#going to print this out and look at it every morning for a boost of serotonin

[milkteatrait]

btw im literally obsessed with everything u post xx

HELLLOOODFKASDJFLSKDJFSDLKFJ THIS AKLDSFJASDFLKJ HAS MADE ME MY WHOLE FREAKING WEEK!!!!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH OH MY GOD???? HELLO?? THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!! IM OBSESSED WITH U ?? YOU ARE SO KIND THAN K U !!!!!

[seoulmatez]

𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝑒

memories of high school come flooding back when you happen upon a certain photo in suna's possession.

suna rintaro x reader ﾉ 1.7k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ♡

When you get home from spending the day with Suna and are busy shedding yourself of your winter outerwear, you realize you brought something home that you shouldn’t have. You’re wearing a hoodie you didn’t put on this morning—one courtesy of Suna, one that he was surprisingly kind enough to lend you when he noticed your shivering and the goosebumps raised on your arms. You had every intention of returning it to him before you parted ways but it seems as though it slipped your mind and his. 

You dig through your bag in search of your phone, pulling out the device once you feel your fingers graze the case. It takes practically no time for you to find Suna’s contact—he’s the one person you call and text the most—and you click on the little phone icon to give him a call. One ring sounds before he answers.

“Miss me already?” His smooth voice crackles a bit over the line but it's his nevertheless.

You roll your eyes at his presumptuous greeting but you can’t stop your lips from pulling up in a smile. You’re just glad he can’t see you—he’d surely use your expression as evidence to back up his claim. “Give it a few more hours and maybe.”

“Liar,” he mumbles just loud enough for you to catch it. You can hear the pout in his voice.

You shake your head to stop yourself from laughing. Your feet begin to carry you from the doorway to your bedroom as you continue. “Look, I accidentally wore your hoodie home. Should I bring it back?”

His response comes quickly. “Nah, you can keep it.”

“As in you don’t want it back? At all?”

“It's yours.”

“Sunarin, your generosity today has been mind-boggling.” You plop down on your bed and hug one of the pillows to your chest. You’ve known Suna for a long time, long enough to know that he doesn’t usually let go of his things so easily. There’s no shortage of memories that you can recall of him being possessive of his belongings—his unwillingness to share his jelly candies, his reluctance to let you use his pokemon pillows during your sleepovers. 

You suppose his goodwill today can be viewed as a sign of progress. You’re grateful—you really were cold earlier. And, wearing his clothes while you aren’t in his presence makes you feel like he’s near. With a simple inhale, you can smell him on the fabric.

“Jeez,” Suna’s voice cuts through your thoughts, “it’s starting to sound like you want me to take it back.”

“No, no, I’ll happily take it off your hands.” You finally concede, but not without adding, “Thanks.”

The two of you chat for a little while longer before saying your goodbyes for the second time tonight. You plug up your phone and stand up, ready to wind down and start your nightly routine. Though, when you boost yourself up from the mattress, something falls from the pocket of your new hoodie.

A black leather rectangle. Suna’s wallet, you realize.

You don’t want to interrupt Suna again by calling so you simply pick up the wallet, unplug your phone, and snap a picture with it before sending it off. With the picture, a message reads: Pretty sure you want this back, yeah?

His reply comes almost immediately. Yah. Bring it tmrw.

Another message bubble quickly follows. Pls.

You assure him you will and wish him good night before setting your phone aside. You turn your attention to the wallet in your hands. It’s smooth against your skin but the corners look worn like he’s been using it for a while. You ponder the thought of getting him a new one as a gift as you fiddle with the leather. 

The wallet slips between your fingers with your careless movements and lands on your bed—open. You hadn’t intended to snoop, truly. Your first thought is to close it and put it on your nightstand but something catches your eye before you do so.

A printed picture peeks out from one of the pockets, its corners and edges just as worn as the wallet it’s tucked into. Most of the image is covered but enough is on display for you to make up the subject—it’s a person. And that person wears their hair almost exactly how you did in high school.

You quietly apologize to an unknowing Suna for invading his privacy as you pull the picture out from his wallet. The person doesn’t just happen to wear their hair like you—the person is you. You in your Inarizaki uniform, posing with a big smile and a peace sign in the gym.

Seeing the photo almost transports you back to that moment all those years ago. You sat in on the volleyball team’s practices a lot in high school, mostly because of Suna. As much as you were happy to support him, watching the same thing every day got boring after a while. This day in particular, you happened to have your camera with you and you made use of it by snapping pictures throughout their practice. 

A good number of them turned out incredibly blurry due to the motion—it’s not easy to get a good picture of a volleyball soaring through the air on a polaroid. Eventually, you ended up turning the camera around to take a selfie. By the time practice wrapped up and Suna joined you for your walk to the train station, you presented him with the product of your efforts while he was hard at work.

Giving the picture to him was meant to be a joke—you never would have imagined he’d keep it back then, much less continue to carry it with him years later. It makes you chuckle, both in amazement and embarrassment. You really thought this print would have ended up in the garbage or at least lost in a move.

Suna is full of surprises.

You should be getting ready for bed but this unintentional discovery has sparked some inspiration within you. You’ve gotten a new camera since then but it takes and prints pictures all the same. You reach over to your nightstand where you keep it and snatch up the device.

Instead of showering and going to sleep, you spend some time holding a solo photoshoot. Like when you were in high school, you snap picture after picture, striking all the poses you can fathom before you run out of film. Oddly enough, the one that turns out best is the one in which you’re replicating the pose from when you were a teenager—a big smile and peace sign.

The next day, with Suna’s wallet in your bag, you knock your knuckles against his front door. It’s almost silent on the other side of the door until you hear the sound of his slippers dragging along the floor as he approaches. With a click, the door unlocks and Suna appears before you.

“I’m here~” you announce yourself in a sing-songy voice as you reach into your bag. “And I’ve got your wallet.”

You hold out the leather rectangle to him. He accepts it and steps to the side to let you in. As you kick off your shoes in favor of a pair of slippers, you look over your shoulder to tell him, “Might wanna make sure everything’s in there. For all you know, I might have robbed you.”

His eyebrows pull together in what would look like a frown if his lips weren’t curled up in a grin. You watch as he opens the wallet and thumbs through the pockets, taking inventory of the few banknotes and important cards he stores in the pockets. His examination seems to be coming to a close when he suddenly notices something.

His thumb brushes over the corner of the photo—the new photo you were sure to tuck in there this morning. Suna has taken notice of something different about it, something that raises his alarm enough to pull the picture out. His eyes widen at the realization that it’s not the picture he’s known to be tucked away for the past several years. 

“I thought you could use an updated version,” you tell him, taking a seat on the couch. “But I never thought you’d actually keep that.”

He looks closely at the “updated version,” his light eyes scanning the picture. It’s incredibly similar to the one from high school—you look a little older, the setting is different and so are your clothes, but your smile hasn’t changed in the slightest. It’s almost as if he’s reliving the first time you gave him a polaroid like this—his heart thumps heavily against his ribs all the same, anyway. “Would have been pretty shitty of me to throw it away. Since it was a gift and all.”

You smile as Suna sits down next to you, carefully putting the new picture back in his wallet. “How long have you kept that in there?” you ask out of simple curiosity.

Suna shrugs, his tongue poking out to wet his lips. “A while, I guess.”

That’s not much of an answer, not one you were looking for, at least. “Fine.” You nudge him playfully with your shoulder. “Keep your secrets.”

He chuckles, seemingly happy that you choose not to press him on it. As welcome as the new picture is, a sense of unease still blankets over him. 

“Do you still have the other one?” Suna asks.

You tilt your head to the side. “Hm?”

He gestures to his wallet. “The picture—do you have the old one?”

“Oh.” You didn’t think he’d miss it now that he had a new one. But even with how old and somewhat embarrassing the picture was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to throw it away—especially not when Suna had been cherishing it for years. “Yeah, it’s back at my place. You still want it?”

He hums. “Yeah. I do.”

You had no idea it meant that much to him. The confession makes your heart flutter in your chest and your cheeks warm in bashfulness. You find it a little difficult to meet his eye after his declaration. “Then I’ll make sure it gets back to you.”

He leans over to place a kiss against your temple. You can feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin. “Thanks.”

sua here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[boundbyeclipse]

hiii can you write smut number 5 with current James????

black velvet

genre : smut

word count : 1227

tags : current!james, female!reader, age difference (not specified how much), reader is a tattoo artist, a little rough james, semi-public sex (i think?), that’s about it

from the prompt list : 5. “don’t cover your mouth. i wanna hear you”

a/n : sooo i saw a photo of James getting a tattoo done and i thought hey, that’s a perfect idea for one of my requests! it really stuck to me and i had to write it. i really hope you enjoy this one x

‘Poison’ by Alice Cooper played in the background after you returned from your dinner break at work. You hummed along to the lyrics while lightly bopping your head to the beat. You absolutely loved rock and metal, so the playlist used at work always consisted of bands who did exactly those genres. It always gave you motivation and boosts for some energy, no matter if you were sad, angry or irritated.

While preparing for your next client, the sound of the entrance door opening and closing reached your ears. Technically, it was just a bit too early to show up, but hey, this one’s a regular and you didn’t mind at all.

“Hey there” you greeted him while putting some black gloves on your hands.

“Hey. Mind me showing up before I should?”

You gave him a warm smile, shaking your head left to right.

“Nope. You can come take a seat actually, I’ll go print out the tattoo and get more ink”

“Alright” James smiled back, hanging his jacket on the rack and making his way to the big, comfortable leather chair. He watched you walking around and you didn’t quite pay any attention to him, at least at first. Or, you just didn’t want to.

No matter how many times you’ve done tattoos on this man in the past few years, there has always been some sort of a tension between you both. It wasn’t anything like what you’ve had before with other men. They might have complimented you, made you smile, even blush, but none of them put you in such a vulnerable position with their presence alone. And there have been many times where his eyes would pierce right through you in the middle of getting his skin drawn on, creating the impression of him wanting to do some things to you. The lust was purely emitting from him the whole time. And you cannot forget about those moments when his fingertips would brush against your skin, making you shiver and think of scenarios in your head that were not so innocent. Sure, he was much older than you, but that didn’t stop either of you from craving each other every time.

Not too long after, you were already seated next to James, with his hand extended out as you were drawing lines on his skin.

My, oh my, did those large hands of his drove you insane.

“You got any more people coming after me?” he suddenly asked, his blue eyes hinting at something.

“Nope, you are the last one today. Puts my mind at ease knowing my last client is a regular. No need to overthink”

One side of his mouth curved up into a small smirk.

“Are you sure your mind is at ease? Because I can feel you’re all tensed up”

You swallowed and bit your lower lip hard after he said that. Trying to hide your growing frustration, you giggled.

“Maybe I am, I’ve been here since seven in the morning, you know”

He cocked an eyebrow up, not quite believing what you were saying. James could clearly see how you bit your lip, adjusted in your seat and giggled due to getting thrown back by his comment.

“It’s kind of easy to tell that it’s not because of the work. You don’t need to hide it”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your body froze for a moment before you looked up at him and asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you secretly think about all the possible ways I could use my hands on you,” you could not believe what he just said, but it was totally true, “it’s written all over your face. Even your body language gives it away with how you shake, squirm in your seat, how you breathe heavier when I’m around. I know you think of me”

“James, don’t-“

“Just finish the tattoo first, then you can explain yourself”

Not even ten minutes later, you had your body pinned against the door of your break room, with no way to escape the tall man who hovered over you. His hands roamed your body while he kissed your neck, sucking on the sensitive spots to make you even weaker. The way he held you by your hip against the door made you so vulnerable and so turned on, that you could not help but moan into the heated kiss.

With one swift move, James opened the door behind you and the both of you walked backwards, still all over each other until the back of your calves hit the lounge couch that was in the room. James helped you with taking your shirt off, leaving you in a black lace bra. You sat down and watched James from below, eyes full of desperation and need, looking right into his own. He removed his shirt and tossed it away, unbuckling his jeans and unzipping them, then hovering above you as he laid you down slowly, but with rough kisses and a tight grip on your waist.

Your hand reached into his jeans and you cupped him through the fabric of his underwear, giving it a couple squeezes as James groaned in response. He was big, thick and hard, and you could feel yourself getting so wet that it started to hurt. You really needed him.

With no clothes left on your bodies, he was now inside you, moving his hips as he watched your face, loving the way your eyes rolled back with each thrust. The way your back arched, your naked bodies touching against each other, it put you in such a trance. Every second of it - you just loved.

With your moans becoming louder, you felt a little embarrassed, and your hand found its way to your mouth to silence yourself. But James wasn’t going to let you hide.

“Don’t cover your mouth. I wanna hear you”

Carefully, he took your hand and now had both of your hands pinned above your head. Your moans filled the room as you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to feel every single inch of his length in you. Almost to the point where you could barely take it.

“I can’t- I can’t take it”

“Yes, you can. Just hang on for a little bit more for me, okay?”

You gave him a nod in response, eyes watery and lips parted as you breathed heavily, your high hitting you right then and there. It happened so quickly, that you could not even tell James that you were close.

Another moan slipped out of his mouth as you coated him in your juices, your walls pulsing whilst he was still inside you, able to feel everything.

“Almost there” he told you as he gave you his final thrusts before pulling out and cumming on your stomach. Both of you were panting, with small beads of sweat on your foreheads and hair all messed up. But as soon as you got your breathing back to normal, it was time to clean up and go home. Though, James just wasn’t quite keen on leaving you so soon.

“I’ll give you a ride back home, so don’t worry about taking a bus in this weather” he gave you a warm smile as he put his jacket on and waited for you at the entrance door.

[rosanna-writer]

That's That Rhys Espresso (1/2)

Summary: Hoping she'll get an espresso machine as a rejection gift, Feyre invites a famous coffee influencer to her wedding…only for him to show up instead. Warnings: None Word Count: ~4k

I love a good group project (almost as much as I love my friends - go read their fics!).

