#hi this is what i like to call ''wall spaghetti'' where i just throw things and either they will stick (to the wall) or they do not and

[lighthouseborn]

@penddraig || liked for a starter (carryover).

  Trying to find this shop again had proved nearly identical to chasing a silk scarf caught up in the wind. Unable to name the town himself (entirely lost, the first time he found it) he asked and asked again for the wizard's shop with various details for aid. The shape of the building, the color in the windows, the strange little assistant who had answered the door, and -most notably- the air of the wizard himself. Every answer he got back snapped this way and that, leading him in directions that doubled back over themselves more than they went anywhere.

  Until his luck caught up. And of course it was a seaside town, the place where his luck caught up - even though Henry was sure he'd been nowhere near the sea at all. (If he was near the sea, he would not have been lost.) He was twice as certain of this, though. It was the same wizard. Boldly suited and smelling of all manner of fanciful garden flower at least a dozen paces in advance and wake of his person.

  “Howl,” he called ahead, foregoing the formal title for no other reason than addressing someone as their occupation felt almost like some form of insult, to him. Or, at least, a formality he didn't care for. Further greeting came when he drew closer, arriving in the form a gesture almost like a bow: hello, where he came from. “I don't know that you'll remember, but some months ago you helped my friend and I evade a great deal of trouble. I couldn't return any favor then, or even pay you properly, but I hoped this might do one or the other, now.” He fetched a stone from the depths of the bag slung across his torso. It was no precious jewel or sparkling marvel, strictly speaking, though it had been thoroughly and expertly polished until its deep blue faces were handsomely shaped and mirror-bright. “It brings luck,” he explained. Strange thing that, as it was not exactly spelled, but neither entirely mundane, conspicuously imbued with good fortune and good will. Henry shrugged, like there were questions he could hear in the brief pause. “Or makes fine jewelry, if you cannot convince a buyer of the charm.”

  Either way, a turn for a turn.

[gentlebilady]

Even MORE of Casual

Steve’s phone rang just as he was pulling the meatballs out of the oven. He slid the pan onto the range top quickly, tossing the towel he used as an oven mitt over his shoulder as he grabbed the phone off the wall. 

“Yello,” he greeted the caller.

“...Steve?” The voice was young, feminine, familiar.

“Max? Hey. How are you?”

In response, the young woman sobbed.

Oh shit.

“Oh shit. Max? Are you okay?” Steve was frozen. He and Max were not exactly close and Billy was still keeping very mum on their…non-relationship. Despite this Steve’s first thought was that there must be something wrong with Billy.

“Billy told me to call you.”

OH SHIT. Steve’s blood ran cold. If Billy told his little sister to call him, things were bad.

“What’s going on, Max? Is Billy okay? Did something happen in California?” Billy had left to visit his mom’s family earlier that week.

“Oh. Yeah, he’s fine. He told me to call you if I, um, if I needed anything while Billy was gone?” The statement sounded like a question. Steve was stunned, then felt heat flood his system - Billy had told Max to call him. Before he let himself get lost in the knowledge that Billy trusted him with his family, Steve refocused on Max.

“What do you need, Max? I’m here.”

She sniffed, hard.

“Um, my mom and Neil are having a huge argument, and usually when this happens I call Billy and he’ll come pick me up and we’ll go to his apartment, but he’s gone, and mom is REALLY upset, she’s, like, trying to kick Neil out of the house? And-,” she hiccuped. “- I know I’m, like, a little old for this, but I hate it when they fight, it reminds me of when Billy lived here and Neil would, would-. Steve, I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m gonna come get you, okay? Can you get out of the house and wait for me somewhere? There’s a park nearby, go to the swings and wait there and I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Okay, Max?”

Her voice was small but relieved when she whispered “Okay,” back.

“I’m leaving right now, Max. I’ll see you soon.” He waited for her to hang up, then grabbed his keys and wallet, barely remembering to turn off the oven, leaving the meatballs on the stovetop, and running out of his front door. 

Ten minutes later he was pulling into the park. It was dusk and the area had only a few older kids hanging out. Max was sitting on a swing, casually pushing herself with one leg back and forth. She spotted Steve as soon as he pulled in and jumped up to run to his car. He had barely parked before she was throwing open the passenger seat and sliding in.

In the brief glow of the overhead light, Steve saw her eyes were red but dry, and she looked calmer than she had sounded earlier. As soon as she was buckled in, Steve put the car in drive.

“Where to, Mad Max?”

“Can we get something to eat? I’m starving. This ALWAYS fucking happens at dinner, I swear.”

“Language,” Steve muttered, unthinking. Max scoffed then giggled.

“You’re such a grandpa.”

“Yeah, yeah, smartass,” said Steve the hypocrite. He smiled. “Spaghetti and meatballs sound good?”

“Are you kidding?! Holy crap that sounds perfect. I have been CRAVING pasta.”

It took the full 15 minutes to get back to Steve’s place. Max filled the drive with chatter, about Lucas, the classes she was taking, and the car she was saving up for. She carried on when they got into his duplex. While he heated sauce (his mom’s) and cooked the spaghetti (store bought), she complained about her job at the arcade. As she scoured his kitchen cabinets for plates and cutlery, then loaded up their plates, she bragged about her high scores on five of the games they carried. When they sat down in front of the TV and Steve put on the news, Max had something to say about every story. An hour later, after she’d gotten seconds, perused his VHS collection, and told Steve about a book she was reading (in detail), she finally seemed to lose steam. It was getting a little late, but Steve didn’t want to take her back to someplace she didn’t feel safe. Before he could figure out how to broach the subject, she piped up.

“Could I use your phone?”

“Of course!” Steve stood up to take her to it, then sat back down when she whizzed past him to grab it from the wall. As she was dialing, Steve gathered their plates to take to the sink. He didn’t want to eavesdrop but also felt a strange responsibility for the girl that demanded he stay near, so he leaned back against the counter to wait with her. 

Max was tense, but she shot him a grateful smile when he took up his post. Whoever she was calling answered, and Max relaxed.

“Hey mom. … I’m at Steve’s. … What? … I don’t know! … Can’t I- Okay! I’ll ask! Hey, Steve, can I stay with you tonight?” 

Steve was flabbergasted. His face must have shown it.

“Please? Mom doesn’t want me going home.” Max was putting on a strong facade, but there were large, obvious cracks in it; Steve could not turn her away.

“Of course.” 

She nodded quickly, her eyes wide and wet.

“He said yes, mom. Will you tell me what’s going on?” Max got quiet as she listened, and Steve decided that this was something he could leave her to. He went to his bedroom to change his sheets - Max could sleep in his bed, and he’d sleep on the couch. He found a pair of Dustin’s sweats that the boy had left here the last time they’d had a movie night and an old tshirt of his own that he’d grown out of before it got too ratty, and put them aside for her to sleep in if she wanted. Then he changed into his own pajamas - flannel pants and a too large shirt.

He made his way back out toward the kitchen. Max was still on the phone and she looked like she had cried, but there was a lightness to her face. She saw Steve and gave him a small smile.

“Yeah, mom. I love you, too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Max hung up the phone and walked to Steve, then surprised the hell out of him by throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight.

“My mom’s leaving Neil,” she whispered.

“Oh. Um, wow. Is that-?” Steve did not know how to respond to this.

“It’s a good thing. He isn’t a good person.” Max burrowed her head into Steve’s chest. “Something bad happened tonight, she won’t tell me what, but. Mom says she’s getting a restraining order against him for her and me.” Steve didn’t know what to say to that. A restraining order? Jesus. 

“Are you going to be able to go back home?” He asked. She shrunk in on herself. “Sorry! I don’t know what happens with restraining orders. I don’t know how they work.” He awkwardly patted her back; strangely, it seemed to help.

“Mom says the sheriff says Neil will have to leave the house and find somewhere else to live. I guess there’s a lot of court stuff involved? I don’t know, but she said I should be able to go home tomorrow.” 

Steve nodded, then asked the question that had been burning in him.

“What about Billy?”

Max looked up at Steve, her face worried.

“I- I don’t know. Mom didn’t say anything about him! Oh god. Do you think Neil will hurt him? Can Billy get a restraining order?” She seemed to be genuinely asking Steve, who was left grasping for calm.

“Billy’s not going to be back until next week, right? Your mom needs to call him and tell him what’s going on. I don’t know- he doesn’t tell me-.” Steve took a deep breath. “Max, does Billy need a restraining order against his dad?”

Her voice was small and her eyes shifted away when she said, “I don’t know.” She was quiet a moment, chewing on her lip, before she finally met his eyes, held them, and nodded her head. Steve nodded back, his mind racing.

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk to Billy. For now, I think we should watch a movie, eat some ice cream, and get some sleep.” 

Max obviously wasn’t expecting this response, but she agreed readily. Steve offered her the sleep clothes, which she accepted, and gave her the spare toothbrush that had come in the two-pack he’d bought last time. She closed herself in the bathroom to change, and appeared moments later, demanding ice cream and to watch Fright Night. Steve sighed at the movie - not his first choice, especially after an emotionally wrought night, but if that’s what would take Max out of her head, then that’s what they would watch.

Thirty minutes into the movie Max was nodding off against the back of the couch. Steve paused the tape and chivvied the girl toward the bedroom. She didn’t argue, drifting sleepily down the hall and climbing into the bed, face soft and eyes half closed. She laid down and turned over with a quiet “Night.” 

“Good night, Max.” Steve left the door open and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and prepare to sleep. He kept the light in the bathroom on and pulled the door almost fully closed, so Max could find it if she needed it in the middle of the night. Then he grabbed a spare pillow and blanket from the closet. After making sure the front door was locked and the kitchen wasn’t a disaster, he made up his couch nest, turned off the lights, and put on Sixteen Candles. 

~

This came in fits and spurts after a long day on the road. I read over it to check for any glaring errors but I know I missed some stuff.

ANYWAY!!!! I really enjoyed writing this scene. It would definitely come after the last scene I posted, but I'm not sure if there will be anything in between.

I have a good bit written for this story, but I'm kind of just writing as it comes to me, and posting little bits here and there. I will be editing it into a cohesive THING at some point and posting it in its entirety.

I really hope y'all are enjoying this! Cause I am LOVING writing it.

[bonnymori]

(1/2) From pasta guy, to boyfriend

A/N: i'm almost at episode 1030, finally the others are showing up more like Kid, Killer and Law; can't find any new Killer fics so decided my next work should be one

WC: 2,3k

Contents/Warnings: n/a, very light fic, modern!au ig, fluff, slice of life, gn!reader, trying out new format

Synopsis: Your cravings have led you to a small local restaurant, and surprisingly, bring you to a new romantic interest.

Noodles, spaghetti, pasta.

Sometimes they are all over your tiktok's for you page, or your youtube's feed shorts. That's how you end up awake at noon, looking closely at your phone as someone makes pasta from scratch in video. One can't help it, the process is so interesting although you've watched the same thing countless times: throw in a few eggs, flour, milk and salt in a bowl, mixing that soon gives you a puffy dough, from there the process gets overcomplicated– you just know the ingredients are the same every time.

You blame them for making you so hungry, and robbing you of your sleep.

That's also how you end up in front of a small luncherie, after spending too much time craving those delicious dishes, that you actually gave in and decided to go for it.

The front of the building looks so welcoming, a mix of pastel green and beige makes for a nice touch of painting, accompanied by the large window panes that give a view of the inside. Under your feet at the entrance is a doormat that says "benvenuto!" and upon your head, at the front of the shop is written "àite milis" as in the name of the place. Honestly you have no idea of both of their meanings, but you keep the words to yourself to translate them later.

Your entry isn't as peaceful as when you arrived, though, when the door is pushed outwards in the same time as you try to push it in to enter- whoever is inside was stronger, though, as you barely dodge it when it comes swinging your way with force, as if you hadn't even tried to push it.

"Agh!" You can't help but quip as you step back, avoiding being squashed between the door and the wall.

A surprised grunt comes from the doorframe, where a tall guy with a mask stands frozen, probably shocked with what just almost happened. You can't quite see his eyes from under those blond bangs, but he is surely looking at you wide eyed from the rise of his shoulders.

"Oh my, I'm very very sorry, I didn't see you behind the door."

The guy approaches, inspecting your face for any bruises – mainly because you are still spooked and planted to your feet. His warm hand lands on your shoulder, and you can't help but notice his whole arm looks crazy toned, and your face is lined perfectly with his chest since he's crazy tall too.

You don't let those thoughts cloud for long, taking a step back to look at him properly. "Sorry! Didn't see you coming out too, I got distracted by the place, haha."

"I- …" His head tilts slightly at your saying, and you notice how long his blond hair really is, as it weaves behind him when he turns, a few strands falling upon his shoulders by the movement. "Is that so? Why do you say that?"

"Well the colors are nice! What can I say, it's my first time here." You keep yourself from explaining your reasons during every exchange between strangers, but that only gives him more fuel to continue talking.

He nods, something in his posture changes from lax to a more attentive way– actually, he sorta looks… joyful. "I see, come inside then." His hand leaves your shoulder and waves you in, walking back inside with a skip on his step, so he is happy, why?

"It looks even better on the inside."

You can hear him call as you enter behind him, truthfully, you agree. The floor is boarded (but painted white) and the tables are also made with wood material, the brown matches well with the colors on the wall, white and blue that comes in stripes. The counter is the same color as the tables, it counts with a few comfortable looking stools. How cute, the tablecloths are black with white polka dots! Everything looks delicate and under measure, you can tell the owner has put his passion on every detail.

"So, liked it?"

The silence is broken by the mysterious blonde, you maintain a normal face but inside it gave you a big sudden scare.

"Yes! I think the place looks very delicate." You say what you really thought, to you it would be the best way of describing.

He nods more than once and rubs his hands together like a fly, it's hard to guess but from the movement under his mask, he might have smiled at your compliment, who can guess it.

Why are we talking about this anyway?

"Well…" he starts, as if able to listen to your thoughts, turning his body entirely in your direction and gathering himself in a very professional stance, "You are actually my first customer, so I'd like to accompany the experience with you, if you'd let me."

First customer.

"You're the boss!?" Your jaw drops, only slightly so as to not make yourself a complete fool in front of this handsome guy.

He nods, "It's been two days since I first opened the shop, without getting any new people in, so I'm extremely glad you have chosen this establishment. I'm sorry for the, cough, harsh welcoming." His body does all the talking as he speaks, making gestures and looking at the door, apologizing for the scare. He expresses himself very well for someone who's got almost his whole face covered.

…You can't help but giggle at his big introduction, although serious, he's just a silly guy.

"It's alright, can I get your name since you want to accompany me?" You said, following by the introduction of your name to him.

The man nods. "You can call me Killer."

Killer, huh, what?

You nod, not discarding the chance that it might be just his nickname, and make your way to a table near the window. You don't miss how Killer himself hands you the menu – at your curious stare, he answers that he doesn't have staff yet, it's him and him only, for now.

The menu… is a total road map. There's at least ten different types of noodles including lasagna pasta, each has different kinds of prepping and sauces to include. It's like ordering pizza but in italian… wait, pizza is also italian, right? Historically, nobody knows for certain, but… Anyway, you ultimately decide to order a plate from the popular section – not that the other options aren't good! But for today, keep it simple – that are basically those viral dishes that everybody knows from social media, as in a part of the menu that offers simpler options to choose from.

Today's dish will be… fettuccine alfredo! It should be good for starters.

