#but I had to write this ASAP

[recareels]

warnings: 18+ for mature themes, mentioned intoxication, implied student-professor relationship, sunday is a little too jealous for a big brother, sunday is taller than reader words: 939

honestly just can’t stop thinking about sunday catching you, his precious baby sister, getting ready for a university halloween party, knowing full well your favourite professor mr. reca is probably going to be there, despite the fact that you will neither confirm nor deny this notion (*ﾉωﾉ)

Sunday knows, the instant he sees you busy primping yourself in the gilded hallway mirror—dainty fingers fussing with your feathers, a cute little pout of concentration molded to your lips—that you’re up to no good; that you’ll be up to no good tonight. 

Call it a Big Brother’s intuition.

“Really? An angel?” Sunday leans a shoulder up against the cased opening, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Don’t you think that’s a little…” Obvious. “Cliche?” 

Your eye catches his through the mirror, ministrations halted, a small frown deepening your pout, corners of your lips twitching downward. 

“No, I don’t.” Your gaze darts back to the reflection of your hands, careful as you fluff up your faux wings, twisting a little this way, then that, admiring yourself. “Besides, it’s fitting, no?” 

Sunday chooses not to answer that. 

“And where is this Halloween party being held again?”

“At some club in the Moment of Stars.”

“Which club?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sunny,” your eyes capture his again, holding his stare through the glass. “The university is throwing it; I’m sure you can find out the exact location on their website, or their socials, or something.” 

Lips pressing into a thin, hard line, Sunday watches you finish up in silence, his sunset stare scalding on the back of your head. The hinges of his jaw flex as his molars grind together, Adams apple bobbing with a reflexive swallow. It’s nipping at the tip of his tongue, the question that’s been clawing at the walls of his skull since you first brought this damn party up several weeks ago.

Is he going to be there? 

“Look,” you turn towards him after you’re done, palms finding their rightful place on his shoulders. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s just going to be a fun little Halloween party with some friends from school.” You raise up onto your tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to the edge of his jaw. “Faculty will be present; it will be safe.”

His entire form stiffens at the word faculty—a visceral reaction—and you sigh softly, tender hands smoothing down his shoulders, then drifting over his pecs, ironing the ridges from his jacket and the stress from his muscles—a silent reminder to stop slouching.

His spine snaps into submission, straightening up immediately and raising him to his full height—shoulders rolled back, chest puffed out just a touch, The Head of The Family resurrected once more. 

“I promise I’ll be back at a decent time.”

Another kiss—this one softer, longer, closer to the corner of his mouth—and then you’re off, bouncing out the door towards a friend’s car, idling in the cobblestone horseshoe of the mansion’s driveway.

“Be good!” he calls after you, desperation straining his voice, heavy with the things he wishes to say, the things he dares not speak, lest it make them true.

“Always am!” 

But Sunday knows better. Sunday knows you will be anything but Holy tonight.

And Sunday was right; right to be concerned, right to harbour suspicions.

Because hours past the time you promised you’d be back, well into the early morning when Sunday’s eyes are bloodshot and burning from glaring at a screen, lips chewed raw by incessant incisors tugging at superficial skin while meticulously refreshing your socials—and those of your friends, and that of the university—he finally receives the confirmation he was looking for, his worst nightmares come to life. 

Because there you are, drunk or high or both on heavens knows what and decidedly fucked up, dancing with some man in a devil mask on a friend’s social media story. 

The mask was clever—you must’ve thought ahead, a coordinated act rather than a coincidental encounter—but it isn’t enough to conceal the man behind it. 

Nothing ever will be. 

Because Sunday would recognize those sharp crimson eyes anywhere. 

Jealousy froths in his chest as he replays the short choppy video over and over again, stupidly hoping his eyes are playing tricks on him, as if rewatching the godforsaken clip enough times will cast some sort of spell, will magically cause it to morph into something more favourable.

A special type of fury churns his stomach, an anger doused in envy, and he feels ill, thick saliva slimy as it pools beneath his tongue. Emotion bubbles up his throat, acidic and bitter, to gnaw away on the back of his tongue, burning his flesh as he tries to swallow past it.

The man—presumably Reca—has got his arms locked around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder, staring directly into the camera as you shout something, garbled and bleary. Your bodies sway as one to some indistinct beat blaring in the background, nothing more than a distorted pulse of noise as it filters through the device’s microphone. 

Then you’re turning in the arms of your professor, his large gloved palms flattened at the base of your spine, deft fingers splayed so the tips of his pinkies rest on the swell of your ass; and you’re giggling, obnoxiously knocking your forehead to his and pressing sloppy kisses to the mouth of his mask; and Sunday sees it, the final nail in the coffin of confirmation, a mere millisecond before you’re devoured by the cresting crowd of partygoers. 

Your fingers, twining in a flash of ivory hair at the nape of the man’s neck—curling, tugging, knotting; closer, closer, closer. 

Sunday’s changed his mind; your costume is fitting—an innocent angel, corrupted and seduced by the likes of Satan himself; a sweet seraph, fallen from grace and dirtied by the hands of evil.

Ruined, forever. 

