#I reckon. either potato.

[vesperione]

KONSTANCJI AKA KONSTANCJI LUIZ AKA JUDGE KONSTANCJI LUIZ FROM THE NOTE IN COOKING COMPANIONS WHO WAS DEFINITELY A VICTIM OF EITHER THE BABA YAGA OR THE BUTCHER.

BUT WHO THE FUCK IS THAT.

[nightsmarish]

Summary: James might actually like Slytherins.

Poly!Starchaser x Reader (James Potter x Reader x Regulus Black) | 1.2k words

TW: mentions of Sirius leaving, getting kicked out(?), honestly not a lot I think

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ

When James started Hogwarts, he had a certain distaste for Slytherins. Never an outright hate, unlike his best mate, Sirius. But something about the house always put a sour taste in his mouth. 

Maybe it was the stories Sirius shared of his family, or the way many of them seem to sneer at him, or maybe it was Severus Snape. He was never really sure. But, nevertheless, the Gryffindor seeker has always seemed to avoid Slytherins. 

Until James’ sixth year at Hogwarts. The previous year, Sirius had left Black Manor for good (but if you ask James, Sirius had left closer to third year, the incident in fifth year just made it official). 

All the Marauders know the story well, and all the boys know just as well how distressed Sirius was when Regulus didn’t take the chance to leave with him.

The refusal created a rift between the brothers—a big rift. Like the big crack in the earth muggles call grand that James never remembers the name of. And that rift lasted for the entirety of fifth year.

But the summer before their sixth year marked when Sirius couldn't take it anymore. So, the boys' sixth year marked when the Black brothers started mending their relationship.

And also when James became a pathetic mess for Regulus. Lily was the first to find out. Besides the boys, Lily was James' person. Once he finally got over the childhood crush he had on her, they became actual friends. 

Regulus is just so…. Regulus. He's pretty, first of all, like, so pretty. James isn’t very poetic, but he reckons one of the romance books Remus has read wouldn’t even begin to describe how beautiful Regulus is. From his well-kept, dark hair to his gray eyes, which at times reminds James of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel. The same painting his mother has fawned over to him and his father many times. The poetically tragic painting. 

And dear Merlin, he's so smart. James has shared very few classes with the boy, being one year apart makes it hard. But when they shared The Study of Ancient Runes, James became almost certain that he's attracted to people smarter than him, (which he realized greatly limited his dating pool because it can be a bit hard to find people smarter than him (save Remus, Lily, and now Regulus)). Don’t get the seeker started on how good Regulus is at quidditch, he could talk all day. 

Honestly, not much changed with this crush when James met you. You had been friends with Regulus (and Crouch and Rosier, but that was irrelevant to James); maybe a little more; he wasn’t sure at the time; the little friend group had always seemed suspiciously close sometimes. 

You. Oh Merlin, you. It made a lot of sense, at first glance, how you and Regulus got along. Both of you seem to be able to sit in silence, not needing a conversation every time you hang out, yet still having fun. But at the same time, James had seen you able to joke and have banter with Crouch and give half glares at Sirius when he was trying to borrow -steal- Regulus for a bit. 

And finally, after months of talking to (mildly annoying) you too, the lot of you finally started dating. Even though Sirius nearly had a heart attack when he found out, either way, James has found himself walking to the Slytherins table before his own more often, and has found himself ducking from Crouch throwing potatoes at him even more regularly. James has also found himself sneaking into the Slytherin common rooms when he isn’t planning a prank. Like right now. 

It's not exactly necessary to sneak into a common room. The way to get into most common rooms stays the same. Ravenclaws answer a riddle; Gryffindors have a password that changes semi-regularly; Hufflepuffs have changed a few times over the past few years, but right now you have to tap a barrel located in the kitchen space near the Hufflepuffs door. But, as it seems, the Slytherins seem to change more regularly. 

Rarely just a simple password nor a rhyme or riddle. Though James likely doesn’t deserve the right to be annoyed by the constant changing because the Marauders pranks are often the reason for a change. And it's not like the boys exactly need a password to get in. Not when you have learned almost all of the secret passageways through the castle and can sneak in through one of them. 

James finds a way down to the dungeons, with or without any password or trick, and makes his way to Regulus' dorm. When he gets there, he's presented with a loving, beautiful, and perfect view.

The dorm is free of Regulus’ dormmates, Crouch and Rosier, the only people who lay claim are you and Regulus. There you two lay, your head on his stomach, arms wrapped around his waist as your body lays between his legs, any closer and you'd be under his skin.

Regulus is lying back on his pillows, jumper far too red to belong to him. As one hand rests on the top of your head, the other lies abandoned. It’s clear both of you had been reading at some point; books lay abandoned nearby on the bed. 

James could scream, squeal even, but instead he silently closes the door and locks it (the only people that would really need it are people with a key (Crouch, Rosier) or people who don't believe in locks (Sirius, and honestly, probably also Crouch and Rosier)). 

James slips off his shoes near the bed, climbing onto the bed with the two of you.

“Love?” He whispers in your ear, brushing your hair away from your face as he gently rubs your shoulder.

You shift, barely coherent, as you open your eyes the smallest amount to look at who woke you. They soften a tremendous amount when you register that James is in front of you. 

“Hi, baby,” Salazar, his smile is so bright, he could make the Black Lake change its name with just a curl of the lips. “Your arms are gonna cramp if you don't move.”

James slowly draws your arms from under your shared boyfriend for you, limp like a liquid cat in his arms, and he somehow finds it the most endearing thing in the wizarding world. 

The movement makes Regulus come to consciousness, opening his eyes much quicker than you did and already more alert than you. “Chéri?” 

“Hello, love.” James drags your liquid body to the side of Regulus, instead of on him, and kisses his boyfriend's temple. Freeing a hand to smooth out his hair and stop him from getting up. “Go back to your nap, just moving you guys a bit so neither of you hurt.”

You are quick to go back to wrapping your arms around Regulus, now in a slightly less straining position, ready to go back to dreaming. James' smile might just grow impossibly founder.

James goes to the other side of Regulus, leaving you to cling to his left as James takes his right. “'S ‘kay to go back to sleeping.” 

“I know.”

You reach one of your hands blindly and grab James’ arm, resting it there as the three of you drift back to a lovely sleep.

Maybe James has a taste for a type of Slytherin after all. 

[doofnoof]

@7-11thuniverse my tags Explain why I am. Confused to say the least, answering Prev

Tldr; most of the critters I know are less "please don't bother us we wanna be left alone" and more "SKYRIM BELONGS TO THE NORDS" like?? I have been consistently dealing with the Katsuki Bakugo of the Natural World. Not even kidding, the Chasing experiences where a critter has fallen on my face/out of my hair/out of an object are all real, and most choose to die fighting, with honor or smth. One particular spider had to have a work boot thrown at it twice because it kept getting back up and rearing it's front legs at my mom before running forwards a bit. Yes I did pee a little. No I don't know what his entire problem was.

YOU DONT HAVE DRYERS IN AUSTRALIA???

KANDI WHY

HOW DO YOU WASH YOUR CLOTHES??

DO YOU JUST

WEAR SOGGY CLOTHES AFTER A WASH??

HAVE YOU NEVER EXPERIENCED WARM CLOTHE FEELING AFTER A DRYER CYCLE ENDS??

WELL WE *WASH* OUR CLOTHES IN A WASHING MACHINE BELEIVE IT OR NOT BUT FOR HOW WE *DRY* OUR CLOTHES WE JUST USE A CLOTHES LINE CUZ BELEIVE IT OR NOT ITS RELATIVELY WARM ALL YEAR ROUND IN AUSTRALIA SO WHY WASTE MONEY AND ELECTRICITY WITH A DRYER WHEN ITS WAY SMARTER TO JUST USE A LINE?????

(i have one of these washing lines but its like over 20 years old and super broken so it cant close but thats okay)

[salemoleander]

Joel is lounging around on Potato Pier, evening darkening to purple as Jimmy and Grian argue about something stupid in the background. He dips a hand in and out of the water elevator, in and out, and again; and after every splash he's seeing the same numbers.

"Time's stopped," Joel says absently. The lulling noise of the background conversation grinds to a halt.

"Sorry, what?" Jimmy asks.

"I said, the blimming-" Joel realizes what he's saying as he says it, snapped from dreamy to alert in a moment. Grian's head whips up.

Jimmy looks down at his own arm. "The time's stopped. The time has stopped? Grian?"

Already reaching for his comm, Grian says with a forcedly casual tone, "No it hasn't."

