#ava writes!!

[kwonkissed]

college!wonwoo who gets sick on campus one time and immediately develops a crush on the student nurse that assisted him at the health clinic.

you’re sweet and kind (like all nurses should be), but you’re also really chatty. talking about your humanities course and the readings you have that week. and wonwoo, being so whipped, just nods along thinking, “maybe I should read up on this sartre guy…”

when he leaves, he already misses the conversation. but he shakes it off. they’re cute and they’ve done your job, he thinks. now it’s time for him to get over it. except he doesn’t. because a few days later he finds himself back in the health clinic with an “earache”.

and he prays that you’re the one that attends to him that day, because if not, this would be really embarrassing. but it is you who opens the door to his room, a bit shocked that this cute boy has returned.

“hello, i’m— oh, it’s you. back so soon,” you quip, sanitizing your hands and walking over to him. “still having symptoms of your cold?”

“uh, no actually. something different. it’s,” he clears his throat. he’s never been a good liar. “um, it’s my ear this time.”

“hm, alright then,” you say with a smile. “i’ll get your vitals and check your chart, and then the doctor should be in shortly.” wonwoo nodded. you put the blood pressure cuff on his arm. your fingers dance across his bicep as you fit it around him, and he tries to will his racing heart to stop beating so hard — it’s going to give him away.

“everything looks good on my end,” you say as you flip through his paperwork. “it might be a minute, but a doctor will be in here. holler if you need me.” you give him a warm smile and turn to exit the room. ah, screw it.

“hey, I don’t know if this is too forward, but could i take you out sometime? or walk to you home? something?” wonwoo’s words spill out of him like a dam’s been broken. your eyebrows have shot you up your forehead, and wonwoo braces for this inevitable rejection.

you giggle. you’re giggling at him. wonwoo doesn’t know if this is worse than there being no response at all.

“aw, you’re cute,” you say, taking a step toward him. you bite your lip and look down at your watch. “i get off at two,” you whisper. a heat creeps up wonwoo face and it only makes you giggle more. god, he’d love to hear that sound forever.

“it’s a date then,” he says grinning. you beam back at him and close the door.

wonwoo’s so excited about seeing you later that when the doctor comes in for his appointment, he forgets which ear was supposed to be hurting.

[tally-kat]

A contrapuntal poem inspired by @two-bees-poetry for Ava and Beatrice :)

[greenorangevioletgrass]

tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?” 

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile.  And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…” 

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too. 

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off. 

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved. 

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered. 

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter,  “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

[backwaterotter]

I've been cooking up a pretty simple AU concept, surrounding a simple idea: What if Purple had been deleted for slightly too long. What if there were permanent after-effects? Then, the only theoretical differentiation between canon and this au concept would be a second of waiting time.

Anyway, I'm working on a fic to go with it, I hope people will enjoy it! You can read it here!

[daisychainsandbowties]

i love when fic authors write ava being really excited about going to the grocery store it’s like!!! yes! ava is excited to see oat milk. yes she wants to try every variation of haribo candies in every tiny european corner store they visit. yes she loves that things come in cans and that there’s drinks that are blue like in star wars

and also yes to bea seeing her swerve hard away from the baby food aisle. sneering in tandem with her at the applesauce and at cans of watery soup. bea teaching her how to season things so they don’t taste like powerlessness and neglect and hunger and rotting away

sighing indulgently when ava appears with another box of cereal to mow through in one night. bea brushing granola pieces off the bed without a word while ava sits cross-legged on her crumpled-up side with a book in her lap, one hand pressing the pages flat and the other elbow-deep in a box of chocolate hazelnut granola. scattering light crumbs everywhere

just yes to ava loving food and approaching it with so much joy it makes beatrice realise that there is actually something holy in a silce of orange, in a snack cake and in granola crumbs and haribos in the shape of little frogs.

something about how the ones we love feed us and how they can teach us to love. something about love leaking through ava like light through stained glass and beatrice realising that it’s not the sunlight itself that’s beautiful, or the glass all alone, but the two together, shining

[itslilacokay]

nahhh bro 💀💀💀💀

[rebouks]

Another chaotic morning in the Finch household.. 🤮

[zishu-arts]

why is AVAM community is talking about farmer!victim??