[boba-beom]

okay but hear me out

model!taehyun x personal photographer f!reader

taehyun hires you to be his personal photographer and you have a photoshoot for a concept for his upcoming album. you thought that’s all your position entails until you have to hover over him, him laying on the ground and the wind blows his dress shirt so you see his obliques greeting you and catching you off guard.

though your face is behind the camera, taehyun can see the way you not so subtly bite your bottom lip and you see a smirk playing on his gorgeous face.

his eyes narrows at the lens and he parts his mouth for a more seductive expression, his brows softly scrunched and you curse yourself mentally for thinking this is what he would look like if someone was riding him.

“o-okay, and we’re done. great work today.” you’re flustered, and you failed to hide that. but taehyun was still laying on the ground.

he calls your name before you can walk away, your back still facing him as you squeeze your eyes shut because you feel like you’re about to explode.

“come here.” his voice gruff than usual and you turn to slowly approach him. damn him and that angle, his doe eyes looking right into your soul.

he lifts his arm up and you wonder why this almost 6ft man would need your held to stand up, but you have to remind yourself he is the same man who’ll be paying you after this.

“help me.” he says.

you hold onto his hand, ready to pull him up, but he swiftly tugs on your hand, luring you towards him as his other hand pats the area of his waistband. you step one leg over his torso and he pulls you against him.

“help me here.” he bucks his hips up into your cotton cladded core and you can feel just how hard he is under his denim shorts.

you prevent a squeal jumping out of you by biting your lip again, inhaling sharply at the feeling.

“you think I didn’t see the way you were squeezing your thighs?” his voice had dropped octaves lower than you’ve ever heard from him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you’re flustered again. “that was unprofessional of me.” you hang your head low, refusing eye contact.

taehyun grabs ahold of your hand, guiding your fingers to caress the ridges of his abs while his other hand is on your waist, setting a subtle pace of you grinding against his hard cock beneath the flimsy denim.

“well, sweetheart, I think it’s unprofessional if you don’t help me out, don’t you think?”

your nods are short but rapid. desperate to also please him.

“‘atta girl.”

[muttsupreme]

LIPSTICK ON ROMAAAAANNNNNNNNN

him w this hair in s1……ROMAAAANNNN!!!!! bring back ur s1 hair and my life is yours..

I’ve written so many drafts previously (um obviously not here but privately) about Roman using your lipstick/lipgloss and most frequently, your chapstick.

It starts with him wanting to smell like you; vanilla lip masks that look way too sticky but he tries a little on his fingertip and rubs it on very lightly after you leave your desk. Shiv’s face scrunches up when she sees him with a glossy lip for the first time since she let him borrow her Polly Pocket makeup kit when they were kids (her mom got it for her before it was even released, and assumed she’d be so excited; she was not).

Shiv will make some snide quip, privately for once.

“Uhh, did you…just come back from Sephora, or…?”

“What?” He immediately goes on high-alert, higher defense, and realizes that it must be glossy, the fucking lip mask bullshit that smells like warm vanilla and cookies and tastes like pure sugar when he stupidly licks his lips without thinking (or maybe to hope, y’know, that your spit is in it, so it’s indirect kissing). “Oh - fuck you, do you want chapped, dry, disgusting lips? Because some of us don’t want to look like ogres, Fiona.”

“Hey, I was just asking,” she says in a higher pitch with a dismissive chuckle. She doesn’t mention it again; she recognized the smell, who that smell usually follows. Roman’s wary of her from then on, for weeks.

Next time, he’s going through your bag that you refuse to unpack, because it’s only a weekend trip and then you’re going somewhere else immediately after. Why unpack when you’re gonna repack the next day?

He sees stuff, tons of stuff. Sniffs sweaters when you turn around. He’s got your blanket pulled out already, draped across the bed and him, laying on his side looking at you as you get ready for bed in the ensuite bathroom, door open so he can continue making fun of your regiment and the things you’ve packed.

From your purse nearby, or your makeup bag, he picks up a lipstick (I imagine Diorelita). It opens with a quiet ‘pop’ that you recognize and turn around to see him looking attentively at the color.

“Think it suits me?”

“Mmh, maybe. Wanna see?” You reply with a grin, watching him get a little shy on you.

“C’mere,” you encourage him, sitting on his lap as he leans against the headboard, your lipstick in hand. “Lemme make you pretty.”

He lets you, and you’re shocked he’s staying so still. When you’re done, you snarkily - but entirely jokingly - say, “Now what do we say?”

“Fuck you? Thank you, for…making me pretty,” and he does, he’s very, very pretty with that color on, and you did very well gliding it on evenly. He leans up to kiss you just as you lean down to kiss him; the lipstick smears onto your lips.

“Roro - your lipstick’s getting on me,” you try to rub it off, unsexily. You don’t really have to be sexy around him, it’s one of your favorite things.

“Um, it’s your lipstick, I’m just…temporarily borrowing it,” he huffs defensively. His heart literally does fucking cartwheels when you call him that stupid, almost maternal nickname. “Just come here - shut the fuck up, stop complaining. I’d lick the lipstick off you if you’d just get a little - closer.”