Then he blanches, eyes flicking over the screen.

"WHAT."

Joel snorts and looks out over the map. No one is noticeably freaking out yet- the only group he can see out and about this late in the day is the Clockers, busy fixing up the cliff face on their side of the No-Man's-Land with Pearl and BigB. He watches as Bdubs falls in the chicken pit for the umpteenth time. Joel snickers.

He looks up, and catches sight of Grian's expression. He stops snickering.

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

"What do you MEAN," Cleo yells, "that the clocks have stopped?" One of their arms is looped firmly around Scar's shoulders, which seems prudent given his tendency to wander off and either explode or kill whoever he bumps into. He still looks slightly singed from earlier, giving an overall impression of a puppy that cannot be left alone with electric cords.

Slumped against a rough stone wall reloading a crossbow, Joel scoffs. "What do you bloody well think it means?"

"HEY," Bdubs exclaims, "Don't talk to-" Aaand he's in the horse pit.

"It's fine Bdubs." Cleo rolls her eyes. "My fault. What I meant to ask is, why are you-" she points to Grian, who squawks, "-telling us about it? Why aren't you just fixing it?"

"Well he can't, can he?" Jimmy pipes up from his seat at the dining table. "Else he would. He's in here with us, though."

Cleo doesn't stop staring at Grian, and boy is Joel glad he's not Grian right now. Both because being himself is obviously the best option always, and because an angry Cleo is a very scary Cleo.

Reluctantly, slowly, Grian nods. "I can't fix it."

No one says anything.

The dripping from the ceiling to the floor makes Joel think someone really ought to fix up the roof. They'll have the time for it, he reckons. Then Joel remembers that the Bad Boys had, in fact, bombed the clocktower not an hour before, and decides now is really not the time to mention it.

Finally: "I really can't. It's not-" Grian sighs. "I set this thing up. It can run just fine on autopilot, pretty much. If I were on the outside as an admin-" he grimaces, "...like I should be, it wouldn't be an issue. But it's like the pilot is locked inside the bathroom while the plane-" Grian stops talking.

"Crashes? While it crashes." Cleo sounds displeased. Joel starts drafting an obituary. Bdubs has clambered up from the horse pit by now and is sitting on the edge of it, nervously messing with a janky old pocket watch.

"I would really prefer not to be stuck in an airplane bathroom forever," Scar says forlornly.

"Oh for goodness' sake," Joel says. "There has to be someone on this server who can fix this. Grian can't be the first idiot who's ever done something this stupid."

"I'll take that bet," Bdubs mutters darkly. Cleo shoots him a look, and he raises both hands and scoots forward to disappear down into the horse pit again.

Cleo pinches the bridge of their nose. "Alright, let's go find out if someone else on this server has already been a bigger idiot than Grian."

(Part 1)

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

“Just – don’t do it, Lance. I don’t want you to end up in the west wing, or things are going to get bad in here.”

If Lance is being entirely honest, he has no desire to deviate from Hunk’s directions. At least he didn’t. If Hunk hadn’t said anything, it probably wouldn’t have even occurred to Lance to go to the west wing anyway. This is the second time he has been warned away from the west wing, now. If Lance was curious before, he’s burning with it now.

But Hunk is his friend, and he’s doing him a favour, so he bites his tongue and nods his head and walks down the way Hunk instructed him too. It helps that he’s ravenous, and is more focused on food than anything. 

But he won’t lie and say that he doesn’t have to force himself away from dark hallways and beckoning shadows.

———

“Oh, Lance, hello!” Colleen greets him enthusiastically when he walks in the door. Lance wiggles his fingers at her in a small wave. “I’m glad you came out, dear. I was worried.”

“Got hungry.”

“Of course, of course. Sal, heat up the food, will you?”

The giant wood burning stove in the corner of the kitchen chugs to life, vent forming an enthusiastic grin. The sound of frying meat and salted potatoes fill the air, making Lance’s mouth water.

The kitchen is quiet at this time of night; warm. It makes him think of his Abuela, on the many nights when neither of them could sleep, guiding his hands as he kneaded dough, sliced meat, prepared vegetables. Things he can do easily, now, without thinking, in a way he has never been able to do with a plow or bailer. Things that form callouses on the tips of his fingers rather than the pad of his palm. 

He shakes his head, shoving the thoughts in the back of his mind. It doesn’t matter, now. The food is warm and smells heavenly, and more importantly, there’s no screaming fiancé to reckon with. 

He scarfs back the food so quickly his stomach aches, forgetting to be self conscious. Colleen’s laughter is only teasing, after all, and there is no one else to see it. He smiles sheepishly at her and wishes her goodnight as he finishes his third plate, watching her hop off to a cabinet. 

Slowly the lights in the kitchen fade as candles burn low and the embers of the oven start to die out, shadows shifting on the cluttered walls and full shelves. Lance picks up one of the newer candles before the kitchen goes completely dark, placing it gently in a (non-animated, thankfully) teacup to guide him down the corridors. He remembers Hunk’s instructions, pausing for a moment to flip them in his head so he won’t get lost in the wide, dark hallways – left, left, right; now left, right, right. Stick to the path. 

He walks out of the kitchen, closing the heavy door gently so as to not wake anyone. He takes his time, not quite comfortable in the dark but not quite afraid, either; his shoes, worn and thin, provide a light enough cover that he can almost feel the smooth marble floors on the soles of his feet, and his free hand traces along the wall as he walks, feeling the rough bricks and occasional soft tapestries. He keeps his candle close to his face, both to help him see and to try and soak up some of the tiny flame’s warmth. His cloak is back in the servant’s quarters – his room – and the castle is warmer than outside but barely. 

His fingers brush over a soft tapestry, threads so thin and tightly woven he can barely feel the difference between them, and then brick again, and then air. He pauses, holding his candle a little further from his eyes and squinting to make out what’s in front of him. 

Difficult to see in the low candlelight, a massive stained glass window towers in front of him. The colours are too dark to make out, but when he places the candle at the base of the window and steps back, he can see the vague shapes of a young man, tall and regal and dark-haired, holding a sword and standing in front of a castle. Below him are panels of farmland and forest, and beside him are orchards, vills, estates. Above him, to the right, is a shining sun. To the left, a crescent moon.

Left, right, right. Don’t veer off the path. 

Lance bites his lip, and follows the path of the moon.

The corridor, somehow, seems colder. As if the bricks are further away from the sun, no longer leaching the warmth collected as it was shining. The darkness seems blacker, too; heavier almost, and soon his candle burns down to the base, extinguishing, leaving him to stumble forward completely blind. He reaches out to steady himself, to trace the wall to stay on track, and has to choke back a scream when he feels a face instead of a wall, sharp teeth digging into the flesh of his palm, snarling and furious. It takes him several minutes to calm his racing heart, work up the courage to reach forward, again, touch the face, map curve of the stone jaw, curling horns, and twisted, scowling mouth. A gargoyle, although Lance has never heard of one inside before.

“Rich people are so goddamn weird,” he mutters to himself. 

Shaken but determined, he moves forward. 

As he creeps forward, more and more carvings dot the walls, each one angrier and angrier. At one point he has to pull his hand away, continuing forward on his legs alone, because he fears cutting himself on teeth that only appear to get sharper, brick that only seems to get rougher. He keeps his arms extended, moving forward slowly, cautious of what might be in front of him, too scared to stumble.

Eventually, his knuckles hit a door, the sound of the slight impact bouncing off the walls and echoing down the hallway. He flattens his hands against the grainy wood, mapping out the knots, the iron studs and hinges. He’s surprised to feel the lock pulled free. He wraps his fingers around the door handles and tugs, pulling the door open with a groan.

Moonlight spills into the hallway. It’s silvery and faint, but it’s enough that Lance can see the outline of his hands, even vaguely in front of him. He pushes the door open further, wincing at the slight creak, just wide enough for him to slip in. 

The room is…huge. And destroyed.

Inside, it’s even easier for the moonlight to lift some of the oppressive shadow. It’s not bright by any means, but the window that makes up the back wall is massive and clear, and the doors are wide open, letting the full moon spill into the crowded, dusty room. Lance steps cautiously forward, hands still extended, looking around with wide eyes. 

Broken furniture litters the floor, leaving splinters and shards of metal everywhere, casting long shadows on the wall. Lance is careful to step around it, but in his attempt to steer clear he very nearly walks into one of the many torn drapes and tapestries hanging from the walls and ceiling. He ducks at the last second, avoiding a facefull of it, but he still nudges it with his shoulder, causing a cloud of dust to fall to the floor, powdering his face and hair.

