#HOT OFF THE PRESS

[markscherz]

Read more here.

[vellichorsmystique]

The Little Things

⭒ kuroo testsurou, oikawa toru, bokuto kotaro, iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader (all seperate)

⭒ w.c. ~2.1k

⭒ Drabble set that I'm reposting from my old and deleted blog, it's mostly the same I only did some minimal editing at some parts. Established relationships for all of these. Hurt/comfort for a couple but we're mainly focusing on the comfort aspect. Genuinely most of this is like domestic fluff

⭒ No use of y/n...implied spoilers for the time skip in Bokuto's part, Iwaizumi's part takes place during the time skip as well however any concrete details are left to be ambiguous so no spoilers are actually mentioned for him.

⭒ In a world built upon the convenience of communication, and where the testament of love can be waxed poetically with a wide array of synonyms; sometimes you find that it's the actions that speak much louder than the words ever could. Aka it's the little things they do for you.

Kuroo:

It happens when you're sick, muscles and limbs sore, throat raw from sinuses, and a desolate feeling seemingly carved from within your chest. Just sleep it off and skip school for the day is the brilliant plan your ailed brain could conjure at the moment, so you do just that. It’s not like you’ll miss anything important right? 

Wrong- waking up to the sporadic texts from Kuroo, while usually a good thing, instead left your palms slick and mind running wild. Afterall the chemistry class you two shared together had an important lab done today, and it would be featured in your upcoming unit test. Raising the pads of your fingers to your forehead you began to massage your temple, wincing at the oncoming headache. Lamenting over your decision of whether you should email your overworked teacher or just go back to sleep. You find that your pondering is interrupted by the front door slamming open. 

Revealing none other than Testurou himself. His usual insufferable smirk is plastered across his visage, and he seems to be exuding a lackadaisical continence. While giddy you still roll your eyes as he saunters in, and that's when you notice the few bags in his grasp. Before you can even question he’s already setting the contents out, a college ruled spiral notebook is being pushed towards you, and when you open it to the recent notes his usual chicken scratch is actually legible. 

Looking back up you're greeted by the sight of a couple empty glass beakers, some vials of different chemicals, and wait… is that a bunsen burner? Eyes blown wide you look up at Kuroo, downed in a haphazardly placed set of lab goggles, arms crossed across his chest, and a beaming smile revealing pearly whites. 

“Did… Did you steal lab equipment from our teacher?” while a rasp it still leaves your mouth an octave higher than your usual voice. All he does is laugh at your stupefied expression. 

“I wouldn’t call it stealing, more along the lines of borrowing, besides I'm sure she won’t mind…” he trails off, but that stupid smirk is back on his face, and you begrudgingly decide it would not be smart to kiss him– afterall you were sick. So instead you sit up and lean forward, eyes squinted and a mumbled ‘you're an idiot’ leaves your lips. And Kuroo, well all Kuroo does is laugh at the statement, eyes glimmering, and grin stretching impossibly wider, because yeah he may be an idiot, but he’s your idiot.

Oikawa: 

You're on the edge of this mental precipice, eyes zeroed in on the red ink, the bold lettering taunting your very intelligence. You…you failed? How, you had studied so hard though? Hunched over text after text, eyes blurring from the onslaught of study material. But you had pushed through, you were determined that you were going to pass. All that effort was for naught. Snagging your bottom lip between your teeth, you begin to blink slowly as a way to staunch any pesky tears. Breathing deeply you straighten your back into an attentive position, pointedly ignoring the chocolate brown eyes staring at you with concern.  

Of course Oikawa was always too attentive for his own good though, after all one sly glance towards the paper you shielded with your arms and he could see a sliver of red scrawling. So putting two and two together he figures it out. Words would not suffice his point and thinking quickly he settled for his speciality.

 Annoyance Physical affection. As soon as the teacher had looked away he all but melted against you, a heavy sigh, and half lidded eyes pointed in your direction. 

“Toru, get off of me,” it’s a whispered threat as you try to shove him off, yet he just won't budge. As if to pester you further he turns his face towards your cheek, tip of his nose ghosting the flesh, and puffing out his own cheeks he forms an ‘o’ with his mouth and blows. Reactivity you nail him with your elbow, and although he winces he remains undeterred as he nudges your cheek with his nose. Flyaway strands of brown colored hair tickle your own skin, and from your peripheral you can see the goofy expression that Oikawa had fixed onto his face. You can not help but let out a small stream of giggles, and remarkably enough the bad grade isn’t weighing so heavily on your psyche. 