[hi-avathisside]

eldest daughter core is calling out all the sexist and misogynistic comments in your household.

[seraphinitegames]

First of all thank you for the amazing demo! Can't wait to play more! But it did leave me with a question: is A bothered by the extra work assigned to them if the MC chooses not to have their mother as their handler?

Adam/Ava bothered by extra work? Lol! It would be quite the opposite! :D

I think A would be very happy with not only having that responsibility, but that the MC choose to trust them with that position in the difficult situation. And if you're romancing A, all the better, as it gives A the excuse to spend even more time with the MC!

Thank you so much for the ask! :)

[shy-forceghost]

During S2E4, when Vincent kidnaps Ava with the crown of thorns and Bea looks for her through Madrid, the information she gets from the police is that "a man and woman were seen running towards La Elipa", which is a neighbourhood in Madrid.

La Elipa has a famous graveyard (Nuestra Señora de Almudena) and a chapel of the same name, which is where the "church battle" takes place.

Well, this is the distance Beatrice walked/ran looking for Ava. Girl was on a mission.

[kwonkissed]

NEW YEAR'S DAY ☆ C.HS

Kissing at midnight on New Year's Eve is said to bring good luck and bounty to the upcoming year. It looks like you and Vernon both have to overcome your apprehension of being open with your feelings in order to have the best luck word count: 3.1K warnings: mostly fluff, making out, mentions of alcohol (it's new years guys), dry humping

Vernon was upset with you. How could he not be? You'd been helping him with his New Year's Eve party all day. No matter what he did, there was no way he could get you to take a break. He had to admit though, your dedication was admirable. What did you say? Something along the lines of, "As your best female friend – best friend really – it's my job to assist with matters like these."

Well, as angry as Vernon was that you hadn't taken any time for yourself aside from changing outfits in his spare room, he was thankful for the work you had done. His house looked absolutely amazing. The Christmas tree was in perfect order, balloons and streamers strategically placed, hors d'oeuvres meticulously positioned in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible—all of which you masterfully orchestrated with that brain of yours.

Still, with all the effort you both had put into the event, Vernon wanted to ensure you were having a good time. You deserved it. 

He looked over to your spot in his kitchen. You were standing near the punch bowl with your head tilted back in laughter at something one of your mutual friends said. He smiled and nursed the champagne in his hand. You looked so beautiful in that black dress and your diamond studs. So lovely and warm and inviting. He wishes he could kick everyone out of his house this very second so that he could be with you all by himself.

Vernon began to feel his ears burn. You always said that when a person's ears burn, that means someone's talking about them. As his friends pull him into another conversation, he steals another glance over at you. He tries to make out the words. Maybe his name will be on your lips. 

Yeah, Vernon was upset with you. But he was more upset with himself for being too beside himself to make his feelings known.

The vantage point from the kitchen island provided the perfect view of you and Vernon's handiwork. You and he had managed to transform the interior of his cozy brownstone into a Home Magazine photographer's daydream in just a few hours. It was only right that you stood back and admired it. The mini bar was full, finger food dishes over half eaten, and your friends milling about the house, all buzzing with excitement. You smiled, thoroughly satisfied. 

With all your scanning of the area, your eyes were bound to land on Vernon at some point. A special kind of heat rippled through you, from the soles of your feet to the top of your head. He looked amazing. The sleeves of his crisp white button-up were rolled to his elbows, and his hair was pushed back and messy – like he'd been running his hands through it all night. And he was talking so animatedly with his friends that you could feel your heart growing 3 sizes too big, just like the Grinch's had. Vernon was beautiful, inside and out. There was never a day where you didn't remind him that he was "pale as the moon with a personality bright as the sun."