Killer seems to jolt when you finally look his way again, like he wasn't staring at you all along. "I take you have decided what you are having?"

"Yes! Can I have a fettuccine alfredo, please?" You smile at him, such a polite guy.

He nods at the request, doing a small shoulder gesture you've seen him do before, signaling he's 'happy and ready'. Killer leaves to the back, soon you can hear the sounds of pans and pots being retrieved, as well as the smell of mouth watering food begins to waft through the place.

It's so good to smell, and not just watch it through a screen! You think to yourself, looking around and noting the small details all over his luncherie, finding especially interesting the small metal trinket on the counter, is it handmade?

Time goes like seconds, it's actually a really small pause before Killer comes out of the kitchen with a blue plate in hands, his long legs moving swiftly until he's beside your table and placing the dish in front of you. He lingers a little about even after delivering the order, fixing the folds on the tablecloth and thanking you again for coming to his restaurant.

He's really cute, you think, watching him head back to the counter, the way Killer fiddles about with his hands shows that he's maybe a little anxious, I would be nervous too with my first client.

You look down and damn, the dish looks amazing. The fettuccine normally has a whiter aspect thanks to the sauce, that becomes even more vibrant and appetizing in contrast to the blue colored plate. I hope I don't sound like a food critic, you think to yourself while swirling the first string of thick pasta on your fork, watching as it swirls smoothly with help of the white creamy sauce, it's making your mouth water.

Without thinking, you stuffed it in your mouth with no regrets, immediately melting at the way it explodes in your mouth. Yumm… I will definitely bring leftovers home.

It looks like I won't get any new customers besides Y/N, Killer muses to himself as he leans on the window. Sigh, he's a bit disappointed, but it's the reality of many newly established businesses. It doesn't stop the deep bubbling feeling that comes from his chest, knowing he should be starting on the dishes if he wants to close as soon as possible, since his mood has dampened again.

Right, I can't yet, I have someone over today, as if in cue with his thoughts, his head turns from the window to the person in the middle of his shop, who is humming delightfully as they eat the portion of fettuccine.

It puts him in sort of a daze, his cheeks spotting the faintest of blush, the sight of someone feeling so content while eating the result of his studies and hardwork, that's all I wanted. Killer is glad for his blonde bangs that hide the fact he can't bring himself to divert his eyes away, so touched by his work being appreciated. If the guys saw me acting this way, I wouldn't hear the end of it. After what seems ages, he shakes his head at the thought, slumping even more against the wall as all the exhaustion of setting up a business settles down on his shoulders.

Letting his eyes astray to that one table yet again, he can't help but think they're cute, his hard shell has lessened thanks to the excitement of receiving the first person to give a chance to his work, sure, but Killer can't help but watch them in a different glow from the way he would see other people.

And they like my food, that's a good sign- oh, they're looking at me, he jolts when he's suddenly caught staring, his hands twitching by the sudden spook– and now, they're… beckoning me closer?

Killer can't help but straighten up, fixing himself before strolling with newfound confidence to their table and sitting down across from them.

"It was delicious!" You told him with a big smile, patting the pudge on your stomach formed by his delicious, warming meal. "A pretty big portion too, are you sure the price is up to it?"

"Yes." His deep baritone almost filled the room, almost sending a shudder down your back. "It shouldn't be any higher, that would just scare off more people that it has."

He wasn't negative about it, just realistic. And also a tad nervous, not wanting to say anything awkward.

"I think it was great, actually, I promised- like- to bring leftovers for dinner to my family, do you make meals for takeout?"

Killer is at service, sure, but you still felt a little bad for asking this late, since it's probably rounding closing hours.

"Of course, I'd be delighted to." He responded quicker than you thought, more than happy to attend more work, it really shows he loves cooking, "So, how many portions would you want for takeout?"

"Three! I was thinking of bringing different dishes, you know? Another fettuccine so they can try it too, but I wanted to bring this one too, and…!"

Unnoticed by the both of you, soon, a discussion of what would be the best to bring back to your family started with the chef man, he knew how to add in his view on the subject but without suggesting in a way he wanted you to buy more, but like hey that's really good, it could go even better with this topping. Or I like that one, I think it's a really good choice. Killer was glad the conversation flowed so easily, himself also not noticing the fact a whole hour passed and they hadn't stopped talking, he felt like he wanted to get to know you better more and more through each minute, finding himself in a daze again, his brain filled by the thoughts of you entirely.

What brought him back to reality, though, was glancing down from your eyes – it was really hard – only to see the empty plate and silverware still on the table.

"Oh damn, I didn't see the time fly." A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him it was very late. He sat up, exasperatedly.

Still enough to make your family dinner, with how determined he looked.

Killer didn't even protest when you followed him inside the kitchen, the conversation flowing once again casually, he smiled at the way you found another of Kidd's trinkets, like the one – he persisted to gift Killer as decoration – at the counter.

He'd be sure to make them extra good just for you.

"Thank you so much for everything, Killer." You felt bad for keeping him so long, watching as the key chime when locking the door, disappearing along with his big hand inside his pants pocket.

"No such, I am, in fact, delighted for you."

For a moment, his sapphire blue irises stared into yours, drowning in the pools of color- both of you.

His hand on your shoulder was warm.

Fuschia lipstick marked your hand when his lips parted from your skin, smiling at you.

"I'd like to see you again."

At the end of the night, Killer's frustration had vanished - now that he's got your number.

[alaydabug2]

Tag list: @sparklenarniawizard @imobsessed123 @thoughtlescat @ilikebookssomuch

Broken heart/Broken mind

Chapter Fifty-six

(Human AU)

Sophie and Keefe met in the children's hospital when they were little. Because of how long they were confined to the four walls of the hospital, they became very close during their stay.

As the years pass, they wind up being in the same classroom together due to their physical conditions. This makes their bond deepen.

But are they able to handle when life gets tough, throwing problems and complications their way?

Sophie dropped her bag down in the mudroom. She wiped at her puffy eyes.

Her and Edaline had just gotten home from the hospital. They had been planning to leave several hours earlier, but Sophie couldn't make herself break away.

She spent longer than she'd like to admit crying and asking the nurses - no begging - for him to be ok. They only left once visiting hours were over. At eight PM. She still hadn't been able to pull it together.

Grady turned around from where he was cooking spaghetti at the stove. The look in his eyes was gentle. He waved her over.

She stumbled over into his arms before breaking down all over again. Grady squeezed her tighter.

She couldn't keep it to herself anymore. Guilt had been clawing at her since Edaline had called her that afternoon.

"It's my fault!" She finally cried.

"Hey," he whispered. "This isn't your fault. You couldn't have known this would happen."

"But it is," she insisted.

She explained to him what had happened the night before at the movies. How she shouldn't insisted further he go see someone.

"He promised me he was ok," she finished it off with. "I shouldn't have listened."

Grady took her by the shoulders, pulling away to look her in the eyes. "You can't control what he does. You tried your best to help him. He thought he was ok. No one is at fault here." He tucked her head underneath his chin. "Ok?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to go to bed already," Sophie decided.

"Alright, Kiddo," he murmured and kissed her forehead. "Will you be alright?"

She shrugged, not trusting her voice.

"I know you love him, and you're worried about him," Grady whispered, causing Sophie to freeze. "But he's a fighter. So don't sell him short just yet. Give him time.

"Ok," she choked out.

"Good night. I love you, "

She squeezed him tighter. "I love you too."

Sophie went to her room. She changed into her pajamas and laid down, but she couldn't sleep.

One thing Grady had said kept bouncing in her head. 'I know you love him.'

Love.

Was that the warm, tingly feeling she got whenever her and Keefe were together? Was that why she felt so much heartache seeing him lying in that bed.

Sophie loved Keefe. Everything clicked into place. It all made sense now.

But it made the thought of possibly losing him worse. She didn't want to be alone anymore. She realized just how easily the people she cared about could be gone.

She crawled out of bed and knocked on her parents' door. She was told to come in. She peeked her head through the door.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?"

"Yeah," Edaline murmured. "Come here."

Her parents made enough room for her to squeeze between them on the bed. Edaline rubbed her back to calm her down. Soon, she was able to doze off.

[obitv]

pd sekai au. throwing spaghetti at a wall

it's not until he's sat down somewhere in the woods that william even notices the new song in his playlist. he isn't even sure where exactly he is, honestly, but he'd picked a direction and kept walking until he was tired enough to collapse against the nearest tree and pull his headphones on.

untitled. no listed artist, which is weird, but maybe one of his friends had sent him a download and he'd forgotten. nothing else in his library is really calling to him, though, so it's not like there's any harm in giving it a go....

of course, nothing is ever that simple for william fucking wisp. as soon as he presses play, his phone starts to light up far more than it should be able to, completely blinding him in the dim moonlight. and then, worse still - when he blinks his eyes open again, he's not sitting aginst a tree in the familiar woods anymore - he's standing in a graveyard that seems to go on forever.

it's... jarring, for sure. sitting in the woods and standing in a graveyard are very different things! but something about this place is... comforting. like he belongs here? familiar in the way his childhood bedroom is: nostalgic, designed around him, like he's been here a million times and would recognise it blind.

which is weird. this graveyard that shouldn't exist because he knows what any nearby graveyards look like should not feel as familiar as somewhere he's lived his whole life. he still doesn't even know how he got here-

"hi! you're william, right?" a voice calls out. william whips around to where it came from and sees. standing in front of him. completely real. hatsune fucking miku.

this is the moment where william decides he accidentally tripped off a cliff and died and this is his afterlife. hatsune miku is talking to him. she's not in her usual outfit though, instead she looks a lot more... modern? far more punk-emo aligned, the sort of aesthetic william would love to aspire for if he wasn't so attached to his relative invisibility in everyday life. her hair is the strangest part - while it's in her signature pigtails, the ends fade out into wispy blue flames, with more blue wisps floating around her.

william stares. and stares some more. he's staring very intently, honestly, trying to find some proof she's some post-death hallucination come to, ha, wisp him away to the afterlife.

"william? hey, william!!" she says, because she's still talking to him. surely things can't get worse than sudden death, right? it's ok to talk back to her?

"that's... me? uh, miku? miss miku? ma'am?"

"awesome, you do know me! luka was worried, ha. welcome to SEKAI!"

this is a dream, william reminds himself. or hallucination or... something. maybe going with it will get him out faster...?

he looks around. the graveyard seems to go on forever, but also has wrought iron walls in the distance? the graves are varied, but none of the names on them are legible. "where... what is SEKAI?"

"it's a world born from your feelings! i'm here to help you discover what those feelings are ♡"

how did she do that with her mouth, he does not ask. instead, he goes with the potentially less confusing "are you... actually hatsune miku?"

she nods, the wisps bobbing with her. "yes. other virtual singers can be here too, but this place is very real. we cater to the SEKAI's emotions, which is why i look different!"

"and... you want me to find my true feelings?"

another nod. it's honestly fascinating to watch how her hair and the wisps move, and he notices then that they're scattered throughout the graveyard - the SEKAI - not just around her. "you can come here by playing the song on your phone, and leave by pausing it. i'll be here whenever you want to talk."

ok. ok. this is... good, actually. going out to the woods is dangerous, william knows, but nowhere else is quiet enough. while he's contemplating, a wisp floats ober to him, and he absently statrts playing with it, wiggling his fingers around to watch it dance. all of a sudden it changes from a cool ball of fire into an ethereal blue pen, and another zips over to transform into a notebook and- yeah. ok. he can work with this.

songwriting isn't something he's done in years, but... well. miku clearly isn't going to judge him, and it's not like anybody else can get here.

he puts pen to paper, and william wisp starts to write.

[sataidelenn]

I have some thoughts about the Blacksmith, and bear with me because I’m just throwing spaghetti at the wall with this somewhat disjointed analysis.

So in the story of Peer Gynt, the titular wastrel is nearing the end of his life and is approached my a mysterious man at a crossroads. The man introduces himself as the Button-Molder, and claims that he is here for Peer, as he has not accurately displayed the design with which he was originally printed (lost his purpose, in other words) and must be melted down and made new. The conversation calls back to an earlier part of the story, in which Peer is asked by the troll-king what the difference between humans and trolls is. The answer is that while humans say, “Be thyself”, the trolls’ maxim is “Be to thyself enough”. In living for himself, Peer has acted more like a troll than a human, and only narrowly escapes being reforged by learning how to truly be himself, which he finds through the love that his wife Solveig has for him.

Ruby, of course, is about the furthest thing from selfish you could be, but she’s still trying to be enough in herself, trying to mold herself into being something other than what she was meant to be because she feels that is what others need or expect. And just like Peer, the only way she’ll escape being melted down and turned into something else is by recognizing the love that her friends and teammates have for her. And I think that Jaune will be instrumental in that.

Jaune started his arc (Heyo!) trying to be to himself enough. He didn’t go to Beacon because he wanted to help people as a Huntsman, he just wanted to be a hero. It was all about his own image, about being the knight in shining armor, not the damsel stuck in a tree. After Pyrrha died, he swung to the opposite extreme and didn’t care about himself at all, to the point where he sounded borderline suicidal when taking to Cinder.

To me, Jaune’s moniker of the Rusted Knight calls to mind a character from George MacDonald’s Phantastes, whose armor became rusted after he disgraced himself, and had to fight until the repeated sword-blows scraped the rust from his armor and made it shine again. Shedding innocent blood is one of the worst betrayals of chivalry, and so it makes sense that Jaune’s armor would be stained red the same as his sword was last volume, and that he wants to atone for his failures, but there is another possibility for where the show might be going with him.

In contrast to what most of us thought, Jaune seems to still have his identity and memories intact; however, his previous focus on his image is gone. His name was not recorded in the story, his helmet obscures his face, which isn’t even the face any of his companions knew before, and the crest on his shield is almost completely obscured. Neither his own image or the family name he struggled to live up to are important to him anymore. However, he is also not succumbing to self-loathing like he did after Pyrrha’s death, which can be just as self-centered as his earlier obsession with his image. No longer either the hero or the martyr, he’s simply protecting whoever needs it in whatever way he can. I don’t know whether the Herbalist or the Blacksmith had anything to do with this, but I think he’s figured out how to be truly himself.

Ruby, meanwhile, is still firmly in the martyr mindset. She is disgusted with herself for never being enough, to the point where she is considering becoming someone else who could be enough to herself. And I think that Jaune could be in a position to flip the script on the pep talk about leadership that she gave him back at Beacon, and let her know that she doesn’t have to worry about being enough because it was never about her, and her failures, but about the people that she can help. Once she understands that, I think she’ll finally know how to be herself rather than what she expects herself to be; as Little put it, how to Ruby Rose.

[ablogwithoutacause]

Hospitality

Hospitality, just like everything, is in the eye of the beholder. What is considered good hospitality by me, may not be considered the same by others. How do you prepare to be hospitable? You don't... you just are. Whatever your threshold is, you can be a 4 on a scale of 1-10. When the unforeseen circumstance arises, that's where your 4 shows. Not when you plan and make adequate preparations. I think I'm wrong though, that determines hospitality as well. The thought you put into making your visit feel as comfortable as can be doesn't go unnoticed. They say everything comes in 3's. I like to think everything is two at once.