Oikawa finally removes his weight off of you, right before the teacher notices, but he still stares at you. Eyes slightly squinted, lips upturned into a soft smile, and body tilted towards you. While he was successful in his endeavors of cheering you up, that doesn't necessarily mean you’ll not be plagued by it later. So he formulated yet another plan. 

And when you get home to your apartment, only to be greeted with Oikawa in your kitchen, a serving of your comfort food on an outstretched plate, and him dawned in a regifted frilly apron from Iwaizumi (it used to say ‘Best Wing Spiker” but the words wing spiker were now crossed out, and instead placed above it was the word “Setter” in loopy strokes). Well that's only something you and him would need to know. 

Bokuto:

It’s too bright. It’s too loud. It’s too, too much. Nausea rolled around heavily in your gut. All while blinding pain racked across your entire temple. The glaring stadium lights also did not help with your situation, spots of your own sight conjured flashes and random blurbs of black to settle over your vision. You really didn’t want to come to this game… but a promise was a promise. You can practically feel the pitying gazes of the patrons surrounding you, their minds probably chastising you for not leaving yet. But you wouldn’t, dawned in a black jersey with the number “12” printed on it in a bold font, reminded and added to your resolve to stay.

Risking a furtive glance in the direction of the scorekeeper, you thanked every higher power out there that the game had ended. However you quickly took it all back at the resounding buzz that signified the end, leaving you breathless and dizzy. The Jakles won and for that you were happy, after all that would mean the man you came here for would be exhilarated at the results. As much as you wanted to run over to Bokuto, lightheadedness tugged at your lead like limbs, and now your neck was starting to hurt. Plus the unbearable staccato pounding on both sides of your temple wouldn’t let you focus well. So you stayed behind, shoulders hunched, hands desperately trying to magically massage away the pain, all while moisture began building in the corners of your eyes.. 

Time seems to pass agonizingly slow in the monumental stadium, and all you can do is sniffle and wither at the sound of your own quiet whimpers. You aren’t aware of the presence in front of you, at least not until they press their index finger on your arm right below the sleeve of the borrowed jersey. A rhythmic tapping leaving a comforting warmth to convalesce around you. It’s a fleeting touch, and oh, so ever gentle. That momentarily your sniffles pause, and when you finally crane your head up you find yourself locked eyes with golden ones. Although your everything hurts, and though the lights may be too bright, and the sounds may still be too loud you can’t help the giddy smile that stretches across tear stained cheeks. 

“Hi Ko,” the breathless rasp leaves you almost instantaneously, and he hums in response, head dipping in action and streaked hair swaying in sync. For a moment you feel touched after all you knew he would be so giddy and excited to share the thrill that he felt in the form of grandiose gestures and onomatopoeias, but he noticed what you're going through and he’s trying to mitigate it. Gently he encircles his arms around your shoulders, pulling you from your upright fetal-esque position, and the two of you (him basically carrying you) head out of the building. He had said his goodbyes to his fellow teammates already considering you two had just breezed past them to get to the exit. 

And when you two get home, he’s already flipping off the lights, guiding you into a comfortable position on the duvet sheets of your shared bed. When he comes back his hands hold a heat compress (as well as a cold one) and some random soda that had been sitting in your refrigerator. He passes you a Tylenol as well, and you take a sip of the drink. The dark complimented by the blissful silence blankets you and you can feel the migraine recede into baby thumps. Nothing too painful for you to manage. In the dark, you fumble around until your palm finds a warm one near you, grasping it you can practically picture the childish grin he’s wearing. Instead of voicing out your thanks, you instead scooch forward, sitting up right in front of Bokuto you lean your head against his shoulder, hand squeezing his own tighter. And he hums happily in response, chest moving as he lets out the sound. Whatever you need he’ll do it, gestures and all.

Iwaizumi:

When Iwaizumi enters the house, at a time where the stars are high and dancing in the sky, he notices your slouched form on the couch. Laptop toppling dangerously close to the edge of your lap, neck rested uncomfortably on the arm of the couch, and the lights off- minus the tv which had some random cartoon sending flashes of vividly tinted light splashing the room. 