“Aw, that’s fucking disgusting,” he says, swiping it off his face and resisting the urge to throw up. He shakes out his hair, hyperconscious of how little it actually does, hoping that there is some kind of well he can find on the grounds in the morning to bathe. Or, God, maybe even a real bath! With hot water! It’s a castle, after all. There should be.

He looks again at the state of the room, with the shattered glass all over the wall and holes punched into the plaster walls. Paint is peeled or scratched off in many areas, especially where decorative fabric has been torn, or where coat racks or lampposts have fallen, scratching the walls on their way down.  On second thought, hot water baths seem too nice for this shithole.

A glint catches his eye, and he lifts his head just to find himself face to face with his own fragmented reflection, startled expression mirrored back to him, brown eyes wide and eyebrows creased. Half the glass is missing, and the rest of it is spiderwebbed, in shards. The ornate carvings of the mirror’s frame have been half-crushed, like the whole giant, floor-length thing was picked up and smashed on the floor. 

Sufficiently spooked, with his abuela’s warnings of bad luck ringing in his ears, he starts to turn away, unsure if he can be cursed if he didn’t break the damn thing but unwilling to take his chances. He's in a rough enough situation. He can’t really afford to make it worse. But as he moves forward, he catches sight of another face reflected out of the corner of his eye, and whips around to face it, hand curled protectively over his heart. 

“Oh,” he breathes, air knocked out of him, transfixed on the portrait across from him.

It’s painting, or at least, it was. Like everything else in the room it’s been destroyed, half the man’s face shredded cleanly away. Left only is the shining thickness of his dark hair, the length of his pale neck, and the perplexing, swirling indigo of his eyes. He looks hauntingly familiar, in the way a name on a tombstone brings on a shudder of vague recollection, a chill down one’s spine.

Wary and curious, Lance slowly reaches forward, pinching the corner of the ripped flap of canvas with his thumb and pointer finger, cognizant of the accumulated grime, and hesitant for a reason he doesn’t understand. Slowly he begins to flip the canvas up, running his pinkies along the rejoining seams, too dark to make out the rest of the painting quite yet but noting the strong chin, sharp jawline, regal set of the shoulders – 

A red light pulses, suddenly, nearly blinding the room, and Lance’s eyes squeeze shut on reflex, hands dropping to his sides. He turns slowly once it has faded, heart pounding, and sees to his great shock a flower, encased in glass, floating atop a small table, glowing as brightly as a ruby.

As if in a trance, he walks towards it, tripping over a table but quickly righting himself, eyes glued to the flower; noting the way it seems to rotate, almost too slowly to track, and sparkle like freshly fallen snow in early sunlight. He stops when he gets close, admiring it in almost a single-minded focus; the deep, dark green of the stem, the sharp thorns in great number along it, and the softly glowing pinkish-red of the three triangular petals. Lance has seen nothing like it before, not in his sister’s garden, not sold in the town square, not even wild. The flower is enchanting, and Lance is reaching out before he can stop himself, pressing careful hands to the glass and lifting it quickly, setting it on the floor and standing again as fast as he can manage, unwilling to take his eyes off the flower for even a second.

He’s nervous, now, as the flower lays without barrier, brighter and softer alike in the cool air and silver moonlight. His reach to touch it is slow, almost as if he must caress the air around it first, single finger poised to rest gently on the widest petal.

A shadow suddenly dwarfs him. He rips back his hand at light speed, but it’s too late, and Prince Keith snarls at him, teeth bared and mouth twisted and far more horrifying than any gargoyle.

He says nothing for a moment. Condensation huffs out of him in a cloud in the cold night, enveloping his head like a halo of smoke. In the next second he’s leaping forward and Lance doesn’t have time to move, doesn’t even have time to pray, can only let out a strangle shout and sharp inhale. 

But Keith does not claw him to death, or sink his teeth into Lance’s heart. He only slams the glass case back over the flower, wrapping himself around it almost protectively, mouth still twisted and eyes still angry and cold.

“Why did you come here,” he hisses, stalking towards him, matching every step Lance takes backward. His claws scratch on the floor with every step. 

Lance says nothing.

“What about this place seemed inviting to you?” Keith’s voice is low, carefully controlled. With every word Lance’s heart lurches, and with every step his lungs get tighter and tighter. “What about the darkness and closed door made you feel you had the right to enter?”

There’s no overt animosity to his tone, no animation. His voice is flat; deadly. This is not some kind of banter; there is no upper hand for Lance to gain. This conversation doesn’t need him at all. 

This is a cornering. A final toying with a trapped animal.

“It’s only a flower,” Lance manages, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Keith roars, a hundred times louder than before, shaking the very ground with the force of it. There is nothing human or humane about it. 

“Do you realise what you could have done?!” he shouts, so mounstrous it reverberates in Lance’s bones. He slashes wildly, splitting an already broken chair in two, flinging the halves at the wall.

Lance presses himself against the wall, as far away from him as he can manage, breath coming in short pants. “I didn’t mean –”

“Get out!” Keith booms, and Lance doesn’t waste a second.

He turns around, and he flees.

— — —

next chapter

[compact-turtle]

How would Atticus be like with a Mexican reader?? I just wanna call him, “mi amor, guapito, hermoso, mi corazón” !!! All the cute names. Teaching him Spanish, how to dance, cook, and usual customs.

It would be super cute just him asking what does the name ur calling him by mean and u say some lovey dovey shit. Also the fact that we kiss on the cheek for greetings. *gasps* or how he is pretty isolated so he’s either gonna have to get comefortable with random family pulling up or reader giving him an ARMY of kids. Just so that they don’t get lonely cuz family is hella important!

"Mi amor, where's the salt? I can't find it" You called from the kitchen, "I need it to finish making dinner."

"Reckon I saw it sitting in the spice drawer."

-Atticus strolls into the kitchen. He notices you standing near the counter looking for the salt. Quickly, Atticus rummages through the nearby spice cabinet. Without missing a beat, the salt is located. He slips the salt into your hands.

-You thank him then continue cooking. For a few minutes, Atticus just continues to watch you cook. The smell lingers in his nose and his mouth began to salivate.

-A small sense of curiosity began to bloom inside him. Multiple times, he remembered that you would call him mi armor. He couldn't figure out what it meant. Were you unhappy with him? Is this why you called him that?

"What'd ya call me earlier, Doll? Me a-more?" Atticus asked.

"Its mi amor, Atticus. It just means my love in Spanish."

"Hm."

-Atticus comes up behind you. His arms slither around your waist. Slowly, small kisses are littered all over your face. Your nose, cheek and forehead are all claimed by his lips. Not a single inch is spared.

-You laugh as he buries his face in your neck. His warm breath tickles your neck. As you try to squirm out of his hold, Atticus tightens his arms around your waist.

"Let go now. I haven't finished." You say as you playfully pushed his arms away.

"No."

----

-He would love pet names in a different language. It makes him feel so happy that you thought of him. He'd try to learn Spanish to give you one as well. (Honestly would probably butcher it and give you something that sounds funky. You'd totally have to correct him and teach him what it really means).

-Would eat up telenovelas and get super invested in them. At the end of the day, he would pull you into his lap and you would watch it with him. Theorizes about future plot points and characters with you.

-Struggles to make food with you. He can only cook an omelet, oatmeal and potatoes. However, Atticus really enjoys your cooking. He finished it every time and always asks for more.

-Super lost when it comes to your culture. However, he understands with time. You just have to be patient and explain it to him slowly. Would enjoy participating in it with you. sees himself as special since you took the time to integrate him into your culture.

-----

-At first, he wouldn't like being around someone else's family too much. It gives him anxiety because it reminds him of his own messed up family dynamic with his parents.

Also, having to many people around. He's not used to it. Eventually, he'd come around after repeated exposure. Even grows on the children in the family. Comes to learn that not every family dynamic is abusive or hurtful.

-Would be super nervous to have his own kids. A little afraid that he might turn out like his father BUT knows better. He's a bit strict with them since he wants them to learn discipline. However, reminds them about how much he loves them through his actions. (Ex: taking them on special bonding trips)

-Absolutely adores when you're pregnant. Gives your stomach little kisses and wants to listen to the baby. Tries to cook all your pregnancy cravings (fails but A for effort) Messages your feet and back.

-Refuses sex. He's really afraid it'll hurt the baby somehow. Only does it when you coax him into it. Very gentle and constantly asks for reassurance.