During my homeless streak of 2023, a second-cousin of mine who lived a more amplified version of the life i had lived took care of me. He ensured i had money in my pocket after cutting his hair. He shared experiences and shared what he considered the most important things in life. Love, and Christ. As wise as he is, he still tends to commit the same mistakes over and over. He doesn't seem to love himself, because he doesn't seem to love his wife, his home, and his soul. Today, as I was sleeping, he decided to blow up my phone. I don't really want to hang out with him unless absolutely necessary since it usually means i'm left to babysit him while drunk. He lied to me. He said he desperately needed a haircut. I ignored the call, the text. It was easier to prioritize my new morning routine. Jog a mile, calisthenics, and a self oriented youtube therapy session. When I was homeless, i gave him my location in case anything was to ever happen. This double-edged sword has now came and bit me in the hiney.

I can't avoid him. he has a control over me that i do not wish he had. He calls me and he knows where i'm at. When i'm there... For how long... He must've seen me go on a jog because as soon as i got home... he called again. This time i answered only to hear a slurred-drunk saying he was around the corner to come get his haircut. What do you do? Reject the man who gave you a blanket and four walls to sleep in when you needed it most? Reject the man who overpaid his haircuts by a few hundred bucks? No. You repay. You demonstrate your love in a respectful way.

His Tahoe bumping loud hood music through its speakers terribly parked on the street makes itself at home. He nearly trips over the tiniest pebble... "You have a fridge, nigga? Feed me dawg, I'm fucking drunk..." Dumbfounded by what is going on, i prepare to be hospitable. I love to feed others. I love to cook. Leftover spaghetti.. Hmmm I can saute some zucchini and red onions with salt and oregano to side the spaghetti. He's hugging me and kissing me as I'm cooking for him. "You're rich. These are the riches in life. Food. 4 walls and a blanket." he felt the hospitality. A pea sized of anger in the back of my skull is telling me to get angry. To sin and start issues with him for lying to you. Instead, I opt to allow love to conquer. Self reminders of him helping me out when I was in need subdue whatever negative emotions were boiling in the pea sized anger sitting in the back of my head. He eats on the barber chair. Spills spaghetti all over his clothes. The floor. The pea sized anger gets hotter, but doesn't grow. My control is stronger than the emotions brewing. "Thanks for these wheels nigga." were his last words. before falling asleep. I had cut the zucchini into round slices just like mom would prepare for me.

Seeing him fall asleep and know a haircut was still yet to be done, was enough to have me of the past throw a fit. He was invading my plans for the day, my Saturday. I wanted to rest. To read, and write. Meditate. Clean. Well, after struggling to cut his hair... I did just that. I cleaned. I meditated with Baby, and here I am writing. Anthony Bourdain replied to a redditor in regards to writer's block... His answer was enough to convince me that if i considered myself a writer, I should go clean squid all day if i ever whined about writer's block. Instead of being mad about my cousin's unannounced visit. I morphed the stress into inspiration for this blog entry. I'm watching a black and white film called Coffee and Cigarettes as my primo sleeps soundly on the plump barber chair. Different vignettes of people enjoying coffee and cigarettes all around the country, each with a distinct dilemma pieced together to form a film. It's the second occurrence of a vignette within the last 30 days that i am exposed to. I just learned of the term recently. It's interesting. I might venture to that style of writing in the near future. It was very popular in the 50's during the beatnik era.

While my cousin gets his sleep, I came to the realization that in this moment... he needed this. Frustration of him and his wife having an argument was what led him to my home. I don't take sides, I don't want to see anyone argue with their significant other. It's only right for me to give him a temporary place that feels safe. Just to momentarily quench the thirst, then have him continue his journey. As he walked in he said "aw nigga it smells good". It made me happy that he acknowledged the smell. My mom always ensured the home smelled good. The last time someone told me my place smelled good was when I used to cut hair at mom's. It's a well stimulating compliment indeed. I believe him because his house reeks of wet dogs. Sometimes hospitality is a demonstration of the love we have for others even though the circumstances don't benefit us in that specific moment.

Mi casa es su casa as they say. But... where do you draw the line?

[tenma-udai]

📈 🦅 👀

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

oohh good question... probably "to be just yours" where bokuto goes from comp het to speed running gay sex and getting engaged within like an hour of realizing he can in fact fuck akaashi. the concept is really silly but a lot of fun too i think !!

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

oh man it usually depends?? what i call it is the "spaghetti method" where i usually start with like. a scene or idea that just comes to me, and then i throw a bunch of shit at the wall and see what sticks. DEF more of a fly by the seat of your pants. i'm infamous for being like "i'm gonna write hot angry sex >:)" and then when i write it it turns into them cradling each other's faces lovingly and vowing everlasting love so alsdkjflksd when i do plan it usually goes awry

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

i have like three bokuaka wips where the main thing is akaashi is drunk and handsy alsdjkfkas bc bokuaka drinking together is canon in both manga and haikyuubu and you just know akaashi is a horny drunk YOU KNOW IT IS lol in one of them akaashi is with his coworkers and bokuto just shows up lolol

thank you so so much for the ask!! this was so much fun <3

[alx-magazine]

A bad Xmas 🎄🎁

Twas the night before Christmas, where all hell broke loose. Angry families, frightened children, Santa is drunk and nobody understands why he's acting that way; Seriously, what is going on here ?

Zombie Claus by Psychostick is blasting from the rusted brown van that is speeding and swerving recklessly throughout the suburbs.

How did we get here huh ? Chaos and dismay on Christmas eve.

Well, let me introduce myself; My name is Nick but they call me dick for short. Father's don't approve of me, teachers dread the period I'm in, my family is a wacky bunch but at least we love each other... That's not always the reality for some. My best friend Phil, well let's just say that the sound of beer bottles crashing on the wall is all too familiar. When things go sour at home, he comes over to crash on our couch for a bit.

My family isn't big on Christmas but we still put up a tree every year, slap on some ornaments and call it a season. Phil on the other hand never does anything for Christmas; until we were about 13 at least.

Decemberism by Man overboard starts playing as we flash back in time.

8th grade year, Phil was an obnoxious yet bright eyed lad, he always dreaded this time of year, although that was until he met Lisa.

Lisa was a prissy Christian girl who was friends with the prettiest girls in school. You see, Phil and I, we were rather estranged from said crowd. We didn't care about church, we reeked of pepperoni pizza, we had big mouths, tough attitudes, ripped up clothing, and greasy ass spiked hair.

Although that didn't seem to stop Lisa from making her way to our table at lunch, joyfully commenting on the way we looked, as if she was observing extraterrestrial beings that just landed on Earth.

Lisa and Phil, such an unexpected pairing they were that year, and her friends went out of their way to embarrass Phil in front of her as much as possible.

Scoffs "and we are the jerks.", Phil mutters under his breath as he is covered in chocolate milk and spaghetti in front of the whole cafeteria.

Lisa was a kind girl, she didn't let that see him any different, and she even told her friends to knock it off, even if they just brushed her aside and laughed it off.

Christmas time came around and Lisa in attempt to impress Phil, invited him to sneak into her home the Friday night before Christmas break. She lived on the other side of the hill where all the big houses were,and he skated all the way over there to see her. They had their first kiss underneath the Christmas tree, it was rather lovely until it was interrupted by her dad.

Lisa's dad was flaming pissed at the fact that his daughter not only snuck a boy into their home, but that the boy was "hellish and rotten, why would you bring a boy like that into our home..." Blah blah blah, the angry father keeps bitchin'. Long story short, Lisa's father made her transfer to an all girls catholic school the following semester and so on. He never saw her again.

Sympathy 4 the Grinch by 100 gecs begins playing as Phil and I speed down the hill on our skateboards.

And that's where our Christmas tradition began, Phil just about had it. He came up to me manically after that night all excited about his new plans. Spray paint cans spill out of his stinky, ripped up backpack, I already knew what he had in store.

Now we are nearing 17, it's that time of year again. The past years of mischief were rather juvenile, since it's our last year of school, we thought we'd step it up a notch.

We started off by going around the neighborhood at night, unplugging all the lights, egging a few houses, leaving small brown bags of dog shit on fire at doorsteps, ah a good way to start the season.

This year we had more people joining us. Our friends Ricky, Dex the wreck, and Sid the sick fuck. We are a full team this year, and we have a lot more than stupid, kiddy pranks in store.

Coal in my stockings by backyard superman is playing as we are throwing snow at each other in excitement for our devious plans.

We proceeded to head on over to Ricky's basement to partake in our very own favorite Christmas tree, with a large, cheesy pepperoni pizza to devour as we are overtaken by the munchies. Phil lets out a loud burp as he throws a 40oz beer bottle at the wall.

I get up aggressively and yell out "SERIOUSLY THOUGH GUYS, WHAT THE FUCK IS UP THIS YEAR!!?"

Dex joins in, chest bumping me, saying, "WHATCHU GOT IN MIND FOO ?!"

Twas the night before Crushmas by Vulvodynia starts playing and we all began moshing in Ricky's basement.

Ricky get's up with a revelation, "GUYS, THAT'S JUST IT!"

We all hurdle up into my rusty van and start heading our way over the hill to the oh so jolly suburban neighborhood to go caroling.

Oh the perfect white picket fences, and the friendly faces, homes decorated like gingerbread houses. As we speed through the street of this cookie cutter neighborhood, Phil rolls down the window for Sid to moon the old, white man getting his mail. "DID YA SEE THAT MOTHAFUCKA !?" Sid yelled as we were all dying of laughter, Ricky continues the joke by saying, "Mothafucka look like the shocked Pikachu meme."

We begin caroling by singing our Christmas favorite, 🎶 "It's Christmas in Hollywood, Santa's back up in the hood, so meet me under the mistletoe let's fuckkk." 🎶

A few door slams later...

We start caroling at this house with a 5 y/o son and 3 y/o daughter, in which we sang our other favorite, "Merry crushmas". Let's just say the kids weren't too happy and neither were the parents. Both kids sobbing with fright and their father ready to swing at us with a baseball bat. After a few more door slams, angry parents, gun pulls, and crying kids, we decided to hit the mall.

Kidnap the sandy claws by Korn starts playing on the stereo as we're swerving recklessly on the way to the mall.

We have to a pay a visit to our special friend, the mall Santa.

So we took some pictures with the mall Santa of course; with our distressed black clothing, crazy hair, corpse paint, and heavy chains, making rotten faces. Dex has brought a fancy glass bottle of eggnog, and while it is eggnog, there is one special ingredient.

"Well hey Santa, I know you're one that usually gives us presents, but we thought we'd give back this year.", Dex tells him in a soft, compassionate tone.

Dex hands him a beautifully wrapped glass bottle of eggnog, with a bow on it. Santa looks quite pleased with our gift, he chuckles and says, "Ho ho ho, now that was very kind of you guys, most certainly didn't have to.", He proceeds to open up the bottle, and take a sip.

Look, we all know that behind the red suit, Santa is just some big ol' regular Joe, like our dads, just putting on a uniform, doing what he gotta do to bring home the goods.

"Hmm, what did you boys put in here huh, ?, You guys think I'm stupid??" , Santa says in a stern tone...

We all look slightly frightened at Santa who looks like he's about to take off his hat and whoop our ass.

El santa by Salo Venegas starts playing as Santa chugs down the bottle and lets out a big Hispanic squeel.

He bursts out laughing, and says, "...You son of a bitch, how did you guys know that this is all a Mothafucka needed. Now I kinda wanna get out of here, what about you guys !??"

The whole line of parents and kids looking appalled as a drunk mall Santa, screams out "Ho ho, fuckin ho, how about we get out of here and get some hoes!"

We escort him out of the mall before the mall cops do, and we all hurdle back into my rusty van and rush away. Now that we've kidnapped Santa, we are headed to his house, or so he says...

We pull up to this janky-lookin' house, falling apart, with some tough dudes sitting on the porch, chain smoking, and blasting some aggressive rap music.

"This where you live Santa?", I ask him.

Santa tells us, "Wait out here, I'm about to go make it snow."

As we're waiting patiently, Santa comes back out with a brick and once he's back in the van, he tells us, "I've got us a little present, now I'll take half of this to myself, and I gift you guys the other half, do with it what you will, but to get this party started, how about some lines !"

Well, we're kids after all, so we're all just sitting here, nervously chuckling and slightly frightened as none of us ever dared to try a lil bit of white; I guess this is Santa's idea of a white Christmas. Phil of course decides to say, "Fuck it! Why not ? Merry fucking Christmas guys!!", As he snorts a fat ass line, his first time??

Sid joins in as well, the rest of us decline the offer, although I guess we have a free half brick ??

It was all fun and games until Santa started tweaking on us, he's a grown ass man and we just gotta drop him off somewhere.

"Santa, where the fuck do you live? My parents are definitely gonna say something, so come on, let's take yo ass home.",

Santa tweakin' mad, he refused to let us know where he lives, so we just drive back to the mall and throw his ass out the van. We decided to let him keep the whole brick to himself and just drive away like we didn't just go on that whole little detour.

The sun has came down, my boys and I are pumped up, ready to head back to Ricky's basement to just laugh about the day we had and chill.

Holiday by turnstile is blasting off our speakers as we speed on home at night.

As we returned to Ricky's basement, we just had a good toke, some good laughs, and well looks like Santa is on the news, let's just hope he doesn't remember who we are.

Now it's Christmas morning, the neighborhood is a mess, the town has been stricken with chaos and mischievous deeds, for that was our way of spreading the holiday cheer, sincerely, for you, from me. Merry fuckin' Christmas 🎄!

Christmas tree on fire by Tom Heinl is playing as the scene of snowy homes with crooked Christmas lights hanging off the roofs, and knocked over festive decor is slowly zooming and fading away.

-Alex M.

[thecrazyalchemist]

Quotes from lecture 2:

Wow! You really don't sound like a 50 year old man who smoked all his life!

I'll show you something nice with steroids

I hope that until the end of the lesson I'll teach you how to make chloroform, if you have someone you want silenced

If you ask someone for a favor he tells you "why is that?"

How come I should be like my friend? I want to dance differently

I'm weeks inside the fume hood, sniffing chemicals and all that, to talk about fires and explosions and that

But it was a stubborn trash! It didn't go anywhere!

So I said fine I'll classify it, just to get rid of it

If you bring a barrel that brings like 'claw of death'

There's a liquid, that when heated he turns into a solid in the way of 'Hello! I'm a solid in high temperatures'

If you cool it it turns into a cool liquid

Before you go home you need to unload energy, beat something

So I asked a simple naive research question: what happens if you beat this material?

So I went to the faculty of machine engineering and said 'I want you to beat this material'

They have a beating machin

They didn't allow me to press the red button that makes it beat stuff, even a cat can learn to to this

If you aren't an engineer you can't press the red button

This thing changes its phase not only from heat, but also from beatings

Some stupid material

Giving some more professional beatings

Seeing on plasticine that simulates the human body

It looks like, at least in my opinion, like the biohazard symbol

And then I go and throw myself on the whiteboard

We don't have the energy to draw the biohazard symbol, stuff goes out and stuff goes in

I'll be your wheel girl, or in other words, your drawing girl

So let's make now a blue man

You see the blue man the whiteboard splits him in half

I'll re-create for you the experience of the blue man

What am I doing now? It's like a folk dance, you do steps backwards and you do steps forwards

Including these guys does horns with two fingers each

Wait, I'm a negative charge cloud in space, how dare you be so rude and be a negative charge cloud next to me?!

A bunch of numbers with units, it's a constant

We're really afraid of mathematics and functions, we say "AAAAHHHH WHAT IS THAT?"

You have the whole weekend to recover from me

No! I'm on the wall! I'm not participating in the reaction!