Soft snores spill from your lips, and all he can do is sigh, heavy footfalls nearing your slumbering figure. Warm hands save the laptop from falling off its precarious position in your lap, should you fidget any longer, and he can only squint at the brightness. Of course, falling asleep while working on an assignment…how in character for you. Placing the item down on the coffee table he gradually rises back up, hands resting against his hips as he forms some type of plan. 

A thin line of drool had dribbled across your cheek, and some hair was messily swiped in front of your face, so you seemed to be deep asleep. Hypothetically speaking he could just leave you there- but one more glance at your uncomfortable position makes him wince. So he reaches down grasping at the beaten remote, (months of falling off of various heights has led to its predicament of duck tape keeping it together) before finally clicking the button to promptly shut off the tv. Now bathed in darkness he gathers up the near forgotten laptop, as well as your barely alive phone, the battery symbol showcasing the color red. So he plunders forward, past the empty kitchen the smell of whatever you had cooked to satiate yourself lingering gently in the air, past the hallway filled with different portraits of you and him(as well as his former Seijoh teammates), until finally entering the threshold of your shared room. 

There’s a soft light spilling from the mess that is your desk, probably some random desk lamp you had said you needed when you already had others. But it’s not like he could resist your carefully calculated pouts, so you still ended up getting it anyway. Placing the laptop down softly in a clear spot on your desk, he connected the lonesome charger to its port. Before plugging up your phone as well on the bed side table. 

In his momentary absence, he notes, you had somehow moved from your position on the couch- into haphazardly dangling off the arm of it. Unable to hold back the exasperated snort that leaves his mouth, he finally reaches under you, hefting you up in his hold. A tense silence freezes him from walking when you let out a sudden exhale, but the sigh that leaves you soon after, makes him step forward. 

When he finally gets you both situated in bed he doesn’t expect you to subconsciously wiggle closer towards him, nor does he expect the whispered sigh of his first name to leave your lips. So when he finally goes to sleep, he goes to sleep with a flushed face and you tucked in his chest, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

⭒ end notes: GUYS HAIKYUU IS SO BACK RAHHHHH. Anyways this drabble set was wrote in 2022 (yikes) but I figured what better way to soft launch the fact that I've fallen in the vices of Haikyuu then by posting it on this account. I have another haikyuu piece in the works, but if you all are interested in a part two of this let me know! I quite like this concept of loosely connected vignettes :))

[trafficsignalled]

sketches

[alakeeffectboy]

new pics from the Warsaw show!!!!!!

[coffinflop]

[renlyslittlerose]

Where the Sky Loves the Sea Rating: E Summary:

Anakin grinned and tugged Obi-Wan's hair, once again forcing him to raise his head and look at him. "You want to roleplay erastes and eromenos?" Obi-Wan's cheeks turned an even darker shade of red, but he didn't look away in shame. "I don't want to roleplay as such. I just want to... pretend that we're in a different time, and fill different roles. But we're still us." --- Anakin indulges Obi-Wan's academically inclined kinky side on his 68th birthday.

[vukovich]

Hi! We're you the person who was writing a story about auror harry and kennelmaster draco? It was on tumblr only if I remember correctly, and I can't find the posts here or on your ao3. Could you link me to it? It was such a compelling story and even if it's unfinished I'd love to reread it!

(If it wasn't you then pls feel free to ignore me!)

I was! Am? Someday will?

Here's the 40k of Act 1. I'll put Act 2 up tomorrow. I left off halfway through Act 3 of 5.

Cry Havoc

[bakersstreetirregulars]

☁️ Crisis averted. After that show of verbal force and probably another truck protest outside their HQ, they’re withdrawing on the Ancient+ rarity they had planned to market before it even took off. Instead, they’re opting for another awakening system to work with your current Ancients to make them stronger.

⚙️ In this case, their first main test on this is most likely going to be Dark Cacao Cookie.

🌰 A bundle full of free stuff is gonna be in your mailbox until the 27th. It’s probably their compensation for making a big mistake!