His typical response? That you were corny and way too into figurative language. You just hummed in agreement. Vernon was right, of course, he's your best friend. He's supposed to be right about you. Vernon was forgetting one thing, though. Yes, you were corny and yes, you adored figurative language; how can one not? It's very poetic. But the one fact he was missing was that you were head over heels in love with him. And that was the most important piece of information.

As you broke your surveillance of Vernon to glance at your watch, you felt a body slide next to yours on the counter. Looking to your left, you're met with the shit-eating grin of Sophia, Vernon's little sister.

"Like what you see?"

You blanch. "Oh please, give me a break," you say, turning around to face the cabinets. Sophia does the same. The heat is back, this time concentrated in your face. You pressed the back of your hands to your face in concern. The younger woman hums and fetches you a glass of water. "Before you shoot me down for even talking about it," Sophia says slowly. You glare. "I just say give it a try. You never know; he, like, will definitely like you back." You down your water and lay your head on Sophia's shoulder. "You really think so," you ask sheepishly. "I'm positive. And hey, if he says anything bad, I'll beat his ass and kick him out of this house. Then you and I can live here together. How's that sound?" 

You laugh at her proposal. While you and Vernon had always been partners in crime, you wholeheartedly admit to being a double agent for Sophia. She'd always be like a little sister to you, no matter how not little she was anymore.

"Deal," you said confidently. Sophia giggled and hugged you quickly before trotting off to God knows where. 

A small sigh escaped your lips as you watched her walk away. "You should get off your feet," a voice murmured behind you. You turn around to see Vernon's face propped up on the counter, his eyebrows raised accusingly. 

You made your way around the island to stand next to him. "What? And not be able to strut around your gorgeous house in these killer boots? No way." You clicked your heels to emphasize your point, which made Vernon chuckle.

"You've been strutting around my gorgeous house all day, woman. Sit down." He looked at you with his big brown eyes full of so much care and admiration that you almost puked all over his Converse. You sighed and nodded your head. "Fine, I'll listen to the man of the house for once."

"But for the record, don't go getting too sappy on me, Hansol. Too many people will see through your cool guy persona." You jokingly narrowed your eyes and jabbed a finger at his chest before waltzing away with a plastic flute of champagne in your hand. Vernon watched the way the material of your dress hit the back of your thighs as you sashayed away.

Who cares about being cool if it's not with you?

Vernon was still watching you as you sat on the couch, fingers mindlessly tapping against the plastic in your hands. You were listening to your friend drone on about her loser ex. He could tell by the frequency of your head nods and the unruffled expression on your face that you had heard all of it before. 

Someone snapped at him. "Um, earth to Vernon? Hello?" Vernon turned to see Mingyu's deadpan expression. Vernon swallowed. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Wonwoo playfully rolled his eyes. "If you hadn't been staring at a certain someone, you would know," he said teasingly. Vernon frowned at the man. "I wasn't staring. I was just…checking in." Vernon watched as his two friends looked at one another skeptically. "Right, right," Mingyu remarked, sipping his drink. Vernon listened to the rest of his friends' commentary on his situation before the loud voice of a newscaster caught his attention. Someone had turned on the TV. 

"Oi! The countdown's starting soon," Seungkwan called out from his perch on the back of the couch. Vernon made a mental note to kill the man if he messed up the leather. 

"You know what, man? You should totally kiss her to ring in the new year," Mingyu insisted, nudging Vernon's ribs. "This is your chance." The mere suggestion made Vernon's heart jump to his throat. Sure, he’d thought about pulling you in for a kiss tonight, but someone actually saying the words aloud? That was too real. His feet felt like they had been bolted to the floor, his tongue a rock in his mouth. Sensing his apparent uneasiness, Mingyu and Wonwoo smiled at each other maliciously and decided to do what any great friend would – toss him into the deep end. Wonwoo grabbed one arm, Mingyu the other, and together, the two men marched Vernon over to you. 