As some stupid spaghetti molecule

Where are the electrons?! They are betraying us!

I'm wishing for you it will be cook-y and not explosion-y

I have a few molecules that I have tried for years to do stuff, but they sit in the bottle, point at me with their little fingers and laugh at me! And then people say 'But they are molecules they can't laugh'

I tried everything! Psychological warfer, I have a friend who's a really good singer, she sings to her molecules...

(one of my friends) "Have you tried asking nicely?" (The professor) "Actually no"

If we are now into sadistic interests, we can burn them

If I were to go and stick a microphone into each of the carbons faces (not that I know where their faces are)

It's called a chair cause someone who probably sniffed too many chemicals decided it looked like a chair

Carbon carbon on the wall, who do you have to offer me that is pointing up

Like a rolling kid

How much noise from one table

Out of context quotes of my organic chemistry professor:

From lecture 1:

I'll teach you how to destroy ethanol, if you have a pub near your house you want to destroy

I'll teach you how to make glue, not for sniffing

There's someone just standing there, and then someone else comes, ambushes him and attacks him from behind

Everything looks like lines of someone dying

An atom comes to me and cries "Help me! Make me a hybrid!"

I just need some space here, territory on the whiteboard

Throughout the course sausages are created

I tell them I'm a chemist and they say eeew and disappear

Organic chemists are somewhat masochistic people

He probably won't reject a diamond, but he doesn't have anything to do with it

You can combust it afterwards if you want and such

It gives us a great ability to control! ... A whole variety of reactions

It's like Lego, we have infinite capabilities

Let's assume there is an exotic sea cucumber in the depth of the sea next to japan

I probably sniffed too many chemicals in the lab

You know what the problem is? - they can't tempt organic chemists

Relatively more resembling the original spaghetti here

What are you doing here have you murdered someone?

One of the worst things you can make an organic chemist do is make them count

For whoever wants to make a really unrelated accent

Take the boys, spread them out, and kill every tenth person

If you have someone you want to silence, you can go to them with a cloth and say "hey, want to sniff?"

If I will give that name to someone he will probably jump from the balcony back there

Throughout the course we will make stuff that attacks each other, there will be action

I'll give you a clue - it's related to dead bodies

A little bonus quotes (from one of my friends):

You want to see dead bodies - go to the summer semester calculus course

So water is fatphobic and fat is hydrophilic!

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don��t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[kissmyhandcallmedarling]

'does a chicken have lips?'

aka (super) random and oddly specific headcanons for the evans that just make sense

tate:

sings all the time

thinks he is kurt cobain

loves his showers, this man will spend 30 minutes in the hot water if you let him

oh and obviously he loves to sing and pretend he is kurt cobain in the shower

“I FEEL STUPID... DUH NUH NUH NUH! HERE WE ARE NOW! ENTERTAIN US!”

this annoys the hell out of the tear-jerker (aka b*n harmon)

likes to sit cross-legged on the floor

tate loves lemonade, especially homemade; if he was able to leave the house he would have been the one to buy lemonade from kids with stalls out the front of their homes

owns like 12 pairs of black converse (all at varying stages of wear and tear)

kit:

loves poetry and would leave ripped-out pages from his poetry books on your pillow or in your closet on your coat for you to find

kit is a literature enthusiast and book worm; he loves to read. he'll sit for hours on the porch, cigarette, and book in hand

a stickler for sunday roasts and early morning drives

a feminist and a ladies man

drinks his coffee black

kit loves tomatoes... like anything tomato... tomato soup, tomato sandwiches, tomato salad, tomato juice, roast tomatoes etc.

if kit lived in 2021, he'd be one of those cool hipster (minus the beard) plant dads who spends all day in a coffee shop

i feel like he would make a good architect? i dont' know why, just gives off those vibes you know?

kyle (post-death):

you know those types of bralettes that have a little loop/hook thing that can convert into a racerback? yeah, those... kyle would 100% fidget with the loop, clipping and unclipping while you were wearing it, to the point where it would get super annoying

his favourite food is spaghetti and he loves to slurp it up, flicking sauce on everyone

*kyle slurps pasta, myrtle snow on the receiving end of the splatter*

"oh heavens! my best givenchy blouse! soiled by the foul vestige of minced meat!"

kyle + woolen hats (this is a thing because i said so) = adorable human tea cozy, especially the kind with the strings that come down the sides and the pom-pom on top. in wintertime, he would wear his knitted hats everywhere. often (when he wasn't with you) you'd find him sitting at the table, enjoying hot chocolate and chatting (as best as he could) with cordelia, little hat atop his head

jimmy:

jimmy always uses odd comebacks such as "does a chicken have lips?"

would get so pissed off everytime someone called him "crab boy"

"it's lobster boy, goddammit! lobsters and crabs are not the same thing! jesus! they never get it right! it's not that hard!!"

100% punches the wall when he's angry and then cries after because it hurts

once when he was really drunk, jimmy ran around the camp wearing nothing but his hat yelling "freaks rule" because paul dared him to - elsa almost had a heart attack

definitely a gryffindor - i don't think anyone can deny this

james:

you love watching james become accustomed to modern-day things that you show him

"mother of god! what in the name...?" *proceeds to watch funny cat videos on youtube*

"darling! why this twenty-first-century contraption is marvelous!"

you and sally taught him how to text and everytime he texts you, he writes it as though it was a letter (with perfect spelling and punctuation might i add) and signs off with his full name

james is a tea man 100%; he owns the finest of china

will write love notes to you in black ink, sprayed with a spritz of his cologne, and leave them everywhere for you to find

master of most romantic dates - no one can throw a better date than this man. no one. ever. at all. ever.

james is probably like around 180 cm tall, so like 5ft 9 - he doesn't come across as the tallest man but he's not short either

will pace up and down the length of the room when he is stressed

"i cannot have this dim-wit of a man [will drake] tare down my hotel for the mere purpose of profits!" "that pathetic deprived junkie of a woman, sally, is going to ruin my whole plan! she is going to kill john so she can have him! i keep threatening her but she won't stop trying to take that man's life. i need him out in the world GODDAMMIT!"

calligraphy expert (this man was a scribe in a previous life, his handwriting is exceptional) with the best signature

rory:

lip balm guy

beer guy

‘ur mom’ guy

loves the lollies that no one else wants like the shitty cherry flavoured starbursts (sorry - “candy” in american language)

‘i always wear a watch’ kinda guy... but not an apple watch a digital watch. the ones that just display the time

in contrast to this, rory would definitely have the newest iphone the second it was released (what can i say - it screams rory)

would always have to update you on everything via phone call

“babe, you’ll never guess what? you know how i went for that tarantino audition today? yeah, well i’m seventy percent sure i got the part. oh also, i just had the lit-est doughnut, like chocolate cake doughnut with cream cheese frosting - superb!”

kai:

has spotify playlists for every emotion and situation, named appropriately so, e.g:

‘jizzing on your polaroid’, ‘divine ruler has risen’, ‘making messiah babies’, ‘sacred songs’, ‘sweating in the locker rooms’ ‘f u c k f e a r’, ‘what is happiness’, ‘jones manson anderson’, ‘staples in my head’ 'craving a manwich' and so on...

was an emo kid

secretly loves period dramas (but he'd never let ANYONE know that)

once tried to fry cheetos when he was a teenager

sometimes he lets you or winter braid his hair, and like the period dramas he pretends to hate it when he secretly loves it

jeff:

owns three speedboats that he rarely uses

drinks cappuccinos and iced lattes

was a gamer kid (duh)

and a lego kid (duh)

and a maths kid (duh)

yeah this is all i've got for jeff today

austin:

also a lip balm guy

defs a theatre kid

has a wild appreciation for shakespeare and would always be quoting it. like literally, anywhere. he could make a shakespeare reference in any situation, i.e:

*making cocktails, proceeds to hold the bottle of tequila out in front of him* "to be or not to be? that is the question"

*walking down the street, watching and whistling to himself as the pale people ravage on dead vermin* "lord, what fools these mortals be"

*watching as mickey speeds past his house in his new ride* “the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool"

austin is also obsessed with other playwrights, particularly of the absurdist genre, such as samuel beckett (idk why this works, but i had a samuel beckett book on my bed and i was like 'huh, i bet austin would have tonnes of these' and so its a thing now)

would casually just walk about the house naked, or "nakey/nakies", as he would call it, after a shower

(love that gif of austin)

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Photoshoot Fantasies - Fred Weasley

Title: Photoshoot Fantasies Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Warnings: NSFW!!! Dom!Fred, daddy kink, spanking, masturbation (male and female) oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, choking, begging, dirty talk Summary: Fred doesn’t like it when his girlfriend gets naughty without his permission A/N: this is….pure filth. For the anon who wanted some smut with dom!fred. this is literally like 3% plot and 97% smut lmao so I hope you enjoy!! Requests are open and feedback is always welcomed!!

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

“Oi, lover boy! You’ve got a letter from your girlfriend,” George calls teasingly from the kitchen.

Fred groans as he rolls over in bed, his hands coming up to rub the last bits of sleep from his eyes. He squints as he opens his eyes, due to the bright streaks of sunlight coming in from the break in his curtains. Fred takes a moment to mentally prepare himself for the day before he heaves himself out of bed, and shuffles into the kitchen.

“Good morning dear brother of mine,” George greets far too cheerily for the early hour.

Fred grunts in response and takes a seat across from George, waving his wand so a cup of coffee lands in front of him. He usually isn’t one to need caffeine in the morning, his own natural energy is usually enough to clear the sleep induced fog from his head, but he’s been having trouble sleeping lately since Y/N hasn’t been by his side.

After graduation, Y/N landed her dream job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry. Fred had been so proud of her, and he loved how excited she was each night as she told him about her day over dinner. Unfortunately, her job had one huge drawback: traveling. Every so often Y/N would travel to different parts of the UK and Europe to get updates on the population of certain magical creatures or to help develop and implement conservation plans. A week ago, she left for her longest trip yet, an entire month, and Fred hasn’t been able to sleep well since.

“Where’s this letter then?” Fred asks after he has a few sips of coffee. He can feel the caffeine working its’ magic, and his brain is finally clear enough to string a sentence together.

George rolls his eyes and tosses a thick envelope at Fred. “You two are sickening, you know that? I think she wrote you a bloody novel about how much she loves you and misses you,” George says, pretending to throw up.

Fred flips George off, trying to contain the blush forming on his face. “Don’t act like you didn’t stand in the doorway for 15 minutes last night kissing Angelina goodbye, git.” Fred can feel George’s eyes on him as he fiddles with the envelope. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he bites.

“Someone is feeling feisty,” George retorts with a laugh. “Come on then, open the damn letter. Let’s see how long it takes her to start waxing poetically about your eyes.”

Fred glares at George as his fingers quickly rip open the envelope. Normally he would wait for George to go and busy himself with something else or he’d retreat to his room so he could bask in Y/N’s words by himself, but it’s been far too long since he’s seen her and Fred thinks he might explode if he waits any longer to read her letter. “Oh,” he says softly in surprise, when he only pulls out one piece of parchment. The envelope hadn’t been bulky from the lovely letter she wrote him, but the half a dozen photographs she had included. His eyes scan over the short note, a small smile appearing on his face.

To my dearest Freddie Eddie Spaghetti,

Things are going well up in Scotland, Niffler birth rates are through the roof thanks to the plan we implemented last year. We’ve spent the last few days prepping a large cohort of them to send off to Egypt to assist the rune breakers Gringotts has out there. I’ll be off to France in a day or so to check up on some of the Thestrals we brought to a conservatory outside of Nice a few months ago, hopefully they’ve acclimated well.

I’ve been missing you like crazy, Freddie. You’re all I seem to think about these days, it’s been quite hard to focus on my work. I don’t know how I’m going to manage going three more weeks without seeing your face or being held in your arms. You better rest up, because you won’t be getting any sleep for days once I’m finally back home with you.

I’ve included a few photos that will hopefully keep you company while I’m still away.

Love you lots and lots and lots, Y/N

“That’s it? One stinky piece of parchment?” George asks, clearly annoyed. “There’s my day, ruined. Thought I’d get a nice laugh at least since you’ve been so miserable. What else is in the envelope then?”

Fred’s eyes are still scanning the letter, trying to commit the words to memory and he absentmindedly grabs the stack of photos to show George. “She sent photos,” he responds, finally putting the letter to the side. “Probably of all the baby Nifflers,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Let me see, then,” George says excitedly, reaching his hand out. “Remember when she sent those photos of the baby dragons dressed up in onesies? That was jokes. Bet she put hats on them this time.”

As Fred goes to hand George the stack of photos he gets a glimpse of the one on top. His eyes widen and he quickly pulls his arm back, cradling the photos against his chest. “Nope, sorry. You can’t see them.”

“What? Why not?” George watches as Fred starts to fidget in his seat and a red flush starts to take over his face. “Oh my god!” he says suddenly with a laugh, realization hitting him. “She sent you nudes! What a little minx. You two are far more disgusting than I ever could have imagined.”

Fred clears his throat, choosing to ignore George. “Well I’m going to go back to my room and uh, respond to this letter. See you later.” Fred tries to act as normal as possible as he heads back to his room, desperately trying to ignore George’s cackling. He breathes a sigh of relief as he shuts his door behind him, leaning on it for a moment.

Fred rids himself of his T-shirt and climbs back onto his bed in nothing but his boxers. This isn’t how he planned on spending his morning, but Fred is more than happy to change his plans. He sits up in bed, his back pressed up against his cold wall and his legs splayed out. While Fred would consider himself adventurous in the bedroom, this is the first time Y/N has ever done anything like this, and he can feel himself getting aroused already.

“Merlin,” he groans as he allows himself to look at the first photo. Y/N is laying in the middle of a bed wearing nothing but a lacy red bra and the matching pair of panties, a set Fred is all too familiar with.  Her whole face isn’t visible, just her mouth, and as the photo moves her tongue comes out to lick her bottom lip and her hand lightly trails down her torso to her thigh.

He balances the stack of photos on his lap for a moment, his right hand pushing his boxers down to his thighs. Fred had planned on drawing out the experience, but he’s already rock hard from the first photo. He throws the first photo on the bed beside him as he wraps his hand around himself, and he picks the stack back up.

Fred starts to slowly stroke himself as his eyes rake over the next photograph, his mouth running dry. Y/N is laying in the same position as before, but the bra she was wearing in the first photo has been discarded, and as the photo moves her hands massage her breasts and she bites her lip.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, as he moves onto the next photo. Y/N is now completely naked, and as the photo moves one of her hands trails down her front from her breast to her core while her other hand pinches and toys with one of her nipples.

Fred starts to stroke himself faster and is unable to contain the grunts that fall from his mouth as he moves to the next photo. His thumb rubs the sensitive tip of his cock, spreading around the precum that has started to accumulate, helping his hand glide easier as he strokes. In the next photo, Y/N’s mouth is open, and Fred is sure a breathy moan is leaving her lips, as the movement of the photo shows Y/N starting to slowly rub her clit as her other hand fists in the sheets underneath her.

“Oh, fucking shit,” Fred groans as he looks at the second to last photo, his hand stilling on his cock to stop himself from finishing just yet. Y/N’s feet are now flat against the bed, her knees bent and open wide. As the photo moves Fred can clearly see Y/N sink two fingers into herself as her thumb rubs at her clit. Her other hand tugs at the sheets and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, a telltale sign that she’s on the brink of her release.