----

[starrclownshazbinblog]

Why do Angel and Alastor hate each other? Probably partially due to Husk but there has to be more too it than that right?

I am SO glad someone asked this. Prepare yourself yall cause this will be LONG.

When it comes to Angel and Alastor, it's a one sided relationship. Angel doesn't hate Alastor. He finds him entertaining actually. All the hatred and pettiness is on Alastors side. Alastor DESPISES Angel. Absolutely hates the man. Why he hates him so much is a multitude of reasons.

☆Power and Posture★

Alastor has a ego but he knows he's not the most powerful of the overlords. Yes he's absolutely one of the stronger ones but he knows he's not unstoppable. Angel is what levels him. Angel is scarily strong when it comes to overlords. Having exterminator weapons along with raw power is a scary combination. Angel is a force not to be reckoned with. Alastor knows this and it bothers him. He knows that Angel, besides Charlie, is someone that can push back on Alastor's behavior. Alastor is a bully but Angel isn't afraid to fight back.

Angel's physical stature is also something that bothers Alastor. Alastor knows that physically, without his power, isn't something people are intimated by. He's super skinny and he's tall. You could snap his body like a twig. Angel isn't like Alastor. Angel is twice Alastor's size. Angel has a body builder like build. Angel is physically more intimidating and both know it. Angel doesn't hide his physical dominance from Alastor either. If Alastor is bothering someone too much for Angel's liking then Angel will lift Alastor like a sack of potatoes. If Alastor tries to get in Angel's face then Angel leans over Alastor, staring down at him. Angel is a physical force that can and will if necessary crush Alastor. It's humiliating. Alastor hates this.

☆People person★

Angel is a people person. He goes a little mad when he can't talk with someone. He's smooth, he's charismatic, he's good with everybody. Angel is everything Alastor wants to be with people. Alastor is good with people to a extent. He can come off as pushy and clingy if he likes you well enough. This plus Alastor as a whole usually freaks people out. Alastor scares people away, Angel draws them in. Like a spider to its web. All the people Alastor knows, Angel ruins it for him somehow. Mimzy, his secret crush has know Angel for longer. They're closer. Charlie. Alastor was the first to offer his help. But no, Charlie decided that the death overlord would be the better pick. Is Alastor not good enough? Valerie is someone be can teach and influence. No. Angel teaches her to fight. Angel teaches her to talk again. Disgusting. Nifty, his sweet, darling Nifty. The only child Alastor would ever call his own. Angel swoops in and suddenly Nifty wants a new dad. How could he?? Is Alastor being Nifty's mentor not good enough? What's so special about Angel? Husk. His only friend honestly. He's harsh on him, he understands that. He needs to be better, he knows this. But Husk sticks it out with him. Angel can't ruin this for him. Then Angel seduces Husk. How?? Husk is the most closed off person Alastor has ever known. How did Angel break open his shell??? Why does Angel understand Husk better than Alastor does?? Alastor doesn't know. He knows that he despises it though. Despised Angel. It's all Angel's fault.

☆How can we trust him★

Now Alastor won't say he's trustworthy. He's caniving, shifty, and untrustworthy. But he's upfront. He shows you all his cards before he even plays the game. Angel doesn't. Angel hides his cards under the table. How can we be sure he's trustworthy. No one ever sees him. Why is Mimzy so sure he's a good man. How is Charlie sure Angel wants to get to Heaven? How is Valerie sure Angel won't be too rough with her? How is Nifty sure Angel even likes her, let alone see her as a surrogate daughter. How is Husk sure that Angel isn't like other men, that Angel won't break his heart?

Why is everyone looking behind their shoulder at Alstor but looking forward at Angel?

Alastor doesn't know. But he knows he hates it. He hates this feeling. He hates how no one bat's a eye.

He hates Angel.

Sorry if this is poorly written. I tried to give the best explanation for Alastor's hatred. Alastor is a character I feel like I'm neglecting so I'm trying to give him more characterization and personality. I really want his envy and jealousy to shine through.

Hope you guys enjoyed this! I prefer questions about the rewrite over fact questions anyway. This was fun!!

Asks are always open, art is always here, drink water, eat crackers.

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

[bluegekk0]

What would everyone's favorite soup be?

i haven't thought about hallownest cuisine so i'm going to go with modern/real life soups

fpk - either krupnik (a polish soup with meat, potatoes and barley groats, very good) or bean soup. they both have meat so naturally he's a big fan, but the other ingredients are also very much to his taste

grimm - i think he'd enjoy tomato basil soup the most. perhaps served with some garlic breadsticks? he may basically be a vampire but garlic doesn't affect him negatively in any way, so he can enjoy it with his soup

hornet - i feel like she would be a fan of ramen. maybe ramen with chicken? yeah, i think she'd like that

holly - chicken noodle soup sounds like something they'd enjoy. i'm not sure how they would slurp the noodles without a mouth but hey i'm sure they'd figure it out

zote - since he's a vegetarian/herbivore, i reckon he'd go for something like a vegetable barley soup

lewk - hmm, maybe hamburger soup with macaroni? or with alphabet noodles? i think he'd find that very fun haha

[littlehen]

Recipe: Butternut Squash Macaroni Cheese

This is based on a recipe for Brown Butter Sage Butternut Squash Mac & Cheese, by Palestinian home cook Mariam (aka Mxriyum):

I saw it on soothifying-sounds-asmr tumblr: link

Mariam's website with the written recipe: link

Having tried it, it was delicious! These are just my notes on how I would make it next time. The quantities were for 8 servings, in imperial measurements. I cross-checked with a very similar Nigella sweet potato mac & cheese (link) that I love, to create metric quantities for 4 servings.

Shopping List:

300g dry pasta - rigatoni, but I'd like to try it with a little shape like spiralli next time 60g butter Fresh sage, handful - didn't have fresh, so I used 1/2 tsp dried 400ml warm water - could add a little stock/bouillon/dashi

500g butternut squash (1 small squash) 1 garlic bulb 1 onion Olive oil, S&P, 1 tsp oregano I also added some brown sugar

60g grated mild cheddar 60g grated gouda/emmental 75g parmesan or feta (Plus another 25g of your favourite cheese to sprinkle on top)

Greens to serve (e.g. tenderstem broccoli)

Method:

1. Make the vegetable puree. You could do it in advance, either in the morning or the day before.

Pre-heat oven to Gas 6. On a baking sheet, lay out the vegetables. Squash: I sliced it in halves like in the video, but I think it'd cook more evenly (be softer, easier to mash) if chopped into big chunks. Onion: quartered. Both vegetables should be drizzled with olive oil, S&P, oregano - I also sprinkled some fine brown sugar because the recipe mentioned caramelisation, and I thought sugar might help with that.

Garlic bulb: slice off the top, so the tops of the cloves are exposed. Rub with oil and S&P, then enclose in a square of tinfoil.

Roast the veg for 35-40 mins. When ready, let it cool for 5-10 mins.

Blend all the veg, add splashes of warm water as needed, may need to do in batches.

You can now store the vegetable puree in the fridge until later.

The recipe emphasises saving the pasta water, but this means you can't make the puree until you've cooked the pasta, i.e. you have to do this complex and lengthy recipe all in one session. The only reason to use pasta water is because it contains starch that would thicken the sauce - I reckon the squash already has plenty of starch, and the liquid's purpose is to loosen, not thicken the puree. Therefore I think a jug of warm water would be fine here. You could flavour it with bouillon/dashi, but the veg is already so flavoursome after roasting, it doesn't need it. (If concerned about thickening, just use a little slurry of cornstarch or flour.)

Along with the salted pasta water, the recipe suggests onion powder and garlic powder. Again, if you've roasted an entire bulb of garlic, I'm not sure what garlic powder is adding? Plus, those powders usually contain salt - to reduce salt and keep it simple, I omitted those.

2. Grate all your cheese.

(I bought it ready-grated because I have weak wrists and I hate grating, lol.) Buying more than one kind of cheese is expensive, this would still be delicious with 120g of cheddar, but the Continental cheese adds a fun stretchy texture. The recipe also calls for a lot of parmesan (originally 4 oz / 113g for serving 8). I had some parmesan to use up, so I did use it, but parmesan is salty and expensive! The Nigella recipe uses feta, I think this would be an acceptable substitute, as it adds flavour but is cheaper.

3. Cook the pasta until al dente (1 or 2 minutes less than the cooking time on the packet).

Meanwhile, melt the butter over a medium heat in a light-coloured pan, so you can see when it's browning. When it starts foaming, add the sage. When the butter starts to get brown particles in it, remove to a heatproof container.