The noise in the space was increasing by the second. It made Vernon's heart beat faster. "You've got this, champ," Mingyu said, laughing over the clamor of party blowers and enthusiastic shouting. "Yeah, go get 'em, tiger," Wonwoo said with a glint of mischief in his bespectacled eyes. They left him with pats on his back that almost sent him flying. 

"Oh, hi guys," you said, puzzled. The two men sweetly waved back at you as they retreated. Your friend had easily clocked whatever bullshit Mingyu and Wonwoo were pulling and decided to take her leave. You stood to look your best friend in the eye. The two of you were close, fronts just an inch from touching. Vernon cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey," he breathed out after a moment. You smiled at him with those pearly whites of yours. Vernon could have fainted.

"Hey yourself, you look like you've seen a ghost," you said. With furrowed eyebrows, you pressed the back of your hand to Vernon's forehead. "Are you sure you're not sick, hon?"

Vernon leaned into your touch and sighed. "No, it's — it's nothing like that. Just a bit tired 's all." You nodded as you pulled your hand back. Vernon almost groaned at the lack of touch. God, this was going to drive him insane.

He was going to tell you. He had to. Because if he let you laugh and celebrate, or God forbid, kiss someone else, he would have to vault himself down his staircase and ruin everyone's night. Slowly, Vernon's lips began to form the words he had been dying to say forever. Your eyes widened in anticipation, like you could feel the weight of the words on the Unfortunately, the moment was interrupted by a sudden cacophony in his home. 

"10!"

You took a step back and cleared your throat. "Looks like everyone's gonna start swapping spit in a few seconds, huh," you whispered. It hadn't been hard to understand what he was thinking. You basically live in each other's minds; it's what happens when people are in love.

One of Vernon's hands had found the back of his neck, an easy tell of his nervousness. "Yeah, seems that way."

"9!"

You bite your lip. "So, you come here often?" Vernon laughs at your terrible pickup line. The knot in his stomach was gradually unraveling.

"8!"

"Oh, come here, you idiot." Vernon opened his arms to embrace you. Continuing with your teasing, you looked at him in faux surprise. "Who? Me?"

"7!"

Vernon rolled his eyes as you stepped into his space once more. Your hands snaked around his waist, and you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, taking in his cologne. He smelled like bergamot and cedarwood. "You really like that cologne I bought for your birthday, don't you?"

"6!"

Vernon smiled. "Yeah. It's my favorite."

"5!"

You pulled your head away from Vernon's chest to get a look at him. Stunning, as always. You hoped your eyes conveyed all the words you couldn't say. They say the heart speaks through the eyes. And Vernon was hearing you loud and clear. 

"4! 3! 2!"

Vernon placed his hands on your face, the touch achingly gentle. Your hands move to lay flat on his abdomen. You fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. Vernon's warm breath fanned over your face. It smelled like champagne. "Ready?" He whispered the word as if he was afraid you might break if he were too intense. You nodded. 

"...1! Happy New Year!"

And just like that, your lips were on his. Fireworks could be heard in the distance, and you couldn't help but think that's what the inside of your chest sounded like, too. Your hand gripped Vernon's shirt, surely wrinkling the fabric. Not that it mattered, though, because Vernon's lips were so soft as they chased after yours. You sighed into his mouth, allowing his tongue to explore yours. 

A sharp whistle rang through the room, followed shortly by the sound of applause. You and Vernon (just barely) pulled away from each other to see what the commotion was all about. The realization came quickly because everyone was cheering for the two of you. You buried your face in Vernon's chest and laughed as he wrapped his arm protectively around you and cussed out the ringleader, who had been quickly identified as Mingyu. 

Vernon pulled away to look down at you. His cheeks were flushed a bright red. "You alright," he asked softly. You beamed at him and kissed the tip of his nose. "So much more than alright."