Fred starts to stroke himself again as he reveals the last photo, his orgasm quickly approaching. Y/N’s entire body is flushed red and as the photo moves her back arches, her toes curl, and her whole body trembles as she reaches her orgasm.

Fred’s thumb teases the sensitive head of his cock as his eyes wander over all of the photos. He focuses on the last one, and as Y/N once again reaches her climax Fred does as well. His head tips back and he lets out a low moan as he releases all over his stomach, his cock twitching in his hand. Fred continues to lightly stroke himself as he comes down from his high, his breath coming out in hard pants.

When he gets to be too sensitive he releases himself, letting his cock lay against his stomach. He reaches for his wand so he can clean himself off with a simple spell. But an even better idea pops into his head.

“Accio, camera,” he casts, watching as the top drawer of their dresser opens and his camera starts to fly over to him. He grips the camera and points it at himself, so his body from his torso to the tops of his thighs are in shot. Fred makes sure that his limp cock and the come on his stomach is the center of the photo, and once he’s pleased with the shot he clicks the shutter button.

Fred places the camera on his bed as the photo prints and develops, grabbing his wand and cleaning himself off with a spell. He pulls his boxers back up and gets out of bed, rummaging around for some parchment and a quill. Once he finds what he needs he writes out a quick letter to Y/N.

To my dearest Y/N,

I’m glad to hear everything is going well with work. I’m so proud of you and the things you do. Things at the shop are going well, the new range of whiz-bangs sold out in just a few days. I’m missing you like mad, I can’t wait for you to get home.

Those photos you sent me were very naughty. How dare you pleasure yourself like that without Daddy’s permission. I think Daddy’s going to have to punish you when he finally gets his hands on you. 10 spanks sounds fair, doesn’t it princess? I think you deserve it, after the mess you caused Daddy to make all over himself.

Love you lots and lots and lots and lots, Freddie Eddie Spaghetti

Fred grabs the now developed photo from his bed as he reads over the letter, a satisfied smile on his face. He folds up the letter and tucks it into an envelope along with the photo before he seals it and addresses it to Y/N. As he goes to leave his room he spots a piece of folded up parchment on his floor and he grabs it, opening it up as he heads towards the window in the kitchen.

I’m going to Angelina’s. Use a silencing charm next time you perv.

Fred laughs at George’s note as he sends their owl away with his letter, already thinking about taking advantage of his brother’s absence.

-

“Someone is in a good mood this morning,” George muses as Fred saunters down into the shop just before opening.

Fred adjusts his tie as he joins his brother at the till, a huge smile on his face. Just like last week, a letter had arrived from Y/N this morning with another filthy set of photos. This time she was in a lingerie set that Fred didn’t recognize, and she brought herself to her climax using one of the toys Fred had purchased for her as a Valentine’s Day present earlier in the year. Fred had just enough time to bring himself to his own orgasm and write her back before he had to get dressed and head down to work.

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Fred asks as he unlocks the door and turns the open sign on with a wave of his wand. “The sun is shining, the birds are chirping. It’s a beautiful day, Georgie.”

George looks Fred over before he scrunches his face up in disgust. “Y/N sent you another letter today didn’t she?” When Fred sends George a wink he gags. “Bloody disgusting. I hope you washed your hands.”

“And why would Fred need to be washing his hands?” Verity asks as she comes back from the storeroom with some more love potions to be stocked.

Fred’s face flushes red as George start to laugh. “No reason in particular,” he stutters out. Fred turns to George and glares at him. “You’re such an arse.” Fred moves to hit George upside the head, but he ducks his brother’s advance and heads over to help the two customers that have just walked in the door.

“You lot don’t pay me enough to deal with this,” Verity says as she chuckles and shakes her head.

-

Fred sighs to himself as he sits up in bed, his eyes scanning over some of his notes. He and George are in the early days of developing some new products, and he’s working out some of the initial bugs before they start production next week. At least that’s what he’s supposed to be doing, but his mind is definitely elsewhere. Y/N’s third letter had arrived a few days ago, and he can’t help but let his mind wander to the new photoset sitting in his bedside drawer. It seems that his threats of punishment have fallen on deaf ears, because the photos Y/N has sent have been dirtier each time, and he can’t help but imagine what will be waiting for him in the envelope when her final letter arrives in a few days.

“What do you want?” Fred asks dully when there’s a knock at his door, not bothering to look up at George.

“That’s an awfully rude way to greet your girlfriend after you haven’t seen her for nearly a month,” Y/N says, the smile evident in her voice.

Fred’s head snaps up immediately, a smile taking over his face. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” He immediately climbs off the bed and heads over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Y/N drops her bag on the ground and wraps her arms around Fred’s neck, pulling him down so she can kiss him sweetly. “We finished everything up a few days early. Figured I’d come home and surprise you.”

Fred presses their lips together again hotly, his hands moving down to Y/N’s thighs. He lifts her up, his hands gripping her tightly and moves her over to the bed. “God I missed you,” he murmurs into their kiss, before he tosses her onto the bed.

“Couldn’t have missed me too much, not with all the photos I sent you,” Y/N giggles as she lays back on the bed.

Fred’s eyes darken and he can’t help but let out a groan as he thinks about those pictures. He can feel himself start to get aroused, and he grabs his wand, waving it so that his door slams shut, and locks and a silencing charm falls around his room.

“Such a naughty girl you were, Y/N. Taking those photos without Daddy’s permission,” he scolds, his voice low and rough.

Y/N squirms on the bed, looking up at Fred as innocent as possible. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I just wanted to make you feel good while I was gone,” she explains sweetly. “And clearly it worked, that photo you sent me made me so wet, Daddy.”

Fred bites his lip as he watches her squirm on the bed, taking pride in the fact that he can see a blush forming on her cheeks. “Oh, you made Daddy feel very good, princess. But you were still being a little brat. And you know what happens to brats? Don’t you?”

Y/N can feel herself getting wet as arousal starts to build in her stomach. She’s been waiting for this moment since Fred mentioned spanking her in his first letter. “They get punished,” she responds airily, fists clenching to keep from touching herself.

“That’s right princess, they get punished.” Fred pauses, letting his eyes roam up and down Y/N’s body. “Daddy think 30 swats is good, 15 on each cheek. Don’t you think, princess?” Fred smirks when Y/N lets out a whine as she nods wildly. “What should I use, hm? My hand? Or should I get the paddle?”

“Your hand, please,” Y/N begs. As much as she loves the paddle, she craves the feeling of Fred’s hand on her ass.

Fred smirks down at her. “Normally brats don’t get what they want. But you asked so nicely, princess.” Fred tears his gaze away from Y/N and takes seat on the end of their bed. “Get naked for Daddy and come stand in front of me.”

Y/N immediately gets off of the bed and rids herself of all of her clothing. Normally when they play this game she loves to drag it out and tease Fred endlessly. But she’s been on the edge for nearly 4 weeks and Fred has already been preparing to punish her, and she doesn’t want to find out what he’ll do if she’s even more naughty now that they’re finally back together. Y/N comes to stand in front of Fred, feeling shy under his intense gaze.

“God you are so gorgeous, princess,” Fred compliments, his hand reaching out to lightly grip her hip. He rubs circles into the bare skin, reassuring her. “Come on then. Get in Daddy’s lap.” Fred helps Y/N get situated across his lap, laying on her front. “Such a good girl,” he whispers, letting his hand run down her back, over her bum and to her thigh. “Do you have anything to say to Daddy? Before he gives you your punishment,” he drawls, his hand pushing in between her legs to rub at her wet folds.

Y/N gasps at his touch, her eyes falling closed. “I’m sorry for being a naughty girl, Daddy,” she moans out as Fred rubs her clit ever so slightly.

“Thank you princess,” he says softly, removing his hand from her core. He places it on her bum instead, lightly massaging one of her cheeks. “Daddy’s not mad at you, princess. But you still have to be punished, do you understand?” When Y/N nods he smiles. “Good girl. I want you to count for me, okay?”

“Yes Daddy,” Y/N responds, getting comfortable in Fred’s lap. A squeak leaves her mouth as Fred lands the first slap to her ass. “One,” she counts breathily. Before she has a chance to recover from the first hit, Fred is landing another hit to her cheek causing her to moan. “Two.”

Fred smirks down at the writhing mess Y/N has turned into after her first 15 spanks. Her right bum cheek is bright red, and Fred resists his urge to lean down to kiss it. “Are you doing alright, Princess? Can you take 15 more?” Fred asks quietly, reaching up to stroke Y/N’s hair. As much as he loves being rough with her, he never wants to hurt her or make her uncomfortable in any way. He’s rock hard in his trousers already, and he wants to make sure she’s getting as much pleasure from this as he is.

“Yes, Daddy. Need more. ‘M a naughty girl, I need to be punished,” she responds desperately. Y/N is soaking wet and her stomach is a pool of arousal. A few tears have snuck out of her eyes from how turned on she is, and she’s basking in the warmth left behind on her bum from Fred’s hand.

“Good girl,” Fred praises, leaning down to press a few kisses to Y/N’s shoulder. “You can use your safe word at any time, you know that right?” When Y/N nods he presses another kiss to her shoulder and starts to massage the bum cheek he hasn’t hit yet. “Count for me again, princess, okay?”

Y/N nods, letting out a moan a Fred lands the first hit to her cheek. “One,” she whines, lifting her hips up to encourage him to spank her again. Fred suddenly lands three hits in a row, causing a few more tears to leak out of her eyes as she moans. “Two, three, four,” she stutters out.

By the time Fred lands the last hit to her ass, Y/N is desperate for release. She’s slowly moving her hips forward, desperate for any kind of friction against her clit. “Daddy please,” she begs.

“Look at my desperate little baby,” he coos, moving Y/N’s hair out of her face so he can see the desperation on it. “Such a good girl you were, princess. Such a good girl for Daddy. C’mere let me kiss you.”

Fred helps Y/N straddle his waist and tucks a few stray hairs behind her ear. He kisses her deeply, his tongue immediately licking into her mouth. Y/N moans into the kiss, rolling her hips against the rough fabric of Fred’s trousers. Fred groans at the contact on his clothed cock, his hips rolling up to meet hers. “God, so fucking desperate for it aren’t you, princess?” he asks as his lips start to trail kisses down her neck.

Y/N nods, tipping her head back to give Fred more room to kiss. “Need you so bad, Daddy. Missed your cock. That’s what I was thinkin’ about in all those photos. Thinkin’ about how much I love your cock and how good it feels inside of me.”

Fred groans into Y/N’s neck and pulls away so he can look at her. “That’s so fucking hot, princess. Imagining you lying in bed, touching yourself and thinking of me.” Fred kisses Y/N again. “Go on and show Daddy how you touch yourself, princess. Get in bed and pleasure yourself for me.”

Y/N crawls off of Fred’s lap and onto the bed, settling down in the middle of it. One of her hands starts to pinch and twist her nipple, while the other runs down her body and settles at her core. She watches as Fred stands up and starts to undress himself, her index finger starting to rub small circles on her clit. “Oh fuck,” she moans, tilting her head back.

Once Fred is fully nude he kneels on the bed next to Y/N’s head and takes himself in his hand. He starts to slowly stroke his cock, his eyes crawling over every inch of Y/N’s body. There’s a flush that creeps up her chest, over her neck and to her cheeks and her hips are slowly rocking as she teases her clit.

“So pretty, princess. You look so pretty touching yourself for Daddy,” Fred praises.

Y/N turns her head to look at Fred as she feels her orgasm approaching. She opens her mouth, silently asking Fred to let her suck him off. When he doesn’t immediately give in, she whines. “Please let me suck your cock, Daddy. Please.”

Fred reaches down with his free hand to cup Y/N’s cheek. “Fucking hell you’re desperate for it princess.” He pushes his hips forward just enough so Y/N can wrap her lips around the head of his cock.

Y/N whines around Fred’s cock, her head starting to move up and down. She lets her tongue wrap around the head on each pull back, wanting Fred to release into her mouth. When he starts to slowly fuck his hips forward she hums around him in encouragement. As her climax builds she starts to rub harder circles on her clit, desperate for release.

“Fuck princess, gonna make Daddy come,” Fred moans, his eyes watching his cock disappear into her mouth.

Y/N’s eyes flutter shut as she reaches her orgasm, her whole body trembling. She moans around Fred’s cock as pleasure flows through her, causing him to suddenly release into her mouth. Her motions on her clit slow down as Fred’s cock twitches in her mouth and she swallows his release. As Fred slowly pulls his cock out of her mouth Y/N stops her movement on her clit, bringing her hand up to clean off her finger.

“Holy fuck,” Fred pants, watching Y/N’s lips wrap around her finger. “You are so fucking amazing,” he says in awe. Fred’s cock which hadn’t even gone fully soft starts to harden again as Y/N looks up at him. “Look at what you do to Daddy, princess. His cock is already hard for you again.”

Y/N smiles as she gets up to her knees. She wraps one hand around his cock and starts to slowly stroke it, while her other goes to his neck so she can pull their lips together. Fred’s mouth immediately overpowers hers, and he forces his tongue into her mouth. Fred is fully hard in Y/N’s hand now, and as they kiss he maneuvers them so he’s sitting with his back up against the wall, and Y/N is sitting in his lap.

“Need your cock Daddy,” Y/N whines, pulling her mouth away from Fred’s. “Fuck me Daddy, please.”

Fred chuckles, his hands falling onto Y/N’s hips. “Go on then, princess. Fuck yourself on my cock since you’re so desperate for it.” Fred suppresses a groan as Y/N grinds down against him. Fred and Y/N have tried nearly every sexual position either of them could think of, and they both know that being on top is low on Y/N’s list of favorites; she much prefers it when Fred holds her down and fucks her into the mattress.

“Daddy,” she pouts, grinding down against him again.

Fred narrows his eyes at her and resists his urge to kiss her. “Princess,” he warns. “If you wanna be a desperate cock slut, then be a desperate cock slut and fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Maybe if you’re a good girl and you come on Daddy’s cock he’ll give you what you want.”

Y/N perks up at that, and she leans forward to kiss Fred slowly as she rises to her knees. One of her hands’ rests on his shoulder, while the other reaches back to grasp the base of his cock.

Fred breaks their kiss so he can watch as Y/N lines him up with her entrance. Y/N whines as she sinks down, her eyes fluttering shut at how full she feels. She sinks down until their hips meet and Fred is fully inside of her.

“Fuck you’re tight, princess. Always so tight for Daddy,” he praises. He groans as Y/N starts to roll her hips, his grip on her tightening. “Go on, baby,” he encourages. “Get yourself off on my cock.”

“Oh,” Y/N moans, her hands gripping Fred’s shoulders tightly. She starts to slowly pick herself up, stopping when Fred is only halfway inside her, before she slams herself back down. “So good, Daddy,” she pants.

Y/N fucks herself on Fred’s cock like that for a few minutes, growing frustrated when she fails to hit the spot inside of her that will bring her to her orgasm. “Daddy please,” she whines.

“Come on, princess. You know how to fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Come around Daddy’s cock and he’ll give you what you want,” he encourages.

Y/N leans back, placing a hand on each of Fred’s thighs and uses the leverage to lift herself up. “Oh fuck,” she gasps as she sinks back down, the tip of Fred’s cock finally brushing her sweet spot.

“You look so pretty, princess. Getting yourself off on my cock,” Fred praises, helping Y/N to lift her hips off of him. “Such a good girl.”