[aamaranthiine]

Seafoam Dreams A summary of Amalthea's AU verse for One Piece. tagged as: ☪v: seafoam dreams sub-verses: sands of silver and gold || the lion's gilded cage. note: sub-verses are established and separate storylines within the one piece canon for select mutuals of mine. all other threads within this au are still separate from each other unless otherwise discussed.

Amalthea originally hails from a sky island that once orbited the Red Line and the North Blue, where she was born and raised in a small community consisting of a melting pot of Lunarian individuals, avian minks and humans. It was peaceful and reasonably self sufficient, though her memories of her birthplace are long faded by the current canon.

At the age of fifteen, her island was ransacked and her family either killed or captured by the Government for use in experimentats on those of Lunarian blood. Amalthea escaped and ended up on what is in current times Rubeck Island of the North Blue. It was there she found and ate her devil fruit before being adopted into the kingdom that made the island their home.

For just around ten years, she was kept safe by the people and the royal family. Until circumstances arose that once again attracted the attention of the World Government, whose assault on the island forced her to flee into the Blue.

This becomes a pattern throughout her life; she had to learn to be elusive, keep secrets, how to hide and protect herself. How to weave the most believable lies. Even the seemingly most mundane people could not be trusted, for the fear they would be complicit in allowing the Navy to find her trail again.

At current canon, pre and post timeskip, Amalthea has been alive for over 350 years. That is a lot of history to cover but suffice to say, she is a master at surviving on her own and avoiding unwanted attention most of the time. She has taken her time to travel all four Blues and the Grand Line, exploring the far corners of the world in her search for safe havens, knowledge and useful connections. There have been portions of Time throughout the decades she has spent hidden entirely from people; to cope with the burdens of immortality, she shuts herself away to sleep or to exist outside of her humanity.

For the present day, she tends to go by the alias Thea and is known throughout underground and black market channels by the alias Luna. She is a freelance cartographer (mapmaker), navigator and log pose artificer. It is usually her and a few others work that supply poses for pirates and other non-Government affiliated individuals traveling the Grand Line and the New World. She has many contacts and connections throughout the world, and tends to maintain a neutral alignment when dealing with pirates.

The nature of her Lunarian heritage is kept very well hidden; as with no wings and no soul-flame visible, she easily passes as human. Her mythical zoan devil fruit is also kept secret, or passed off as a different type altogether through half-truths and selective use of her Ability. Her presence to those with keen Observation haki lends to the idea she is only a civilian, and never anything close to a threat.

All of course, a masterfully crafted ruse to protect herself.

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

S03E05- Hot Off the Press

Jeeves’s attitude over Bertie wanting to impress Florence is the bitchiest he’s been in a WHILE.

How am I even supposed to take this other than Jeeves being wildly jealous

What’s the heterosexual explanation

Like, it’s never even explained here WHY he disapproves of Florence, but Bertie takes it as a given that he’ll react poorly, and he’s right

Stephen Fry’s bitchface is carrying this episode

This is interesting. They’re doing an adaptation of not just an early short story, but the VERY first one chronologically, and relocating it to a point where J&W have already had several novels’ worth of character and relationship development. So Bertie is at the point where he more or less completely trusts Jeeves and goes along with his schemes expecting them to yield the result he wants, but in this episode Jeeves is working AGAINST what Bertie thinks he wants. You didn’t typically see that in the later novels, usually they’re pretty closely in cahoots. So now rather than being an establishing character moment, it’s become the opposite. This sort of thing is no longer in character for Jeeves, and therefore conveys a real sense of desperation from him not to let Bertie marry Florence

The fascinating choice to have Bertie deliver the “fate worse than death, viz. marriage” line WHILE he’s engaged, supposedly willingly, to Florence

I understand the practicality of reshuffling the family relationships and condensing similar characters into one (Wodehouse characters do tend to fall into a small number of archetypes within which characters are more or less interchangeable), but I still miss most of the plot of The Mating Season. And most of the cast of The Mating Season. :(

J&W banter about Gussie’s ankle work is iconic

Hey, at least they kept the absolute most important part of TMS, viz. Jeeves coldcocking a cop

Oh, I could write a lot more about how the restructuring of J&W’s conversation post-Florence-breakup changes what we’re being told subtextually about them and their relationship

Maybe I shall another day

But one part of it is that moving the “I think Lady Florence has overestimated the danger of people being offended” bit from the beginning to the end changes it from a disingenuous faux-innocent act on Jeeves’s part to Jeeves excitedly grabbing the opportunity to infodump about the psychology of the individual

I think this is very cute

Mixed feelings about these last couple episodes, lads (gn)

[r4cs0]

Lol

[markscherz]

Meet Uroplatus garamaso, a new leaf-tailed gecko from Madagascar!