For the rest of the night, you and Vernon were attached at the hip. Lighting sparklers, helping tipsy friends into their coats, cleaning up. Always side by side. And it didn't look any different than usual from the outside, but to both of you and everyone in the room, there was a clear distinction. 

Vernon ushered the last of your friends out of the door with a contented sigh. The chaos was finally over. He turned to look at you on his couch, your body seemingly melting into the cushions. You had kicked off your so-called killer boots and were staring at the ceiling. Vernon made his way over to the couch and plopped down next to you.

"You think it was a success," you asked, picking at your nails.

Vernon turned to face you. "The party?" 

"Obviously," you snorted. 

"Yeah, I think it went great. But I don't know if I'm the right person to ask."

"And why is that?"

"Well, it might not have been great," Vernon smiled. "It could've been shit, and I wouldn't have even noticed because I got exactly what I wanted." You hummed at his answer. Turning your head, you gazed at him seductively. "Oh really? What did you want so bad, Hansol?"

There you go again, saying his name like that. Vernon chewed on his bottom lip and thought carefully about his next move. Slowly, he walked his fingers across one exposed leg, then the other. You shivered. Vernon tapped on your leg opposite of him. Receiving the message, you threw it over his and slid onto his lap. 

"You, of course."

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, suddenly shy. 

Vernon tenderly lifted your chin to get a look at your face. There was something so pretty about you in the light of his Christmas tree and vintage table lamp. It made you look like you did in his mind–like you were glowing. Vernon mindlessly ran his hands up and down your sides as the two of you sat in the quiet afterglow of the evening.

You leaned forward to press your forehead against Vernon's. Your fingers made their way to his jawline. It was transfixing how the muscles tensed and relaxed at your touch. A lopsided smile was splayed across the young man's face. You canted your face towards him but stopped, suddenly hesitant. For what reason, you weren't sure. It was almost like you were kindergartners again, and you could be walked in and scolded at any minute. Subconsciously, you were looking for a reason to stop, to not be in love with your best friend. You couldn't find one.

So, you kissed him. It was languid like you had all the time in the world. And there was. There was no countdown to rush you, no crowd of onlookers to be wholly invested in your actions. 

You wrapped your arms around Vernon's neck as he deepened the kiss. He could feel a bead of spit dripping down his chin. He couldn't care less. Vernon's hands grasped the back of your thighs, and his fingers traced patterns in your skin. It made you squirm. The heat was gradually returning to your body. You needed to move, or else you'd probably explode. And you didn't want to leave another mess for Vernon to clean up.

Slowly, you began to rock back and forth in his lap. Vernon moaned into your mouth at the movement. It was kind of sweet when you thought about it. The both of you are too tired and lazy to get each other off efficiently, but neither cares enough to stop. It felt too good, anyway. 

After a few minutes of making out with your friend-turned-lover, you reluctantly detached your lips from his. Making your way to his neck, you peppered kisses behind his ear. You listened to him sigh. 

"Vernon, baby," you said breathlessly. Your hips stuttered to a stop. "I've really gotta go." With shaky legs, you stumbled off his lap, and you could've sworn you heard Vernon whine. Turning to put your shoes on, you felt a tug on the hem of your dress. 

"We're pretty good at this being in love thing, aren't we?" His voice came out a little quieter, a little more shaky than he'd meant for it to. You looked at him with his swollen lips and blown-out pupils. Who gave him the right to look like that? Or to ask that question?

Vernon stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his chin on your shoulder, his chest pressed to your back. "I'd like to think we always were," you responded with a smile. Vernon chuckled.

"Stay," he whispered. "Please." Vernon spun you around to face him. You don't think you'd ever seen your best friend look so desperate. Shaking your head, you smiled.

"Fine."

And with that confirmation, Vernon grabbed your hand and guided you upstairs.