Y/N moans as she fucks herself on Fred’s cock, already feeling her orgasm approaching. She starts to move her hips desperately, searching for her release. “So close, Daddy. Touch me Daddy please,” she pleads.

Fred smirks before he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to Y/N’s lips. “Come on, Princess, come on Daddy’s cock,” he encourages, one of his hands leaving her hip so he can rub circles on her clit.

With one more downwards movement of her hips Y/N’s walls tighten around Fred as she comes, her body shaking as her orgasm rolls through her. “That’s it, princess. Such a good girl,” Fred coos quietly, his thumb slowing its motion and his hips rocking slightly to help her through her orgasm.

Fred kisses Y/N slowly as her breathing starts to return to normal. She shifts around on his cock as their lips move together and it takes everything in Fred to not come right there. “You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight, princess. Doing so well,” he says, breaking their kiss. “Can you take more, baby? D’you want Daddy to fuck you into the mattress?” Fred pecks Y/N’s lips. “It’s okay if you don’t baby. Daddy just wants to take care of you.”

“Want you to come inside me Daddy,” Y/N tells him, looking into Fred’s eyes. “Want you to pin me down and fuck me into the mattress.”

Fred doesn’t need to be told twice. He kisses Y/N hard and flips them over so her back is on the bed and he’s hovering over her. He throws both of her legs over his shoulders, pinning her to the mattress with his hips. He braces himself with one hand as his other comes up to grip Y/N’s throat and he pulls all the way out before he slams back into her.

“Oh fuck, Daddy,” Y/N moans as Fred starts to fuck into her relentlessly. The tip of his cock is brushing the spot inside of her and she’s already so sensitive from her previous two orgasms, and with the way Fred is gripping the side of her neck she knows she won’t last long.

“God, princess,” Fred grunts as Y/N’s walls clench around him. “Such a good pussy. You always feel go good wrapped around Daddy.” Fred lands a particularly hard slam as Y/N moves to touch herself. “Hands off, princess. Want you to come just from my cock. Can you do that for Daddy?”

Y/N nods, too busy moaning and whining to answer Fred verbally. Her body feels like it’s on fire, her toes curling and her back arching as she reaches her climax. “Daddy,” she moans lowly, as she comes around Fred’s cock, a few stray tears falling from the corners of her eyes.

“Fuck princess,” Fred moans. Y/N’s walls tighten and twitch around him, bringing him to his own release. His hips still as he empties himself inside of her and he crashes their lips together. Fred slows their kiss down as they both recover, unable to stop the smirk that forms on his mouth when Y/N whines as he slowly pulls out of her. Fred collapses on the bed next to Y/N and she immediately cuddles into his side as he wraps his arm around her.

“I love you,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth.  

Fred turns his head so he can kiss her properly, not pulling away until they both need to breathe. “I love you too, Y/N,” he says softly. “Are you alright? Did I go too far?”

Y/N shakes her head, chuckling at Fred’s concern. “Not at all, love. It was incredible.” She pauses so she can press a kiss to his neck. “I’m glad I have the next few days off, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”

Fred laughs and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Good thing I have you all to myself because I have quite a few plans for us.”

Y/N looks up at him, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “Oh yeah? What might those be?”

“Let’s just say our cameras are definitely going to need more film when I’m done with you.”

[angryinternetduck]

oh to stay

About 4,900 words on cold beds, waltzing butterflies, and stupid rules. Harry doesn’t do relationships, neither do you; he’s a coward (but not really), and you are too. Lots of crumby bread puns. Alcohol consumption and mentions of cheating. Friends with benefits to lovers. Enjoy!

The bed’s cold.

You shouldn’t be surprised, not really.

But part of you was hoping.

You started hoping a lot recently, you notice, and it’s kind of becoming a problem. You and Harry are friends. With benefits, of course, but friends don’t cuddle. Friends don’t wake each other up with kisses and giggles, and friends don’t spend sleepy mornings in bed with each other.

You’re comfortable under the duvet, if you’re honest, if not a little lonely. You curl into yourself, wishing despite everything you had a warm body to lay with, and close your eyes. Harry’s behind your eyelids, of course, all dimples and green eyes and soft kisses, and you open your eyes again.

Mornings are interesting. They come with a bit of regret, a touch of satisfaction, and a shitload of loneliness. And the bed’s cold. It’s always cold. He’s never there. He wakes up early and runs, or works, or does yoga.

He’s so good at leaving, at being gone before you open your eyes, that you sometimes wonder if he even sleeps with you at all. Sometimes, you think he waits until you’re dead asleep and then runs to his own room.

Then you wake up in the middle of the night with his arms around you and realize he’s just an early riser. Despite yourself, those are the moments you love best. There’s something calming about being in his arms, about feeling his chest rise and fall behind you, about feeling his hand under yours.

It’s a shame neither of you do relationships.

It takes a while, but you get out of bed eventually. You eye one of his discarded shirts on the floor, tempted to break one of the rules, and then decide against it and pull on your clothes from the night before.

The floor’s cold beneath your feet. It’s hardwood, freezing, and you regret not wearing socks before remembering you wore heels last night, without socks. You scowl. They were uncomfortable. You’d only worn them because you’d gone out, hoping to get laid, hoping to get your mind off of him.

Him, who’d called you, whose bed you ended up waking up in.

Did a great job getting your mind off of him, huh.

He’s standing at the stove, flipping an egg. An image flashes through your head of creeping up behind him, hugging him from behind, feeling his warmth, kissing his cheek, his neck, him spinning around and kissing you back and dancing with you and -

He turns around. Smiles. “Morning,” he says.

You swallow thickly and smile back. “Morning.”

“Sleep well?” His smile tugs into a smirk, and you sigh. He asks that every morning. You were so flustered that first time, stumbling over your words, completely at a loss, and he’d asked that. You’d frozen, stared at him, eyes wide…

Then you’d fainted.

He was so nice about it, too, which almost makes it worse. If he’d been a prick, if he’d just dropped you and never spoke to you again, it would’ve been easier. But no, he just acted like the perfect gentleman he was.

He just gently woke you up, made sure you were okay, gave you water. Laughed when you apologized. Said it wasn’t your fault he was such a damn charmer, said he’d love to make you faint again, as long as you did it closer so he could catch you in his arms.

Now, you sigh and sit at the island and answer, “Never better,” like every morning.

He slides an egg on your plate without you asking. It’s just how you like it, and a flash of irrational anger surges through you. “Look nice,” he says quietly, and you look up. His back is towards you. Coward.

“Thanks,” you say.

“Out last night?”

You bite your lip, sliding your egg around your plate. “Yeah,” you say.

He turns back around and comes around the island. Sits down. “Anything interesting?”

You look up at him, send him a smirk of your own. “I’d call last night interesting,” you purr, and he laughs. “Fuckin’ hell. I meant before that, genius.” You put your elbow on the island, prop your head in your hand. “Hm. No.”

“Not a thing?”

“What, jealous?” you ask, wiggling your brows.

He scoffs. “Of what?”

You shrug, looking down at your plate. “You know. All the beautiful boys I’m picking up.”

“You mean… me?”

“Oh, please,” you say, laughing despite yourself.

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel his gaze on you. It takes more self-control than you’d like to admit to keep your gaze on your plate for only a few seconds, and then you look up. He’s looking at you, all right, green eyes intense, bottom lip between his teeth.

And he’s totally unabashed when you catch him. He just smiles.

“You’re staring, Styles,” you sigh.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs back. He stands up, pushing his chair back with a squeak. His plate’s barely touched. He puts it to the side and hops up onto the counter. “Going home?” he asks, legs swinging, even though he knows the answer.

“Yeah.” You stand up, come around the counter. “Looks nice,” you go on, thumbing the top of your outfit, “but uncomfortable as fuck.” His eyes follow your fingers, drift over you, come back up to your eyes, a shade darker than his usual green.

You can see him struggle, see the offer on the tip of his tongue.

Wanna stay? Borrow something of mine?

The unasked questions hang in the air for a second.

He’s sitting right next to the sink. Slowly, you step closer to him. Closer, closer, even closer. Soon you’re close enough to kiss. Close enough for his hands, folded between his legs, to graze your dress, your stomach. His finger twitches, but he doesn’t move. “Kiss me, Styles,” you whisper.

He holds your gaze, the challenge dying in his eyes as he loses composure.

He’s not breathing.

Neither are you.

He closes his eyes.

You inhale shallowly, let your plate slide into the sink next to him. “I’ll call an Uber,” you tell him quietly, and you see his jaw clench. A bit of satisfaction races through you because you want him to be annoyed. Want him to feel the frustration you feel every time you look at him.

Because he could offer. He could give you a t-shirt. He could let you stay, could kiss you, could kiss you all morning and all afternoon and break all the rules. Every single one of them, with just a few words.

One word, actually.

Stay, he could say, softly, breathlessly, and you would.

But he doesn’t.

So you don’t.

***

You’re not supposed to wear his clothes.

He’s not supposed to kiss you in the morning. Or ever, really, except at night.

No two consecutive nights of sleeping together.

No staying.

It’s surprising, really, how long you’ve lasted. It’s been a few weeks, and not a single rule’s been broken. A few loopholes here and there - leaving then coming back rather than staying, for example…

But it’s worked. It’s worked. Despite what your friends have said, you’re not dependent on each other. You can go more than a day without seeing each other, can kiss other people. It’s not a relationship.

You leave his house crying sometimes, sure, but you’re not in a relationship.

And that’s really all that matters.

***

You use a loophole and go back to Harry’s place after a few hours. More than a few. You’re productive. Kind of. You get a few things done, stare at the ceiling, scroll through social media. It’s pretty late when you go back.

By the time the two of you become bored of the TV, the sun’s set. It’s dark outside, and cold, but you follow Harry into the hallway without a sweatshirt. “Think we should move to Alaska or summat so we can see the stars better,” Harry murmurs as he pushes open the big door out onto the roof.

“I’ll get you a telescope for your birthday,” you reply.

“And tickets for an Alaskan cruise.”

You look up towards the sky, craning your neck. “Yeah,” you agree, smiling. “And tickets for an Alaskan cruise.” Harry sits down, stretching to reach for a ratty tennis ball. It’s against the wall, right where you left it a few days ago. Gently, he rolls it forward, and it hits your foot and rolls back to him.

A while ago, probably a few years back, somebody left a tennis ball on the roof of Harry’s apartment complex. It’s old and fraying and more brownish than green. A few weeks ago, Harry brought you up to the roof, and a few days ago, you found the old tennis ball.

“Would you?” you ask, sitting down.

He bounces the ball towards you. “Would I what?”

You smile, wiggle your ring finger. “Marry me.”

He grins. “Buy me a ring and I’ll say ‘I do.’”

“No,” you say, bouncing the ball back. “Move to Alaska.”

Bounce. “Of course.”

Bounce. “That fast?”

“Yeah.”

You bite your lip. It’s quiet for a minute, both of you concentrating on the ball.

“Italy,” Harry says.

“Spaghetti,” you say back.

Harry shrugs. “I’d move there.”

“For the spaghetti.”

“And the stars.”

“And the romance.”

Harry doesn’t throw the ball hard enough, and it bounces twice. “I’d move to Paris, too.”

“For the baguettes.” You copy his throw. Bounce, bounce, catch.

“But not the romance.”

“Just the baguettes.”

“Bread above all else.”

“Did you love her?”

Harry looks away from the ball, his green eyes flicking up to your face.

The ball bounces past him.

Harry blinks, and then stands up to go and get it. You watch him, watch his back, biting your lip because you’re kind of regretting saying anything. He’s mentioned a girl. He was open about it from the beginning.

No relationships, he said, smiling. Been there, done that. No thanks.

She probably broke his heart.

You’d feel bad for him if he’d tell you anything more than, We were great. Let’s watch a movie. As is, though, he’s said nothing, and your curiosity is beginning to overwhelm your sympathy.

When he comes back, he fiddles with the ball for a second before bouncing it back.

“No,” he says.

You toss the ball lightly, letting it bounce once, twice, three times… Too light. It’s rolling by the time it gets to him. He bounces it in front of him, and then throws it, high. Bounce, bounce - toss. It arcs up into the air, and you look up to catch it before it hits you in the nose.

“Really,” you say, because it’s been a few seconds and he’s still not said anything.

Harry bounces the ball normally, and you catch it. “I liked her,” he says.

“I should hope so.” You bounce it back, normally, and he does the same.

You’re back on cadence.

A few seconds go by.

“Maybe I did,” he says quietly. “Love her.”

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

“I tried,” he says.

Bounce. Bounce.

“There is no try,” you say. “Only do.”

“Maybe I tried too hard.”

“If it’s not there, it’s not there.”

Harry frowns at you. “How would you know, huh?”

“Because if it’s there…” Bounce. “It’s there.” Bounce. “So the opposite must be true too.”

“And you’ve been in love.” He sounds skeptical.

You smile. “Maybe.”

“Being in love with yourself doesn’t count.”

“Sure it does.”

He’s smiling, now, not even looking at the ball, just grinning at you, blinding you. “Going from mirror to mirror in your room doesn’t count as speed dating.” You scoff, bounce the ball too hard, but he keeps his gaze on you, steady, laughing, as he reaches up and catches it.

“Saying I love you to your reflection in the microwave doesn’t count as heartfelt declarations over dinner,” he adds on. You laugh incredulously and say, “You’re just on fire tonight, aren’t you?”

Harry grins. “Call me a slider, ‘cause I’m on a roll.”

“I’ll leave,” you warn, giving him a look.

“Don’t be so sour, dough.” He giggles in glee, totally pleased with himself.

“First you’re insulting my self-love -”

“You mean self-loaf?”

“And now you’re on about bread!”

“Hey, you started it with the baguette talk,” Harry laughs.

You sigh, trying in vain to hide your smile, and catch the ball. “Come on,” you say, standing up, “it’s getting late.” Harry follows you, still grinning. “What, wanna go to bread early tonight?”

“Shut uppp,” you whine.

Harry leans in, catching the door, and says, “Don’t worry, darling, you’re still the apple of my rye…” You groan, stepping away and starting down the stairs. “God, you’re impossible.” Harry skips down the steps behind you. “What, my jokes are too upper crust for you?”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Sense?” Harry echoes. “If you want sense, I can give you some… pumpernickel!”

“You know where you can shove your pumpernickel -”

“What, between my two buns?”

A laugh slips out of you. You’re at his apartment now, and you turn around and lean back against the door, smiling at him wordlessly for just a second, admiring him, because sometimes that’s just what you have to do when you’re in front of Harry Styles.

“I need to go,” you finally say.

Harry pouts, leaning in, and he presses kisses against your neck. You close your eyes, resting your head against the door, exposing more skin, sighing softly. Then he murmurs, “But I’ve gotta mayonnaise your buns…”

“Jesus!” you exclaim, laughing as you’re snapped out of it, and you gently push his shoulders away. “No, you can’t, Harry, we can’t.” He’s still smiling, and he kisses your nose, and you feel like that should be against one of the rules, and he says, “What, too many crumby puns?”

“I love your crumby puns,” you say impulsively, and then you frown, looking down, because you’ll kiss his nose too if you keep looking at those green eyes of his. “No, Harry, I - I stayed over last night.”

A pause.

You look up.

“Oh,” he says, and then he pulls away. “Oh, right.”

You clear your throat, and say, “I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” he echoes, nodding. “Bye,” he says.

You smile, and you can feel it not reaching your eyes, and you say, “Bye.”

