version of him you see here is PG rated.

Realistically, Firestorm would never believe a picture of Ratchet (known to him as Ricochet) if he got one. Firestorm's business is perfectly legitimate, but he's not above running illegal stock behind the scenes. His association with Rundown also makes him a lot of enemies even in the criminal underbelly. Rundown has very few allies. So a picture of Ricochet, he'd just take that as an enemies' baiting attempt, albeit one in poor taste. It doesn't matter that the Fury in the photo has Ricochet's funny little twitch in his smile. Doesn't matter that he has matching warbles in his left fender, just like Ricochet had, from Firestorm's first attempt at panelbeating. Doesn't even matter that there's a red-eyed ragtop Hornet in the background, a model of car nearly impossible to find, who has Austin's missing tooth. Firestorm would never take the bait. He might store the photo away and he might lie awake at night, wondering about it, wishing desperately he was younger and more naive and stupid enough to pursue it. But he won't risk his family or his life. He has to make a decision, between chasing ghosts and raising his kids, and as much as it pains him he lets the photo sit in the dark album and gather dust with all the others.

BUT let's play in this for a second. Assuming there's a way to make Firestorm believe this isn't doctored, well, it doesn't matter that Backwater Downs is not even a town name, isn't even on the map. Doesn't matter that Ricochet has been missing for sixty years. Within a month of getting that photo, Firestorm is landing in Darwin International Airport. He storms out, buys a drum of water and drives south into the great flat lands.

Firestorm finding Ricochet is probably the worst way for them to reunite, because it makes Firestorm so incredibly, extremely angry. Sixty years and Ratchet never tried to reach out. Firestorm is so sick and tired of trying to hold his sibs together and he's sick of being forced to watch them drift away, and DIE, from apathy or petty arguments. Also in this timeline, Ratchet feels obliged to explain that he left because Robyn tried to kill him - shot him and everything. That would turn the whole situation into a disaster. The happier versions are when Ratchet comes back to America and reunites with Firestorm. He never reveals Robyn's crime, and he even allows Robyn to apologise to him, though he doesn't forgive her. She did a lot of damage, even if she hadn't meant it maliciously. And Firestorm is so happy to have Ricochet back home, he chooses to gloss over that yawning gap of "why didnt you call or text or write or fax or come home or-" that plays in his head constantly.

Fun fact, when Ratchet reunites with Firestorm, poor Rico gets a "Jr" tacked onto his name. Firestorm called him Junior on occasion, but thisis the first time Rico has to confront the fact he was named after someone that his dad missed dearly. And he hates being a Jr. He immediately tries to race Ratchet for his honour back and he gets his ass kicked. Ratchet then takes him out for beers and ice-cream and Rico Jr decides he has the best uncle in the whole world.

[gay-fieri-05]

Part 3

- a team have a couple battles throughout the past month or so. Sky assisting greatly.

- the gang are now heading toward the vanilla kingdom, when they arrive they realize the kingdom is in ruins.

- in the vanilla kingdom, they have been fighting these robots made of waffles. Hope would usually turn into a bull or something similar to ram them down while the others pick off some of the other ones.

- eventually, the gang spot a young child with fluffy pink hair.

- hope, in rainbow lorikeet form, perchs on gingerbrave shoulder, observing the child. “Awwww he’s even cuter than custard”. “Hey I am still cute!” Custard retorts. “Thought you said you weren’t cute” sky chuckles. “I am not!…. Wait.” Sky let’s out a witch sounding cackle at his response

- the cookie in front of them seemed almost a bit shook up by it especially coming from something that looked to be just a bird. “A bird laughing?? How strange.. I may need to bring them in for analysis!”

- “yeah, not happening, bud.” Sky responds. “Who are you?!” Gingerbrave asks.

- “why should I tell you?.. weren’t you the ones wrecking my waffle bots??!” The pink haired cookie scoffs. Sky flies over, lands near the cookie and responds “To be fair.. they were attacking us so….”