Scanning his room before climbing into bed, Vernon smiled to himself. All of your things looked so right sitting next to his. Your clothes kicked in the same corner as his. Phones charging next to each other on the same dresser. Hell, even your toothbrush on his bathroom counter fit in. But the biggest thing was you. You lying under his duvet in his oversized t-shirt and sweats. 

"What are you so smiley about over there, loverboy," you asked, amused. Vernon slipped into bed next to you. "Couldn't help but think all of this felt natural," he said thoughtfully. You looked him over. His eyes were closed, and his arms were crossed behind his head. "For someone so scared to tell me he loved me, you're being super casual about this," you said, poking him in his ribs. You laughed as he yelped. "Well, I think you not tearing my heart out and rejecting me has a huge part to play in it, ma'am." You hummed in response. "Fair enough." 

There was a beat of comfortable silence. 

"You know, our friends practically say we're married already."

"I know. Can't really blame them, can we?" You laughed.

"No, we can't," you breathed. "Oh, if only they'd seen us arguing over what records to play tonight." You turned and grabbed his bicep. "Hoshi would never let us hear the end of it." Now, it was Vernon's turn to laugh.

There was another beat of silence.

"Sol?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you for starting my year off right." Vernon felt his chest tighten at your words. He pressed a kiss to the apple of your cheek. 

"It was a pleasure. Happy New Year, baby."

the art of dry humping is not lost on me!! this is one of those ideas that I woke up in a cold sweat from. like I just had to get it out of my brain. anyways, hope y'all enjoy

[fiddleabout]

warrior nun, ava silva/sister beatrice, M, chapter 9/10

"I'm going to go hide in the walk-ins and take a shot or four," Ava says cheerfully, as if that explains anything. "Liquid courage, you know. Lilith is scary, okay." She bounces on her heels and brushes a kiss over Beatrice's cheek-- ostensibly chaste, realistically too close to her mouth to be anything but taunting-- and leaves Beatrice standing rooted to the floor with her cheeks burning, gone before Beatrice can find the words to explain that Lilith is mostly harmless. She's still rooted in place ten seconds later when Chanel strides by the open door and then pauses, backtracks, points knowingly at Beatrice with a smirk that's scarier than Lilith could ever possibly be. "I'm staying after close," she says, leaving no room for argument. "I wanna see if she actually shoots Ava."

AO3

[greenorangevioletgrass]

art donaldson who crawls up the bed only to find himself above you and FUCKING PLOPS down, covering you in his whole body weight because he just needs to give his love to one person, completely, 24/7

seriously guys i love that we all just think art is That Guy who plops down on top of you bc yes??????

you could be lying on the couch, scrolling through your phone, minding your own business and then he comes in from the gym or from the tennis court (bc you know he would have one at home ofc) and just go, “ohhhh, I’m so tired…” while you let out that strained grunt, “art, you’re crushing me…” and he just kisses your neck and your cheek and wherever else he can reach like,

“No, I’m shrouding you with my love.”

“Well, your love stinks. Go shower.”

And you know he would give you a playful bite before he finally gets up off you 😝

[jtl07]

JT HI HELLO!!

Please could I put a prompt in? Either dead mom recipes oooor an Olympic prompt?

Thank you 😍

okay so i went with cooking with my (dead) mom because! one of the early ideas for that fic was for it to actually have two parts: the first part being what was posted, the second part being, well, something like this :D

Episode: Hong Kong egg tarts - the love of my love

[A little jingle plays as the video starts with Ava standing behind a familiar kitchen island, wearing a brightly patterned apron with "Other Moms' Recipes" on the front. She smiles and waves]

"Hey everyone! So we finally recovered from the last episode -" 

[Title card, haunted text: Last time on Other Moms' Recipes]