“Aw, romantic boy,” you coo, kissing him sweetly and feeling his tongue stick out, lapping at your lips, making good on his promise like a little puppy. When you’re almost positive he must be done, you pull away, but he’s not having it.

“Whoa - slow your fucking roll, you’re not going anywhere, you look…you look like a clown, lipstick’s still all over everywhere,” he says, trying to get you to come back instead of going back to the bathroom. You’re pretty sure, not positive but willing to bet, that he’s lying and you have no lipstick left anywhere on your face.

“I’ll come back,” you reassure with a whisper; you hate to leave him alone when he’s being so sweet, with such pretty makeup on. “Aww, pretty baby,” you can’t stop yourself from cooing at the unintentionally pouty look on his face, one he’d be humiliated by if he saw. You give him a chaste peck.

“Jesus, give me a second to brush my teeth and pee and I’ll be back. Promise.”

“Yeah, but then you won’t taste like you, you’ll taste like…mint and tap water,” he complains. There’s no pleasing him, other than you being beside him at all times.

Okay whatever that’s just two of my many one billion ideas of Romulus and his obsession with…….indirectly kissing you, being pretty for you, being close to you, and um, your lips in general. I could and might write another little thought-post about his obsession with your lips and stuff, who knows. I’m feeling romantical (‘roman’ being the main part of the word).

[robinsnest2111]

thinking about the Benson doesn't go ham on his coworkers AU where he and Randy tentatively get closer, Benson learns Randy recently turned 21 but no one really celebrated with him (except his mom who set up a very childish birthday party, party hats, confetti, an adorably decorated crocodile-themed birthday cake and all, maybe even invited some of her friends from church, Randy just letting the celebration happen around him, staring off into the middle distance, expressionless while all the middle-aged ladies congratulate him on his big day)

So Benson takes it upon himself to take Randy to a bar, get him his first alcoholic beverage, trying to get Randy out of his shell (or so he says).

After some back and forth, and some white lies fed to Randy's mom about where he's going and what he's doing ("just a sleepover with a friend from work, mom, no we won't stay up too late"), they end up in a bar a couple towns over (lest word get back to his mom) to properly celebrate.

It's still quite early, not too many patrons mingling just yet. Still, Randy clings to Benson's side like his life depends on it while Benson orders him his first drink. It tastes absolutely awful, and since he's with Benson and has built up some trust, he actually voices that thought albeit in a quiet voice only meant for Benson's ears.

Benson lets out a surprised chuckle, picks up Randy's glass to take a sip, then declares: "You're damn right it does." He assures him it's an acquired taste with a mirthful tilt to his lips, and Randy agrees to try another.

This next one, Benson explains, is a mixture of alcohol and soda, sweet enough to cover the awful taste but packing quite the punch if you overdo it. Just as expected, Randy takes a liking to it, asking Benson to get another one as soon as that bottle has run dry.

The hours pass, the evening drawing in more patrons to the bar, seats and tables are filling with people getting more and more drunk and loud by the minute. Randy is quite tipsy at this point, but also more open with his expressions and reactions to Benson's banter, actually engaging in their conversation, Benson revelling in Randy's attention and marvelling at how beautiful it is to see the boy so alive for the first time. They're still huddled close together, both pretending it's due to the bar filling up to capacity (and, if they're honest, beyond) but it's also something else neither of them can or wants to put a finger on quite yet.

Once it's some time past midnight, the patrons are starting to get a bit too rowdy for Benson's taste, a couple of them stumbling and bumping into Randy's shoulders in their drunken efforts to get from one end of the bar to the other. They apologise but the pats on Randy's back while they slur their "sorry, buddy"s make Benson's blood boil.

He decides it is time to go home, both he and Randy had enough for the night. And it's best to leave when the spirits are still high. Randy is very much drunk at this point, having had one too many of the deceptively sweet drinks. He clings to Benson all the way to his car, stumbling along, smiling up at him with unbridled adoration. It does weird things to Benson's heart.

Getting Randy into the passenger seat and all strapped in to make their journey home is surprisingly easy, the boy's limbs obeying at the slightest push and pull. Randy rolls his head into Benson's direction as soon as he's in the driver's seat, about to turn the key in the ignition. He shoots Benson the brightest smile he's probably ever smiled, mumbling out "Thank you Benson, I had so much fun. I think I love you."

The last part made Benson's heart stop for a second. "We'll see about that in the morning once all the alcohol has worn off."

cue Benson and Randy getting back home to Benson's place, tiptoeing past Benson's mom, curling up in Benson's bed. Randy waking up a couple hours later with a raging hangover, Benson helping him into the bathroom, holding his head and rubbing between his shoulder blades while poor Randy pukes his soul out into the toilet bowl. <3

[ninetyminutes]

any ideas/plot bunnies/hc on a touch starved lorne??? one of my FAVV angsty tropes

Oooh my god yes!!! Lorne is so obvi touch starved. Like he’s constantly fighting between desperately wanting attention and being so unbelievably shy that he won’t ask for it.