- the cookie ignores sky’s words and begins to rudely ramble about the ingredients in each or the cookies. Then he reaches sky and strawberry cookie. “Another strawberry based cookie??. I gotta bring you in for research”

- strawberry crepe proceeds to grab a hold of both sky and strawberry cookie. sky letting out a screech which hurts crepe’s ears a bit “OW!” The cookie yelps. “Do you NOT know how to ask before picking someone up??”

- “that’s NOT NICE” the cookie yells out as he sends the waffle bots after them while also putting on a waffle bot mech suit he had created, within an instance sky turns into a rat and climbs up onto one of the waffle bots “A shapeshifter??!” He cries out.

- Sky then begins to chew the wire inside the bot causing parts to fall off. “Stop it, you are ruining them!!” He yells out charging towards sky. Within an instant turns into a budgie and flies away from crepe, suddenly turning into a highland bull and charges at him.

- The All the young cookie can do is scream before the bull knocks him down onto the floor. The young cookie lies down dazed while sky stomps his hooves onto the ground letting out a snort.

- “THAT’S WHAT YOU GET YOU LITTLE-“ the young little cookie then starts crying. sky expression goes from rage to guilt within seconds. “You’re so MEAN.. i don’t wanna play with you anymore” the young cookie runs off while the team just sorta stands there.

- Sky looks defeated despite winning the battle.. but battle definitely did not feel like a win to them.

Part 4

- sky still has a potion left over since they’re meeting that he has been nursing for a while but it’s getting close to empty.

- until sky, in his cookie form, meets poison mushroom cookie. The little man looks up at sky with this adorable, innocent look and asks “would you like a shroomie..?”

- sky finds this little guy adorable. “Oh course you cute little goblin.” he says blushing. Before the others could react sky eats the mushroom.

- “wow this is pretty good” he states “I was pretty hungry so thanks-“ then the poison began to hit him, he gets suddenly very dizzy

- “ummm..” sky is completely dazed at this point and eventually he completely passes out.

- he wakes up in an entirely different area of the palace. A large kitchen decked in white and cream colors. “Wakey wakey eggs and bacey” says a grating voice feeling. Sky feels an object poke him in the stomach, he slowly opens his eyes to see not only the purple mushroom child he saw before but not he sees a cookie that appears to be wearing old rags as clothing, a brown werewolf-like creature, a tiny bat-cat hybrid and a dark colored cookie wearing black clothing with an expressionless face.

- “so..” sky starts “ I know you guys didn’t just capture me for no reason… what do you want?”

- “we want your shapeshifting magic! We have seen what your ablilities can do, even dark enchantress herself seems impressed” he says ‘impressed’ of irritation in his voice “so we want it.. so we can give it to her… now hand it over!”

- “no~” sky says in a cocky voice before he trans forms into a sulphur crested cockatoo and flies up to one of the shelves. “BATCAT, SHWARZWALDER, GET HIM!” Licorce yells out “on it meowster!” The bat-cat says

- batcat attempts to reach sky before he let’s out an ear piercing screech which stops all of the cookies dead in their tracks.

- sky simply clears his throat and asks “now with settled.. what’s your guys names?”. The grim reaper cookie’s ears continue to throb, the mushroom still has his covered. Which leaves the stoic goth one. “I’m dark choco cookie. The cookie with the cloak is Licorce cookie and poison mushroom cookie.. who I believe you have met already.”

- sky proceeds to scan the cabinets and grabs out a box of crackers. “HEY THAT’S MINE!” The cloaked cookie yells out.

- the cockatoo grabs a cracker and begins eating it.” So.. what’s you guys stories?”

- “.. stories?” Dark choco asks. “Yeah.. like why are you guys evil?”

- the group looks amongst themselves. Swarzwalder speaks up first “I used to be a prince… but I wanted to destroy stuff!! … so I became evil”

- “gotcha, what about you!” Sky points towards poison mushroom “evil?… I just want shroomies” he responds in a dopey voice “I have no idea what that means but okay! You now!” He now points towards dark choco

- “my story is… too dark to tell” he says in a melancholy tone. “Ah you’re a murder!”

- “ what no-“ he tries to correct sky before he moves onto Licorce “you!”