[Montage from the last episode: Ava and Camila standing behind the island: Camila, smiling brightly, "The recipe I've brought today is tortilla de patatas from my mom, who is a big fan of the show-" "Hi Mom!" Ava giggles; Ava whining over prepping the potatoes as Camila shares a look with someone off-camera; Camila coaching Ava through the flipping process by practicing on a pan with a towel inside; at the stove, Camila successfully flipping hers while Ava holds her own pan, screaming; end shot is a still of Ava, apron splattered with potatoes and eggs, Camila holding her perfectly flipped and plated tortilla, and Beatrice with a bucket of cleaning supplies] 

"- though apparently there are special pans so you don't have to do the whole flipping thing?!? Cam's on my shit list for that. But anyway. I'm so, so, sosososo -" 

[Title card, in jaunty text with a picture of Mary's face: "Eat a vegetable for every time she says 'So'"] 

"- SO soso excited for today's recipe, because! We're finally featuring my favorite person in the world." 

[Ava gestures to her side, grinning wide and expectant. There's a soft, resigned sigh from off-screen, then Beatrice steps into the frame and stands next to Ava. She's wearing a tank top with a rainbow and "The power of friendship" written in cursive on the front. Ava bites her lip as she looks her over; nudges Beatrice with her hip]

Beatrice, monotone recitation: "Hello, I'm Beatrice, I'm here to bring the power of friendship."

[She looks plaintively at Ava] 

Beatrice: "Must I really -"

Ava, pouting: "You promised."

Beatrice, purses her lips, then: "Fine. Fine."

[Beatrice flexes her arms, much to Ava's loud delight. Ava jumps up to kiss Beatrice's cheek. Beatrice sighs but a fond smile curls her lips all the same. Ava bounces on her toes and claps her hands]

Ava: "Okay, Bea, what recipe have you brought for us today?" 

Beatrice, straightening: "Well, I thought perhaps we could try to make egg tarts. They're a bit different from the Portuguese ones you like to get from that bakery -"

Ava, affronted: "Excuse me, I always have to fight you off from taking mine!"

Beatrice coughs; continues: "- in any case, these are Hong Kong style, so they're more like proper tarts." 

Ava, giggling, in a half-assed imitation of Beatrice's accent: "Proper tarts. What about an improper tart?" 

Beatrice rolls her eyes and ignores her: "When I would visit my grandparents in Hong Kong, my grandmother would always make them on the weekend. My grandfather would sometimes play a game and buy some from a bakery then mix them in with the ones my grandmother had made. Hers somehow always tasted better."

Ava, thoughtfully: "When's the last time you had one?"

Beatrice shrugs, gaze lowering: "Not since I was child." 

[Ava watches her knowingly, then steps in close and tangles their fingers together]

Ava, quietly: "I'm glad we can make it now."

[Beatrice takes a deep breath and nods; they share a long, loving look]

*

[Cut to Ava and Beatrice - now wearing an open button down over the tank top - with ingredients for the pastry laid out in front of them on the counter]

Ava, pointing severely at Beatrice: "Seriously, you gotta let me do it myself this time!"

[At the bottom of the screen: "Click here to see Beatrice 'help' make the easiest empanadas (said no one ever)!"]

Beatrice holds her hands up: "Alright, I'll just give you instructions."

Ava grins and bounces on her feet: "I love when you tell me what to do."

[Beatrice coughs suddenly as Ava reddens]

Ava, voice a touched strangled: "Moving on..."

[Montage of them cooking together: Ava grumbling at having to weigh the flour measurements; Beatrice nearly getting splattered as she holds the bowl while Ava vigorously whisks the egg mixture; "They're so cute!" Ava giggles as they press the dough into the mini tart tins; Ava standing at the far end of the kitchen, holding her breath as Beatrice carefully places the tray of tarts into the oven] 

[Close up of the finished egg tarts before cutting to the two of them at the island, each with a tart in hand. Beatrice makes to eat one but instead watches Ava bite into hers. Ava lets out an excited squeak before popping the rest into her mouth, reaches excitedly to get another one.]