Throughout his entire life Lorne has taken care of others, putting their needs before his own. Starting with his dad’s passing at fourteen, Lorne has had to suppress his own emotions and force down his feelings. He doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to be vulnerable, like to be vulnerable is to be weak when he needs to be strong for everyone else. And this sort of carries over into the business world too, dealing with executives and such. We definitely see this in the movie too; when Lorne feels large amounts of emotions, anger in particular, he just completely shuts down and internalizes it. Sure he had his minor outburst when he pulled down all the notecards from the cork board, but the look on his face is damn near passive in that he certainly doesn’t look furious.

Rosie and Lorne cuddle a lot. It’s more rare now since their marriage had kind of broken down to something more platonic in nature, but I can imagine them lying in bed together laughing as they watch some tv program or something. It’s times like those that Lorne misses in regard to their relationship, but she’s happy and he would never be selfish as to put his need for physical contact above her. Sure he could hook up with people or even start dating other people, but opening up to new people is daunting. He never had to tell Rosie anything because she just knew him.

Lorne starts opening up a bit to the other cast members, which is natural given how much time they spend with one another. And the rest of the cast are all very much tactile people, that’s immediately obvious to Lorne.

And they’re sort of careful to not touch Lorne too much at first because they presumed that he didn’t really like to be touched. When Lorne gets overwhelmed, he leaves the situation. He does this after George Carlin refuses to do the Alexander the Great sketch and also after he his argument with Dick Ebersol/the fake blood incident. Everyone just starts to assume when he gets overwhelmed he needs alone time when in actually he just really needs physical contact. This avoidance by them just goes to make Lorne feel more lonely, of course, because he feels like an outsider. He’s not sleeping or eating well, and in general starts to kind of suffer mentally from being left out of group cuddle sessions and other casual touches and what have you.

That is of course until they walk into Lorne’s office and see him lying on the couch in his office with his head in Rosie’s lap as she runs her hands through his hair. And he’s total mush under her fingertips, his eyes are closed and he’s dozing off looking actually completely relaxed for the first time in a long time. There may have been tear streaks on his face as well, but no one comments about it. His hair is absolutely his weakness, too. The girls love to tousle his hair and pretend like they’re fixing it as an excuse to run their fingers through it. He half heartedly complains about them messing it up, the faintest hint of blush on his cheeks. Of course then Danny feels the need to join in like “Ooo, let’s all play with Lorne’s hair!”

Everyone learns pretty quick that he’s never going to ask for or seek out human contact. If asked, he’ll probably politely decline because he’s lowkey a bit shy and awkward. But if someone were to just initiate it themselves, throw their arms around his shoulders or wrap their arms around his waist and rest their head on his shoulder, he will totally melt under the touch. Like he’s completely malleable. Lorne in a bad mood after a meeting with network executives? A nice, long hug will make him feel better. Some days are so hectic that it feels like he can’t catch his breath, but even simple touches help to ground him and keep him centered.

And Lorne doesn’t sleep much, right? Even if he does finally go home to his apartment, most days he doesn’t get as good of quality of sleep as he would if he were sleeping with someone else in the bed. They don’t have to be full on cuddling but just even having another presence helps. Maybe if they see that he’s extra tired as of late, one of them makes up an excuse to ask if they can stay the night at his apartment with him in an effort to get Lorne a solid night of sleep.

[yuus-sentient-teddy]

"You've been staring at me for a while. What are you thinking?" Chaco turns the rest of his body so that he's now sitting fully facing you.

"I don't trust you," you declare simply. That was you, wasn't it? Not one to beat around the bush and carrying yourself like a school teacher, all proper and head held high. But there was a whimsical air around you that anyone who spent plenty of time with you would notice, and he has spent plenty. Put simply, you were like a character from a dramatic comedy. The seeming straight, no-nonesense friend with a soft and caring heart.

He quirks a brow and leans forward. "Oh? Why is that?"

"You smile too much," you say, folding your hands on the table and also leaning forward. "And your smiles are too perfect. I'm willing to bet that you're hiding something. No one can smile always perfectly."

"But what if that's how I am? Besides, there's always something to smile about. Like our lord."

Unwillingly, your lips pull up into a smile. "Can't argue with that," you concede. "But then, what else are you thinking that makes you smile?"

"Have you always been this curious about me? Can't get me out of your thoughts?" he teases.

"Yes. You're very interesting." Another simple declaration from you, the whimsical, no-beating-around-the-bush you. You even bob your head in a nod!

The almost deadpan delivery makes him want to laugh, but at the same time, he feels his cheeks start to warm. So, to hide the fluster, he lets out that laugh and rests his chin in his palm. "You know, I could say the same for you too. You're not like most of the other skaters here. If anything, you and Tuxedo Sam's Fragaria might get along."

"No offense to him, but no thanks."

That makes him laugh, much harder than before. He actually turns his body so he could double over, which causes him to miss your satisfied smile and small giggle. Once he's done laughing, he says, "The others are going to love hearing that. Say, did you know you can get a special type of ice cream down the street?"

"I knew it! This is banana ice cream!"

Chaco just smiles as he bites into his spoonful.

"You said there was a special type of ice cream sold here, but this flavor is common," you say.

"Take another bite," he says.

You narrow your eyes and stare at him for a second too long before taking another bite. Your eyes then widen. "Oh! There's a frozen banana slice in here."