As you walk away, you wonder for a moment what would’ve happened if you told him why you don’t do relationships, rather than asking him about why he doesn’t do them. You wonder how he would’ve reacted if you told him you don’t do relationships because the only person you’d consider having a relationship with is the only person who doesn’t do relationships.

Too late now, you think, and then you realize you’re crying as you leave his house.

Well. At least you’re not in a relationship.

***

He tastes like vanilla. Feels like heaven. Kisses like it’s his sole purpose in life.

His scent, taste, touch, lingers on you for hours, days, decades after On nights. The vivid memory of his fingers, tongue, body, leaves you breathless, crying, blissful, through days, Off nights, lonely mornings.

Tonight’s an Off night. You stayed over last night. It’s beginning to just be every other night, which wasn’t exactly the intention of the rule in the first place, but you really just can’t bring yourself to care.

You can’t even bring yourself to care that what’s happening right now is basically - well, it’s basically sex. You’re at some club, bar, whatever, and he’s all over you, you’re all over him, and he’s so close you can feel his breath, feel his want, in waves on your skin.

He doesn’t kiss you though.

Because that would break a rule.

It’s tantalizing, really, because his lips ghost over your skin and his hands are everywhere and nowhere at once and you just need him to touch you. He’s simultaneously overwhelming your senses and depriving you of him and his hands and his lips and his touch.

You’re pretty hammered by the time the two of you are back at your apartment. The high’s wearing down, though, and you can feel all the energy seeping out of you. Your eyelids start to feel very heavy… like they’re being weighed down by little butterflies, tiny blue wings fluttering, teeny insect legs doing dances on your eyelids…

“Help me out, darling,” Harry murmurs, and you sluggishly maneuver your limbs to help him slide off your outfit. You giggle at the feel of his fingers slipping off your bra to tug a soft t-shirt over your head.

“If you wanted to get me naked, Styles,” you say, stumbling over your words, “all you had to do was ask…” Harry sighs, pulling your covers up towards your chest. “Don’t move unless you have to throw up,” he says. “I’m gonna get water and… medicine, or something, for tomorrow.”

“Don’t go,” you whine, pouting, and Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

“No…”

He’s back before you know it, and you hear him set something down on your nightstand, and the butterflies are tap dancing and apparently they have some industrial glue or something because all you want to do is shut your eyes and sleep for hours… and hours…

Harry stays for a second, and you want to look at him, examine him, watch his facial expressions and study the way he looks at you and decide whether or not it’s the same way you look at him, but those butterflies are relentless.

Your voice is just a whisper when the floor creaks because Harry’s moving and you say, “Please stay,” because Harry can save you from those butterflies, right? “I can’t, love,” Harry says, and you want to point out that if he can call you love, he can certainly stay for a few hours and save you from the butterflies.

But that’s a lot of words, so you say, “Please,” instead.

“Darling…”

The butterflies do a jig. You open your eyes when they bounce, relieving the pressure on your lids for a moment, and your eyes are fluttering but you can just make out Harry in front of you. He looks conflicted.

“Just for a second,” you say.

“But last night…”

“I won’t try anything if you won’t,” you say, half-smiling tiredly, because you know you’re starting to convince him, and the prospect of Harry touching you softly, comfortingly, sweetly, is making those butterflies fly all the way to your tummy and suddenly you have the energy to smile.

He sighs, heavily, and you smile more because he walks around and the bed dips as he crawls in next to you. You feel his arms around you. You turn to face him, because nearly all the butterflies are in your tummy now and you don’t feel like your eyes are glued shut anymore and you wanna see those green eyes of his.

“Hi,” you say.

Harry closes his eyes. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’m not tired anymore.” You want to see his eyes.

“Yeah, but I am.”

“Let’s have coffee so you’re not.”

“Tomorrow.”

There’s a second of silence. He’s falling asleep. You have the sudden urge to kiss his nose. It’s right in front of you, he’s right in front of you, and you study him the way you wanted to earlier except now his eyes are closed.

He’s so pretty. You want to kiss him.

“Harry?” you whisper.

“Hmm.”

“I’m sad.”

He smiles.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to smile when someone tells you they’re sad.”

“My bad.”

“Yeah, your bad, Styles. Make it up to me. Kiss me.” You make a kissy noise.

The smile disappears, and he opens his eyes. He’s frowning now, and a flash of panic shoots through you because he’s mad now and he’ll leave, and you hurry, backtrack, “I mean - I mean…” You sniffle. “I don’t know what I mean.”

“You don’t mean anything,” Harry says, “because you’re drunk.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Oh, don’t do this,” he mutters, sitting up.

You sit up too, reaching for his arm, and you say, “Sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t -”

He looks at you, and then his gaze softens, and then you feel tears on your cheeks and you realize you’re crying and you’re crying because you want to kiss him but apparently he thinks you’re crying because he was sharp with you and -

“Don’t cry,” he says, whispering, and he leans forward and thumbs away the tears on your cheeks. The butterflies waltz across your eyelids, and you close your eyes and lean into his touch and he’s cupping your cheek and he says, “I’m sorry.”

Then he breaks a rule.

He kisses you. Gently, on the cheek, where your tears were.

You melt into him. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your nose.

“Don’t go,” you whisper.

He holds you close, kisses you once on the lips. “I won’t.”

***

The bed’s cold.

Surprise, surprise.

Rubbing at your throbbing temples, you gulp down the medicine and water he’d left you.

After a few more moments of lying motionless on the bed, you sit up with a groan. You wonder where Harry is. Perhaps he’s doing yoga. Or cooking breakfast. Maybe he’s baking cookies. Who knows. Not you, certainly.

The floor’s cold. You scowl at it. Fuck Harry Styles and his pristine hardwood floors.

You walk towards the kitchen, getting your annoyed frown ready for when he asks if you slept well. You debate hugging him instead of replying like normal. Maybe you’ll kiss him. Or just tell him you love him.

Smiling lazily at the thought, you step into the kitchen.

It’s empty.

Your smile disappears.

Probably doing yoga, then. There’s a cup of coffee on the counter, though, so you grab it before doing anything else. You sigh, wrapping your fingers around it. It’s still warm. You take a sip and go to wipe some crumbs off the counter.

Then you see the note.

Out. See you later. xxH.

“Oh,” you say, out loud.

It’s not quite unusual, per se, but you’re more than a little surprised. Also, you’re wondering how recently he left if the coffee’s still hot. You’re a bit irked you didn’t wake up just a few minutes earlier. Would’ve been nice to catch him in the act.

You take another sip of the coffee, studying the note. His handwriting’s nice.

Sighing, you turn around and walk back upstairs. Your head still hurts.

After getting dressed, you drag yourself into the blinding sunlight and into an Uber. You stare at your phone the entire way home. It doesn’t ring, or chime, or vibrate, or do anything more than reflect your frowning face back at you.

Actually, it does light up a few times, but nothing’s from the right person. That only makes you more annoyed. Your head hurts really badly. He doesn’t text, or call, or FaceTime, the entire day.

Or the next.

You text him a few times, call him a few more.

Nothing.

Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Until a week later, when he knocks on your door.

***

He smiles at you when you open the door. “Hi,” he says. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” you say, hesitantly, and you step back to let him in. He walks in and sits on your couch. He fidgets for a second, and then stands up again. He starts to pace. You watch him, waiting for him to talk.

“I went on a date last week,” he finally says.

Your brows jump. For a second, a billion thoughts rush through your head - what about the ex, was it just you, if he wanted to date why didn’t he ask you, was this the first time he’d been with somebody else since being with you, why the hell was he telling you this, were you the only one going about life as if the “relationship” was exclusive even though it wasn’t, what the fuck is going on - and then you reply, “Congratulations.”

“The night after… I left you. It was a little weird.”

Swallowing thickly, you ask, “So… did it go well?”

Harry frowns looking at the floor. “Yeah,” he says.

“Didja take ‘em home?”

Harry’s smile fades, and he looks up at you. “Er - yeah.”

“And you got laid?”

Now Harry’s frowning. “Yeah.”

“That’s great. Why’ve you been radio silent?”

“Because…” He fades off. “I don’t know.”

You pause for a second, not sure what to say.

Harry bites his lip. “You’re upset,” he says.

Stunned, you blink. “What?” you laugh incredulously.

“You’re upset,” Harry says again.

“Am I?” you ask, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Am I, really? Tell me more. Explain my emotions. ‘cause shit, Styles, apparently you’ve got all your emotions figured out - I mean, damn, you’re so fucking figured out that you can kiss away my tears one night and fuck someone else the next. Your versatility is to be fucking admired, Harry.”

There’s a beat of silence.

He closes his eyes, puts his head in his hands. “I wasn’t even gonna tell you,” he mutters. “I was just gonna be a prat and move on and never talk to you again because technically we’re not dating - I mean - not technically - we’re not dating, we’re not -” He coughs. “We’re not dating,” he repeats weakly.

He looks up again. “But then I couldn’t,” he says. “I couldn’t…” He laughs lowly, wryly. “I couldn’t stay away from you, as cliche as that sounds. I wasn’t even gonna come here, I was gonna - I don’t know, I was gonna… plan it out, make it special, show you I fucked up, but I… I was driving home and then I turned onto your street and suddenly…”

He takes a deep breath and then tells you, “I’m sorry.”

You soften. “Yeah,” you say.

He starts to say something and stops. He reaches out, then pulls away. He turns around, running a hand through his hair, and then clears his throat and sits down on the floor. He leans on the couch, slides the coffee table aside, and pulls a small bouncy ball out of his pocket. You watch, confused, and then he tosses the ball at you. You catch it just before it hits your TV.

“I used to get these at the dentist,” he says, holding up his hands for you to throw it back.

“Harry,” you say, frowning at him.

He sighs again and puts his hands down. You watch him, fiddling with the ball.

“She cheated on me,” he says after a second.

You bite your lip, and then sit down and gently bounce the ball towards him.

“I loved her,” he says.

He bounces the ball back at you.

You catch it.

“I love you more,” Harry says.

You swallow thickly, and then you bounce the ball back.

“I figure… I figure you can’t cheat on me if we’re not in a relationship.”

The bouncy ball is smaller than the tennis ball. It’s harder to catch.

You finally say something. “I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“I know that,” Harry says.

Bounce, bounce, bounce. The ball is pink and blue. It’s mesmerizing.

“I wanna kiss you,” Harry says quietly, and when you look up, his eyes are on the ball still, and his ears are tinged pink. “I wanna kiss you all the time. ‘specially when you smile. I wanna kiss you when you laugh. When you cry. Right now.”

You don’t know what to say. So you settle on, “Thanks.”

He glances up at you, smiling, finally, and it’s nice to see. “You’re welcome.”

You bounce the ball towards him, and he catches it. Then he stands up. He walks over to you and offers you his hand. You take it, and stand up. “I wanna break a rule,” you whisper. He smiles, giving a small shrug. “Don’t have to.”

You raise a brow.

“Can’t break a rule if it’s not there in the first place,” he says.

“Right,” you say, a smile growing on your lips. “So no more rules.”

Harry bites his lip. He looks nervous. “The rules are no more.”

You smile. “It’s official.”

“You’re smiling,” Harry whispers, leaning in.

“Wanna kiss me?”

“Mhmm.”

You lean in, too, smiling more. “Well, what’s stopping you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Harry says quietly, and he kisses you.

***

The bed… is warm.

You’re warm.

And smiling.

Your head’s on Harry’s chest, and the first thing you see when you open your eyes is his moth tattoo. He’s awake, or at least you assume he is by the way his hand gently traces shapes on your bare shoulder.

“How long’ve you been up?” you mumble, looking up at him.

“Hours,” Harry whispers, kissing your forehead.

“How kind of you to stay with me.”

Harry kisses you again, and you giggle and let him shift you so you’re on top of him. “Better make it up to me,” Harry says with a smirk. You lean down, moving your hips slightly, and nibble on his ear. “Excited to see me, are you?”

“Excited to finally be able to move,” Harry replies, pressing kisses along your shoulder. “My arm’s fallen asleep.” You laugh, kissing him more, unable to keep the smile off your face, and he’s smiling too, and you laugh and kiss him and you decide to stay.

***

okay this has been in my drafts forever lmao but here it is!!! hope you like it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be amazing! thanks for reading 💜

masterlist | ask

[sylvanas-girlkisser]

Arcane Background Lore/Easter Eggs (Episode 4)

I was half tempted to jump straight to EP 6 just to draw parallels between stuff in that episode and the teaser that came out earlier today. But nope, sticking to the script, you’ll just have to wait until Friday for that breakdown.

The hexgates are a new addition to League lore (they literally made their first appearance in the game this morning), however they are sorta similar to how Jayce’s “Acceleration Gate” ability works in-game.

Jinx calls these things “Flame Chompers” and one of her abilities in League is throwing them out like landmines. They even make the same tak-tak-tak sound.

Jinx pistol is clearly based on her shock blaster from League, though this one just fires bullets, whereas the shock blaster fires lightning using what appears to be a hex crystal. Maybe that’s how she ends up weaponizing it (probably not though).

Jinx’s minigun is called Pow-Pow (you know like the nickname Vi gave her… this is fine), and in the fight with the Firelights we actually see her use every single one of her in-game abilities, except for her ultimate, which is a really big rocket and what I’m actually guessing she’s gonna use the stable hex crystal for.

This little critter is called a Poro, and yes they have been turned into cheaply made official League of Legends©®™ merch.

Assuming you have watched the show’s intro, you probably already know that Vi is going to be picking up the Atlas gauntlets before the season is over. However, what you might not know is that the hex claw is Viktor’s signature weapon (along with the hex core) in league. Will be interesting to see if he ends up using it in the show some way 🤔

Yes it is kinda weird that Piltover beat cops wear frilly above-the-knee dresses on patrol but: 1) Their job is beating people up for being poor, you don’t need practical clothes for that and 2) it’s a tasteful-ish callback to Caitlyn’s original design where she strode into combat wearing a frilly micro dress, a push-up bra, a striped tophat and a double digit amount of belts. Old league designs are gloriously atrocious.

This mural appear to be portraying Taric, who tl:dr is a demi-god from the Targon region representing love, life, kindness and beauty. And honestly, I do think its kinda rad that they designed a muscular yet effeminate man to embody that role – seriously before I realized I was a woman I gendered so hard with Taric.

This is the logo of the League of Legends themed metal band “Pentakill”.

Jayce title/nickname as “man of progress” is different from his title in league, where he’s called “The Defender of Tomorrow”.

Based on the teaser for part 3, it’s not random that councillor what’s-his-face mention the Noxians as a reason they can’t shut down trade until the hex gem is recovered.

Noxus is hard to explain briefly, they are not purely evil, but they’re not exactly good guys either. For now, what matters is that Noxus has a very big army, they control most of the land surrounding Piltover, and the only reason they haven’t conquered Piltover yet, is because Piltover hasn’t made itself a target.

Delaying shipments to Noxus because of internal problems could absolutely be the kind of thing that made Noxus send in the legion to resolve the matter.

While experimenting with the hex gem, Jinx is listening to her own theme song from League (Get Jinxed).

This outfit is also a call back to Caitlyn’s original design. Ignoring the spaghetti straps, the purple negligee/top thingy covers all the same parts of Caitlyn’s body as her original dress did, and the fabric even falls in strange ways to mimic frills.

Vi punching a wall is not just a subtle expression of her incredible lesbianism! It also references how in Vi’s original backstory, Caitlyn caught her robbing a bank after she used the atlas gauntlets to punch her way into the vault (if you’ve ever wondered why one of Vi’s abilities is called “Vaultbreaker” that’s why).