Uroplatus garamaso are absolute masters of camouflage. During the day, they rest with their heads down and fringes expanded, rendering them practically invisible. Here, I have revealed the outline of the gecko against the tree trunk. As you can imagine, that makes them pretty difficult to spot in the wild.

Fortunately, at night, they wake up and prowl the branches, and can often be found up to a few metres off the ground hunting for invertebrates.

This remarkable gecko has been known about for over 20 years, and has even been in the pet trade for well over a decade. But only now have we finally amassed enough information on it to be able to formally describe it and give it a name. The trouble was that it is extremely similar to Uroplatus henkeli, which is also found nearby. The key to distinguishing them turned out to be the colour of the eye, and the tip of the tongue, which is pink in U. garamaso (left), and blackish in U. henkeli (right).

These geckos open their mouths as a warning signal, so looking at this feature is quite easy. But we are not sure why the mouth colour so often differs between species. Some more behavioural studies are needed.

The new species was described on 15 August 2023 in the Open Access journal Salamanadra. You can read the paper here.

[vellichorsmystique]

Tea in a Bar

⭒ Husk x gn!reader

⭒ w.c. ~1.9k

⭒ Meant to be read as a sort of pre-relationship ficlet. Just a silly little drabble I needed to get out of my system. Mainly fluff, implied (?) angsty undertones at some point, there is comfort.

⭒ No use of y/n... I mean Alcohol is mentioned? So fair warning for that, reader themself doesn't drink anything of the sort in this specific fic. No spoilers in terms of the Hazbin Hotel series.

⭒ A new sinner in the hotel only means another headache for Husk to endure as he listens through drunken rambles. However that doesn't appear to be the case as this specific sinner tends to just bask in his presence. There's not much to go on, and as much as he should be wary of them, he can't help but be intrigued.

The newest guest is strange. The thought brazenly bounces around Husks skull, as he discreetly flashes a few wary glances at the figure sitting at the bar top. He elects to ignore the fact that today's version of “discreetly” translated into occasionally looking up (to oogle) from the glass he had currently been wiping dry before peering back down. He also decides not to fixate on the truth that this is the same shot glass he had picked up an hour ago. 

It’s uncanny really, how can you sit there so serene, eyes closed in something akin to bliss? Husk is openly staring at you once more, mouth slanting into some sort of neutral frown, as you shifted in your spot on the flimsy stool. Every night without fail since your first appearance at the hotel, you seemed to have made it your personal goal to purposely confuse him. Why? He has absolutely no clue. His proof? Non-existent. 

That wasn’t even the infuriating part, it was merely the fact that your actions were definitely not motivated by some extrinsic goal, it wasn’t like you actively had it out for him. Husk prided himself on his exemplary skills of reading people and while there was this air of mystique that surrounded the likes of you (all too comfortably familiar to the source of his chained ire) you weren’t trying to usurp his current life. At least not in the moment that is. 

Before he can grumble internally about the stupid predicament he found himself in he becomes all too aware of the warmth of your scrutiny. Damn, sure he was doing a piss poor job at sneaking peeks at you, but he didn’t actually think you’d catch him. However something about the mirth swimming your eyes clues him in on the embarrassing fact this probably was not your first time catching him. Your lips curl into a light smile, the corners barely twitching at what he assumed to be withheld laughter. 

“Is there something wrong?” Your words are less of a question and more of a tease which only prompts a withering glare in your direction. Almost foolishly he hopes it’s enough to ward you off, it’s not of course, and he’s proven once more how futile it is for a sinner to do something as silly as hope. Unperturbed by his nasty stink eye, you rest your head in your palm and raise a brow in goading fashion. Ear twitching he goes back to dutifully swiping the glass held in his paws. 

“Nothing, just stuck wondering why there’s a fucking weirdo sitting at my bar?” You have the gull to wave him off with a bark of laughter. 