Strain the pasta, then add it back into the empty pasta cooking pot. Toss in the brown butter.

(Less washing up this way! Also: the brown butter certainly adds a lot of flavour, however you could do the whole recipe and skip the brown butter and it would still be a very tasty meal. Dairy products in the UK currently cost a small fortune, plus there are the calories - but then if you're worried about those, you probably should make a different dinner.)

4. In a large cooking pot, warm up the vegetable puree and simmer on low. Slowly add the cheese, and splashes of warm water as needed (pasta water here?) Taste and salt as needed.

5. (Step 4 is also a good time to start cooking your side dish of broccoli.)

6. Add the buttery pasta to the puree/sauce. Mix all together. Simmer 1 min.

7. Serve with leftover cheese on top, sage to garnish, broccoli on the side.

[shitty-fallout-art]

What do you reckon a tato tastes and feels like? Raw potato is horrible but cooked is great, while tomato works either way.

tbh I forgot for a minute that tatos were a cross between tomatos and potatos. The wiki says they taste gross but like any vegtable i'm sure theres a way to make them taste nice, the problem probably lies in the texture. Potatos are meant to be firm and starchy, but tatos I imagine are probably too mushy on the inside but not in the way a tomato is. I think they taste like rotten potatos

[magic-hcs]

I 100% believe Charon would give Red away for 2 cents and a moldy peanut, you can't change my mind.

-🍄

*me vibrating cuz I get to infodump a bit of lore of my boys*

That means that Red’s and Charon’s little charade has worked! You see, Charon and Red care a great deal about one another, they’re each other’s last remaining family.

Red has risked so much with his illegal trap and machine repairing services to keep both himself and Charon safe, fed and sheltered. Having to constantly relocate, sneak around and be suspicious of everything and everyone he bordered on getting a burnout so bad there was almost no point of return.

Charon has struggled, fought and forced himself to become strong and harsh enough to survive and rise up as captain of the Royal guard. Stomping down and hiding his kind self in the deepest corner of his being to seem like an soulless force to be reckoned with. Just so he could step up and be the protector of the two of them. To make sure Red won’t have to risk himself getting either dusted by an unsatisfied customer or worse, captured by the Royal guard and most possibly tortured by the crazed king himself. (Or forced to be a scientist like their deceased older brother had been)

Out in the open, Charon complains and scolds and pushes Red around as if he’s just a nuisance he can’t wait to drop. Out in the open, Red acts as if he’s intimidated by his brother, acting like a lackey that doesn’t bother to even try.

But this act they keep up is the farthest from the truth. The two brothers are protective over and care about each other. Yes they are rough around the edges and quite stubborn and hotheaded. But if you look a bit closer, look a bit deeper than the surface level, you’ll see Charon nag his brother to train more, to get stronger, you’ll see Charon force Red to nap as he seemingly roughly - yet carefully without any discomfort on Red’s side - grabs Red by the collar or hood of his jacket and hoist him like sack of potatoes and walks home ‘grumbling’ and ‘complaining’ about how ‘incompetent’ his brother is.

If you look a bit closer, and deeper beyond the surface level, you’ll see Red whip up some waffles for Charon which he places in front of his brother’s door when he knows Charon had a rough day. You’ll see that the heated argument between Red and Charon is actually about Red wanting Charon to not take all the weight and load on his shoulders, to for once think about himself and not about the monsters he dusted who Charon has yet spread their dust out in the places they wanted their last resting place to be.

These two boys care and love each other a great deal, they are each other’s anchor and they may act like they hate each other with a passion rivaling the sun, but that’s just all an act to ensure that other monsters don’t see their brother as a way to get to them.

*ahem ahem* I went a bit overboard with lore dumping but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity ghcdhbscb, I hope you don’t mind 🍄 anon

[freakingoutthesquares]

The Think Tank: Russell Senior Words: Pat Reid, Photographer: Retna Taken from Select Magazine, October 1996 Transcription: Acrylic Afternoons

Pulp's fiddle maestro Russell Senior dispenses earthy wisdom on Lovejoy, pastry dishes, Tony Blair and Cinzano.

Which are worse - pigeons or rats? I'd say rats. Pigeons wouldn't survive a nuclear holocaust, and rats would. I think that's got to be against rats really.

What's your favourite haircut? I always think Stuart from Menswear's hair looks very nice, a kind of centre parting that doesn't make him look like a swot.

What's your favourite non-UK country in the world? I like Italy very much and I found Iceland a place I'd like to go back to. Apart from that, you can stuff it really... In America the generosity of spirit is totally genuine, they do want you to have a nice day, they really do. And anyone who's got a little cafe, they want it to be the best cafe and they want you to enjoy it. And you don't get that on the M1 at all.

What is the secret of being really well dressed? Go to a lot of jumble sales. This suit was made by a tailor in Sheffield called Ashley Rogers. I think the London East End gangs used to go up there to get their suits made in the '60s. He effs and blinds, makes a chalk mark on you, swears, drops his fag, and goes and does it. I'd formerly never paid more than £10 for a suit. This one was the princely sum of £250.

Is there any cause that you would be prepared to die for? No. Other than rescuing my loved ones from a bad fate. I have in the past been involved in left-wing things and put myself in mild amounts of danger, but I'd never be the one at the front of the picket line. I'd always be three or four rows back, pushing.

If you could invent a new recreational drug what would it be like? It would put you in the frame of mind that you're in just as a thunderstorm breaks, when the electrons in the air dissipate and you get that unaccountable euphoric feeling.

What do you reckon to Lovejoy? Is antiques dealing really like that? Not in the slightest. He trolls about in his aimless fashion and 17th century bronzes and ancient manuscripts just happen to turn up on his doorstep. Most antique dealers basically buy junk for £10 and sell it for £20. My specialist field was glassware, which is hard to provenance because it doesn't have marks. That stuff is rare and valuable cos there isn't much of it. There's lots of great things that aren't worth a lot of money, like potatoes. If potatoes were rare they'd be worth a fortune, cos they're delicious.

Which is better - rock music or dance music? I'm not a massive fan of either, I prefer pop music. I used to be a rocker, I still like Motorhead, actually. I don't like dance music particularly, cos I find it difficult to dance to. I don't claim any knowledge on the subject.

If you had to do national service, which regiment would you choose to serve in? It'd have to be the SAS, because apparently they get shaved every morning no matter where they are.

If you had to give up your life and go and live in a novel or film, which one would it be? Film: probably La Dolce Vita. Novel: Possession by AS Byatt. It's about these two researchers, a bloke researching a nineteenth century male writer and a woman researching a nineteenth century female writer. They don't like each other's authors very much, but they uncover letters that show the two writers were lovers. As you might guess, the two researchers end up being drawn to each other's writer and therefore to each other. Rather like the owners of the dogs in 101 Dalmatians. I didn't know it was a 'post-feminist novel', or I certainly wouldn't have read it.

Is Tony Blair selling out the Labour Party? Well, he does have the distinction of being the first Labour leader to have sold out before getting in office, so he might be a total subversive like the Tory posters make out. God, those posters are so racist. This sinister black figure with red eyes, behind a red curtain. I think they're definitely trying to play a subliminal race thing. I wish Labour were as the Tories portray them to be - I'd probably vote for them. I'm more of a Scargillite. I didn't vote for Kinnock because he was too right-wing.

What do you make of the new Suede album? Haven't heard it. I think Bernard was a hard act to follow. They were just so hot, and now they don't seem to fit into the lineage and canopy of 'britpop' that's been defined. It seems like it could have all been there without Suede. I thought their singles were great. I remember thinking at the time that they were better than ours. I didn't think their albums were as good as ours, though.

Going to Knebworth? I'm not, no. I just fancy a night out in London. I haven't been for ages. It's the most exciting city on earth, everybody you meet around the world wants to live in London, and Londoners say 'It's so boring'...

Who are your violin-playing role models? I'd be hard put to emulate even the worst busker. I don't like Nigel Kennedy's playing very much. I like classical music as it's habitually performed, I don't like all that extra fortissimo.

Say something in a foreign language. "L'erba dell baccino e siempre piu verde." The other man's grass is always greener. It's from an Italian version of the Furry Freak Brothers comic.

It's the night before the Warrington gig and you've got 'gout'. Who do you nominate as your replacement? Anybody who could play the guitar and the violin to the standard of the average 15 year old. Someone able to master the rudiments of the notes, the squeakiness of the noises and the random element.