"And that's what makes this ice cream special. The other parlors in the area don't have this trait, see?"

You mull it over, taking another bite of ice cream, and nod. "Mmyeah."

And that's how things are between the two of you. Whenever he suggests something, you would take his word for it. Of course, it was not without staring at him for a second too long, as though you could parse the truth out of him by searching his grey eyes. Despite "tricking" you many times (always harmless tricks, mind you), you never backed down.

That brings us to now: the two of you sitting on swing sets staring at the dawning sky, after Chaco said he knew of a quiet place with a great view of the sunrise.

"A while ago, you said you didn't trust me," he says. "Do you still not trust me?"

"Yes."

The way the answer is delivered so whimsically serious makes his smile genuine. "But you still hang out with me. Shouldn't you be more wary?"

"Yes, but if I'm too wary, I wouldn't be able to get to the bottom of what exactly is making you untrustworthy."

How paradoxical, he thinks. Not to mention, it was dangerous of you explain your plan so plainly to the very person you wanted to know more of.

The strangeness of you was so amusing just as it made you so endearing.

"So far, I've figured out that you like pulling friendly and clever pranks, and that you're not entirely untrustworthy. As a Fragaria, you would have the want to protect your lord and the kingdom, but even if you weren't, I can't see you as someone who enjoys hurting people. Whenever we hang out, nothing malicious happens."

"But what if the next thing we do does hurt you?"

"You wouldn't want it to happen and you wouldn't let it. That's not you. Besides, I'd be disappointed. I look forward to whatever silly surprise you have for me."

Chaco considers this. "So you hang out with me because you look forward to that?"

"That's half of it. The other half is that it's just very nice hanging out with you, even if we don't do anything exciting." You pause for a moment to admire the changing hue of the sky. "Like now."

The sun is now beginning to peek over the trees. Chaco immediately thinks of how perfect you look smiling under the golden light.

He likes gullible people, but you are a very special and very interesting exception.

[dolce-tenebra-toscana]

La squadra's part time jobs because we all know Diavolo doesn't pay them enough money to survive 🤣

They survive on Pesca's cooking 70% of the time but they still need to buy stuff for themselves 😅

Risotto ✂️: Bouncer

You are almost 2 mt tall, got black sclera and red eyes? We all know Risotto would use his scary appearence for something other than being an hitman.

He works part-time at Napoli's underground clubs as a bouncer and he is very requested not only for his intimidating looks, but especially for his serious attitude and because how prefessional he is; deals with drunk jerks, helps people who are bothered inside and out of the club...

Sure he hates when people flirt with him or try to push him to enter, but in the end he doesn't really mind.

Prosciutto 🍖: model

He knows he is a very good looking man; his posture is impeccable and he takes really good care of his appearence so why not use all that for good money?

He uses an alias, changes his usual hairstyle and is not very famous but whenever his teammates point his face on a low/medium brand product he smirks and says sh*t like " Well what can i say, la classe non è acqua~"

He also gets big discounts on the products he models for so is free shampoo, perfume and bath products in general for him and the boys.

Formaggio 🧀: bartender

With the nickname " Er sorcio " ( the rat ) he makes his way in all the bars in Napoli, pouring drinks and filling beer's glasses to the brim! His charming personality really helps with tips, especially cause he can make you think he's listening to all your problems while in reality is watching the game on the old tv behind your back.

His signature cocktail is the Hugo and his usual boss even tried to sign him up for a bartending contest but he playfully declined cause he may " k*ll the competition "

He sometimes steals some fancy bottles from the storage room but he is clever enough to do that when the owner is not around.

Illuso 🔎: make up artist

Do you know someone more narcissist than Illuso? Well meet his persona " Gianni Fashionista " and we'll see.

His over the top, snarky and mean-girl attitude and extremely good make up skills made him famous with the rich ladies of " Napoli Bene " and he uses this to gain the upper hand.

He may gossip with Signora Valeria while he prepares her for a charity event, spill the tea with Donna Annunziata about her daughter in law while painting her nails... Illuso crawled from the bottom to the golden top of the superficial, evil and fancy high class of Napoli and he loves it!

Melone 🍈: babysitter

Ok ok i know the majority of the people wouldn't trust this purple tuscan with a goldfish...BUT Melone is really good with kids!!

His experience with Babyface ( and the fact that his mother was a cold b*tch ) teached him everything he knows about how to properly take care of children, and said kids love him too!!

Melone takes them to the park, play pretend, fingerpaint with him is so so fun!! And at the end of the day the mothers always gives him a lil extra money cause they see how happy the children are when " Signor Lollo " comes around.

Nobody knows he may be teaching his favourites how to manipulate people around them to get what they want or how to dispose of a body BUT is just for fun...right?

Ghiaccio 🧊: driving instructor

Can we all appreciate how CUTE Ghiaccio would look with a white polo shirt, jeans and a red tie while he screams at his student during driving lessons? Absolutely adorable!

You can be sure of one thing, with him you won't only get your licence, you'll end up being actually afraid of commit infringement on the road!