“Me? Weirdo? Unlikely,” His brow furrows at that as he flashes you an unamused look. 

“More likely than you seem to think, who sits at the bar hours on end, and doesn’t order anything to drink,” He tried to keep up with the insult, however as he rasped out the words, he couldn’t hide the genuine curiosity that filtered in the latter half of his statement. Your laughter subsides, and you idly trace a fingertip on the grains of  the bartop, lips quirked in gaiety. 

“Touche, but I raise you this, who uses a dirty rag to clean their glasses?” Subject change, of course, he honestly shouldn’t be surprised. 

“That–’ and he raises the shotglass higher more forcibly twirling the gunk filled rag around on the inside, ‘is very much intentional,” 

“Hmm, and that is exactly why I don’t get drinks here,” Grinning you leaned back on the stool, palms flat against the wooden top as you loosened some sort of crick in your neck. Your tone is too pacifying and he doesn’t buy it. Nose scrunching he rolls his eyes, before resting his forearm on the bar, brows raised knowingly at you. 

“But that’s not the reason,” And there it is, the enigmatic grin that should probably push him away instead of drawing him in closer. Something swims in the depths of your eyes, something that one day he’ll decipher, but for now whatever you're hiding under lock and key stays indiscernible for today. 

“No it’s not,” You echo demurely. He groans, he was too sober for all of your mental gymnastics. The conversation lulls for a moment or two before you tilt your head towards the array of spirits and liqueurs  behind him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any sort of tea?” Tea? Seriously? He doesn’t waste breath looking, instead just briskly focusing on his task at hand.

“No, this is a bar– not some sort of fucking cafe,” Sighing almost wistfully you slide off the barstool, and he regards your actions in surprise. 

“What a shame, it’s getting late anyways I think now is a good time to start turning in for the night regardless,” He grunts, blinking slowly, was that what it took to get you to leave? Tail cutting through the air, he shrugs his shoulders brushing the thought away. It’s not like he cared that much…. 

“Oh and Husk?” Your voice takes a suspicious lilt that has his ears twitching. 

“Despite your choice of dish towel I’m pretty sure that shot glass is clean enough, you’ve been holding it for what– an hour now?” He slams the aforementioned glass on the grainy top as your laughter fades, but the worst part is he’s not even annoyed by the fact you were aware. Yeah… you were a really fucking strange guest here. 

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

You take longer than normal to come sit at the bar. He ignores the discomfort that prickles at the realization. Just when he decides to go ahead and begin the methodical process of closing everything up for the night, he hears the lobby doors open. The sound echoes in the expanse of the empty lobby, and finally through slitted irises he can make out your silhouette tiredly plodding through. 

Back and shoulders hunched, you look withdrawn, a total one-eighty from your normally exuberant personality you always seemed to have when you pestered(read: visited) him. Footfalls heavy, the bar stool croaked when you finally settled over it. Yawning, your upper half pitched forward, and you pressed your face into your crossed arms on the table. 

“‘llo Husk,” the words are a mumbled and muffled mess emanating from the crook of your arm where your head was buried. If it weren’t for the ear he had angled in your general direction he probably would not have picked up on it. Frowning, he glanced down at his paws. Today was different, you never seemed like the type to “showcase” your more or less weak spots where others could see? Something in the sinner’s chest seizes up. Was this an inadvertent form of trust? Deciding not to dwell for too long on the implications for such an idea, he instead coughs out loud into his fist. Rather dramatically. 

“The fuck’s up with you?” And he hates the fact you’ll notice the bite gone from his voice. Almost petulantly your shoulders rise and fall, a vague impression of a shrug due to your current position. 

“Alright, not in a talking mood then, fine,” He gets it, and he wasn’t going to push or prod your boundaries just to satiate the itch of curiosity. Peripherals catching the tell tale sign of movement his slit pupils lock onto your own irises from where you angled your head to the side in order to properly look at him. Expression almost distraught, he can only watch the way you tug your lip against your teeth internally battling over something. Before you sniffle and rasp out quietly. 