My entry is inspired by this post by the brilliant @the-lonelybarricade and her beautiful brain. And a huge thank you to @thesistersarcheron for the beta read!

You can find the first chapter Here on AO3 or under the cut.

Honestly, the matcha was a red flag.

Feyre had nothing against it, but The Roasters Under the Mountain specialized in rich, dark, extra-bitter espresso. If someone wanted a latte that tasted like grass, the tea shops down the road would do a much better job of it. And yet, she found herself making one for Tamlin daily, the green drink a perfect match to his gorgeous eyes.

If Amarantha didn't threaten to flay her skin from her bones if she took too long filling orders, Feyre would have already written her number on his to-go cup. But under the watchful gaze of her bitch of a boss, she'd been forced to merely smile a little extra warmly at her favorite regular.

Once, when Amarantha had been busy firing Andras for calling out sick too often—health codes, food safety, and labor laws be damned—Feyre had a precious few extra seconds with Tamlin. As she'd slid him his drink, he'd blushed and stammered something about her hair looking clean.

She'd ridden that high for weeks.

Each day, Feyre left The Roasters Under the Mountain with aching feet, exhausted by entitled customers, public restroom shitstorms, Amarantha's threats, and the constant pressure to serve increasingly complicated drinks in less time. The early mornings left her so drained that she hadn't cracked open a can of paint in months. And despite the hard work, she still barely covered the rent for the ramshackle cottage she shared with her family.

So when another opportunity arose to ask Tamlin out, she wasn't exactly in the headspace to identify red flags.

She'd clung to him hard in those early days. It was impossible not to—after years of just scraping by, the relief she felt each time he rubbed her shoulders after a long shift or paid for a date was damn near euphoric.

And yes, maybe she should have been concerned when he'd asked her to move in with him after only a few short months of dating. And that he'd told her not to worry about the bills—he wanted her to focus on her art for now, and she could always pay him back later, when her career took off.

He'd always been so sure she'd make it as an artist. No one else had believed in Feyre like that.

Working her final shift at Under the Mountain had felt like such a victory. As much as Feyre wanted to just leave and never come back, she hadn't wanted to give up the chance to rub in the fact that she was moving on to bigger and better things.

On every latte she served that day, she'd drawn a penis in the foam.

It had been worth it, just to watch Amarantha seethe. Even better, her other favorite regular, pumpkin-spice-for-Lucien, who often arrived with Tamlin, had posted a picture of it and tagged her. It went viral, directing some of the traffic to the online store where she sold prints of her work, resulting in a nice little boost to her revenue that month, enough to pay down some of the credit card debt she'd amassed keeping the lights on at home during one of her father's hospital stays.

Things were looking up. So of course when Tamlin asked her to marry him, she'd cried happy tears and said yes.

Feyre let herself get swept up in the new whirlwind of wedding planning. It was easier than thinking about why she still woke up at 3 AM in a panic, convinced Amarantha would snap her neck for arriving late to her opening shift. Most nights, she ran to the bathroom with a racing heart and shaking hands and heaved the contents of her dinner into the toilet.

Tamlin never woke up. She tried not to think about it.

Once, Feyre stopped at their neighborhood coffee shop, intent on bringing home a treat, but before she could order, she'd found herself hyperventilating. She'd left. And when Tamlin came home exhausted from a long day at work, she decided not to tell him about the incident. It seemed so silly in retrospect.

Maybe when he'd added her to his health insurance after the wedding, she'd try therapy. For now, watching Black as Knight was healing enough.

Elain had sent her the first video she'd watched. Feyre's sister devoured all sorts of online cooking and food content at an alarming rate. Under a joke about the swill Feyre drank—god Feyre, Folgers??? you drink that BLACK??? you're worse than Nesta��Elain had included a link to a video of a coffee expert blind taste-testing bargain brands.

Feyre had opened it, not expecting that Rhysand Knight would be the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

In the weeks and months since, Feyre had devoured every last espresso machine review, tiramisu recipe, and AeroPress instruction video Rhysand made. His voice was so soothing that she'd even taken to putting him on as background noise when she painted. With his trademark glasses, swoopy greying hair, and cocky smirk, he was utterly captivating to watch. And as a past winner of the world barista championship and pioneer of the third-wave coffee movement, he was incredibly knowledgable, too.

It was a small thing, perhaps, but if it weren't for Rhysand, Feyre doubted she'd ever manage to enjoy a latte without flashbacks to her time at Under the Mountain.

Once, she'd tried to get Tamlin to watch Rhysand's video detailing the different methods for decaffeinating coffee beans. Two minutes in, Tamlin had scoffed and told her to find something else.

"I just don't know how you can stand it," he'd said. "He's all 'notes of cinnamon' this and 'finely ground roast' that. It's just coffee."

A tiny, embarrassing wobble had creeped into Feyre's voice when she replied, "I'm trying to be better about remembering I can afford nice coffee sometimes. That I don't have to keep living like I'm poor now."

After that, Tamlin hadn't pressed the issue. Mostly. Feyre stopped trying to coax him into watching Rhysand's content with her—instead, she put up with the unfunny violin duo that Tamlin adored, though she could do without the endlessly repetitive you should be practicing jokes.

Sure, Tamlin never seemed to compromise and put on something she preferred. Annoying maybe, but making love last meant picking your battles, didn't it? Feyre could live with that.

But for some reason, the emerald ring on her left hand felt like a deadweight more often these days.

It might have been the reason Feyre put off building a registry as long as possible. But also, she'd never gotten over how presumptuous it felt to give her guests a list of items to gift. The price tags made her nauseous, no matter how many times Tamlin gently reminded her it was time to replace all her mismatched secondhand kitchenware.

"And maybe," he'd said with a wry smile, "that'll actually motivate you to learn to cook."

She'd forced a smile and tried to forget about the way he'd picked at the soup she'd made the week before, then ordered takeout after declaring it inedible. But with all the extra hours he'd been working at his high-pressure sales job, Feyre couldn't blame him for wanting a home-cooked meal at a reasonable hour every night.

Even if that meant cutting her time at the studio shorter than she could afford with her career just getting off the ground.

Feyre tried to put that thought out of her mind. Tamlin had blocked off the entire afternoon just so they could wander Williams Sonoma hand-in-hand. She intended to enjoy his company as best she could before he jetted off on a business trip for the week. Again.

They turned the corner, and in an aisle full of espresso machines that cost more than Feyre made in a month, Rhysand Knight's face smirked down at them from every box on the shelf. Apparently, that YouTube channel had expanded to a line of matte black coffee equipment.

Feyre glanced at Tamlin. And before she could even get a word out, he said, "Absolutely not."

"I take it you don't want to invite him to the wedding?" Feyre said, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Tamlin didn't smile back; if anything, his frown deepened. "No."

"It's not like he'd show up—he doesn't know us. We'd probably just get an autographed photo and a nice card from his publicist. But who knows, if this kitchenware line is taking off, maybe he'd gift us an espresso machine. He can certainly afford it."

It seemed like the sort of thing a celebrity would do. Elain mostly sent their group chat bouquet inspo these days, but in the middle of all the aesthetic pictures of baby's breath, Nesta had said something about the host of her favorite game show getting wedding invites from fans. He'd joked about attending, and the internet had adored him for it.

A famous barista sending a top-of-the-line espresso machine to an couple who'd invited him to their wedding on a lark—feel-good stories like that always went viral.

And as much as Feyre loved her coffeemaker, it was still a far cry from the ones that would let her make specialty espresso drinks as home. Those cost thousands of dollars, more money than she'd ever feel comfortable spending on something unnecessary.

"We can get our own damn espresso machine if you want one so badly," Tamlin said through gritted teeth.

"I've heard that coffee tastes better when the machine you made it in was free."

Tamlin's glare made it obvious that he wasn't going to dignify that with a response. Feyre's smile dimmed. But they really did need to get their registry in order, so she looped his arm through his and let him drag her over to a different aisle to look at linens instead.

Tamlin only drank tea—Feyre suspected he would have reacted more positively if she'd floated the idea of angling for a gift they'd both use. But he wasn't the one carrying coffee-related baggage from the worst job of her life. Maybe he'd never really understand.

Feyre found herself glancing back at the wall of boxes emblazoned with Rhysand's stupidly attractive face. If he definitely wasn't attending the wedding, there was no need to pay for his plate. The only cost would be postage.

There wouldn't be any harm in sending him an invite.

Would there?

On the morning of her wedding, Feyre woke up with a knot in her stomach. Probably just the jitters—after all, she'd never liked attention or public speaking or posing for photos. And a proper wedding involved all of those things in spades.

She'd slept soundly, which was odd. Tamlin was staying with Lucien for the night; his other friend Ianthe had arranged for it. Apparently, everything would go to shit if the groom saw the bride before the wedding, so Feyre had elected to have the house to herself. Without Tamlin holding her as she drifted off, she thought she'd struggle to get some rest.

Instead, it was the best sleep she'd gotten in years. Perhaps the feeling of Tamlin's arms around her had been suffocating, not restful.

Feyre pushed that thought aside. She was marrying him today, and it was far too late to doubt that decision. Everything was paid for. Guests had flown in from out of state. She couldn't back out now.

Like every morning, she ground the beans, filled up the water tank, and hit brew. The familiar smell hit her nose, and Feyre just tried to enjoy the quiet while she could. To breathe while she could.

Her heart was already racing, but she hadn't even ingested a single milligram of caffeine. And it didn't stop, no matter how much she willed it to. As she poured coffee from the carafe to her mug, her hands shook, making the ceramic and glass clink together.

The feeling didn't dissipate, even as she brushed her teeth and threw on clothes. She probably should have had something more substantial for breakfast, but she wasn't sure she could keep it down. It was nearly a relief when her sisters arrived, and she could focus on the orders that Nesta barked at her on the way to the venue.

The concern in Elain's eyes was harder to face.

Feyre felt like a passenger in her own body while someone applied her makeup and someone else curled her hair. Close your eyes. Open your eyes. Tilt your head. Other way. The day had barely started, and she was already feeling overwhelmed from being poked at, plucked, and pinned within an inch of her life.

By the time they finished, a stranger was staring back at her in the mirror.

The photographer had arrived at some point, and Feyre grimaced her way through getting-ready pictures with her sisters in the matching robes they'd bought for the occasion. A feeling of utter wrongness crawled its way up her spine, despite the fact that this was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

The prospect of getting into her dress didn't help, either. The endless layers of tulle made wearing it feel akin to being mummified, and today, the boning in the bodice reminded her of prison bars. Feyre had wanted to wear something more loose and flowing—why pay thousands for something she couldn't properly dance in at the reception?—but in the end, she'd let Tamlin and Ianthe talk her into something more traditional, feminine, and restrictive.

Sure, she looked like a cupcake with great tits and a snatched waist. But slipping on a gown wasn't supposed to feel like getting closed into a trap.

They staged a few pictures of Nesta lacing up the back of her dress. It was far from tight—the corset back was nothing more than an embellishment over a hidden zipper—but Feyre's breath began to come in pants.

"I— I think I need some air," she said.

"Did you remember to drink some water today?" Elain said, frowning.

Just coffee. But her sisters didn't need to know that. Feyre nodded, though Nesta's gaze slid to Elain anyway, as if they were having a silent conversation.

"Yes. I'll be right back, I promise. I just need a minute. Alone."

Feyre pushed past the photographer before anyone could argue. She fisted her hands in her voluminous skirts and barreled out the door, heedless of where she was going. It didn't matter. All she needed was to be out, with as much distance between her and everyone else as possible.

Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she ran. They'd gotten ready in some back room of the venue, a scenic country club with a golf course—Tamlin had picked it. There had to be an exit somewhere.

She was dimly aware of hurried footsteps behind her. Someone was calling her name. Feyre wasn't quite sure who—it was hard to tell with her pulse pounding so strongly in her ears.

She made a few turns, just trying to get away. With panic flooding her mind, she didn't think about signs or directions, just a need to get to safety.

At some point, she found herself running towards a pair of shiny metal doors, the kind that led to an industrial kitchen. Shit. She must really have gotten turned around again. Feyre wanted to scream or cry or both.

She glanced around, not quite sure where else to run. Perhaps it was time to give up, to pull herself together so he could force herself down the aisle and marry Tamlin with a smile on her face. Things would sort themselves out eventually.

A warm, broad hand closed around her upper arm. The grip was firm, yet gentle, and Feyre welcomed it like a drowning woman who'd just been thrown a life preserver.

"There you are," a sensual, strangely familiar voice said. "I've been looking for you."

Someone else was calling her name now, telling her not to make such a fuss. The stranger, whoever he was, seemed to understand the urgency, and Feyre let him lead her through another door she'd hadn't noticed in her panic.

Feyre didn't have it in her to protest, not when there was something about this man's touch that quieted her racing thoughts. She was hopelessly turned around, but he seemed to know where he was going. Perhaps he worked here. The catering staff probably dealt with more than their fair share of psychotic brides.

But he didn't take her back to the bridal suite. They stepped through door, and a breeze caressed Feyre's face. Outside. He'd brought her outside.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. The walls had stopped closing in around her, for long enough that something inside her cracked.

Feyre had never been much of a crier—there had always been too much that needed doing to properly fall apart. But for once, tears flowed easily, and her whole body shook with gasping, embarrassing sobs.

Feyre felt herself being gently nudged backward, then down onto a hard bench. The stranger was murmuring something to her, but she was too far gone to make out the words. Whatever it was, it was soothing.

And Feyre needed soothing. Badly.

Without thinking, she reached for the man beside her. He pulled her close, and she buried her face in the soft fabric of his jacket. Heedless of the possibility she'd ruin his clothes with snot and tears, she cried until she was nearly spent. The godsend of a stranger merely ran a hand up and down her back through it all, grounding her.