- “I’m Licorce cookie-“ “yeah we already established that” the cookie retorts in an irritated tone “can you just let me speak!… anyway I wanted desperately to be a wizard. I wished to be admired and loved… yet everyone just laughed at me and called me old rags cookie!!.. so now I work with dark enchantress cookie in hopes to prove them wrong..”

- “ ah sounds familiar. Yeah.. you sound kinda like me to be honest.” Sky responds “what do you mean by that?”

- “guess since you guys told me your stories. I’ll tell you mine.” He turns into his true form.. the half witch

- the whole group gasps and sharzwalder faints. Sky sits up on a counter stop “I was originally entirely a human, working a normal job and a normal life… but I realized.. that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to become on of the witches. So I attended training to join a coven. I was really good potion and cooking magic but… Everything else not so much.”

- “one day we were all given a task. Bake a unique cookie for a group of judges and so I did that. I was the top of my class when it came to cooking and baking so why wouldn’t I succeed in this?… that was until I made calamansi cookie.. the first living cookie I saw.. normally the cookies I saw were already deceased but seeing a living cookie and how much they were alike me.. gave me a change of heart. “

- “from there I helped to release the other cookies created by my classmates, saving them from their fate… and when the teacher found out.. they were LIVID. They immediately expelled me and I was the first witch ever given a true title before graduating.. I was called worthless… the witch of worthlessness.. from that day forward, I lived separate from the witches everything was fine until one of them jumped me and shrunk me..”

- “and now.. I live amongst you guys.. and I fight for the side of good!”

- latleast for the most part” he says rubbing his shoulder

- “so let me get this straight, the whole time, you were a witch?” Licorce asks “kinda, I’m more of just a sorcerer-“. “HE KNOWS THE RECIPE TO COOKIES!! this could be extremely useful to dark enchantress cookie.. and I’ll finally get the attention I deserve! GET HIM SHRAZWALDER!”

- the Black Forest wolf thing slowly gets up off the floor “w-what… OH!” He readies his weapon and charges towards sky. Sky reaches into his pocket and pulls out a vile only to realize… “empty? Shi-“ in and instant sky jumps down as a comically large hammer swings down towards him.. swarzwalder grabs him and restrains him.

- “now, either you write down the recipe or Swarzwalder crushes you.” Licorce threatens “I prefer the other potion!” The Black Forest creature yells out.. sky simply gives a disapointed and defeated look.. “.. fine.. I’ll do it” “EXCELLENT!” The cookie exclaims, cackling as menacingly as he can.

- sky writes down the cookie recipe

- “hAAH HAAAAA HAAAA ATLAST!” Licorce cookie laughs.

- finally their team arrives, busting down the door. “You’re too late, GiNgErbRave. We have the recipe to cookies!”

- the entire team gasps. “How could you?!” Wizard cookie exclaims. Sky gives a sigh and says “I’m sorry… they made me do it. I tried to fight them but.. my transformation powers went away… I couldn’t stop them.” Gingerbrave gives him a tender look before sky gives him a laugh smile and a wink. The young cookie stands there bewildered and it hits him, sky was lying.

- “we better get outta here and warn the others before he creates an army.” sky suggests before running out of the building.

- eventually the team went further down the hall of the huge palace before sky let’s out a hair raising witch cackle. “Why are you laughing! This is serious!” Wizard cookie shouts.

- “because what I gave them wasn’t a cookie recipe…” sky states. “What.. do you mean?” Strawberry cookie asks. Sky’s laughter slows and he leans into the group, “It was a coconut cream pie recipe. They just don’t know it yet”

Meanwhile

- “HURRY UP SHARZWALDER!” Licorice demands “WE DONT HAVE ALL NIGHT!”. “I’m trying boss!” Black Forest says. “I would think you would need a larger oven to do this..” dark choco says skeptically

- the oven timer digs “YESSS! IT’S READY” sharzwalder slowly pulls the tray outta the oven only to pull out a tanish-white colored pie.

- “THAT’S NOT A COOKIE YOU IDIOT!” Licorce berates “I.. I was just following the recipe bos-“ Black Forest tries to defend himself before Licorce takes the cookie and begins reading it… dark choco looks over his shoulder “.. that’s.. just a pie recipe”

- licorce eye twitching in rage.