If pop music was made illegal tomorrow, what career would you pursue? There's a number of possibilities. One is being an inventor; I do invent things. Just domestic appliances, little gadgets to amuse myself, like a new kind of pastry dish. I do like to think that at some point in my life I will (a) write a novel, (b) do some inventions, and (c) open a restaurant.

Do you know anyone who's had cosmetic surgery? Me. False teeth. Three front ones. I lost the originals on a piece of wholegrain bread. Apparently, after assault, the second biggest cause of tooth loss is wholegrain bread.

What's the most erotic moment you've ever seen in a film? A film called The Beast by Walerian Borowczek, I remember that being quite saucy at the time. It was the less explicit things that were the most erotic, the heaviness of these oak-panelled rooms, it might have been Bach playing... I don't find squalor erotic. I know it's a Pulp thing and I recognise the truth of Jarvis' lyrics, but I like sophistication, Cinzano, these kinds of things..."

[haroldgross]

New Post has been published on Harold Gross: The 5a.m. Critic

New Post has been published on https://literaryends.com/hgblog/mission-impossible-dead-reckoning-part-one/

Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One

[3 stars]

While this boasts some of the biggest and most unrelenting action of the MI franchise it also, surprisingly, has the second weakest script of the series so far (only topped by MI 2). And I say “surprisingly” because it was another co-written and directed by Christopher McQuarrie (Top Gun: Maverick).

This latest installment… or should I say down-payment given the nature of the two-part tale… isn’t bad. In fact it has a thrill a minute and was quite prescient about the world. It was already in the can  just months ahead of ChatGPT becoming the seismic market and political hot potato that continues to rock the world.  In fact, it would have preceded it if it had hit theaters as planned before the pandemic. However, that also means they spend a great deal of time explaining things that, now, everyone knows and thinks they understand. It makes the movie a bit exposition heavy, to be sure.

But all that aside, the truth is that MI has been getting steadily darker for the last few movies. Much like Bond, the man at the center of the stories is getting worn down and losing those around him. The humor has drained out of the stories and the reality of the fight has taken over, for better and worse. It has made the stories more realistic, but it has also leeched out much of the respite and joy that made them triumphant at the end. It is feeling a lot more like No Time to Die than, say, Octopussy.

Some of the humor gap was due to the lack of screen time for Simon Pegg (Luck) and Ving Rhames (Wendell & Wild), who have both been support, brains, and comic relief for the series. Rebecca Ferguson (Silo) had more humor, or at least light-hearted interaction with Tom Cruise (Top Gun: Maverick) than either of the two making for an odd rhythm. And Haley Atwell (Christopher Robin), who finally got the spy-ish role she has deserved, likewise carried that aspect of the story.

The women, interestingly, are the real center of movie, holding it all up. Even Pom Klementieff (Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, Thunder Force), with a smaller role, added significantly to that aspect.

But our big bads were an odd mix. Esai Morales was very effective as the cold representative of destruction. But Vanessa Kirby ( Hobbs & Shaw) reprising her role was a bit more confused and unfocused. Perhaps we’ll get more in part 2 of the story to understand her conflicts? And even the “good” side of the equation, read Cruises’ own folks, were less than crisp in their actions and motivations. Shea Whigham (Vice) clearly has a personal beef that isn’t yet revealed. And Cary Elwes (We Don’t Belong Here) was, well almost laughable in his role as Director. How much of this came down to late editing of stories versus just weak directing on McQuarrie’s part is hard to pull apart, but some of it lands at his feet to be sure.

Ultimately, this is a great ride with a lot of open questions and wounds to be resolved in the second film. Did it need to be two films? Probably not. One 3 hour installment probably could have done it by trimming several of the many, many, many chase scenes and several discussions. But I am willing to reassess when I see the true ending of a clever saga. So do see this if you like the MI universe, but know that you’re not going to feel sated at the end, only primed for the next sitting.

Where to watch

[anemcia]

The palpable ebb and flow of Goku's ki did not go unnoticed by either of them, with the farmer feeling particularly nauseated by the looming threat of annihilation as their guest took his first steps into the home. Admittedly, Cell had instilled a similar fear in her multiple times before, but never quite like this. It's a lot like break dancing for your life while balancing glass plates with your hands and feet-- a near-impossible task she's been forcibly assigned.

Despite the circumstances, she could already see that Cell was beginning to formulate a series of replies, evident from his aggressive scowl. Once again, she had to pull the bio-android aside... However, this time Honey opted for a gentler, more considerate approach to avoid incurring his full wrath. Wordlessly, her desperate gaze pleaded for his cooperation, promising to make things right with an assuring squeeze of his hand. It wasn't much, but it was all she had to give.

His wings twitched, tense from the sudden gesture, ready to jerk his hand away from hers. However, he froze just long enough for the farmer to release him on her own terms. Cell wrestled with his conflicting emotions, debating whether to heed her prayer or succumb to his rising rage. His eyes narrowed against Goku's obsidian glare, disturbed by their power disparity but equally determined to defy the odds. Just as his lips began to form words, the aroma of savory food caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see she had already started frying tender steaks, slowly, grudgingly, resigning himself into one of the kitchen chairs. This better be worth the damn trouble, he thought.

She quickly plated the meal on a glass dish, working with urgency to avoid the monolithic burden of explaining their situation without either monster losing their cool. She set the table rhythmically: knife, fork, glasses of water, a pitcher, and the dinner. Generous heaps of meat, seared with vegetables and potatoes, complemented with a fried egg on top. Even if someone was upset, this would be enough to pause any anger... At least, she hoped it would.

"...Eat." She insists, as if words were beginning to fail her in that moment. Not a good sign, but she is quick to recover once she finally chugs an entire glass of water. It spills past her jaw as she struggles, slapping the glass against the table, and proceeds to pour yet another glass... This temporarily distracts Cell, who silently reels from the second-hand embarrassment of Honey's antics. His fuschia glare was like daggers, silently and violently suggesting she get on with it. Message received...

"Where to begin," Honeydew exhaled, fingers wrapped firmly against her drink. "...He just washed up on the shore one day, completely unconscious. There was a big storm just the night before, and I would reckon he'd been lost at sea for days. When he came to, Cell couldn't remember a thing past his name. I couldn't just leave em' there-- it wouldn't have been right. I knew what I was bringing here, and I... Can't say I regret that decision. It's taken a while to recall some memories and gather his bearings, but in between that time, we train. I'm actually learnin' a lot from Slick, but I also have my own agenda to settle with him. It's a long story and I don't feel inclined to share those details."

"...But I need ya to understand that we're not doin' anything to anyone, alright? He doesn't remember you the way you remember him. It's complicated, but it's the truth."

He stares down Cell, tail lashing behind him. He wonders if the added bonus of it would cause things to be different, the other wouldn't expect another limb amongst his already existing attacks and his combat style had changed for something far more adaptive than back then. Mixing multiple martial arts in when they were needed. The ground threatening to crack as his ki momentarily bolsters from his sheer rage, wanting to overpower the bio-android. To put him in his place especially as he continues to banter with the woman. A hand slowly raising, a focus point of ki taking shape as he aims to above her, aiming right towards the other with a death glare paired with it. Memories striking hot at the iron of his mind, a scenario where he'd once done the same thing to a certain kai. Fangs still showing with his gritted teeth.

It hasn't dissipated either when she suddenly takes him completely off guard, asking him to stay for dinner and better explain the situation. However, something does snap at him from amongst their banter, Cell doesn't recognize him, not his name either. Something sparks in his mind with realization, either this was some type of time flux or his second greatest enemy had some memories missing. Not uncommon with those who'd survived death encounters or...been brought back. The notion leaves disgust boiling in his body.

He begrudgingly follows, hair spiking up into the super saiyan state at times but never crossing the line into the brilliant gold. Fixing his gaze onto the other once more before he speaks, firmly, a growl resting in the back of his throat. "I hit you with barely a hint of my full power. Either shut up and let her try to convince me or face oblivion. Choose wisely." He hisses through gritted teeth before following, closing the door behind him as he makes sure to be behind them both. His arms are folded over his chest, otherwise they'd constantly be twitching at the sides of his body, itching to rip the bio-android only a few feet away into nothing but tiny pieces.

[that-headcanon-girl]

dating bucky barnes and sam wilson would include....

A/N: this is probably the longest headcanon I ever wrote lmao. anyways, enjoy!

first off, let me say, being in a relationship with them is always a rollercoaster.

whether it's going on a mission and not knowing if everyone of y'all is going to survive or shopping groceries with them and fighting over what you should eat for dinner

you love watching soap operas with them every night

and discussing the last episode you watched  next morning at the breakfast table

"Why did Geraldine hook up with Paul though?"