At some point, her sobs turned into words. Half-coherent phrases at first, until she finally said, "I can't marry him."

Voicing it aloud made it real. Feyre couldn't walk down that that aisle and vow to love Tamlin forever. Not when every instinct that she'd tried so hard to bury screamed danger.

"You certainly can't marry anyone in this state, darling."

Her mind snagged on that last word. Rhysand Knight had said it once in a video—he'd greeted his fashion-blogger cousin with a hello, darling and an air-kiss to the cheek in a collaboration video. Feyre remembered because it had sent a bizarre pang of jealousy lancing through her.

And yes, maybe she'd replayed those two seconds of audio more times than she wanted to admit. Rhysand just had that effect on people.

But that was neither here nor there. As much as Feyre wanted to shut out the world and re-watch the video where Rhysand compared immersion and percolation techniques, there were things she had to take care of first. Namely, leaving, changing out of her godforsaken pastry-shaped dress, and telling Tamlin she was moving on with her life.

"I just don't know how I'm supposed to face everyone after this," she said.

"Then don't."

"What?"

"I'll help you sneak out, if you'd like."

His eyes glinted with mischief. Now that her head head cleared, she realized she couldn't quite place his face. Those eyes alone, so deep blue they were nearly violet, would have haunted her if she'd seen them before, never mind his heartbreaking, ethereal beauty. But she had the strangest sense they'd met before.

Feyre wanted to go with him, more than she'd ever wanted anything. But she'd regained enough composure that another reality of the situation hit her. If she didn't recognize this man, he was a guest from Tamlin's side.

And she'd just cried on his shoulder about not wanting to get married.

"Sorry, but who are you exactly?" she said.

The man merely pulled a pair of glasses out of his breast pocket and slipped them on. "Recognize me now?"

Feyre blinked, not quite believing it at first. But after several hundred hours of watching his videos, she'd know those spectacles anywhere.

Rhysand Knight had actually come to her wedding.

"I— I thought you were just going to send a gift."

"I RSVP'd yes, didn't I?"

"But you don't know me. Or Tamlin. Why would you even bother?"

He picked an invisible speck of lint off the lapel of his suit jacket, heedless of the wet spot she'd left with her tears. "Would you believe me if I said I searched your name and found myself intrigued by that phallic latte art?"

"No."

"Forgive me for thinking that a woman who lovingly crafted a penis in steamed milk would be the sort of person to host a hell of a party for her wedding reception, then."

A teary laugh escaped Feyre. She wiped at her eyes, coming away with a dark smear of mascara on the side of her hand.

"Tamlin was so mad I didn't private those posts. He said they were undignified. Which was so stupid when he has that poetry account full of erotic limericks, if you can believe it. Amarantha, my boss at the cafe, was such a terror, so I put a dick in the foam of every drink I made during my last week."

"I'm sorry Tamlin didn't appreciate your sense of humor, then."

Rhys was looking with her with such softness in his eyes that Feyre was sure he meant it genuinely. Or maybe not. After all the times she'd replayed that AeroPress review to soothe her after a bad day or a fight with Tamlin, she couldn't be sure the wires weren't getting crossed somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind.

But there wasn't one iota of pity in his gaze. That much, she was sure of.

"Thanks," she whispered, then moved to stand up from the bench. Her foot wobbled.

She nearly screamed in frustration—she'd wanted to wear a pair of white Keds and be done with it, but both Tamlin and Nesta had agreed heels were so much more bridal. They saw eye to eye so rarely that Feyre had gone along with it, and now she was paying the price.

Rhysand reached towards her, intent on preventing her from face-planting into the flagstones. On instinct, Feyre lifted her arms to break her fall.

Her hands settled on his chest. His landed on her hips.

It might as well have been an embrace. The polite thing to do would have been to apologize and put a healthy amount of distance between them. But Feyre couldn't quite bring herself to.

Rhysand didn't move, either.

"Easy," he whispered, voice low. "Do you need help getting home?"

"I— I don't want to go back. I'm not sure if I can really. One of my sisters would probably let me stay with them, at least for a while, and maybe once I've taken a nap I can start thinking about getting my things from Tamlin's place, and—"

"You can hide with me, if you'd like. My offer to help you sneak out still stands."

In all honesty, Feyre wasn't sure what other choice she had. But it was awfully convenient that he'd decided to come to her wedding and that they'd crossed paths at just the right time.

More than convenient, really. This felt closer to fate.

"Alright. Maybe just until I can make some arrangements for something more permanent."

Rhysand actually tutted at her. "At least promise you'll stay long enough for me to make you a cup of coffee."

She could use a warm drink, caffeine jitters be damned. Besides, after all those miserable months making coffee for other people at The Roasters Under the Mountain, it was high time a handsome barista brewed something for her instead.

"I think I'd like that," she said.

After that, she found herself wrapped up in his jacket—"can't do much about a conspicuous white dress, but it's better than nothing"—and wearing his glasses. When she'd questioned whether it was all really necessary, he'd winked and told her that in the years since his channel had hit a million subscribers, he'd gotten adept at slipping out of places unnoticed.

It had drawn a giggle out of her. Feyre couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed like that.

She'd slipped her hand into his as they dashed towards the parking lot. Partially in case her heels gave her more trouble, but also…because it had felt natural. Like her fingers belonged intertwined with his.

They sprinted across the grass, laughing like children. With each step that Feyre took away from the wedding, she felt lighter. Freer.

Her phone and keys were still in the bridal suite. Tamlin had probably already convinced himself she'd been kidnapped. But Feyre didn't care.

All of that could wait until after she'd finished her coffee.

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part IX (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water on the finals part).

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

Part IX: From Date Night to Downward Dog

Emma opened the apartment door with more force than necessary; the heel of her left shoe caught on the entry rug and she nearly fell flat on her face. She managed to steady herself, but not without muttering a quiet curse. With a dramatic sigh, she tossed her bag onto the couch, kicked off her shoes like they were responsible for the downfall of civilization, and marched straight to the kitchen.

Everything about her screamed frustration, from the strands of hair falling into her face to the zipper on her dress that kept poking her every time she bent down to grab the wine opener from the drawer.

"Never again," she said to no one, opening the fridge and pulling out a half-forgotten bottle of white wine from the back. "Never again am I going on a date. If I wanted to watch someone chew like a cow having an existential crisis, I’d put on a nature documentary."

The pop of the cork was almost therapeutic. She poured the glass like she was pouring out the liquid disappointment of the night. She took a long sip, only then realizing she was still in the dress. Rolling her eyes, she headed to the bedroom, swapping it for an old sweatshirt with a cat print and a pair of sleep shorts.

When she returned to the kitchen, a pizza box had magically appeared on the counter.

"I swear to everything that’s holy, if this is a hallucination—" Emma began.

"It’s not," said a familiar, lazy voice.

Vessel was sitting on one of the living room sofas with a crumpled napkin balanced between his fingers. He wore the blasé expression of someone who viewed existence with deep skepticism.

Emma grabbed a slice of pizza, dropped the wine glass on the counter, and looked at him like she was stuck in a prison cell with a chatty bunkmate.

"I don’t know what was worse: him comparing Ursula Le Guin to linguine or the sound of his chewing. I can still hear that cursed rice echoing in my skull."

"You know, there are demons specialized in auditory torture? Open-mouth chewing is top three. Just behind fork scraping on plates and electronic music at seven in the morning."

Emma bit into the pizza with rage, chewing like it was a declaration of war.

"I tried, I swear I tried. Tried to focus on the content of the conversation, the good intentions... But how is anyone supposed to be attracted to someone who pronounces ‘Le Guin’ like it’s pasta?"

"No one is. Not even in hell. And trust me, the bar is way lower down there."

Emma let out a short laugh, despite herself. She sat on the kitchen counter with her legs crossed, holding the pizza in one hand and the wine glass in the other.

"You know what’s worse? Part of me feels guilty for being bothered by all of this. Like... maybe I should be more patient and give people another chance. Be more open. No one’s perfect."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Just a little.

"This right here is the peak of my social life. Sitting in the kitchen with pizza and wine, talking to a demon from the underworld that only I can see."

"At least I don’t talk with my mouth full," Vessel said.

"Sad that I can’t argue with that."

Vessel fell silent longer than she expected.

Emma chewed slowly, eyes fixed on the now-almost-cold pizza slice in her hand. The TV was on, but at low volume, playing some ridiculous reality show neither of them was really watching. The light in the room felt softer than usual, like the world had turned itself down so she could breathe.

"You know it’s not your fault, right?" Vessel finally said.

Emma looked up, surprised by the lack of sarcasm.

"What isn’t?"

"The date. Things going wrong. You don’t have some invisible defect that ruins everything. Some people just... don’t vibe with your frequency."

She hesitated, then set the pizza back in the box and leaned into the couch.

"Sometimes I feel like there’s something wrong with me. It’s not a logical thought, just... a feeling. Like, if no one sticks around, there must be a reason. And what if that reason is me?"

"Or you just don’t have the patience for clueless people. Which, honestly, is fair. Have you seen the state of the world lately?"

Emma gave a small smile, but it faded quickly.

"I try so hard to seem normal, to not be weird, to not scare people off... but after a while, it gets exhausting."

She looked at her own hands like they might hold some kind of answer.

"Have you ever considered that maybe the people asking you to change aren’t worth the effort?"

She turned to face him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.

"That was... kind."

"I know. I regret it already. Don’t expect it again for a while," he said.

Emma raised her glass in a mock toast.

"To pizza, wine, and demonic honesty. Best combo of the night."

She smiled, truly smiled, feeling a weight lift off her chest. Sometimes, all she needed was to hear those words... even if they came from her personal demon.

________________________

The next day, Emma woke up with a somewhat absurd but determined resolution: it was time to try something “normal.” And so, with a mix of courage and desperation, she signed up for a beginner yoga class. After all, if she was going to work on her social life, it might as well come with some stretching and, who knows, that inner peace everyone pretended to have on social media.

Upon arriving at the studio, the smell of incense and the soft sound of flutes already made Emma question whether she was in the right place or had accidentally joined some sort of mystical cult. She stretched awkwardly and sat down on her mat.

“Okay, just breathe, just breathe,” she muttered to herself.

Not too far away, since he didn’t have the luxury of leaving, Vessel appeared, sitting cross-legged on his own yoga mat.

“Breathe? Honestly, I’d go with a strong dose of caffeine or, I don’t know, a heavy metal playlist to liven up this meditation. This place feels like a funeral,” he muttered, his face clearly unimpressed by all the supposed serenity.

Emma shot a glance toward the nothingness.

“If you keep this up, I’m going to think you’re trying to sabotage me.”

“Never! I’m only trying to ensure this experience doesn’t turn into a tragic comedy.”

The instructor began the class, explaining how to “sync breath with body movement.” Emma tried to follow, but her body seemed determined to ignore every cerebral command.

“Inhale,” the instructor said.

“Brilliant. Very zen,” Vessel muttered.

Emma huffed and tried to focus on her breathing while her hands trembled in position. Beside her, Vessel pretended to execute the pose with exaggerated precision, legs crossed like a Zen master.

“I can literally see your foot floating,” Emma murmured, glaring at him.

“And you’re literally shaking like a gelatin in an earthquake,” he shot back with a lazy smile. “Delightful balance.”

The instructor walked among the mats, correcting postures with a gentle touch and words like “fluidity” and “inner connection.” When she neared Emma, the girl winced involuntarily as her thigh muscle tingled.

“Relax your shoulders,” the instructor said in a voice as sweet as chamomile tea. “And leave your ego outside the mat.”

“Already did. The problem is the demon came in with me,” Emma replied automatically, before realizing she’d said it out loud. A few heads turned. She blushed.

Vessel nearly choked with laughter.

“Even I wouldn’t have been that bold. I’m impressed,” he said.

In the middle of warrior pose, Emma tried to focus on her supporting leg, but her mind wandered, to the half-finished coffee, to the email she needed to answer, and of course, to the demon who insisted on commenting on every movement.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered, sweating. “If regret could kill, I’d already be in hell.”

“Fully agree,” Vessel said, now lying on the floor like he was on a beach.

During savasana, the final part where everyone lies down as if they’re sleeping, Emma tried to relax. Vessel, of course, was already sprawled beside her, hands behind his head, humming an ironic snippet of Highway to Hell.

“I can’t even have peace with you around, can I?” she whispered with her eyes closed.

“And where’s the fun in that?”

Emma sighed. Maybe the yoga class hadn’t brought her spiritual enlightenment, but at least it would make for a good story. Someday, many years from now.

After forty minutes, the longest of her life, Emma rolled up her mat, feeling every muscle in her body silently protest the torture of the past hour. Beside her, naturally, was Vessel, sitting on the floor cross-legged, yawning dramatically.

“You survived,” he said. “For someone who barely knew how to breathe properly, it wasn’t a total disaster.”

“Thank God you’re here to remind me,” Emma replied, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Because I almost thought I’d be kicked out for causing a disturbance.”

“Disturbance? You were the star of the show. If clumsiness were a sport, you’d take home the gold,” Vessel commented, that devilish grin on his face.

Emma gave a tired smile, pulling on her jacket and adjusting the backpack on her shoulders.

“Seriously, I don’t know if my body is begging for mercy or plotting quiet revenge. I can barely bend my back.”

“Well, that’s the price you pay for trying to be zen,” he replied, faking a wise tone. “Or at least trying, in your case.”

They walked toward the studio exit, where the sunlight felt more inviting than ever.

“So you’re saying that the next time I want to feel at peace, yoga’s not the answer?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I recommend tormenting some souls or scaring a few humans, works great. We could collect on a demonic pact one of these days, it’d be wonderful.”