- over back to sky. “I think he’s about to find out in.. 3… 2 …1”

- “DAMNIT!!” Licorce shouts at the top of his lungs loud enough to be heard through the walls. Sky begins laughing again, this time less of a witch laugh. Just a normal ugly human laugh.

@fading-bisexual-queen-milkshake @facadesinternalveil

[glitterdustcyclops]

found my way to this video about different stims (from an autistic perspective but i know there's a lot of overlap with adhd)

and coincidentally stimming has been on my mind since my second appt for my adhd diagnosis anyway so now i'm just realizing all the different stims i have like

skin picking (my worst one, the number of times i've picked my cuticles/dry skin around my fingers down til its bleeding, i literally have a bandaid on one of my fingers as we speak cuz i fucked my cuticle yesterday)

chewing on the straw of my hydroflask, which has a silicone tip and is very satisfying

chewing on other straws too

chewing on boba (a delicious stim!!)

chewing on ice (tho my dentist has yelled at me for this one cuz it's bad for your teeth)

playing with fidget toys naturally (cup of fidgets my beloved) including my finger tentacle and my tiny hands and my fidget cube at work (my favorites rn are the clicky buttons and the flip switch)

my mechanical keyboards (clicky keys!!)

picking my nose (gross but we're being honest right now)

when my hair is long i'll run it through my fingers

rubbing my fingers against certain fabrics (especially velvet, i know for some ppl the sensation of velvet is horrible but i quite like it)

making random noises or singing

glitter (if you also love the visual stim of glitter i highly recommend making a glitter bottle, it's cheap & delightsome)

shaking things to make a rattling noise

love stirring a bunch of beads in a bowl that's such a good sound

spinning things, when you can get a d10 to spin like a top it's incredible

squeezing Squishtopher, my squishmallow son

clicky pens

i have hypermobile fingers so often i will bend my fingers back and forth as a fidget

when i had braces as a kid i had a gap in my teeth and i would often stick a paperclip on the wire between the gap (and once i even got it stuck there which freaked me out)

origami!! in school i would always finish my tests early and so i started ripping lined paper into strips to fold origami stars because it was a (relatively) quiet way to stim when i was bored waiting for everyone to finish

scratching dry skin

going back to beads for a second, love spinning beads on a string or rolling them back and forth. good stuff.

there's more i'm probably forgetting

anyway what are y'alls favorite stims? or the ones you wish you didn't do?

[bluepeachstudios]

GitS Asks!

Ohhh yeah you KNOW that man is panicking and his boys are trying their best to calm him down and force him to relax.

I cannot answer this because spoilers, but my god I want to. I want to gush about the movie stuff so badly. I can say that Ghost would definitely prefer to be taken instead of Raph. He thinks the boys should stick together.

Oh boy, yeah it do! (:

Oof you're torturing my boy here, I see. I think after very emotional words and feelings turmoil he would stay. He feels like the boys need protecting at this moment. He wants to keep them safe, and... Well. He just doesn't know what's happening with his brothers.

Ghost likes that when Splinter spends time with the kids, the kids are super happy about it. He likes watching them watch Lou Jitsu movies. He likes that Splinter uses nicknames instead of their full names all the time. He likes that Splinter makes them soup when they feel bad. He likes that when the kids talk about their childhood, Splinter is a constant. He likes that the boys love him, and he loves the boys.

Ghost doesn't hate Splinter. He just hates that he's not his dad.

I won't give spoilers if it's something that hasn't already been covered. Sometimes I'll go off about what's going on in Ghost's head, but that's because that's already going on. ;)

Ough Ghost would hate that. He doesn't want them to see that.

Yes to both! Meditating is something that's been ingrained into him since he was little, so he hasn't stopped now. From best to worst, Raph is the best. Mikey is second best, if he's moving while he meditates. Donnie's... Decent. Leo's horrible at it. He can't stay focused.

Ghost did find that directing them through certain katas and letting them do those motions on repeat is a good way to let them meditate. They do a much better job when they're moving.