Seeing as the theme for today has been “Noxians” and “poorly aged female character designs”; lets on me introducing Noxus very own questionably dressed noble woman with disapproving parents: Miss Katarina du Coteau (Riot please give her a personality beyond “I want to win my father’s approval, and I’m in aggresively heterosexual love with Garen Crownsguard” I’m begging you.)

If there’s anything I missed please let me know, I’m planning to do a breakdown like this for each episode.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

[raibebe]

Simple Lessons

Genre: fluff Words: 3.200 Prompt: 90s grunge boy Jeno x female reader

Warnings: smoking, mentions of food

A/N: Literally no one asked for this but this just poured out of me the other day... EVERLONG JENO IS MY COMFORT CHARACTER OKAY??

Everlong masterlist

“Do you want to go out to grab lunch? You don’t have classes until later as well, right?” Your best friend asked as she dragged you out of the lecture hall. “Sure,” you smiled, basking in the rays of the sun for a while after being stuck inside an auditorium with barely any daylight for two hours straight. “There is this cute new diner a little off-campus and a little birdie told me there is this super hot guy working there,” she wiggled her eyebrows to which you could just groan loudly, making her giggle in return. Mimi had talked you up during orientation days and you two hadn’t seperated since. Sharing majors surely helped with that and soon you had found a small group of girls to call your friends. While she was very much the flirty, extrovert in your group, a crush on a different boy each day of the week, you couldn’t not be fond of her shenanigans when it made all of you laugh out loud whenever she told stories of yet another drastically failed date. “Not everyone can still be with their Highschool boyfriend like you,” she accused, slapping your arm before tugging you in the direction of the diner. “Are we really going to this diner just because someone told you that one of the waiters is hot?” “Listen. This was a very trustworthy source,” Mimi pouted, “I’ll pay for your meal, just come with me please.” “How can I say no to free food?” You laughed loudly, letting her pull you along while complaining about all the assignments your professors had given out.

You had to admit that the diner was really cute. It had this old-school look inside with the red, big sofas and a variety of license plates decorated the walls and the female servers even wore cute puffy skirts. “This is so pretty,” you said once Mimi had chosen a booth, the leather of the sofa squeaking while you sat down. “Yeah, yeah,” she waved it off, looking around the place, “Now where is this hot waiter?” “You’re hopeless,” you giggled, picking up the menu that was already laid out on the table to look at their food options instead of helping your friend. “Shut up,” she grumbled, copying your action, “You also still haven’t introduced us to your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “He’s...” Well, what were you supposed to say now? If it were to go how you had wanted, your friends would have already met Jeno at the first party you were invited to but he had declined the offer, only sweetly kissing your head and promising to pick you up at 2 am from the adress you had given him. Which he had done but by that time everyone was so wasted that they couldn’t remember a thing. Which had become a reoccurring theme, no matter how much you’d bribe them to not drink to finally catch a glympse at him. “If you all would stop drinking yourself into a coma every time we go out, you’d have met him already.” “I am beginning to think you’ve made him up,” Mimi grinned, “He seems way too perfect. Letting you go out and party on your own and picking your drunk ass up after but then he never shows up to your classes to walk you to the next one.” Well just maybe you hadn’t gotten around to telling your friends that Jeno in fact wasn’t even studying but working different part-time jobs to help finance your apartment until he had figured out what he wanted to do in the first place. They had just assumed he was studying something way different than you hence why you wouldn’t meet up during your breaks. “Well he is real,” you sighed, “He’s just... Different?” “Oooooh, I get it,” your friend grinned, “He’s older than you. Oh my god. Do you have a sugar daddy?” At that you let out an embarrassed screech which made her double over with laughter. “Why would you say that?” You whined, “He’s the same age as us, for real.”

“Hi ladies, I see you’re already having a great time. I’ll be your waiter for today, have you already decided what to get?” A deep velvety voice interrupted. You didn’t need to look up to know who the waiter was or what he looked like because his voice was almost as familar to your ears as your own was and you knew his body inside and out. Smiling brightly, your eyes met Jeno’s who was also smiling, throwing you a little wink. You had known that he had been working in a diner for a little while now but not this specific one so it was a nice surprise to see him here clad in a neat button-down and pants that for once weren’t ripped to shreds. Meanwhile, Mimi was stunned in silence, her mouth parted in what must be awe. “Hi,” you kept smiling at Jeno, “Anything you can recommend?” “Our burgers are pretty good,” he shrugged, “But what’s really good are our milkshakes.” “Then we’ll take that, right?” You asked your friend, kicking her shin beneath the table to get her to snap out of it. “Y-yeah sure,” she stuttered, still blatantly gawking at Jeno. “Great, I’ll be right back with your drinks,” Jeno smiled before walking off again.

“Girl he’s so hot oh my god,” Mimi exclaimed as soon as he was out of earshot, dramatically flopping down onto the table. “He’s really good-looking,” you admitted, a big grin on your face. “Better than your boyfriend?” “I wouldn’t say that,” you laughed, awkwardly shuffling in your seat. Was this the right time to tell her that the waiter apparently a lot of girls were thirsting after was in fact your boyfriend and probably not at all like they thought him out to be? “God, I bet he looks so good out of his uniform as well,” she groaned, “Just the thought of him in light washed denim.” At that, you had to mask a burst of laughter with an awkward cough. You had tried times and times again to convince Jeno to swap out one of his dark jeans for light-washed ones but he wasn’t budging, only in turn challenging you to wear one of his many black baggy T-shirts instead of your brightly colored spaghetti tops. “Sure,” you giggled instead, kicking your friend’s shin again to alert her when Jeno came back with your drinks. “There you go, food will be out in a bit,” he smiled politely. Not the kind of smile that turned his eyes into beautiful crescents but a more reserved one.

“Hey, uhm,” Mimi suddenly spoke up when Jeno turned around to walk away again, making him halt in his steps. “Have you been working here for long?” Oh god. You had to physically keep yourself from cringing at her awkward try to rope him into a conversation. “Just a handful of weeks, so not that long,” Jeno shrugged, “Looking for a job as well?” “Oh no, we both work part-time at a clothing store downtown,” she waved it off, “I was just wondering because I had never seen you around before.” “Well yeah, makes sense I haven’t been here for long.” “So you recently moved here? I’m sure I would have remembered a handsome face like yours,” Mimi now blatantly flirted, twirling a dyed strand of hair around her finger and just slightly leaning forward on the table to give Jeno a better view of her cleavage in her white cropped top. “Yeah, I’m not from around here,” he shared, his eyes firmly staying on her face but the redness of his ears and how his fingers were fiddling with his little notepad betrayed his cool facade. Was this the time where you should end this to save Mimi and Jeno from further embarrassment? Or should you enjoy this for a little longer? “Are you also a student?” She asked next, “We both go to university here.” “Oh god no,” Jeno exclaimed and this time you couldn’t hold in the little giggle that slipped past your lips, noticing that your boyfriend’s lips twitched into a little grin as well. The more Jeno saw you struggle between classes, essays and study sessions, the more sure he had become about his whole decision to not do the whole university thing. Just when your friend wanted to ask the next question, a loud voice interrupted: “Jeno, I am not paying you for flirting with customers! Get back to work!” Rolling his eyes at his boss, Jeno shot the two of you an apologetic look before quickly walking to the register where his boss was waiting.

“God, even his name sounds good,” Mimi groaned, returning to her former position, sprawled out over the table. “You sound like you’re in love with him,” you giggled, “You don’t even know him.” “Listen. This is love at first sight. Do you not watch romance movies?” You did in fact. Even though Jeno would complain throughout the whole first 30 minutes of the movie until he’d either accept his fate in favor of cuddling and letting you pet his hair or actually get invested in the movie as well, cursing the characters for being so stupid and not talking out their problems. “I do, dummy,” you rolled your eyes, taking a sip from your milkshake that didn’t disappoint after Jeno had praised it so much, “But don’t you need to get to know a person before you can love them?”

“You’re the one with a boyfriend,” she mumbled, collecting herself from the table to take a sip of her drink as well, “Tell me about him.” “My boyfriend?” “Yeah, you never speak much about him and don’t let us meet him either. Convince me he’s not made up.” “Well we know each other since childhood,” you shared, feeling heat creep up your cheeks and neck, knowing how cliche your story sounded, “He lived in the house next to ours so we played a lot as children but then my family had to move away when I was in like elementary school or something because of my dad’s work but eventually we moved back for my last year of highschool.” “Oh wow, that must have sucked to leave all your friends behind twice.” Sighing, you ran your hands through your hair. “It wasn’t easy to just leave everything behind, but I managed. We moved back into our old house and he was also still living in the house next to us with his family. His mom made him take me to school every day and we shared a lot of classes and then it just went from there,” you smiled, blatantly leaving out the part where you had to basically force Jeno to speak and open up to you at nights on his rooftop beneath the moon and the stars. That was a private matter you didn’t want to share without his consent.

“That is so wholesome,” Mimi cheered, “What’s he like?” “Different?” You tried to explain, swirling your straw in your milkshake, “Like different than you’d expect him to be. When you see us together, you’d probably say we don’t match.” “Ooooh,” she nodded, her eyes wide, “So you’re like opposites?” “You could say that,” you smiled, “But when you get to know us, we’re not that different.” Before she could ask more questions, Jeno interrupted you again, hands full of your plates. “And that’s your food girls. Please enjoy,” he smiled, placing the plates down, “If you need anything else, I’ll be around.” “Actually,” Mimi began and you had to hold yourself back from interrupting her, “I was wondering when your shift is ending.” “My shift?” Jeno repeated, his eyes shortly drifting over to you. “Yeah,” she smiled, waiting for his answer. “I’m off in a bit,” he said slowly after checking the time on the neon clock hanging over the counter. “So you’re free after we’re done with our food?” She pressed on. “Probably?” “Would you like to hang out after? We still have some time until our next classes start. “Hang out. With you two,” he repeated, still dumbstruck by her boldness. “I mean you don’t have to if you really don’t want or have something to do,” she shrugged but you knew that look in her eyes. She was determined to have him hang out with you. “I was just going to go get groceries and go home,” Jeno shared, “Listen, I gotta go back to work or my boss will literally fire me because he already hates me.” With an apologetic smile, he quickly walked down to another table where a couple was seemingly done with their meal.

“You’re so shameless,” you accused your friend, finally digging into your meal. “Listen. I see a hot boy and need to talk to him, it’s as easy as that,” Mimi giggled, taking a bite from her burger. “Now tell me more about that boyfriend of yours.”

Once you were finished with your meal, Jeno already wasn’t there anymore to take your bill, instead, a cute girl with a big puffy skirt handed your friend the bill. “But half the stuff is missing,” Mimi asked, “I’m paying for both of us.” “Oh, my colleague took care of one of the meals,” the waiter smiled, “He must like one of you.” “I told you my flirting was worth it,” your friend smiled, handing over the money. You really didn’t have it in you to tell her that Jeno most likely covered for your half of the meal when she seemed so genuinely happy about it, so you swallowed the words back down even if it was going to come out sooner or later when you’d finally get Jeno to meet your friends.

Apparently, the universe wanted it to be sooner because as soon as you stepped back out of the diner and into the sun, a boy clad in all black caught your attention. He was leaning against the little railing around the diner, a cigarette between his lean fingers. “Hey,” you nudged your friend, nodding towards Jeno. “Huh?” “It’s the waiter,” you explained, looking over at him. By now it looked like he was trying his hardest to hold back his grin while taking another drag. Shocking people with his looks still was one of his favorite things to do if they only knew him from one of his jobs where he had to wear a uniform. “No way,” Mimi whispered, “He looks like a completely different guy.” “You’re not in love anymore now?” “He’s just so…” “Different?” You helped her out, rolling your eyes. Why could no one see past the dark clothes, chains and the cigarette and made the effort to actually get to know Jeno? “I don’t think he’s my type.” “You’re ridiculous,” you snorted, leaving her behind to walk over to Jeno.

“Hey bubblegum,” he smiled, curling an arm around your waist like it was second nature already, “Fancy seeing you here.” “You didn’t tell me that was the diner you applied to,” you pouted, scrunching your nose at the smell of smoke. “I didn’t know it was close to your campus,” he shrugged it off and stubbed out the remainder of his cigarette after taking a last drag, making an effort to blow the smoke away from you, “Your friend tried really hard to flirt with me.” “She’s an idiot,” you rolled your eyes, looping your arms around his torso to hug him close, “I missed you.” “I made you breakfast literally this morning,” he laughed but pulled you closer to him anyways. “If you work this close you could have come to visit.” “Bubblegum…” Jeno sighed, tucking a wild strand of hair back into place. “My friends think I’ve made up my boyfriend,” you pouted. “You want to show your friend back there how real I am? I think her eyes are already very close to falling out of her head.” “What’s going on in that head of yours Jeno Lee?” “Let me show you,” he grinned, cupping your face with one of his hands before pressing his lips to yours in a languid kiss, the taste of smoke on his breath familiar by now. “You really need to quit,” you grumbled against his lips. “I know,” he sighed but kissed you again anyways, “Wasn’t expecting to see you this soon.” “So you smoke in secret?” “Stop arguing when I’m trying to kiss you,” he grumbled, playfully biting your bottom lip. “Stop kissing me when I’m trying to safe your lungs,” you pouted, slapping his chest for emphasis but didn’t protest and insted kissed you again, languid and deep.

“Are you two done making out now?” Mimi suddenly interrupted you, making your face heat up as you took a step back from Jeno who was having nothing of that and pulled you back against his side by your waist. “Yeah, all done,” he grinned, holding one of his hands out for your friend to shake, “I’m Jeno.” “I figured from your boss screaming at you,” she mumbled but shook his hand anyways, giving him her name as well, “You made me look like a fool. Like you could have told me you were the infamous boyfriend refusing to meet us.” “It’s not like I was refusing.” “You totally were,” you butted in, pinching his side. “Listen it doesn’t sound as appealing to spend my evenings with a group of all girls as you think it does,” he defended himself, “And now you have a witness that I am in fact real.” “You’re not getting out of his now, Jeno Lee,” you grinned, lacing your fingers together. “And if I told you I had this really important thing to do?” He tried, throwing you his best puppy eyes. “We can go grocery shopping after my last class,” you rolled your eyes, “You’re walking back to campus with us now.” “Yes, ma’am,” he rolled his eyes, “Let me carry your bag.” “Oh god, you’ll make me feel so single,” Mimi groaned when you handed Jeno your backpack to carry. “You wanted this, I can leave any time,” your boyfriend shrugged, “Do you have like stones in your bag or something?” “It’s called books, you should try it,” you said, playfully sticking out your tongue. “Why am I even dating you?” Jeno just rolled his eyes. “Because you love me,” you smiled brightly. “Yeah, I kinda do,” he confessed, squeezing your hand.

“No need to make me feel even more single,” Mimi groaned again, “Do you have any hot friends to introduce me to, Jeno?” “I don’t think they’re your style,” he shrugged it off, motioning at his attire of ripped black jeans and dark shirt. “So you do have some hot friends that are also single?” “You almost fainted when you saw me, I don’t think you could handle them.” “Don’t judge a book by its cover, babe,” you smiled, leaning into his body. “Sure, bubblegum,” he gently smiled back.

Because if you had judged him by his cover, you’d never be as happy as you were right now.