“You know what? Why not?” she said, glancing at Vessel. “If yoga didn’t work, maybe chaos is a viable alternative. I’m probably going to hell anyway.”

Vessel grinned wide, satisfied.

[stikybug]

The polycule brainrot is so strong.

I need to put some of these ideas down but i don't like making things pretty so this is just a braindump . All under cut to not clog

Stealing clothes between them would be so so so common. Mc is a menace and has 6 oversized shirts she totally swears are hers. Only one is

Second biggest offender is Ayn when staying at home , Alkaid stares at him for 5 minutes straight when he sees his missing sweater matched with cat earphones

It's so cute a photo was sent to the gc, obviously

They start sleeping at the sameish time, it's such a perfect excuse to go over to their cute partners and be tender before bed how could they not?

Because of this, Mc, Lars, and Ayns' shitty sleep schedule gets fixed

Cael isn't around so much but you know they get weekly texts from him that says the sweetest things ever

Lars pampers his stunning partners so well when he's finally free, candlelit dinners, gifts in the droves for all of them, even arranging so the place is basically empty when they get there since most of them don't like crowds

All of them are banned from playing ludo. This is final after the incident

Since Cael was officially the last one to get in Clarence planned a whole thing that was a celebration of him getting out of denial phase. And the announcement he also had a plus of four boyfriends

Confusion did not even begin to describe the expression the man had

Sometimes if people are nosy Ayn would start talking about different partners in the same conversation

"Oh you know my boyfriend's really cute with those doe-eyes"

"BOYFRIEND?"

"Yes, anyway my girlfriend the other day gave me this-"

Chaos ensues.

He doesn't care about the rumors though. He's noticed how his playing changed ever so slightly when thinking about his partners. In the span of a week after this noticeable change he found himself writing 5 different pieces for them.

He gives them the pieces by the time of their anniversary, mentioning he'd even play it for them if they wanted.

A private concert happened that day, it didn't need to be recorded to be engraved into their memories.

A while after that, the little painter and Emerald both released pieces that felt like they were overflowing with love and other warm sentiments.

Alkaid sends photos of the sky every time an observation night comes up in the astronomy department. He makes notes about which constellations remind him of his partners the most.

Obviously if any of them point a photo out or say one is pretty it's going to be printed out in the universal imaging studio

The starry photos are all probably framed and hung on a wall somewhere. Ayn has them in his hideout, Lars has the images upsized and on full display in his home, Clarence has one particularly sentimental one on the desk of the student council office, Cael has it as his phone background so he could see it wherever he went, and MC has it in her studio, always up to give her a boost of inspiration when she needed it.

William almost has a heart-attack every morning since Clarence has been looking the giddiest he's ever been since he and MC started dating.

He figures it out since Clarence is just so obvious. He's had the same reaction to two students that he has with the little painter. The way that his eyes light up whenever Ayn 'just so happens' to need to go to the student council so many times? And their conversations meander and flow too slowly for this to even be about their original topic anymore.

Or how he manages to write up an excuse to 'supervise' the Astronomy Department's viewing nights most of the time when he felt no need to previously, always found near Alkaid most of the time.

If one were to sneak a peek at his diary, it would probably contain paragraphs upon paragraphs of how pretty his partners were and things they did or things he saw that reminded him of them.

Cael was the most cautious about this entire arrangement. While he cared about her he had no idea if it would even be possible for him to catch feelings for the rest of them.

Unfortunately, the little painter has exceptional taste.

It was different for each of them, but it ended back in the same giant mess he has been dealing with for the past few months: He's so very attached to all of these charming men that he's caught himself blushing at the thought of them.

And these feelings came with the problems of someone like him developing such deep fondness for someone. The danger and chance of discovery he would give not just to the little painter, but the paragons of this world.

When he brings this concern up he's very lovingly shown how stupid he is by the sheer willingness of his boyfriends to love him despite knowing all of this.

Maybe this would be alright. They have each other no matter what afterall.

[kendsleyauthor]

I also love your new characters! But I love your old ones too. If you’re still doing prompts, dealers choice for #11? You’re amazing ❤️

SNOW ANGEL

Print / Trinket Universe (Micah and Everly)

~700 words

G/t dialogue prompt list

Aww I'm so touched by your love 🥰 Here's a bit of Micah/Everly wintery cuteness! ❄

@marydublinauthor 🌸

Where the hell is she?

Everly typically woke up before him, but she never strayed far from their shared room on the bus. This morning, he couldn’t find her working on schematics on her tablet, or tinkering with the various tech she’d scavenged, or overriding the vehicle’s AI to cuss him out.

“Ev?” Micah called.

As he stepped out of the room and into the narrow hallway, a chill snaked around him. The exterior door panel was wide open, and Everly was still nowhere in sight. He ducked back into his room and snatched the first pair of shoes within reach. He wasn’t sure what could have possessed her to leave the bus on her own so early in the morning—if she left by choice.

Premature anger bristled at the back of his mind. Crew members had bullied her into working off the clock before, but no one ever dared to drag her out of bed.

As he stepped off the bus, though, he didn’t have to look hard to find her.

Everly stood a few yards away with her back to him. Snow fell lightly onto the asphalt and stuck to the ground. She wore only a t-shirt and jeans, shivering like crazy but rooted to her spot.

“There you are,” he said, all the breath leaving his lungs at once. “What are you doing? You’re gonna freeze out here!”

Everly turned and looked up at him. Her eyes were wide—and for a second, he thought he was scaring her. But a breathless grin lit up her face. Every smile he’d ever gotten from her was hard-fought. Her sheer, unprompted happiness made him wonder if she was tripping on something.

“Uh��” He cleared his throat. “Don’t get mad, but you’re freaking me out.”

“It’s beautiful. Look at it.” Everly’s wistful sigh puffed past her lips like a cloud. She stuck her hand out and caught a few snowflakes, bringing her palm close to her face to examine them. 

Then it hit him.

She’d lived all her life in southern California. 

“You’ve never seen snow?” Micah dropped to one knee beside her, cocking his head to continue soaking in the unbridled joy on her face.

She shook her head. “Not the real stuff, anyway. A couple years ago, they dropped synthetic snow on the slums around Christmastime to boost morale or something. It was depressing as fuck. But this…” She cupped her hands, grinning as snowflakes gathered in her palms. “It’s not as cold as I thought it’d be.”

Micah laughed, reaching down with both hands to scoop her up. “That’s just the childlike-wonder talking.” His smile wilted when his skin brushed against her. “You’re so cold, Ev.” He swiftly brought her against his chest, eliciting a squeak of surprise.

“Relax, I’m fine!” She squirmed for a moment, but sure enough, she leaned into his warmth. “Okay, maybe…” She rested her forehead against his shirt. “Maybe it’s a little cold.”

He chuckled. “Let’s get you into some warmer clothes.”

“I… I don’t have any.”

Micah made a wounded noise. “I thought you said you looked through all the clothes I got you. Liar.”

“I-I mean… Looking through all of it would’ve taken me days.” She tugged at his shirt, and he peeked down at her. While she was definitely cuddling up against him for warmth, there was a certain sweetness to the way she rubbed her cheek against his chest. “But that means you can surprise me with an outfit. Won’t that be fun?”

Hugging her closer, he could already feel the chill vacate her little body as he stepped back inside. “Babe, we’re going through all your winter clothes. By the time we’re done, there’ll be enough snow on the ground to have some real fun. Wanna bet I can nail Xan with a snowball?”

“Only if I can also bet that he’ll murder you in your sleep.”

[twst-beam]

I see you are in need of prompts, then I shall humbly bestow upon thee some a prompt.

Hmm, what about going to a farmer's market with *insert YOUR favourite character here*? I believe in shameless self-enjoyment when it comes to writing; be self-indulgent. Don't you want to go apeshit?

Also do give your hands a well deserved rest every so often ^v^

ohohohoho you're giving me a lot of power with the YOUR favorite character there dove dear, but alright let's go >:D

Gifts

??? words, featuring my THREE favorite boyos because self-indulgence ftw <3

Deuce Spade

Going to the farmer's market was his idea; the two of you needed groceries, and it just so happened that the farmer's market was convenient for you.

Early morning, it was decided, it would double as a date, and both of you were early risers anyway. It'd also boost the morale of the farmers, Deuce had reasoned, and you fell all over again.

A wicker basket, two, so that you could carry your purchases home, although Deuce insisted he'd carry all of them for you, and you laughed and told him no.

The morning sun shone brightly as you walked towards the farmer's market, feeding a few ducks along the way as you walked by the lake and watching as Deuce's expressions softened every time, it was cute, and he grinned sheepishly when he caught you staring.

The entrance to the farmer's market was marked by a decorated arc, and it was peaceful and fun as the two of you walked around, buying produce and chatting with the stall owners, at one point Deuce was given a comically large round of cheese to carry home when he fought off a bunch of menaces from an old lady's stall.

But the real highlight of that morning was when Deuce found the chicks.

One, two, three, more chicks than he could count properly waddled around in a pen, and with a joke, an exclamation of wonder, and a hopeful confirmation, the two of you brought home two very full wicker baskets and a baby chick that rested on Deuce's head.

Jade Leech

Though he thought foraging in the mountains would have been a better decision for both your budget and experience, he relented when he saw the eagerness in your eyes.

By midmorning, you were dragging him to the farmer's market, chattering about the crafts and produce that could be found, and he smiled despite himself.

He watched as you conversed eagerly with the merchants, calmly observing how you skilfully picked the best produce, and how you looked at the crafts with admiration.

You had just purchased a new scarf, wrapping it around your neck and grinning as you waved at him to come over.

"Jade, Jade, look at this one"

He leans over as you took a scarf from the layed out pile on the table, and widened his eyes slightly as he saw what made you wave him over.

"Mushroom print," you smiled as you showed it to him, "and with the coloration and teal ruffles it reminded me of you"

He took it gently from your hands, noticing how the fabric was smooth but thick enough to warm, and kissed your forehead.

"Thank you, my pearl"

You muttered a "you're welcome", dazed by the sudden display of affection as he thanked the stall owner and payed for the scarf, bringing you out of your reverie.

"Hey, wait a minute, I was the one supposed to pay for that, not you"

Jade grinned, displaying his sharp teeth, eyes glinting with mischief as he feigned innocence.

"You were?"

You huffed, "it was supposed to be my gift for you, for bringing me here."

He leaned closer, scarf now hanging from his neck as he tapped his lips in thought, smirk giving away his intentions.

"Then what about a different gift?"

Rook Hunt

Your expedition to the farmer's market was on a whim, a fancy, a spur of the moment thing, but who were you to complain? the moment his hand held yours you couldn't help but go anywhere he wanted.

So there you were, between the rows of stalls and booths, illuminated by the fairy lights as Rook marveled at each product, generously purchasing trinkets and produce and whatever caught his eye.

You couldn't help but smile as Rook's exclamations of fascination and wonder brought smiles to the farmers' faces, and as you sat he waxed poetic about all the beauties the market provided, and you looked at the moon, content to hear him speak amidst the chatter and bustle of the bazaars.

"...but you know what the most amazing thing is in this place, mon amour?"

You closed your eyes, tilting your head as you emitted a curious "hmm?"

He held your hand, looking into your eyes as he smiled in adoration.

"You."

[starssaroundmyscarssblog]

𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐄, chapter one WEASLEY VS SLUGHORN

pairing: percy weasley x fem!oc (olympia slughorn)

word count: 1.04k

warnings: none

series masterlist

percy weasley strived for validation of the academic kind, wanted to set himself apart from his ragtag group composed of five brothers and one sister that was designated to him at birth. he had no choice, each one of his siblings had something about them that set them apart from the rest.

ginny's was obvious since she was the only girl and the youngest, ron was somewhat friendly towards the muggle children who wandered into the fields surrounding the burrow every so often, which put him into his father's good books for learning about the 'fascinating' way that they live. fred and george had each other, like they were two peas unable to be prised out of their pod. charlie was sporty and had offers to go professional with his quidditch playing but turned it down for an even more rugged job handling dragons in eastern europe, bill was devil-may-care and living it large in an entirely different continent and was breaking curses in the last year of you-know-who's power.

everything that he, percy, was not.

where they were cool he was awkward, where they were popular he sunk into the shadows, and where they were doted upon he was given a book and a drink to keep quiet.

merlin, even ron seemed to be more favoured than him, and he was starting his first ever year of hogwarts with twin brothers who took the mickey out of him ( fred and george ), an even older brother who tried do disassociate himself from lower year riff-raff ( percy ), a legacy left behind by brothers who'd graduated to become great things, and no possessions that were originally his own.

the only things he had in his trunk that hadn't been passed down from brother to brother was his collection of homemade knitted jumpers, the pile of corned beef sandwiches he gagged simply at the sight of and the writing set he'd been given on his eleventh birthday by their great aunt tessie.

but, where percy lacked a brain of street smart tips and popular wizard culture, he made up for in ingenuity and drive to over achieve even if he fizzled out before his newt exams in three years time. and yet, percy still wasn't doing anything original or generically 'him' he realised when his prefects badge had landed in his bowl of porridge at the breakfast table one morning - bill had already been a prefect and then gone on to be head boy, charlie had smashed it out the park with his outstanding newt results too.

so he worked day and night, stalked the garden for muggle fireflies he could keep in a jar on his desk to observe for his summer task from the muggle studies teacher, poured himself over text book upon text book, any reading material he could get his hands on to put him in good standing for his owl year starting in september. percy snatched coloured pencils from ginny's desk draw when she was helping ron fling disorientated gnomes over the garden hedge to draw himself up a revision timetable, scheduled to start the first day back after the welcome feast.

he was going to pass his exams with flying colours, attend every single optional class and wrangle help out of his teachers if it was the last thing he did. even getting over himself to ask one of the students in the year above who was taking newt level potions to boost his grade up from an 'e' to a 'o'.