"No, the real question is WHY would Paul do that to Emma?!"

you're invested

calling them "the boys" whenever you're talking about them to other people

"Yeah, the boys and I watched soap operas all night..."

"The boys forgot to buy potatoes again..."

them telling you to stop calling them that

when you ask why, they say they're your boyfriends and they want to be perceived as such and not just as some random boys in your life

So you start calling them "the boyfriends" and they love it

they're very protective of you

whenever you go on missions they always worry so much

they don't want you to get hurt

they would rather have you working a safer job, like idk teacher or something

but you argue with them that teachers are not that safe either bc of school shootings

and you're needed at your current job

when you do get hurt really badly one day they get very mad

all hell breaks loose

whoever did that is certainly gonna pay for it

After missions you usually go and get hotdogs

It's like a tradition almost

most of the time, you talk about how your little adventure went and discuss your every move, giving tips on how to do better next time

it really helps

but when y'all are not in the mood, you just sit there, eating quietly

It's really peaceful

when bucky has nightmares again and can't sleep you go for late night drives

one of you gets the fast food

the other one gets the music

and you drive around the city

you and bucky in the back seats, wrapped in blankets, looking out the mirror

and Sam in the driver's seat

after 30 minutes, bucky's usually asleep again

you and sam love to cook together

Sam learned it from his sister and you learned it from your momma

let's just say together you're a force to be reckoned with

You make the most delicious Christmas dinner and the most delicious creme brûlée and the most delicious pancakes

Bucky is so lucky to have you because that boy can't cook at all

he's always bragging to the other Avengers about the delicious food you make and how good you can cook

whenever you meet new people, you're usually inviting them over to your apartment and you and Sam cook

Bucky loves you and Sam very much

One time he overheard one of the avengers making a not so nice joke about the two of you and he was like

"Excuse me?! That's the loves of my life and my emotional support persons you're talking about"

He kicked their asses

Bucky is probably the most protective one

he's always scared he'll lose you and Sam

gets jealous pretty easily

he can be clingy, but that mostly happens at home

he's afraid to show his soft side outside of your apartment

he loves holding you

Mostly little spoon with Sam and big spoon with you

They love saying "that's my girl" or "atta girl" to you

especially when you're in the middle of a fight and you just killed that ugly alien or you saved Bucky from being kidnapped or you knocked that really tall and strong guy out

you pretend to find it annoying but you secretly love it

but since you're not an unattractive woman, "that's my girl" can quickly turn into "hey, that's my girl"

Of course Bucky and Sam hate that every damn guy in the world is drooling over you but I mean, what can ya do you're just that hot

sometimes they're like "wow you look stunning in that dress but let's just stay home because we want you only for ourselves"

But you ain't having it so you always end up going to that party

So, fights

fights can be really intense

especially with bucky

I mean, that dude is/was a frickin supersoldier

lots of shouting

It can get pretty ugly

and Bucky never hesitates to do his death stare

lots and lots of them trying to prove their masculinity to each other

bucky is a little drama queen so he's gonna be pouting for hours after a fight

It annoys Sam

Bucky shouting at you and Sam

and feeling like crap after doing so

He never means to lose his temper, he just can't help it

One time he threw a vase and one of the pieces gave you a big cut on your cheek

he hid in his room for several days because he wasn't able to face you

He felt so bad, he couldn't believe how he could ever hurt you, his princess, his angel

Everytime he sees the scar you still have on your cheek he wants to beat himself up

You try to reassure him of course, that you know he never meant to hurt you and that you know he loves you

and god forbid you cry during a fight

then it's done, it's over

they cannot stand to see you cry

especially because you don't cry a lot, so they know it's really bad when you do

same for bucky and Sam ofc

After a fight, y'all buy flowers for each other and it's all good

Y'all can never stay mad for too long

Y'all love each other too much

Okay, but teasing

So much teasing

It's not even sexual

just straight up making fun of each other

you love insulting each other, kind of roasting the other person

But no one

Literally no one, except you three,

is allowed to make fun of you

One time Tony made a bad joke about Sam (like not funny, if it's funny it's alright) and bucky and you went ballistic on him

Sam had to hold both of you back

They know now it's not good to mess with y'all

I swear to God, you have so many insiders

You can't count them on both hands

sometimes you're just sitting with the other Avengers and one of you'll say "do you remember that one time...?" and literally not say anything else and crack up laughing

the other Avengers are literally so annoyed with you three

especially Tony

like you're so annoying

1. because you're such a perfect couple

2. you constantly bicker

3. you're very sarcastic

probably the most sarcastic couple to exist on earth

sleeping together in one big bed

bucky : next to the door so he can kill everything that tries to walk in

you: in the middle

sam: next to the window because he gets hot pretty quickly

You don't use pet names like "sweetheart" or "darling" or "babe"

you think it's weird and it feels unnatural

either you call yourselves by your real names or "insult-names"

like "weirdo", "dipshit", "asshole", "stupid", "fool", "bonehead", "creep"

you don't use them as insults though, well, mostly

you call each other these names like everyday, you use them like pet names, always a smile on your faces when saying them

in conclusion, cutest throuple in the world

[xhanisai]

Les pommes de terre et la Buguinette

AO3 / FFN

Pairing - Ladynoir + Adrinette

Summary -

"That's it!"

She may be oh-so-tiny...mais, mon Dieu, she was also a huge force to be reckoned with.

"Screw our secret identities. I'm taking you to my house right now right this second and you're gonna eat the best damn potatoes you ever had." She admonished confidently, leaving no room for arguments or even a semblance of common sense, hauling his boyish body over one of her tiny shoulders and swinging away (blind to the way his eyes were wider than an owl's in both shock and elation of them finally, finally unmasking).

.

'All this over potatoes!?'

~(x)~ . . . "What do you mean you don't like potatoes that much?" Ladybug's big blue eyes practically bugged out of her sockets (no pun intended), her jaw fallen into an astonished yet comical gape and her face super close to her partner who internally sweatdropped from the sudden proximity (not that he minded seeing her super pretty face up close at all). Tilting his head cutely to the side, he attempted to explain himself better, still pondering over her extreme reaction to what he originally thought was just a mundane opinion for idle chatter.

"I'm not saying I hate it. I'm just not crazy about it either...it's just...c'est juste un légume, non?" He winced when his Lady let out an unholy screech that sounded like a dying banshee, sensitive faux ears plastered to his hair from the verbal assault and brows raised under his dark mask. He knew his Lady could be super passionate and vocally strong when it comes to what she loves and protects, fiery debates and ranting about injustices and so on. . He just didn't ever expect that his nonchalant feelings about some measly potatoes would arouse such blazing fire within her beautiful blue eyes as if he just claimed that the Jagged Stone wishes he was as amazing as the talentless XY or that the moon landing is a mere conspiracy theory to make America look good. "I knew you were a bit sheltered and naive with the bits and pieces that you shared about yourself with me, but I didn't think that you were this bad to the point of having...having wrong opinions!?" She was back to pulling on her hair with an intensity that worried her partner, the boy reaching forward with his arms with the intention to grasp her hands away from the poor midnight strands. Thankfully, her hands went to squish her face with frustrated groans seeping out of her mouth and her mind still scrambled from his supposed ridiculous thoughts regarding the despicable potatoes. Chat Noir couldn't help but scowl, wondering whether his taste buds really were quite insane or if his Lady was overreacting (which was more common than one would think). His mind wandered back to all his very lonely and very tasteless meals that featured les pommes de terre. Either boiled with little to no salt with a measly leaf of parsley as a garnish, mashed with a texture so dry that he has to drink at least five glasses of water to get it down his throat or roasted to the point where his teeth have trouble sinking in through the tough skin and all that he could taste was bitter smoke. Even the occasional crisps that his wonderful best friend Nino shared with him at le collège didn't capture his fancy. Far from it if he was entirely honest. The feline hero really didn't like the way the extremely savoury flavourings assaulted his tongue nor the way that the crunchy snack would stay stubbornly glued to his teeth, making him way too self-conscious to even open his mouth let alone talk or even smile- "That's it!" Chat Noir was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when Ladybug finally stood up from the rooftop they were seated on, snatching his hand without a beat and vaulting him to his feet in a manner that made his entire world spin. His heart leapt to his throat from the way her twin blue flames bored into his larger frame and he could have sworn that if had fur, they would have stood on their ends just like his iconic belt tail behind him. She may be oh-so-tiny...mais, mon Dieu, she was also a huge force to be reckoned with. "Screw our secret identities. I'm taking you to my house right now right this second and you're gonna eat the best damn potatoes you ever had." She admonished confidently, leaving no room for arguments or even a semblance of common sense, hauling his boyish body over one of her tiny shoulders and swinging away (blind to the way his eyes were wider than an owl's in both shock and elation of them finally, finally unmasking). . 'All this over potatoes!?' ~(x)~