Our favourite blue Veneto is a dangerous driver when he is on a mission but when he's teaching other people? He's ruthless and precise, will yell at you at the mininum mistake and at the end of the day his students still hear in their mind " LA FRECCIA D*OCANE!! METTI LA FRECCIA P*TTANA LA MADONNA!!"

Pesci 🐟: wedding planner

Who loves weddings? PESCI DOES!! And with him even the smallest ceremony will look like it came straight out of a fairytale!

No matter the weather, the guests, the priests or any kind of problem his clients might face; he has a solution and he isn't afraid to fight for his beloved brides!!

Zia Carmela is talking sh*t about wanting to seat near the groom? Nah sister, stay at your seat and BEHAVE!! The bride is worried her beloved's " cousin " might actually be his ex? Pesci will check on the background of EVERY female guests to reassure the lil sposina that she has nothing to worry about!!

You want your wedding to be perfect? Better call Pesci~

[surrealisticduvet]

jack kerouac -> secret catholic who self identified as buddhist

michael nesmith -> secret buddhist who self identified as christian

[scnderlands]

so anyway, I need to write something with james asap

[seventh-district]

Could've left me just the way you found me, but you came and put your wings around me. You went out of your way, to fix what you didn't break.

This song is so incredibly Sam & Darlin' coded and no one can tell me otherwise.

[lots of lyrical analysis below the cut] [there's also a short little fanfic blurb of them stargazing down there too (this post got really out of hand lmao)]

For those not fully caught up, note that the following commentary contains various spoilers for Sam and Darlin's stories.

Note: Unfortunately this song is gendered, using the word 'girl' several times. Which sucks a little bit for immersion purposes, not only for keeping Darlin' gender-neutral, but also because I see this song as a duet between them, and Darlin' obviously wouldn't be addressing Sam with the word 'girl' either. So! As with most songs on their playlist, we're just gonna mentally omit any gendered terms we come across.

Side note: Frustratingly, this is one of those songs that didn't really even need to gender the subject in the first place. No part of the story or message is lost without it. But alas, many songs are like that, and so the playlist-makers of the world shall continue to suffer. [/lh]

Anyways, preamble's over. It's lyric time now yay!

Sam's Part

I was a ten-year train wreck

Technically for Sam I suppose it was 13 years, but ten is close enough (and 'ten' admittedly flows a lot better in the rhythm of the song than 'thirteen' would.) Anyways, we're not here to split hairs, (I have to remind myself), we're just here to point out similarities.

In Sam's Dec. '22 HBW, he says "For the last 13 years or so I haven't had to care too much about how I look. Seemed a little redundant after turnin', considerin' I didn't wanna be around much'a anybody anyway."

I think he's mentioned or alluded to that roughly 13 year period of time more than once, but that's the one I remember best so it's the example I'm using. There's still about 4 Sam audios I've yet to listen to as of making this post, so if I'm missing some Key Lore I'll edit this later. But for now, I don't think Sam has given many specifics on exactly how bad things got during that time. Luckily, 'train wreck' is a pretty broad and subjective term, so it easily covers any degree to which he may have fallen apart during those years.

It also feels like a very 'him' way of quickly brushing over the details of his past/his hurt, as he seems to tend to do with Darlin', (not all the time ofc but it's still something I've noticed) putting his own hurt on the backburner to prioritize and attend to theirs. Even outside of his dynamic with them, I think as a healer, it's something he learned to do. And now he does it with everyone. Put on a brave face, compartmentalize things and unpack them later, etc. I could go on and on but there'll be time for that in other posts I'm sure. For now, lets get back to the song at hand.

With a last-call longneck

Due to personal reasons, I've yet to decide if I want to HC him as having used alcohol as a coping mechanism during that time. I don't recall him having mentioned alcohol much, if at all, (maybe one mention of whiskey that I don't have time to find right now) so I don't think it's necessarily canon that he did, but it's certainly possible. My personal preferences aside, I'll admit it makes for some good additional angst. (And- self-indulgently- it makes some other songs on my playlist for them more fitting.) So, for the sake of this song, let's imagine that he did.

I was searchin', I'd been hurt real bad

This one feels pretty self-explanatory given what Alexis did, (and, if you wanna get even angstier with it, whatever his family did earlier on in his life) so there isn't much commentary to add on my end.

I HC that in spite of 'not wanting to be around anybody', he- like Darlin- still had a tiny part of himself buried deep down that was, in a way, 'searching' for someone to find solace in. (No this isn't me projecting onto them both haha what are you talking about-)

Movin' on, gettin' sidetracked One step forward and five back

This is generally applicable enough that I don't feel the need to give too much of a specific example. Anyone who's recovered or is recovering from trauma knows this non-linear, back-and-forth struggle well already, and I'm sure he was no stranger to it.

If I were to give some examples though, I could point to Darlin's (and subsequently, Sam's) encounter with Alexis at the summit, or the shit that Quinn dredged up about Fredrick and threw at Sam in the interrogation room. Those are both more recent examples and I imagine these lines of the song to be coming from a place of him prior to meeting Darlin', but still, they're some instances where I'm sure he felt like the past was pulling him back in. I'm sure that there's been many throughout those 13 years that we were never witness to.