anything to see the look on olympia slughorn's face when the name 'percy weasley' was printed above hers in the top slot when the student rankings in each class was posted anonymously at the end of each month, like they had been since before his parents could remember.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

olympia slughorn was in a deeply committed one sided relationship with percy weasley - she hated him more than anything in the world and she wouldn't trust him as a confidante as far as she could launch him with a beaters bat. it wouldn't be too great of a distance compared to those who were on the slytherin quidditch team could hit, but she still had a good shot and that was enough for her.

he poked his nose into business it didn't belong, tried too hard to cosy up to his teachers by snitching on members of his class if a piece of homework was overdue, and constantly tried to ask her overly complex questions about origins of ingredients for her potions in effort to throw her off. it never worked, though. olympia had prevailed at the top of only one class in her entire four years at hogwarts thus far, and that was potions.

it ran though her blood, it was the one thing the slughorn's had in their legacy apart from her great uncle horace's self titled 'slug club' from his teaching days at hogwarts. he'd retired the year olympia was due to start attending the magical boarding school but still sent her various potion ingredients and recipes to create during the term time.

potions was the only subject she was predicted an 'o' in.

potions was the only thing she wanted to continue doing for the rest of her life.

there was no other option. percy weasley had to learn his place in the pecking order, and olympia knew just the way to ensure it.

she holed herself up in the small library room of the slughorn estate, significantly smaller in size compared to the lestrange manor that was dissed and had fallen into disrepair and the malfoy manor guarded with towering iron gates and white peacocks. there was seven floor to ceiling book cases in the library dedicated to potions, ingredients, poignant moments in wizarding history that advanced the world of potions, magical creatures host to rare ingredients that cost an arm and a leg to purchase.

olympia prized her validation just above thwarting anyone that was standing in her way, deliberate or not. she would snap her vintage muggle 'the beatles' records over the stone gargoyles over the front door of the house if the student rankings were posted and the name 'olympia slughorn' was printed below 'percy weasley'.

next part here

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[asheurbanipal]

You've Seen My Picture in the Daily Globe

<<Previous:Next>>

Venom, Eddie x Venom, symbrock

Explicit

4k words

Content: somnophilia, tentacle sex, canon typical violence

Ep 2 in series

On Ao3

Summary:

With knowledge from the multiverse, Venom and Eddie are waiting for Spider-Man to irrevocably alter their lives. Better to chase him down than vice versa.

Notes:

Notes on continuity: Getting this to play nice with SSU (Madame Webb, specifically) puts Spider pretty young according to the years everything is set. Just going with it. Playing with some of the comic timeline stuff for origin of Spider-Man. We're in a weird place of canon-compliance and continuity since the SSU hasn't actually created Spider-Man, yet, so I'm going weird with it.

Eddie Brock woke up with a mouth around his cock, teeth grazing his skin, long tongue draped around the base. 

"Sweetheart, again?"

"You said I could, Eddie," The Other replied through an occupied mouth.

"Yeah, but doesn't it get boring after awhi-ile. Ngh."

"No."

"It cuts into your time."

"I like playing with you, beloved."

"Oh god oh fuck."

"Play time" was something The Other had picked up from both traveling the multiverse and being one with the hive again, temporarily. The Other got three hours a night (while Eddie slept), to do what they pleased. With a few specific restrictions, of course. It had been mostly working to keep the balance. The Other had absolutely eaten a head or two. He could feel that in his belly. The crime sheet and police scanner, though, hadn't turned up anything to suggest a problem, yet. No dead Nobel laureates or human rights attorneys. And the vague splash of memories that got uploaded into his brain each morning didn't feel overly horrific. 

And every few mornings he woke up to being serviced. Sometimes he didn't wake up at all, the evidence on the inside of his boxer-briefs. He wasn't stupid. The act wasn't really for his pleasure. It was just the only way for The Other to get that same, extra special boost of neurochemicals.

The Other pulled his face away. 

"I can always stop, beloved," they said. 

"No you finish what you start, you fu-ahhhhh…" He hadn't realized how close he was to the edge, and just a nudge brought him over softly. He flopped over onto his back and The Other settled their head up next to his. 

"It's early," Eddie noted. 

"Until we catch the photographer…"

"Yeah, I know. I know." The Other sunk back into Eddie as he rolled out of bed. He didn't have time for a shower, but he cleaned himself up quickly. "If this was the last of my briefs, we're gonna have an issue."

I did laundry. It's sorted in the hampers.

Eddie looked against the wall to see a couple of hampers half-full with clean, folded laundry.

"Are you using your play time…to do chores…"

You won't fucking do it.

He started getting dressed.

"When you get a handle on this making clothes thing, we're gonna be set." Eddie hopped into his usual jeans, but only went so far as a white tank top. The Other changed it into a blue and gray Henley. 

"What's with the teeth on the front?" Eddie admired the look in the mirror. 

Practice. You don't like it?

"Nah. It's cool. Alright. Let's go."

A few more rounds of the mystery photos had come in over the past six weeks. Pictures had also started appearing online. Whoever their photog was, their strategy was…ineffable. The way this mystery figure was blowing up, anyone with such close access could be making bank with their photos. Staying anonymous they were leaving money on the table. 

And they were really trying to stay anonymous. According to Lee's "ink guy" they were printed at home. As opposed to mailing them in from a trackable address, they were just showing up in the mailbox that adjoined the building near a side door. A side door that somehow kept loosing the fucking camera feed.

Eddie volunteered to catch their photog in his spare time, and Bushkin had given his blessing. 

They had figured out when they dropped the photos off, at least. That had them out just before dawn, eating a bagel sandwich, perched on a nearby rooftop, out of line of sight from the mail slot. 

"We could just talk to Spider-Man," Eddie said. They kept seeing him from a distance when they went out for their nightly constitutional, but the fucker kept booking it before they could ease up on him. Their stalking grounds were the same, though, running the boroughs in almost the same order. Like they were drawn to each other, dancing around a center orbital point between them. 

No. Not yet. Want to talk to the photographer. They're special, somehow .

"Something you got from the hive?"

That or instinct.

Despite The Other's best efforts, little drifts of information from the multiverse had impinged on Eddie's brain. Mostly when he was sleeping. 

"Do you know what Spider-Man was like as a host?" Eddie asked, biting down on his sandwich. 

Eddie, please.

"We have to be able to talk about this kind of thing if we're going to get past the whole 'another version of you cried over my corpse' kind of stuff." 

The Other gave their version of a mental sigh.

I feel anger when I think of Spider-Man, in the abstract. But when I focus on him being my host, specifically, it's yearning. Like I'm angry because I want him so bad. But it's not…a good desire. The Other pumped the emotion into Eddie.

"Like an addiction?"

Close enough.

"You don't get the same feeling with me?" 

Hmmmmm. You are also addicting, Eddie, but I like it. Under his shirt and jeans, tendrils slid down the inside of his thighs. 

"Bro. I'm literally drained dry. You gotta stop."

You love it.

"I do, that's the sick part." He would have to come back to the "addiction" part of this conversation, later. His watch beeped the hour. 

"Okay, they didn't come today."

Bushkin's gonna be pissed he doesn't have anything new to post.

"Yeah, well, I'm technically out of office today, so I don't have to deal with him. Let's go intimidate some cops, instead."

"Brock, are you really trying to bribe me with donuts?"

"It's not a bribe, it's a gift with the hope you'll hit me with some information in return."

"Fuck you, Brock, " Detective Hinojosa shot back as she bit into a cream filled. 

He had caught her in the park on the tail end of her run. He didn't exactly trust any kind of government agency after all he'd been through, but he knew Hinojosa through a series of interconnected friends in college. What few friends he had. She was still a beat cop when he was in New York last, but had since both graduated to detective and moved over to sex crimes. So far she had proved herself as one of the good ones. 

"Look, I'm trying to get a read on these people running around in spandex," Eddie said, sitting next to her on the park bench. 

"The red and blue one or the 'black slime monster?'" she asked. 

"Oh he's 'black slime' now? I liked 'goo-dude.' That was fun."

They moved away from alien surprisingly fast.

I know, Ironic.

"Yeah, well, the black slime guy I'm pretty certain is a shared manic hallucination," Hinojosa said. "This blue and red guy, though…"

"You think he's the real deal? What makes you say that?"

"Brock, you know I can't give you info from ongoing cases."

"We don't have to do this dance, you know," he reminded her. "You know I'm good for scratching your back if you scratch mine. Then bam, justice served."

She considered him. 

"Why are you asking about blue and red? Specifically. What's your interest?"

"What is not interesting about a guy running around in a onsie?" 

She leveled a look at him. He held up his palms in placation. 

"Back in San Francisco, there were some rumors of some weird shit that was really similar to this." The lie was easy because it was rehearsed. A lot. He was good at doing a little on the spot fabrication for journalistic reasons, but a practiced diversion was easier. "None of us ever got the full story, but some good cops died." Well, one good cop, for sure. The other ones he took out he couldn't be so certain of. It was a weird night. Other people had died, too, but he couldn't be so sure they'd be nearly as important to Hinojosa as her fellow officers.

"Just want to do what I can to get ahead of this thing," Eddie shrugged, taking a bear claw. Hinojosa considered him again. 

"You didn't hear this from me, but he stopped a rape in progress."

"Holy shit."

"She said she was being attacked, then this guy in a blue and red wetsuit just appeared out of nowhere, threw a few punches, then tied him up. That's how we found him."

"Tied him up with what?" He had seen the stuff in person, but he still didn't know what it was. 

"Now, we're getting into police secrets, Brock.' 

Because they don't know either.

Probably.

Hinojosa checked her watch. 

"I need to get into the office." She poked him hard in the shoulder. "We never had this conversation." She moved off the bench, then jogged off through the park.

Good intimidation tactics.

"Gets the job done."

Someone glanced at him vaguely as he spoke to himself but moved on. That was the beauty of big cities. No one noticed below a certain threshold of weirdness. For New York that threshold was higher than San Francisco by a significant amount. 

The next passerby threw their copy of the Daily Bugle in the trash next to him. Eddie fished it out. He hadn't had a chance to get any of the papers this morning or check the daily front page online. 

"Oh fuck. That explains why he hasn't shown up at the mail-slot."

Front page, exclusive, the clearest photo so far of their mystery guy. Red from mask down to torso with blue arms and legs and red gloves. His giant white eye shields almost looked like The Other's but smoothed around the edges. And through the whole outfit, the lines of a spider web shape. 

The headline read "Spider-Man Menaces City." 

"That sounds like Jonah," Eddie sighed. "He probably finally offered a cash prize."

Sounds like we need to intimidate a newspaper editor .

"Nah, I think we need to be done with this and go to the source."

There was a rumble of disquiet in The Other.

Fine.

Have any ideas on how to track him? It was easier to talk internally when they were fully enveloped. The night was cold, but symbiote matter was warm. pulsing in time with his heart as he free-floated inside. 

He's like us, Eddie. Trying to protect the innocent.

So look for crimes in progress. Okay cool.

No. Wait. I can smell him.

You absolutely cannot.

Shut up. Here, feel.

The Other closed the loop around his senses. Eddie already felt what the The Other felt in this form. Saw and heard what they heard with heightened senses. His brain couldn't process it the same way, though, unless he let The Other into one of those reserved spaces. 

Oh. He could smell something. But…not smelling. A sense that felt like a smell because there wasn't anything else to connect it to.

Are you sure that's him?

It's the same smell from the few times we've seen him in person. There's something…distinctive about it. Sweet? I don't know.

They clipped along in a jog on the edge of the roof, then leapt to the next one with a long stride, following the smell as it got closer and closer. 

Where the fuck is this guy?

Two feet slammed into the back of his neck from above. 

"What the fuck?!" Venom slammed face first into the textured rooftop. They turned quick, though, catching the next blow mid-air. Spider-Man's body flopped at the knee, losing all the structure that came with momentum. Venom tossed him, his body thudding against the roof access door. 

"Don't fight me," Venom warned. 

"Monster says what?" Spider-Man replied. 

"Jesus fuck, dude come on--" Another sock across the jaw stopped them short and sent them reeling back over the side of the roof. They caught the edge, the building crunching under their claws. Spider-Man hovered above them. 

"Who are you and where are you from?" he demanded. "What's your deal?"

"My deal?" Venom replied, pulling their body up. "Stop fucking punching me and maybe--" This time it wasn't a punch that cut them off. A wail of sirens careened around the corner, EMS and firefighters escorted by police. 

They shared a single look before shooting off across the rooftops. 

Three intersections down they found the pileup, a semi on its side and five cars scattered around it, three of them smashed to absolute hell.

"Kid, listen," Venom said. "Stay out of the way of EMS. They're trained to handle injuries, and you're not. Unless you know how to stabilize a C-spine?"

"Uh, no?" Spider-Man stuttered. 

"Alright. You seem strong. Think you can pull a car door off the hinges?"

"I've never tried?" 

"I bet you can. Go to that red GT and carefully pull back the door to give access to the firefighters, then get the fuck out of the way. I'm going to do the same for the semi-truck. Got it?"

"Y-yeah. Okay." 

Spider-Man shot off ahead of him, and Venom leapt down on the semi. The shouting in the background became a gentle roar. 

Inside the semi, the driver looked up at him frantically, screams peeling through the glass.  

"Calm down," Venom said. "I'm here to help, believe it or not." They suctioned the door with some matter then yanked it free. He tossed it gently off to the sidewalk. The driver unbuckled his belt then started scrambling up out of the seat. 

"You might have a spinal injury, you probably shouldn't--" But he'd already flopped his body over the edge of the semi. "Okay, whatever." Venom grabbed him around the waist and brought him to the ground. Venom leapt back over the semi cab to see if Spider-Man had figured it out. He had, and now he was holding the car door awkwardly. 