Adrien Agreste continued to remain entirely bamboozled and ridiculously dumbstruck with his hands clenching the denim of his jeans and his big green eyes wide open. Yet, whilst his mind was a windows error notification spamming the screen, his body was on autopilot and played along with his Lady's whims. Oh yeah, did he forget to mention that his Lady is also his loveable, cute, illegally talented good friend Marinette Dupain-Cheng? And that she didn't even blink twice when he was unravelled as shy model, awkward Adrien Agreste at the kitchen table? Even seating him down on one of the chairs without missing a beat and babbling about all the amazing dishes that he was going to get to try and finally change his opinion? "These are just a bunch of simple dishes I quickly whipped up since I don't have time to make anything extravagant...and it is way past midnight. But here, dig in," Marinette nudged the numerous plates of deliciousness to him on the table nonchalantly, as if she wasn't presenting a buffet of some of the most enticing cuisines he's ever seen, his emerald greens dilating from the scent of the food alone and he was deaf to the way she was huffing in impatience. Arranged on the table were all sorts of meals that definitely didn't look simple at all and were practically begging for him to eat them all up in one go. Ranging from fresh sweet potato fries coated generously in paprika, garlicky and creamy mashed potatoes (with a jug of steaming gravy and sliced sausages to the side), gnocchi in a yummy looking cheesy sauce that even had Plagg hovering over it with amazement and gluttony, piping hot Gamja Bokkeum (Korean sweet soy glazed potatoes) that was covered in toasted sesame seeds and spring onions and just so, so much more dishes he could barely describe. A meal fit for a king. Was a silly teenage boy like him even worthy of having a taste of the abundance of beautiful treasures that was set before him? Handmade by the love of his life, the very same girl he fell for twice (or at the very least thrice; with how he's fallen in love with her all over again because of the food she decided to cook just for him)? "Ugh! Staring at them isn't going to get them in your stomach!" Restlessness won over and Marinette quickly fetched a pair of chopsticks from the side, picking up a piece of the scrumptious, steaming hot soy sauce glazed potato and placing it in his obedient mouth as she cupped his cheek firmly yet tenderly. . Adrien's entire being was suddenly pummelled with an indescribable sensation of absolute pleasure and sheer ecstasy as if he was knocked through three buildings and landed in one of the seven heavens. The savoury sweet taste of the sauce was like fireworks bursting in his mouth, the slight heat and kick from the red chillies that tickled his palette warmed up his entire body and the soft, soft fluffiness and crispiness that was the potato turned his entire being into melted butter. "This...this is what potatoes really taste like...?" He couldn't help but murmur dreamily, eyes closed in pure bliss and peachy pink lips curved up into an adorable beam as he savoured the taste of his Lady's amazing, spectacular cooking. He barely caught her victorious smirk playing on her mouth and the way her baby blues glittered with pride and achievement, her heart pounding in her chest with delight as the vicinity was filled with her Chaton's happy purrs. "And all this time, you thought they were just a silly little vegetable~" She teased endearingly, placing another piece in his waiting mouth without wasting any more time. "These were made on a whim so just imagine how amazing they'd taste if more effort and time was put into it," Adrien watched her anew with admiration, his emerald greens softening with affection as his Lady happily treated herself to a sweet potato fry. His heart beat a thousand times faster against his ribcage, his cheeks emitting a rosy pink flush with love and contentment and his eyes continuing to shimmer with devotion. Using a finger to not only wipe off some of the paprika that lingered on the corner of her lips but also to gather her attention, Adrien couldn't help but speak. "You're amazing, Marinette. Thank you. Thank you for this delicious meal and for trusting me enough to share your identity." Before he knew it, he timidly leaned forward to place a tender, gracious kiss on her forehead, his cheeks continuing to blaze in colour and his heart hammering inside his chest like crazy. "What? Share my identity- OH! ...Oh..." All of a sudden her pale complexion instantly changed to a hot red colour, concerning her partner who readied his hands in case he needed to do something to alleviate her emotions. "I was so fixated on potatoes that I didn't fully realise that you're my Chaton- I MEAN! My Chat Noir- no, no! I mean! I mean! Aaaaaa..." Luckily, Adrien was more than accustomed to Marinette's iconic babbles and flustered actions since it was a regular occurrence at school or whenever he manages to sneak out of his prison-like house to hang out with her and their close friends. He grinned patiently, giving her time to manoeuvre through her scrambled thought process and regather her bearings, all whilst gently holding her hands and squeezing the hardworking appendages gingerly. His sweet touches lead Marinette out of her word soup dialogues and brought her mind back on track. Her watery and nervous baby blues peered into his content, sparkling greens, the dark-haired girl now piecing together just how ecstatic she's made him. How incredibly happy she's made her Chat Noir. Her Chaton. . "You could've stopped me you know. You're strong enough to break out of my hold and run off." She couldn't help but darlingly pout, averting her gaze from his radiant smile and clinging onto her shred of stubbornness and pride. Her cheeks coloured anew from his warm laugh, eyes back on him as he brought her skilled hands to his chest just so she could feel how hard and fast his heart was racing at this moment. How thoroughly affected he too was with the revelations the night brought them. "And miss out on the chance of trying out my Lady's handmade cooking? Not a chance~" He was pure Chat Noir right there and then, lips upturned into a silly and lovesick grin and cheekbones blooming in an adorable red. "Do you regret it? Revealing yourself to me?" He was playing dirty, eyes wide like a kitten's (like the beloved nicknames she has for him) and his forehead resting on hers. He knew that she was far from dissatisfied, especially with how she remained relaxed and comfortable within his grasp. Mais aussi, il n'est pas un ange. "Not the eyes! That's cheating!" Marinette snatched one of her hands away, trying to shove his face far from hers and practically growling at his quiet, mischievous snickers. It was really starting to settle in that the love of her life who she assumed was a bashful yet dear Prince was also a cheeky and obnoxious jester. "You know I don't regret it, you ridiculous cat! I just wish it wasn't this anticlimactic!" She blurted and then was taken aback by the sudden gleam in his spring-green eyes. "So you have imagined us revealing ourselves? Tell me, tell me all about them~" The grin he wore was borderline shit-eating, a finger poking one of her puffed-up cheeks annoyingly. "How many of them were romantic and full of kisses, ma Buguinette~? How many of them have me swooning in your arms as you lead us down the aisle for our happily ever after~?" . He was met with silence and for a split second, Adrien worried that he may have pushed too far with his teasings. However, that thought was quick to be replaced with one of reverence and wonder. Her eyes were averted once again, sky blues barely peeking under her long, thick lashes and her cheeks a beautiful sakura pink. One hand was clenched against her chest (that was starting to hurt from the rapid way her heart has been battering it) whilst her perfect teeth tugged on her soft lips. Lips that were illegally kissable, plum blossom pink and just so, so, so perfect. He's been kissed by those very same lips a handful of times too, now that he noticed with a loud gulp. "All," Marinette decisively confessed, determination now lacing her beautiful features as she faced him with cheeks continuing to colour. "All of them. So what?" She narrowed her eyes, daring him to tease her again. Little did she know how much air was punched out of his body from her words alone and now he was barely unable to comprehend any thoughts, let alone talk. . "...Then you should kiss me now...right?" His voice was quite hoarse and his remaining courage was on a scarily thin tightrope. "We wouldn't want your dreams and plans to go to waste...right?" His tone delved lower and lower until it was nothing more than a pleading, wanting whisper, unable to mask his raw feelings and thundering emotions. . He was answered by the press of her soft shy lips upon his. . "There...happy?" The aspiring designer pulled away far too quickly, not even letting him kiss back and cherish the moment. She received a lightly irked look from him, one of his hands now clasping the back of her neck whilst the other dug its fingers into the fabric of her shirt. Emerald greens now darkened with sheer want. "Oh, no. Not even close," He fibbed, a devious smirk being the last thing Marinette saw as Adrien crashed their lips together clumsily with all the pent-up love and feelings that has been building up within him ever since she crash-landed into his life. Literally. . And thus, potatoes became his favourite vegetable. . . . ~(x)~