Not your fault, I was scared to fall

This line reminds me of their 'Cuddles and Confessions' audio. I don't think he ever explicitly said he was 'scared' per se, so afaik there's no specific line I can quote, but in that and every audio prior, he was obviously hesitant to admit, perhaps even to himself, that he was gradually falling for them. Even after the initial confession, there's certain limits of his (e.g. biting) that he carries for far longer, and some that I (and others) HC that he'll carry forever. So this line feels to me like him reassuring Darlin' that his reluctance isn't the fault of them, but his past.

Darlin's Part

You were the star in the pitch black Shine the way on the way back

We don't have any canon instances of them comparing Sam to a star, but I can see it being something they'd say (perhaps less poetically, but the sentiment would be there) one night while laying up on their roof watching the stars with him. Maybe they're dead-tired, talking nonsense with lidded eyes at the end of a long day, fighting sleep in favor of more time spent with him.

"What- what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Their hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in their line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above them. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow their less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', their pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along their arm, he takes their hand in his and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." They say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." They nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting them. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

They scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh into their hair. "No- no I mean- like... what's another name for it... Oh! It's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but they cut him off before he can start. "But no- no, this one isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in their overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Their frown is audible in their voice as they latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at their over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, darlin', I promise."

They huff, but thankfully shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention. I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...There you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places 'n people I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, surrounded by the ghost of him. You outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me back home."

In the back of their mind, they recall something they once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can see a star that's already burnt out, because it's light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

They remember Sam's words, once whispered to them on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

They think about dead stars.

They think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand slides up their forearm, pulling them out of their thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

They look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

They reach out, pulling him down into them. Burying their face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear their words, muffled against the thick fabric, but his hearing catches it just fine.

"Don't burn out too quick. Please. I still need you here. I don't- I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

.......Whoopsies! Really, genuinely didn't mean to improv an entire scene there, good god. Also didn't mean to swerve hard into angst at the end but uh. that's what came out! so I'm rolling with it lmao. Aaanyways let's move on, it's getting late and this is a song analysis post, not a fic.

Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers

'Out of nowhere' reminds me of Sam's words from the same HBW video I referenced earlier. "You came into my life like a damn wreckin' ball. There was no preparing for that, clothing or otherwise." While those were Sam's words, not Darlin's, I still feel like they feel similarly to how suddenly Sam came into their life as well. (Not in a bad way, mind you!)

[the significance of 'answered all my prayers' edges into my own personal more headcanon-y/personal/OC-ified Darlin' territory, so we can just gloss over this one for the sake of at least attempting to keep this more universally applicable]

Picked up the towel that I threw in Took in a heart that was ruined

Again, largely self-explanatory I feel. (*proceeds to explain anyways*) I imagine that Darlin' was at the point of throwing in the towel, hellbent on a solo-mission to find Quinn regardless of the danger it posed to them. I doubt they were looking toward the future anymore, (to reference Sam,) fully willing to throw themself at their problems until they really did break.

The specific use of 'ruined' hits hard here, because after everything they went through with Quinn, and especially after he recounted it all to Sam in that interrogation room, I imagine that they really, truly did feel ruined.

Showed me the past ain't a tattoo Loved me even when you didn't have to

These lines in particular make me sick with emotion every time I hear this song, because I feel like they hit the nail on the head for how Darlin' feels.

I'll be here citing various quotes all night that I feel showcase that sentiment, but we don't have time for that! So instead I'm just pointing to the entirety of 'Quinn's Aftermath' video, and leaving you with this single quote from it.

"Everything that he said reflects nothin' on you, and everything on him."

Equally Applicable Lines

And I don't know why Why you saw something in me, baby But you saw right through All the pain, and you came and saved me Yeah, I know you didn't leave me lonely Weren't the one that put the heartbreak on me Picked up the pieces It wasn't the mess that you made Could've left me just the way you found me But you came and put your wings around me You went out of your way To fix what you didn't break

Again, I think these lines are all pretty self-explanatory, and are just as accurate coming from either one of them. To me, at least, their entire dynamic is that they saved each other, in their own ways.

(But I will admit, the final verses about 'going out of your way to fix what you didn't break' are definitely conjuring up memories of Sam in the early days, literally going out of his way to visit and heal Darlin' after their fight with the two vamps. In general, his continued/repeated healing of them after they once again hurt themselves is the very literal definition of fixing what he didn't break.

But! While we may have more blatant examples of Sam being 'the fixer' so to speak, I think he'd argue that Darlin' has done plenty fixing of their own. Physical wounds aren't the only things that need healing, after all.)

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[shameless self-promo of my Sam & Darlin' playlist for those few of u interested enough to make it to the very end of this wall of text. if u liked this then u might like some of the other songs on there soooo maybe go check it out and maybe perhaps give it a follow so i can get a little serotonin boost or dopamine or whatever the chemical is that's released when Number Go Up. ...okay that's it i hope u enjoyed my fixation-induced ramblings! thank u and goodnight]

[sharpsuite]

my indulgent version 2 of the prompt for @crue11

There are many ways Chishiya could choose to describe Niragi ; CUTE is not ever one of them until this moment. Niragi would undoubtedly strangle him if he ever found out about that thought. . ( And Chishiya should be a LOT more concerned about that potential and the mental image that it brings than he is. ) But Niragi who is still 75% asleep is rather cute, confusion painted in eyes and brows furrowed like he's trying to piece together what he's seeing when he mutters the sleepy question of is that my shirt?