"Just set it down, kid. Over there!" Venom pointed and Spider-Man flicked his head to the side of the road. He jogged over and set the door down gently.

Venom surveyed the area, looking for other places to help before they got out of the way. 

"Hey!" A firefighter had approached the semi, crouching low, ready to run if this was a mistake. "Can you safely remove the top of a car?" She gestured to the most crunched up of the cars. A few other firefighters were around it, apparently stuck on the best angle for the jaws of life. 

"Yeah, hold on. Spider-Man!" They whistled him over to the car, then jumped across the gap to land next to the family sedan. They crawled up gently on the trunk trying not to shake it. 

"Spider, stand on the hood, and do the pew pew thing on the roof and make a rope," Venom directed. 

"The what?"

"The thwip. The stuff. I don't know what the fuck it is."

"Oh, web fluid." He flicked out his wrists and two shots of webbing splorched on the roof. 

"Okay, I'm going to cut from this side, you pull the roof that way." Venom created blades from their hands, and dug into the metal of the roof. Together, they lifted the top free and deposited it on the ground next to the car. 

"This lady is really hurt," Spider-Man said quickly. 

"She's got a pulse." Venom hopped down from the car. They could feel her heart beating in her chest from a distance. Spider-Man lingered. "Dude, get out of the way of the paramedics."

"You two freeze."

Venom whipped around. A cluster of police officers had emerged in riot gear, guns up and ready to fire.

We could eat them, Eddie.

Or maybe we don't. Come on.

They launched upward, using the streetlight to swing to the nearest building, then up and over across the roof. A few gunshots fired after them, but they were long gone before the sound even reached them. 

"That was crazy." Spider-Man rolled up on the roof behind him. 

"Yep." Venom shot out a bullet of matter that wrapped around Spider-Man's chest and secured him to a utility pole behind him. 

"Yo, what the hell?"

"Just want to make sure you don't punch me again before we can talk." Venom pulled up a crate and sat down in front of him. "You're Spider-Man. We're Venom. To engender a bit of trust." The symbiote matter rolled down to his shoulders to reveal Eddie underneath. 

"You, too sweetheart," Eddie said. 

"Uhm…even if I wanted to take off my mask…" Spider-Man wriggled in the matter. 

"No, not you. Maintain your anonymity. I meant this guy." Eddie tapped his shoulder. The Other emerged in a slightly less jarring size than usual.

"Hey, kid," they growled, keeping their teeth at least a little clicked back. 

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Spider-Man warbled. 

"Kay, I'm gonna pull the matter back. You gonna be chill so we can talk?" Eddie tilted his head and raised his eyebrow in question. Spider-Man nodded his head emphatically. The Other brought the matter back into their form. Spider-Man dropped hard to the floor then shot back up. 

"Are you an alien?" he asked immediately. 

"I'm not. They are. They're a parasite."

"Fucking rude. I'm a symbiote." The Other smacked their head against Eddie's.

 "Kay…" Spider-Man shifted on his feet. "Are you…evil?" "Yes," The Other replied immediately. "I will eat your brains."

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose.

"They're not totally joking about the brain-eating…thing…They do have a hankering. But we are doing our best to be good Catholic boys."

"We have been in a church exactly one time since we've been together," The Other said. "And that was to kill my child. So…"

"K-kill your child?" Spider-Man froze.

"Yeah, no Carnage was straight up evil. They're host was a serial killer."

"Damn." Spider-Man dropped to the floor and crossed his legs. "You've been doing this for a minute, then? This, like…superpowers thing."

"I mean…I guess?"

"We've saved the world three times already." The Other preened. 

"Maybe a little," Eddie admitted. 

"That's so cool." Spider-Man looked up at them, the set of his face under the mask dramatic enough to change its shape.

"Okay, but…what's your deal?" Eddie asked

"Oh, well…" 

Spider-Man talked fast, words coming out quick and on top of each other. Radioactive spider bite. Changes in physical prowess. Speed. Something he was calling "spider sense." Sort of falling into crime-fighting when he saw injustice spring up all around him and other noble shit instilled in him by his aunt and uncle (parents by adoption). This had all started maybe a month before the photos started showing up. 

"So what are these wrist thingies?" Eddie reached forward to tap them, and Spider-Man pulled back. 

"Web shooters. Um…I kind of like to tinker? They're not quite right, yet, though."

"And you did all this yourself? The web shooters and the outfit and everything?

"Yeah?"

"Shit. That's cool as fuck. I just let the alien do everything." 

Yes, tell him how I wear the pants in this relationship.

A little more practice, and you'll literally be the pants. 

Spider-Man tented his fingers together in thought.

"This is going to sound like the stupidest question ever, but like…you're a dude?" Spider-Man asked.

"Yeah?" Eddie replied. Spider-Man shifted focus to The Other. 

"Are you also a dude? I mean like…you're an alien. Do you have…like…an alien gender?"

Eddie could feel The Other hesitate through the connection, figuring out how to answer that. 

"Klyntar reproduce asexually," The Other said. 

"I mean the two concepts aren't mutually exclusive," Spider-Man faltered. 

"Are you asking for our pronouns?" Eddie finally said. 

"Yeeeaahhh…I guess that would have been easier. If it was going to be awkward no matter what, I could have at least got through it faster."

"I mean, I--" but then Eddie stopped. He had always been a man. That wasn't really a question. Dude through and through. The Other made him feel like more than that, though. Like 'man' didn't quite cover it. This was the first time he had ever thought about it, though, and on a Manhatten rooftop in the middle of the night was not the time. 

"I tend to think of this one as an 'it,'" Eddie shifted the focus off himself with an even stupider statement. 

"That feels a little dehumanizing," Spider-Man said. 

"They're not human."

"But they're sapient, and they're doing most of the work. Feel like…I don't know…"

"Oh, I like this kid," The Other said, bopping their head against Eddie's. "He respects me."

"I respect you!"

"Oh okay, sure." The Other's sarcasm didn't always read, but this time it was seething. 

"I let you share my limbic system. How is that-- you know what. Not gonna fight about it."

"You guys are wild." Spider-Man eased back against the utility pole. "So, is this like…do we team up? You seem to know how to do this, and I don't."

"Barely, dude. Just picked up a little police and EMS procedure over the years."

They both looked up as a light flashed over them, the sound of a helicopter whirring in behind. A series of quick gunshots scattered around them. 

"I also know when to run from the cops, scatter." 

It was actually extrmely easy to get away. No one knew how to chase creatures like them or track them through the night. Venom rolled through their window, then became Eddie again as he flopped on the bed. He laid there in just compression shorts, kicking off his barefoot shoes at the end of the bed. It was stupid but it fucking worked once he got over the feeling of immodesty. 

The hugging bands appeared over his body, and The Other's face nuzzled his cheek.

"I know you respect me," The Other said. "You just like to pretend you're disaffected to avoid facing your actual feelings." 

It was annoying how spot on that was. 

"And I don't actually think of you as an 'it,'" Eddie continued. "At one point, yeah, but not anymore. Not for a long time."

"I know. I can feel inside your head." The Other spread their fingers over the side of Eddie's face.

"You're aroused," they hummed. 

"Don't….don't say it like that."

"You are, though."

"I know. It's the adrenaline." Eddie picked at the front of his shorts, but his hand that close to his crotch just made it worse. A tendril dipped under his waistband. 

"Let me handle it for you."

"No! No…no."

"Do you not like it, Eddie?" 

"No, I do. I just…I want to have sex. I haven't had actual sex in more than a year and a half." 

"Is that not what we're doing?" The Other spread their hand through his hair.

"No. It's just you jacking me off so you can get the vicarious dopamine rush. I want to fuck. " 

"I don't know the difference." 

Eddie stared at the ceiling, black matter creeping into his periphery as The Other wrapped around him tighter. They wouldn't know, would they?

"Okay. Do as I say." Eddie hooked his thumbs into his shorts and wriggled out of them, then rolled up on his knees. The Other shifted around him, following his movements.

"Can you…this is going to sound so stupid…can you make a body? Right here?" Eddie gestured to the bed in front of him. The Other rotated around their head falling down on the pillow. Matter dripped off him into the vague shape of a human form, feet still attached to him. 

"Is this what you want, my beloved?" The Other craned their head back into the pillows. "Can I touch you, now?"

"Yeah, but only a little and softly. Just until I'm hard then let me do stuff." Eddie sunk down against The Other, laying his weight in his forearms. He dove into a kiss. They were still working on this part. The Other's teeth were too sharp. Their tongue too long as it tried to creep down his throat. He didn't hate it. He just didn't know how to navigate it logistically. 

Between them, The Other worked his cock slowly, building it into a rock-hard tension. He pulled away from The Other's mouth to bury his face in their neck. A moan crept out, disappearing into the matter. 

"Do you want me to make sounds, too, dearest?"

"I know you'd be faking it so--" 

"Not faking. Just different." The Other purred and chirruped, the sounds vibrating through their matter and against Eddie's skin. 

"Okay, yeah, that's nice," Eddie panted. "Okay, follow my lead, here." Eddie pressed himself into the symbiote matter. The Other grunted, a sound he had never heard them make before. It was almost human. 

"Surprised me, Eddie, but now I get it."

Their manifested body changed underneath him, creating a soft, tight welcoming place. The Other started to undulate around him, pulling and pressing on his cock. 

"No," he said softly. "Let me do it."

Eddie thrust into The Other, the pullout creating extra friction as the matter clung to him. He thrust again, over and over. 

"This…this is what I wanted." He brushed some kisses along The Others jaw. 

"Is it really?" The Other asked. Their hands stretched across his back, legs lifting to wrap around his waist while never breaking the contact needed for their bond. 

"Yeah, I just wanted some control. I wanted to feel connected." He whipped his hips faster as the matter started creeping over the rest of his body. 

"We're always connected, beloved." The Other's hands curled over the back of his head, down his neck, until his whole body was drowning in it. The Other kissed him, holding their mouths together just at the front in a light touch.

"This is…hah…different." He pulsed into The Other faster and harder, rebounding against the grip of the matter. The thrust turned into rolls, chasing the pulsing the friction inside the place The Other had made just for him. 

He came with a stuttering groan, falling forward into the matter and letting it wash over him in a tight hug. At the same time, The Other gave a tight, full body growl, vibrating with the mirrored climax. 

Fingers ran up and down his spine. 

"Do you love me, Eddie?" 

"If I say yes, will you stop asking?" 

"Only if you mean it." 

"You're really concerned with the idea for a species that reproduces asexually." Eddie repositioned himself within the matter blob to find The Other's still manifested head. He nudged his head against theirs. 

"Two different things." The Other reformed some fingers to run down his cheek then created two more hands to caress his thighs. "I don't want to lose you again." 

"You're nervous about Spider-Man?" Eddie asked. The Other answered in a flash of uncertain emotions. "He's not the same guy you saw in the hive. Things will be different this time. Not everything is inevitable." Another flash of emotion in response. "I don't want to be apart from you either. Not anymore."

"Hmm," The Other vocalized before sinking away into the mass.

Your skeptcism isn't very sexy.

Good thing I'm just an alien slime monster. We need don't need to be sexy. 

The other kept encasing him, pulling around him tighter. 

Go to sleep. Our body's already too exhausted for play time, as is.

We're coming back to this at some point. 

Sure we will, dearest. 

"What's with all the kids at the front desk?" Eddie moved down the stairs of the Daily Globe with Bushkin, heading out to grab some lunch. The news over the weekend had blown up about menaces and monsters rampaging through the city. Bushkin had given him a side-eye, but didn't ask the question he very clearly wanted to. 

"Journalism club field trip. We drew the short straw. One of these little bastards already has a byline, though. Sold their photos of Spider-Whatsit to the Bugle ."

"Are you serious? The one giving us pictures is…a high schooler?" Brock hesitated with his hand on the railing, searching the faces. 

"I don't know if he was our mystery photog, but he's certainly on Jameson's payroll, now." Bushkin spit with dissatisfaction. 

"Sucks for us, I guess," Eddie replied, still focused on the teenagers. 

"Which one of you is Peter Parker?" Bushkin said as they passed into the lobby. A kid raised his hand. Mop top. Glasses, but they were clearly just plain glass. The light didn't refract through them right. Slim, gangly, but a little muscle poorly hidden under his long-sleeve shirt. 

Bushkin was introducing Eddie's resume to the kids somewhere in the background of his hearing. He was focused on the kid. On Peter Parker. 

It's him, Eddie.

Fucking clearly. He's a literal child. Shit.

More importantly, Peter Parker had recognized him, realization dawning on his face with an owlish expression. 

"Brock?" Bushkin was saying, "Anything to add for the kids?"

"Uh….stay in school? Um…actually wait." He dug into his wallet. "I have a few of these still." He pulled out some business cards. "Any of you want to ask more questions about journalism or whatever." He handed the cards out, making sure one of them pressed into Peter's hand.

"That was nice of you," Bushkin said at they moved of the building. 

"Children are the future," Eddie said noncommittally.

What now, do you think?

We wait, sweetheart. Whether  it's all inevitable or not, that's up to Spider-Man, now.

[matchalovertrait]

Every morning before work, Teodor reads the newspaper. He's a bit older, being 54 years old, and still finds pleasure in getting his news from a printed source. In his opinion, the scent of a newspaper and coffee together can't be beat. Teodor co-owns Postres de Alegría, but he also has his own Colombian coffee business on the side. The work accumulated from both can get quite stressful at times, so this peaceful morning routine was a necessity for him. However, this morning's headline was going to have the exact opposite effect. Alto's Bakery Coming Soon to Tartosa. These six words flooded his brain with memories of heartbreak and suffering. Teodor threw the newspaper at the other couch and looked at the ground, his head swirling. He felt like his world was crumbling again.