“I just… don't want to be alone in my room right now,” The admission is point blank, no allusions, or disarming smiles to disguise the truth. Some remote part of his brain will probably play the vulnerability of this moment on replay when he’s alone in his bed, with a pillow to bury himself into. For now, he elects to breeze past the info, mentally tiptoeing around whatever aftershocks your bombshell just resulted in. 

“Well if ya don’t want to talk, then maybe you’ll want a drink instead,”  Your expression twists, and you move to sit up some sort of reply building on the tip of your tongue, before he is turning his back to you. When he’s facing you once more your eyes widen to see not a shot glass in his hand, but a teacup. It’s humorous really, the cup disproportionate to the size of his clawed fingertips, still he holds the most likely plastic chalice like it’s fine china. 

All too soon the cup is waiting to be sipped from in front of you, and Husk is left to tap a claw rhythmically as he waits for you to taste test it. You hands wrap reverently around the drink, and you bring it up closer in order to properly take a whiff. As you nurse the steaming cup in your grasp he can make out the light aroma of apples and some more floral notes. With his freehand he scratches at the fur on his nape, prickling as he awaits your verdict. 

“It’s uh…”

“Chamomile,” You softly answer for him, still entranced by the liquid.

“Yeah, that,” When you finally look at him your eyes are wide and mouth parted ever so slightly; you were looking at him as if what he just handed you was a free get into heaven ticket, and not some mediocre tea he had made in wait for you to arrive. He breaks eye-contact, blood roaring in his ears as goes back to tapping some sort of melody on the wood. You finally bring the vessel to your lips savoring the taste of the tea, and a syrupy sweet grin inches across your expression. Husk finds the grin to fit better than that frown from earlier. 

Tea long since finished, he found himself caught in idle chatter as he scrubbed away the days worth of muck and stains. This time armed with a moderately cleaner rag thanks to your insistence. Tone impossibly fond you spiel your thanks once more.

“Really Husk, thank you, the tea was the perfect pick-me-up,” 

“Ah, quit blowing it out of proportion. I didn't do much,” You only laugh once more at his vehemence in not accepting your gratitude. Humming thoughtfully, you straightened up as an idea struck. 

“You know…Chamomile is absolutely divine when mixed with Vodka,” Husk sends a prudent glance in your direction. Though you can practically see the interest he has in the idea with how he paused everything he was doing. Almost in accusation he raises an offending claw. 

“I thought you didn’t drink?” the cheeky grin you reply with almost has him roll his eyes. 

“I never said I didn’t, I just prefer my spirits mixed with tea. They tend to mesh deliciously,” The corners of his lips lift into a barely there crooked grin as he shakes his head. 

“No I guess you didn’t” he echoes in reply.  Before you leave, much later compared to the past, you mention something about green tea and whiskey. A combination he would have to try tomorrow when you would decide to visit the bar. Distantly he found himself looking forward to what would undoubtedly be more visits from you. All for the tea and booze of course…. And maybe just maybe you too.

⭒ end notes: guys I'm so rusty-- ignore any and all spelling/grammar mistakes it's almost 3am as of posting, and I have a 9am lecture tomorrow. Honestly HH has like become my new hyper fixation so maybe I'll write some more stuff for it we'll see. If not, guess I'll see ya'll again in nine months when I'm suddenly struck with the urge to write something </3 /hj I definitely want to be more active and make more indulgent things so I look forward to it!!

[trafficsignalled]

lizzies from work

[chopcult]

Check out the latest issue of Greasy Kulture here 

[2802t]

taeyeon's head lulls to the side, a nostalgic smile teasing the corners of his mouth as he bites his lip around it, smoke billowing languidly out of his nostrils. "hyung," he says after a moment of blessed (relative) silence, bar the music playing ever-atmospherically in the background. "i'm glad you're back." maybe, selfishly, secretly, he basks in the other man's glow, endlessly inspired by the sense of sincerity he carries; or maybe it's the after effects of a tolerance break sending his head even higher into the clouds. it feels good to feel himself open up again, an imaginary weight lifting him out of his worldly woes and somewhere safe. suddenly, funnily, the writer's block he'd been plagued with for who knows how long feels like a thing of the past, he finds himself antsy, vying to share the sounds, the words that have crammed their way into every margin of every piece of paper he's ever gotten his hands on. "you're like, my musical good luck charm or something. i feel like i could write a fucking symphony." @thatsohkai