For a brief moment, he wonders what it is that Niragi sees whenever the other wakes up first. Most of the time, Chishiya finds that Niragi is ALREADY AWAKE by time he reluctantly opens his eyes. The times are few and far between where Chishiya is the one who is awake first. Rare, but not impossible . Though he often keeps his eyes closed and they both play pretend like they don't both know he's awake - except for the time or two where he hasn't hidden the fact he's awake while lost in thought. He refocuses on Niragi now, trailing his eyes over the other while he leans against the wall. So maybe that's why Niragi liked staring. It was DIFFERENT to see the other in a moment like this compared to how they are on the daily, fully awake and active. Outside of these four walls - or Niragi's room's walls, moments like these DON'T exist. But here they do.

He pushes the thought away as he flicks off the dim lighting and makes his way carefully back to the bed. Goosebumps raise along his exposed skin ; the Beach's air conditioning is a blessing in the heat of the day but it's TOO COLD now after being buried against Niragi's side and under the bed covers. He carefully climbs back into bed beside Niragi, trying not to do anything to wake the other up further.

" It is. " Chishiya lifts a hand to gently but firmly nudge Niragi to lay back down while he slips back under the comforter. ( He side eyes his abandoned blankets in the process, but he can accept the loss of them for Niragi's warmth instead. ) " I needed to get up for a moment real quick and it is COLD. Your shirt was closest and I was not hunting for my clothes in the dark. " He scoffs at the idea as he sinks down onto the bed and make short work of burying himself back against Niragi. You're just like a cat. The memory of Niragi murmuring that to him one morning tugs a thin smile onto his lips in the dark. As if Niragi hadn't been the one tightening his hold on him. Which brings up a new thought - had it been Chishiya movement that woke Niragi up, or had it been HIS ABSENCE that had woken the other?

" I didn't mean to wake you up. " Chishiya mumbles softly into the crook of Niragi's neck, breath fanning across his skin. It is true, he really hadn't meant to. He'd been reluctant to move at all for this very reason. One arm lifts to let his fingertips rest over Niriagi's chest; an almost imperceivable, relaxed exhale leaving his chest. " You should go back to sleep if you can. " He adds quietly, face still hidden against him.

[h1rul3s]

❝ i am just a lost traveler, seeking rest for the night. ❞

The green knight starters / Accepting

THE  CAMPFIRE  CRACKLED  SOFTLY  IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  NIGHT,  ITS  GOLDEN  LIGHT  CASTING  DANCING  SHADOWS  ACROSS  THE  SURROUNDING  TREES.  Link  sat  cross-legged  on  the  cool  grass,  the  flames  reflecting  in  his  eyes  as  Epona  stood  nearby,  her  ears  flicking  occasionally  at  the  distant  sounds  of  the  wild.  The  scent  of  woodsmoke  mingled  with  the  crisp  night  air,  and  the  world  seemed  quiet,  save  for  the  occasional  rustle  of  leaves.  Suddenly,  a  faint  noise  (  too  deliberate  to  be  the  wind  )  broke  the  stillness.  Link’s  sharp  instincts  immediately  took  hold  and  he  rose  smoothly  to  his  feet.

That's  how  the  stranger  would  find  him,  standing  with  calm  yet  watchful  eyes  studying  her  for  a  few  seconds  before  finally  breaking  the  silence  ❝  You  are  free  to  stay  if  you  want  ❞  the  words  were  as  straightforward  as  they  were  simple,  spoken  without  hesitation  or  pretense.  It  was  almost  surprising...his  lack  of  questions,  his  absence  of  suspicion.  But  perhaps  it  wasn't  so  strange;  anyone  with  ill  intent  would  likely  have  been  far  less  obvious  in  their  approach.  And  if  you  looked  closely,  his  sword,  though  seemingly  out  of  reach,  was  positioned  perfectly  for  a  quick  draw,  even  if  he  had  stepped  slightly  closer.

It  didn't  take  long  for  the  hero  to  return  to  his  spot  by  the  campfire,  settling  back  onto  the  grass  with  the  same  unhurried  ease  as  before  ❝  though  I'm  afraid  I  don't  have  much  to  offer  ❞  he  said,  pausing  for  a  moment  before  adding  ❝  just  some  food,  if  you  are  hungry  ❞  while  gesturing  toward  the  freshly  caught  fish  cooking  over  the  flames.  Their  edges  crisping  in  the  warmth.  It  was  a  humble  gesture,  but  genuine,  and  he  hoped  it  would  be  enough.  The  only  other  thing  he  had  were  a  few  carrots  which  were  meant  for  Epona  and,  therefore,  NOT  SOMETHING  HE  WOULD  SHARE.

[itsjaywalkers]

why is making a cv SO hard

[zenith-at]

thank you tsukumizu

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

crazy how I will not write for days then write like 5k in one day

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

So anyway @mxnsxngie gave me a really cute idea so expect that hopefully this week 🥰