Teodor spent the majority of his 20s and 30s working to build the resort of his dreams. He handcrafted those resort plans with devotion and sentiment. It was supposed to be a paradise for people all around the world to visit and boost the economy of his beloved hometown. After Alfonso betrayed him, Teodor had to start his life back up again from scratch. It felt like it was happening all over again. Yet, this time it felt worse. Now, he has two more kids and a wife- and oh god... What about Noemí, Erick, Ángel, and Dulce? Teodor had to convince Noemí to partner with him and supposedly take Postres de Alegría to the next level. The Alegrías spent so much of their money due to Teodor's carelessness.

Teodor got up and started walking in circles frantically. He tried to think of a solution quickly. He had to do something for his kids, his nephew, and his niece. "¡Maldita sea!" he yelled when he couldn't think of anything. It took everything out of him to not kick the bench.

Irene was still getting ready for the day and came out of their bedroom when she heard him. "Cariño, is the strong language really that necessary?" she asked when putting on her earring.

"That idiot Alfonso Alto is opening a bakery here in Tartosa out of all places," Teodor said.

"QUÉ???" Irene exclaimed. "Ese hijo de su p-" "What happened to 'strong language'?" "When I get my hands on him..." Irene held up her pointed finger and began plotting against Alfonso. Some of these thoughts weren't exactly legal.. or peaceful. However, she calmed down when she saw Teodor quietly take a seat on the bench. Okay, time to be sensical and supportive right now. The violent ideas can wait, she thought and sat down next to him.

"Irene, I don't know what to do," Teodor confessed. Irene sat down next to him. "Look, we'll make it out of this. Everyone is going to see what a clown this guy is and lose interest." Teodor thought for a couple of seconds. Clown.... His mind was clearing up a bit and he was starting to remember how truly stupid this guy is. Not to mention, ostentatious. "Irene, you're right and I have to get to the bakery right now."

Part 1/4

Start from the beginning

Previous | Next

[unfriendlyamazon]

kame valley (stardew au)

currently obsessed with stardew valley again and yes i can make everything about ygo so here's an au i started actually a long time ago

Title: Kame Valley

Characters: All of them, mainly Seto Kaiba

Summary:

When Seto Kaiba is sent to secure Kaiba Corp's foothold in the small farming community that is Kokoro Town. His corporate goal get waylaid again and again, forcing him to get to know the local villagers, and maybe even engage with them once in a while. Rather than changing the valley, Kaiba finds himself being changed.

Spring, Day 1

Seto Kaiba nearly dropped his bags when he saw where he was staying for the next three weeks. Behind him, Mayor Pegasus seemed oblivious to his growing concern.

Seto’s voice strained when he said, “This is it?”

This was it. The old cabin had seen better days, the wood planks that made up its walls old and peeling. The red shingles of the roof threatened to slide right off. One morose window gazed out onto the small porch, and a lantern was hung over the wind beaten door. It had already been a hike from the one entrance into town, blocked partially by the broken down bus, down a dirt road, and now onto what looked to be a fair sized plot of land. Seto’s gaze swept over the rock ridden dirt. Trees rose up like their own little forest, and stumps were left at attempts to keep them at bay.

Seto breathed out through his teeth. It’d been a day of good omens.

“Unfortunately,” Mayor Pegasus said, singing every other syllable, “accommodations are somewhat limited in Kokoro Town. But the farm’s been unused for years, and everything still works. You’ll be very comfortable here.”

Seto looked at the mayor, whose attitude and style would kindly be described as “eccentric”. Silver hair fanned around his face, covering his left eye, and he wore a clean pink shirt and slacks. Seto had not spoken to him directly until he greeted him ten minutes ago, and already he was desperate to remove himself from his company. He was desperate to remove himself from this town. But Kokoro Town was the foot in the door to the entirety of Kame Valley that Kaiba Corp needed, especially if they were going to keep expanding out. The PR boost would help too. One small town transformed into a thriving marketplace thanks to Kaiba Corp. Noah had visited his office and told Seto that he was the one he needed to rely on to get this done. Seto had been suspicious, but now he knew for sure. Noah was torturing him.

Three weeks, he told himself. Then it’s back to Domino City, where they have hotels and paved streets and electricity.

“It’s fine,” he said, mostly to himself. “I’ll be spending most of my time at the Kaiba Mart anyway, which is…”

The mayor rifled through his pockets before providing a small printed map. “On the other side of town, I’m afraid. You’re lucky you’re here in the spring. It’ll be a brisk walk in the morning.”

“Walk?” he repeated and unfolded the map. Ra, they weren’t even large enough to justify driving. He wasn’t far from town center, but the mart was on the other side of even that, crossing a river to the furthest east it could be from where he was now. Seto didn’t consider himself an inactive person, but every day? Everywhere? He’d packed nothing but his clean business loafers and work clothes. His black shoes were already coated in a fine layer of dust.

“You’ll get used to it in time,” Pegasus said.

Seto hoped he wouldn’t have to. His fear that the inside of the cabin was worse than the outside was only mollified some by the presence of the nicely crafted furniture and small television set. The fireplace was warmed, suggesting someone had bothered to inspect the place before his arrival. He let his bags drop on the ground and side eyed the sheets on the bed that was pushed against the wall. At least it wasn’t a twin. The single room didn’t offer much by way of amenities, not even a kitchen, which wasn’t so much of a loss. It wasn’t as if he cooked.

“It’s homey,” he said, in a way that was not a compliment.

“I’ll give Mr. Muto your regards,” the mayor said. “It’s his property. He’s too old to tend it now, and his grandson tries. He’s quite the fan of yours.”

His ridiculous drawl made it hard to tell if that was sarcasm or not, but Seto banked on caution. Kaiba Corp didn’t make many friends, and the nicely detailed report spelled out Kokoro Town’s resistance to any expansion here. It would worry him, if it mattered.

“And any adjustments that need to be made,” Pegasus continued, “the Ishtars are happy to provide. I should organize a meeting with all the business leaders for you.”

“I’m sure it won’t be necessary,” Seto said. He didn’t want to know what passed for a ‘business leader’ in this town. “I should check in with Kaiba Mart.”

“Of course,” the mayor sang. “And allow me to take you on a wonderful tour of our town as we go.”

Seto held in his groan as he followed him from the dirt path of the farm into town proper. Kokoro’s town center, at least, was paved with businesses huddled around the square. The buildings were unpatterned in their placement, with a medical clinic and general store sloped against each other, and a short ways away a spot whose sign read “Mr. Clown’s Saloon”. The rest were homes, including the mayor’s house, a little larger than the others with a full garden decorating the front. Pegasus pointed out a short path that led to the mountains, and a stone bridge that crossed to the beach. Two rivers crossed here, and the smooth current was alive with fish who snapped at the surface.

Seto didn’t bother to listen as Pegasus pointed out whose home belonged to who or go into a detailed history of every building. He didn’t bother to acknowledge the people that the mayor said good morning to. He removed his phone instead and went to message his brother and frowned when he noticed his inbox was empty. Mokuba usually sent him twenty texts before nine, but there was nothing since last night. He swiped over to his email, which only boasted a handful of unread emails. A sense of dread crept over him as he tried to refresh, only to get a spinning icon that rang with false promise.

With dawning horror, Seto said, “There’s no signal out here.”

Pegasus trailed off mid-sentence as he turned around to look at him. He noted the very expensive brick in Seto’s hands.

“Oh, no,” he said, as an afterthought. “There’s no towers for miles. I’m told in the mountains there’s more luck, but we still use the landlines around here.”

Seto stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so.” He let out a sigh. “Your office must have some work around, I’m sure. For now you’ll have to enjoy our rustic hospitality.”

He kept walking, crossing the short bridge over the river to where the Kaiba Mart sat, and Seto had no choice but to follow after. He clutched his phone in his hand like an injured baby bird in hopes that it would come alive again.

The Kaiba Mart sat in stark contrast to the picturesque nature around them. It’s white and blue walls were modern and clean, and its windowless exterior made it seem like an alien obelisk left behind. They crossed through the sliding doors, and at once the natural sounds of wind rustling through trees and the babbling of the brook and tweeting of birds were replaced with tinny elevator music and the hum of AC. Rows of shelving sat neatly with the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. A bored looking girl sat at the register while a handful of employees restocked. It was practically busy compared to the rest of town, with people shopping up and down the aisles. Across from the registers was a customer service desk where a man stood to attention, making their way to them.

“I believe you’re in your world now, Kaiba-boy,” Pegasus said. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, I’m never hard to find.”

He ambled away before Seto could protest the sudden familiar nickname, and he was quickly accosted by the manager, who offered a thorough handshake he was forced to escape from. His suit and clean cut hair was closer to the Kaiba Corp goons he was used to dealing with. Seto tried to remember his name from the file and was saved the hassle.

“My name is Roland, sir,” he said. “I’m grateful for the chance to assist you.”

“Right.” Seto didn’t bother introducing himself. He glanced around the grocers and didn’t miss the interest a few employees were paying him. “I assume there’s an office I can set up in.”

“Of course. Right away.”

The back of the Kaiba Mart was roomier than expected, which Seto was grateful for. The employee area was clean and empty, a small TV next to a table playing the weather report. Roland’s office had a single window to look out at any slackers and free of any personal items except for a single kitschy palm tree from the Kuriboh Desert. The rest was storage, and then a room that had been cleaned out and outfitted with a desk and the usual Kaiba Mart motivational posters and metal shelves with binders and blueprints. A stark white light illuminated the space. It smelled faintly of bleach. Seto left the door open for fear it was not as well ventilated as it appeared.

Seto knew going in that there was a plan in place. A small version of KC’s headquarters would be built on land in Kokoro Town, which would open up all of the valley to expansion. Apparently finding the land to build on was the first roadblock. The woods were protected, the mountains deemed unsafe, and there was a full envelope of angry letters from one Solomon Muto in which he expressed with certainty that his farm was not for sale. The only viable property was an abandoned community center, which had a lot of legal red tape around it. Still, Kaiba Corp’s lawyers were fastidious and their pockets bottomless. Roland explained in excruciating detail the issues they’d faced in securing even a construction site, and Seto only stopped him when he got to the biggest sticking point.

“What the hell do you mean by ‘community leadership support’?” he asked.

Roland pointed to the legal papers amid the many files. “Because it’s the property of the town, Kaiba Corp can’t just purchase it. There are five community leaders that need to vote in order for them to give the property over to us. And right now only the mayor is giving us his support.”

Seto narrowed his eyes a the papers in front of him as though they were hiding their secrets. “So in order to get this entire project started, we need to convince four other people that letting Kaiba Corp into their town is a good idea. How do we do that?”

“I think,” he said nervously, “that’s why you’re here.”

Seto continued to focus his gaze on the items in front of him, even as weight pressed down on his chest. This hadn’t been in that nicely detailed file, which meant Noah wanted it to be a surprise. He sent him here, this remote town with no contact to the outside world, in order to play nice with a bunch of country hicks who managed to own enough property to be a thorn in his side. Seto prided himself on a lot of things--his work ethic, his bullheadedness, his ability to get things done--but his people skills had never been his strong suit. His usual methods of brute force and intimidation might not be the appropriate move here.

He sunk his head into his hands. “There has to be some loophole.”

“I’m afraid not,” Roland said.

“Then there has to be another town,” Seto groaned. “One with bribable officials.”

“This is the only foot in the door Kaiba Corp has ever managed.”

“Fantastic.”

Of course, Noah had chosen him for this job. All he had to do was make some friends.

[engagisau]

Top Benefits of Using LED Screens for Business Promotion

For businesses in this time where everything moves very fast, grabbing and keeping an audience is paramount. One of the current cutting-edge tools is using LED screens. Bright and colourful advertisements have come up everywhere-from malls to restaurants, streets to office buildings. Promotion of business through LED screens should be a clever and powerful move.

Why Are LED Screens a Great Marketing Tool for Modern Businesses?

In today’s hyper-fast changing digital world, businesses need tools which are not just attractive but are flexible and low in cost. And that somewhat defines the LED-screen. With visual attraction and immediate content change, it sits right at the center of contemporary marketing needs. Be it a retail outlet, restaurant, or corporate office; LED screens for business promotion help keep brands afloat in visibility, relevance, and engagement. Giving them the capability to broadcast video, images, and even live messages is what makes them more favorable than static signs and printed advertisements.

1. Attracts Instant Attention

One of the main features with which LED screens grab eyeballs is their irresistible attractiveness. With huge colours and motion, and brightness, they easily stand out—even in busy places like shopping centres or streets. Whether you’re showing a video, a product photo, or a message, an LED screen makes sure people notice your business.

2. Boosts Your Brand Image

A crystal-clear and high-definition display makes a brand look fresh and modern. If anything, customers are more likely to trust brands that appear professional. When you use LED screens for business promotion, you illuminate that your business is trendy, innovative, and interested in actually reaching out to the audience

3. Easy to Update Anytime

Unlike printed materials that take time and money to replace, LED screens help you quickly change the message. You have a special discount to put up in the morning and then go sell a new product in the evening? No problem at all; it takes less than a few clicks to get it done and saved time and money from working under it.

4. Save Cost in the Long Run

Certainly, LED screens are quite costly at first. But then, once they are installed, they give you the benefit of being able to save money over time. You won't have to keep on printing out new signs or banners constantly. Moreover, LED technology is energy-efficient; hence, your electricity bills will be low.

5. Indoor and Outdoor Use

Another good thing about LED screens is that they are good both indoors and outdoors. Indoor screens can be found in malls, stores, and office lobbies. While outdoor LED screens are rated to handle sunlight, rain, and dust, they make an awesome street advertisement or shopfront.

6. Supports Videos and Animations

With LED screens, your promotions need not be restricted to static pictures. You may use them to play videos, scroll texts, or display animated graphics to give a little life to the ads. Moving content catches attention faster and holds people's interest for a longer time.