Ghost does seem to be getting hurt a lot....... Wonder what that's about. (:

It's a little of both! Ghost wasn't mutated on purpose, and the mutagen itself wasn't meant to make soldiers of any kind, so his mutation doesn't make him as sturdy as genetically engineered weapons of war. On the other hand, Ghost also is still working off the physics of his universe, at least somewhat. It means getting hit hurts. there's no "comedic effect" going on with Ghost. He gets hit, he gets hit.

Yup! Ghost can cook! He especially likes baking. Ell and Mike can as well. Spirit... Eugh... Let's just say he survived with a rice cooker, takeout, and a healthy fear of anything that produces heat.

Ghost has already fought these particular Foot, when they first showed up in the Rise series! He asked Splinter about them, and he confirmed they were in fact THE Foot. Ghost has them burned into his mind now.

He also has no idea they run a shoe shop. He will eventually find out, yes, and the story is about Ghost, so also yes!

Yes. It worked very well.

There was a stray cat he fed when he went to the surface to get food. He looked like Klunk. Donnie thought about taking him back to the hideaway, but started thinking about having to clean out the litter box, worrying about the cat knocking things over or chewing on wires, feeding him every day, giving him attention, and he just... Couldn't handle all of that at the time.

Nothing that I can think of off the top of my head? Ghost was building trucks with dozens of missiles in it by the time he was 15. He likes to encourage Donnie's creativity.

Uranium is just a no-go because they don't have a way to safely contain it and use it. And Donnie's 14.

Donnie has theories. This is actually a spoiler, because Donnie's whole theory is a spoiler! Don't worry, we'll see Donnie's theory soon (;

Honestly, Ghost is a little worried about that. He's hoping that the kid won't turn out like the fucked up man that's in his universe. Like, he's still a kid! If Splinter can be how he is, and Leo can be so different from his Leonardo, what's to say that this kid isn't also different?

First round, babey!! It's my headcanon that 03 Donnie was subconsciously more interested in watching than he was in participating. It wasn't a life-threatening event or anything, it was a fun warrior vs warrior, honorable battle. He was in another dimension, of course he was excited and wanted to see things!!

In Big Mama's Battle Nexus, things were to the death. Nothing to poof you away if it would hurt you too much. He had to take every hit and feel it. He won out of necessity. He didn't enjoy a second of it.

Ghost probably would get further than he did in the last one, but I don't think he'd win. For him, fun fighting is sparring with the kids. His heart wouldn't be in it.

[bunposting]

hi!! new zealand rabbit anon here again! i hope i’m not a bother but i love your posts and love adding my own advice and stories!

but for those wondering about rabbits in the heat, i raise in texas, my rabbits live outside year round, and here’s how i’ve managed!

- for starters, the wire hutch thing is totally true. my rabbits have large wire hutches with lots of air flow, and a roof raised about six inches above the tops of the cages to provide even more air flow. the cages are large enough for them to completely stretch out in (which they should be regardless) and they spend most of the summer days stretched out to get what little breeze they can. the hutches are also placed in the most sheltered and shady part of the yard, so they only have direct sunlight for a few hours a day at most

- electrolytes!! i bought a huge bottle from allthingsbunnies.com for pretty cheap and it’s lasted me multiple years. i try to provide them year round but especially in the summer. they increase water intake and help them to hold onto that hydration. super awesome!

- RABBIT POPSICLES! i love making these haha. i chop up some fruit, throw it in muffin tins, fill them with water and freeze for a few hours. the rabbits love them, and they’re a fun and enriching way to get them a bit of extra water for some tasty treats. i mostly use strawberries because that’s what we have on hand always, plus they have lots of water. i also occasionally, on those 100 degree days, provide ice packs. i tried the frozen water bottles but just like you, mine chewed right though them. now i use the hard plastic ice packs that can resist all kinds of chomping and stretching, and give the rabbits something cold to lick and lean against

i’ve been meaning to try out the granite/ceramic tile thing but never got around to it. thankfully my rabbits are pretty heat resistant, and i’ve never had a heatstroke yet! (anxiously crossing fingers lol)

and sorry, one last ramble for the other ask you answered. rabbit bucks are so sweet! mine would make a fantastic pet, and likely will when he’s ready to retire from the breeding scene. he’s cuddly, friendly, smart, and totally brave and curious about new things. he loves to be held. he won’t let me pour his food in the morning if he doesn’t get adequate head scratches first. if he’s outside in his playpen and not getting enough attention, he’ll jump the fence and come over for cuddles. the only downside is that he’s a sprayer. i’ve gotten it in my mouth before 💀. otherwise the sweetest rabbit you’ll meet.