Beatrice, chuckling softly and passing Ava a mug: "Don't forget to chew, darling."

[Ava gives her a thumbs up as she takes a sip, quickly stuffing her mouth with another tart. She blinks at Beatrice as she chews, gestures for her to eat. Watches as Beatrice takes a steadying breath; takes a bite.]

[Beatrice stills, then ducks her head suddenly, hiding her face from the camera. Ava swallows hastily and leans into Beatrice, rubs a hand up and down her back, murmurs quietly into her ear, too low to hear. After a few moments, Beatrice finally nods. Wipes at her eyes and presses a kiss to Ava's temple, whispers something that sounds like 'I love you,' like 'thank you']

Ava, arm still wrapped around Beatrice: "Well, I think this is definitely a recipe we'll have to make more often."

Beatrice nods, smiles around new tears: "I'd like that."

Ava, taking another tart: "Okay well, last thing: on the scale of 1 to fuck?"

Beatrice shakes her head exasperatedly, grins: "Fuck."

[Ava laughs, kisses Beatrice on the nose. Before she can bring the tart to her mouth, however, Beatrice reaches out to forestall her. Cups Ava's cheek with her other hand. Steps in close, leans down -]

[The video cuts just before their lips meet. Title card, in jaunty text: "See you next thyme!"]

*

Top comments:

- It's so (sosososososoSOso) nice to see you both on screen again!

- gotta love the rating system

- I still say my mom's tortilla de patatas is better

- Reply from Camila: banned

- Reply from Beatrice: Camila!

- Reply from Ava: i don't blame her bea, them's fighting words

- Reply from Camila: so you forgive me?

- Reply from Ava: get me some of those tacos you showed me and we'll talk

- Reply from Beatrice: Ava!

- Reply from Ava: oh and get some birria for bea 😉

- Reply from Mary: and what am i, chopped liver?

- Reply from Ava: live your dream, mary!

- Reply from Mary: banned

btw the recipe I referenced for this was from thewoksoflife! also shoutout to @daskum for telling me about tortilla de patatas

[themisscuy]

(AAA I want to punch smth cuz there were a mistake and I had to make the whole post again- oh well)

OKayy, I don't know what name I could give to this AU yet, or if someone already made smth similar, but I liked the concept (and the story that I'm making in my head) and I wanted to share some of it here!

This is a kind of concept art KASBDK The main idea is that, in this AU, which is contextualized before The Showdown, Dark is captured by Victim (through the mercenaries) and is used to be a kind of weapon to take revenge on Chosen and Alan. The extended version is below!

I imagine it like, Dark and Chosen had a big discussion, so Dark decided to go away to have some time alone. The problem is that neither of them know that Victim already found out where they were established and were spying on them. Victim knows that Dark is the only stick which Chosen has a relationship with, and a very close one, so they decide to take him away from him. So, as soon as they noticed that they got separated, they decided to put all the effort into the capture of Dark. They got it.

First, they decide to check Dark's memories to get information about Chosen, and well, they end up discovering everything about Dark. One thing that got their interest is that Dark was making his first sketches of Virabot's first model, and that one of his first targets to use it was Alan's PC. So, Victim decides to use Dark's ideas to take revenge on both Chosen and Alan, and after achieving that, they would get rid of Dark (since he's an accomplice of Mitsi's death, so they really, really hate him too). Since they know that Dark is very loyal to Chosen, they decide to design a device to control him. This device, divided in two (for the head and the neck), is made to alter Dark's memories and temper, so in that way they can turn him against Chosen. This device is also designed to kill him rapidly in any case, and Victim has the control of that. I want to point out that Victim tried to manipulate Dark's code first, but he had developed a big will against it (since he didn't want to hurt Chosen), so they went for the device.

I have more ideas, but I prefer to keep working and defining them before sharing! Here's a lil sketchy comic to illustrate some of what I said before.

And here's some sketches of when I was brainstorming >:)

Hope you like it!