7. Attracting Customers Round-the-Clock

All-day LED screens billboard an advertisement for a business promotion. Ads can be run 24 hours without hiring anyone to look after it. They also increase footfalls, create buzz, and boost sales while your store remains shut.

8. A Slight Carbon Emission Advantage over Ink and Paper

Less use of paper and ink is good for the environment. Being digital will make your business greener. Besides this, LED screens also have a longer life, which means less waste and fewer replacements.

Final Thoughts

Among an ocean of distractions, LED screens are an intelligent way to stand apart. They are versatile, appealing, and worth every penny. If you want to up your marketing and reach yonder, you would trade a few bucks for the best choice of an LED screen for business promotion.

Whether you are running a small store or a big organization, an LED screen perhaps can help transform be seen and remembered. Invest in this technology today—and let your business shine bright.

Ready to Transform Your Business with LED Screens?At Engagis, we help businesses create powerful customer experiences through smart digital signage solutions. If you're looking to elevate your brand and attract more attention, our LED screens for business promotion are the perfect fit.

[usa2025store01]

Lightning McQueen x Anaheim Ducks Special Hoodie

Link Product: https://flavorhauted.com/product/lightning-mcqueen-x-anaheim-ducks-special-hoodie/

Fast, Fearless, and Full of Character: The Lightning McQueen x Anaheim Ducks Special Hoodie

In a collision of speed, sport, and style, the Lightning McQueen x Anaheim Ducks Special Hoodie delivers an electrifying tribute to two iconic worlds—Pixar’s high-octane legend Lightning McQueen and the fierce, on-ice energy of the Anaheim Ducks. This hoodie is not just a piece of apparel—it’s a revved-up celebration of personality, nostalgia, and bold fan culture. It’s built for those who love hockey, love racing, and love to make a statement wherever they go.

A DESIGN THAT BURNS RUBBER AND ICE

The moment you see the hoodie, it hits you like a turbo boost to the senses. The rich racecar red-orange base color instantly evokes McQueen’s signature paint job, while the Anaheim Ducks’ branding integrates seamlessly with McQueen’s energetic persona. It’s a hybrid that’s equal parts Lightning and Fighting—flashing headlights and flying pucks.

At the heart of the front design is a vibrant reimagining of the Anaheim Ducks’ classic logo, now fused with racing flags and Lightning McQueen-themed energy. The bold cross of black-and-white checkered patterns signals speed, victory, and classic race-day flair. McQueen himself would approve.

But it’s the sleeves and pocket area that truly crank the creativity up to full throttle. Covered in a patterned tribute to both franchises—complete with duck masks, racing numbers, and McQueen lightning bolts—the detail is both intricate and loud in the best possible way. It’s visual horsepower for hoodie lovers.

BUILT FOR FANS WHO STAND OUT

This hoodie doesn’t whisper support. It screams allegiance—to Disney-Pixar’s Cars, to the NHL’s Anaheim Ducks, and to a life lived at top speed. The back of the hoodie features a clean, sporty layout: the name “McQueen” printed in bold above the number 95—an unmistakable nod to his iconic racing number. This number doesn’t just stand for a racer—it stands for courage, charisma, and the drive to keep going.

Whether you’re rinkside, at a Disney event, or strolling through city streets, this hoodie turns heads. And unlike typical themed merchandise that fades into gimmick, this piece maintains streetwear credibility, thanks to its bold composition, modern fit, and layered graphics.

QUALITY THAT MATCHES CHARACTER

Under the hood (literally), this hoodie packs more than just visual appeal. Made from a premium cotton-poly blend, it offers warmth without bulk, structure without stiffness. The interior fleece lining ensures comfort, while the double-stitched seams guarantee durability. Just like McQueen himself, this hoodie is built to go the distance.

The drawstring hood, spacious kangaroo pocket, and ribbed cuffs make it a practical companion for chilly games, morning commutes, or late-night drives down Route 66. The quality construction means you’ll feel just as good as you look—every time you wear it.

A MERCH MASTERPIECE THAT CELEBRATES CULTURE

The genius of the Lightning McQueen x Anaheim Ducks Special Hoodie lies in its ability to bridge generations and genres. Kids who grew up quoting “Ka-chow!” and adults who’ve followed the Ducks since the Mighty days will both find something to love here. It’s more than a crossover—it’s a cultural intersection.

This isn’t a lazy mash-up of logos. It’s a crafted celebration of speed, teamwork, and animated heroism. It reminds us of McQueen’s journey—from cocky upstart to beloved leader—just as the Ducks have evolved from an underdog Disney team to an NHL force.

Wearing this hoodie is a nod to that evolution. It’s a celebration of grit, growth, and the characters—real and fictional—who keep racing forward.

LIMITED EDITION. LIMITLESS IMPACT.

This special edition hoodie isn’t just exclusive—it’s legendary in the making. With custom design elements, dual branding, and collector’s appeal, it’s destined to become a prized piece in both hockey and Disney fandoms. Whether worn to a game, a premiere, or simply out on the town, it’s sure to spark conversation and admiration.

It’s more than fashion. It’s a statement of joy, speed, and loyalty. And with its unique styling and cross-generational appeal, it’s safe to say this hoodie will age like a champion—much like McQueen himself.

THE FINAL VERDICT: A KA-CHOW-LEVEL CLASSIC

The Lightning McQueen x Anaheim Ducks Special Hoodie is an instant win—an exhilarating blend of design, storytelling, and fan celebration. It manages to feel nostalgic and fresh at the same time, and it wears like a badge of belonging for those who embrace fun, fandom, and fearlessness.

This isn’t just a hoodie you wear. It’s a hoodie you live in. You celebrate in. You cheer in. You race in.

Ka-chow never looked so cool.

[iconicrugsau]

🏠 The Timeless Appeal of Modern Rugs

Modern rugs are more than just floor coverings — they’re powerful design tools that can transform any space with style, texture, and warmth. From minimalistic designs to bold statement pieces, modern rugs offer a versatile range of options for every kind of interior. Whether you're refreshing your living room or completing a bedroom makeover, a well-chosen rug can tie the whole look together.

Let’s dive into the wonderful world of modern rugs and discover why they’ve become a staple in contemporary interior design.

🌟 What Defines a "Modern" Rug?

Modern rugs are characterized by their clean lines, abstract patterns, and a strong emphasis on design aesthetics. Unlike traditional rugs that follow classic motifs, modern rugs embrace innovation and contemporary trends.

Key Characteristics:

Geometric Patterns ➕ Think triangles, hexagons, and grid-based designs.

Neutral & Bold Colors 🎨 From muted greys and beiges to daring black, teal, and even neon accents.

Minimalist Vibes 🧘 Less is more – clean designs that promote visual calmness.

Unconventional Shapes 🔷 Say goodbye to only rectangles — circles, ovals, and asymmetrical shapes are in.

🧵 Materials Matter: What Modern Rugs Are Made Of

The feel, durability, and maintenance of a rug largely depend on its material. Modern rugs come in a wide range of fibers to suit both your feet and your lifestyle.

Popular Materials:

Wool 🐑 Soft, warm, and naturally stain-resistant.

Cotton 🌿 Lightweight and easy to clean — perfect for casual spaces.

Synthetic Fibers (like Nylon or Polypropylene) 🧪 Affordable, durable, and great for high-traffic areas.

Jute & Sisal 🌾 Natural fibers that bring texture and an earthy touch to modern spaces.

💡 Tip: Always check the care label. Some rugs require professional cleaning, while others can be spot cleaned easily at home.

🖼️ Styling with Modern Rugs: Room by Room

Every room can benefit from a rug, but not all rugs work in every room. Choosing the right size, pattern, and placement is key.

Living Room 🛋️

Use a large area rug to anchor your seating arrangement.

Place the rug under the front legs of sofas and chairs.

Geometric or abstract patterns can add a bold touch.

Bedroom 🛏️

Go for a plush, cozy rug underfoot.

Place it partially under the bed to frame the space.

Neutral tones help create a restful atmosphere.

Dining Room 🍽️

Choose a rug large enough to fit under the table and chairs, even when pulled out.

Flat-weave or low-pile rugs work best to handle spills and crumbs.

Entryway 🚪

Opt for a durable rug that can withstand heavy foot traffic.

A statement rug here can set the tone for the entire home.

🌀 Popular Design Trends in Modern Rugs

As interior design trends evolve, so do the styles of modern rugs. Staying updated with trends can help you pick a rug that feels current but still timeless.

Trending Now:

Muted Pastels 🌸 Soft pinks, blues, and sage greens are having a moment.

Abstract Art-Inspired Prints 🎭 Rugs that look like brush strokes or watercolor paintings.

Layering Rugs 🪄 Combine multiple rugs of different textures or shapes for a cozy, eclectic look.

Monochrome Palettes ⚫⚪ Sleek and sophisticated — black, white, and grey combinations.

✅ Benefits of Adding a Modern Rug

Rugs are more than just pretty additions. They offer a number of functional and aesthetic benefits.

Why You’ll Love Them:

Add Warmth and Comfort 🌡️ No more cold floors in the morning!

Reduce Noise 🔇 Especially helpful in apartments or homes with hardwood floors.

Define Spaces 🧱 Great for open-plan homes to visually separate zones.

Boost Style Instantly ✨ An easy way to make your home look curated and intentional.

🧼 Rug Maintenance 101: Keep It Looking Fresh

Proper care can keep your modern rug looking new for years. Thankfully, most modern rugs are designed with practicality in mind.

Maintenance Tips:

Vacuum regularly to prevent dirt build-up.

Rotate your rug every few months to avoid uneven fading.

Blot spills immediately — never rub!

Use rug pads to prevent slipping and extend the life of the rug.

🎯 Final Thoughts

A modern rug isn’t just a decor element — it’s a design statement. Whether you’re a minimalist or a lover of bold interiors, there’s a modern rug that matches your vision. With endless patterns, materials, and shapes to choose from, you can easily find one that complements your home and enhances your lifestyle.

✨ So go ahead — roll out the style and comfort with a modern rug that reflects your personality and brings your space to life!

Contact Us Today!

Business Address: 1 Jacaranda Ave, Hollywell QLD 4216

Business Phone: 07 2111 8331

[graphicteesblog]

Why Women Everywhere Are Obsessing Over These Long Sleeve Graphic Tees 

Long sleeve graphic tees have become a must-have item in women’s wardrobes. These stylish pieces are popping up everywhere — from casual coffee shops to social media feeds. But what’s behind this growing obsession? Why are women's graphic tops with long sleeves capturing so much attention? Let’s dive into the reasons behind this fashionable trend. 

A Perfect Blend of Comfort and Style 

One of the biggest reasons women are loving long sleeve graphic tees is the perfect balance between comfort and style. These tops are usually made from soft, breathable fabrics that feel great on the skin. Whether you're lounging at home, running errands, or heading to brunch with friends, these tees offer a relaxed yet put-together look. 

The graphic element adds flair and personality to a simple long sleeve. From inspiring quotes to bold designs, every shirt tells a story. You can express your mood, interests, or creativity without saying a word — all through your outfit. 

Versatility for Every Season 

Another reason for the popularity of women’s long sleeves is their year-round versatility. In cooler weather, they provide warmth while still being lightweight enough to layer under jackets or cardigans. During spring or fall, they work perfectly on their own. 

Pair a long sleeve graphic tee with jeans, leggings, skirts, or shorts — the styling options are endless. Dress it up with a blazer and boots, or keep it casual with sneakers and joggers. Women love pieces that can adapt to different looks, and these graphic tops are incredibly flexible. 

A Way to Showcase Personal Style 

Every woman has her unique style, and long sleeve graphic tees offer a creative outlet to show it off. Whether you prefer minimalist designs, vintage prints, or bold statements, there’s a graphic tee out there that reflects who you are. 

Fashion is about expressing yourself, and these tops make that easy. You can change up your look depending on your mood or the occasion. Want something edgy? Try a dark graphic with a grunge vibe. Feeling playful? Go for bright colors and fun illustrations. The possibilities are endless. 

Popular in Pop Culture and Social Media 

Social media plays a huge role in fashion trends today. Influencers, celebrities, and everyday women are all showcasing their favorite women’s graphic tops online. These long sleeve styles are especially popular because they photograph well and create a stylish, casual vibe that fits many aesthetics. 

The popularity of graphic tees in pop culture also contributes to their appeal. From music festivals to movie-inspired designs, these tops connect women to the things they love and admire. Wearing them becomes a form of cultural expression. 

Easy to Mix and Match 

Long sleeve graphic tees are easy to mix and match with other clothing items. This makes getting dressed in the morning a breeze. You don’t have to think too hard — just throw on a cool graphic top with your favorite bottoms, and you’re good to go. 

Many women enjoy creating capsule wardrobes, and women’s long sleeves fit right into that concept. They can be styled in multiple ways, saving both time and money. Plus, they work for a variety of settings — casual hangouts, creative workplaces, travel, or even laid-back date nights. 

Comfort Meets Confidence 

Comfort plays a big role in how confident we feel in our clothes. When something fits well and feels good, it shows in the way we carry ourselves. Long sleeve graphic tees are flattering for all body types, offering a relaxed fit that still looks chic. 

Many designs are also empowering, featuring quotes or artwork that uplift and inspire. Wearing a tee that sends a strong message or makes you smile can boost your mood and confidence throughout the day. 

Conclusion: The Obsession Is Here to Stay 

Long sleeve graphic tees aren’t just a passing trend — they’ve become a staple in women’s fashion for good reason. They blend comfort, style, and self-expression in a way that few other pieces can. From cozy days at home to casual outings, women’s graphic tops are proving they deserve a permanent spot in every closet. It’s no wonder women everywhere are obsessed — and if you haven’t jumped on the trend yet, now might be the perfect time.