my does are certainly not the same! even after having them for three years, one still doesn’t like me, and the other has only just started liking me within the last six months. they are much more temperamental, the only exception being when they are pregnant and nursing, likely from the oxytocin going on. i adore them regardless, but honestly if you’re looking for a sweet rabbit, get a buck!

thus ends my miles long ask. apologies for totally rambling in your inbox. have a lovely day!!

No need to apologize for the rambling - you've made such awesome additions here!!! Thanks so much for the ask!

[jodilin65]

I said I would leave Pinterest if they continued to steal my pins even with a private account. Well, after a decade, I just did! I turned the account back to public, and they can take whatever they're going to take, and the rest can sit in cyberspace indefinitely.

So yesterday was an absolutely horrible day. Again, I had such heavy fatigue that it almost felt like my body wanted to shut down. I was good for nothing in that I was able to accomplish close to nothing. I had to spend a lot of time lying around.

I made myself sleep on two pillows last night, and this morning I skipped my thyroid pill in case any of the elevated heart rate, feeling like I can’t take a deep enough breath, along with hot flashes, could be connected to being overmedicated. I couldn't get myself to sleep on the wedge pillow because it just wasn't comfortable, and it wasn't a case of “do it or you might get dry socket,” one of the most painful things in the world. But I did sleep with my stomach pillow along with a regular pillow. I slept solidly for the first three hours and then started waking up, sometimes feeling breathless. At one point, I couldn't get back to sleep, so I took half of a clonazepam. I slept on and off for a few more hours after that.

For some reason—although I'm certainly not complaining—I have more energy today. We're guessing that it had to do with me sleeping elevated, even though I didn't stay elevated the whole time. At one point, I couldn't resist going down flat on my stomach. But if being elevated at least part of the time had anything to do with why I have a little more energy today, then that shows even more that sleep apnea is almost guaranteed to show up when the online medical team tests me. He’s donating today, and tomorrow morning, we’ll see if we can do an appointment then.

Once all the major medical expenses are out of the way, the first non-medical-related thing I want to get is definitely a full-wave bladder. Because while I absolutely love this bed and would take tubes over a regular mattress any day, tubes really aren't the way to go if you're going to get a water bed. They shift, and it's hard to fill each one precisely at the same level, especially when you can't see through them. It's also hella awkward to hold them straight up, even if you could.

My TMJ has also been better the last couple of days since I looked up a YouTube video of a doctor showing how to massage the joint. You put your finger by the tragus, open your jaw slightly, and slowly trace down the mandible with your finger. It still aches if I lay on that side too long, but it seems to be a helpful exercise so far.

Speaking of how great Tom is as a handyman—he replaced the part on the dishwasher, and we decided to dry and sometimes sanitize the dishes. To save money and energy, I’ve been opening the door when it was done and letting it air dry, but this is likely causing bacteria to form deep down in the parts and clogging the sensor.

Forgot to mention that for the first time since we've been here, the Honker put a “no poop” sign in his side yard. Why all of a sudden, I wonder? Kind of weird for someone who has a dog of their own, too.

Our own naughty little pet decided to have fun chewing the USB cord to the salt lamp, but fortunately, she didn't chew through the copper wiring and Tom simply taped it with electrical tape. We don't know why, but there's something about USB cords that really entices her to chew them. She thinks they were totally made for her chewing pleasure, but she won't touch other cords.

This polyglot has now done seven Turkish lessons. I try to do one a day. It’s definitely different, and if you ask me, I can't say it's ugly or pretty. It's just kind of there.