#houseplant club

[x-m0rb1d-m1nd-x]

[overwhelmedfernfrond]

Update on my string of hearts succulent :D

Braided her bc she was getting kinda long

The tedious process of untangling later on is future me’s problem

[recurring-polynya]

Day 5: Heart / Hobbies / Let’s discuss this over drinks some shinigami and their hobbies, as per Color Bleach+

[houseplant-unicorn]

I made a thing

[bobzillashiftwoods]

Ok something real for once.

(I do not do commissions)

[kashverse]

things people should know:

do not mess with your cat.

do not mess with your sukuna.

you thought this was common sense. apparently, it wasn���t.

it started when you left sukuna in the waiting area of the vet clinic, because you needed to pick up some medication for your cat—bless his furry little soul, the bravest warrior you know, who had just survived a vet visit with minimal casualties. sukuna, being the grumpy menace he is, had grumbled about waiting but ultimately sat down with your cat carrier beside him, arms crossed, looking like a bouncer for a very exclusive club. and that’s when they appeared.

the poodle posse.

a group of women with perfectly manicured nails, dressed like they were about to star in a reality tv show called luxury lives of lapdog owners. their poodles were equally pampered—fluffy, primped, wearing tiny designer jackets that probably cost more than your rent. you weren’t there to witness it, but based on sukuna’s expression when you came back, things had escalated.

“oh, wow, such a strong, brooding man,” one of them had probably purred, leaning into sukuna’s personal space. “is this your cat? he’s so cute!”

bad move.

your cat is not "cute"—your cat is a warrior. a veteran of the battlefield (otherwise known as your apartment). he has fought many enemies (the vacuum, a particularly aggressive curtain, and one unfortunate houseplant that did not survive). and most importantly, he is loyal to you. so, when a stranger’s hand reached out to pet him?

he hissed. and not just any hiss—this was a legendary hiss. a hiss that spoke of betrayal, of fury, of how dare you touch me, peasant. and sukuna? sukuna looked at them like they were the scum of the earth.

"ya deaf?" he had grunted, because subtlety has never been his strong suit. "he doesn’t like strangers."

but did that stop them? oh no. if anything, it made them more interested.

“aww, he’s just shy! maybe he just needs to warm up to us!”

and that’s when your cat, your beautiful, petty little creature, smacked their poodle in the face.

gasp. horror. scandal.

the poodle recoiled like it had just been personally insulted. its owner gasped, clutching her dog like a victorian maiden about to faint. "your cat just hit my precious baby!" she shrieked.

sukuna? sukuna had the audacity to laugh. “good. he had it coming.”

the poodle posse was outraged. they tried to guilt-trip sukuna, fluttering their lashes, attempting to appeal to his (nonexistent) softer side.

“you know, a guy like you shouldn’t be wasting time with a cat person. dog lovers are way more fun.”

mistake.

because that’s when sukuna turned to them, his usual mean grin stretching across his face, and said, “you think i like cats? nah. i like my girl. the cat’s just part of the package.”

devastation. utter defeat.

when you finally came back, you were greeted with the sight of the poodle posse storming out, their spoiled dogs in tow, throwing death glares at sukuna—who looked smug as hell. you raised a brow at him. "what did you do?"

"nothin'," he said, draping an arm over your shoulders. "your little monster defended his honor. i just enjoyed the show." meanwhile, your cat, still sitting in his carrier like a king on his throne, looked very pleased with himself.

moral of the story?

don’t mess with your cat. don’t mess with your sukuna. and definitely don’t mess with both at the same time.

[helengie]

[lale-txt]

EXOPLANETS ; Iwaizumi x gn!reader

five times Iwaizumi almost kisses you and one time he does

contains: gn!reader (no pronouns or gendered terms), strangers to lovers, 5+1 things, fluff, mutual pining, diy tattoos, alcohol mention, weed mention, Oikawa mention, shotgunning, five slightly suggestive lines if you squint, a lot of easter eggs and cross-references. written as a gift for @eggyrocks ♡

word count: 4.5k

✧. ┊ ONE

It’s Kyotani’s birthday party and you’re sitting outside on the fire escape, covered in five buckets of fake blood and rolling yourself a cigarette. The wind is icy on your face and the air would smell like early snow if it wasn’t for the dubious popcorn experiments happening in the kitchen right now. You weren’t allowed to smoke inside anymore after someone set one of the dried up houseplants a little bit on fire when stubbing out a cigarette on it (it was just once but the pot was fuming for two days and a half).

Kyotani always brings a mix of the strangest people together. There’s you and your other fellow students from your gender studies class, then guys from his former highschool volleyball team. There is also a bunch of men with face tattoos and a criminal record from his underground fight club (who are currently nailing the choreo to Rihanna in Just Dance), some nerds he met at a Pokémon TCG tournament (you and him once bought a hundred booster packs together while high and he thought he could recover from the financial ruin by winning one of these things) and the small group of housewives from his DND group who he meets once a month.

It’s unclear why Kyotani asked everyone to dress up for this but you’re not mad about having an occasion to drench yourself in fake blood and call it a night. In true Patrick Bateman fashion you also spent hours with excessive skin care prior to the party while you watched your best friend and roommate Atsumu zip himself up in the skimpiest maid outfit you’ve ever seen. It may be early December but that wouldn’t hold him back from showing off his thighs and a bit of his ass cheeks–maybe at heart he was just a 2000s British party girl trapped in the body of a 6’3 athlete. You shared the same cheap cherry lip gloss before heading out in the cold. 

A few drinks into the night and your head starts to hurt, which is when you retreat outside through the kitchen window to your usual spot on the fire escape. With the rolled cigarette dangling from your lips, you pat down the pockets of your suit in search of a lighter. You let out a frustrated groan when you realize you lent it to two guys dressed as Melody and Kuromi and that you’ll probably never get it back, which sucked because it had a kitty cat leaning on an eight-ball while smoking on it and you got it for free from your local conbini girl in exchange for a hand-crocheted triangle bikini top.

Someone taps your shoulder and you almost drop your cigarette if it wasn’t for the stranger’s quick reflexes, catching it for you before it would be gone with the wind. His fingers tilt your chin up a little and he puts the cigarette back between your lips. You look up and meet the gaze of Inuyasha.

Or well, a guy dressed as Inuyasha, but it might as well be your childhood crush come to life. Tan skin, sharp snaggleteeth that weren’t part of the costume but still fitting, and a pair of eyes that feel like they’re piercing straight through you. Your stomach does the little flip thing and you briefly wonder what was in the drinks you let Atsumu mix for you, but that was something to ponder on later. For now you only stare back at him, nodding when he asks if the seat next to you is free.

He sits down close to you and then reaches for something hidden in his sleeve and pulls out–your lighter. 

“Sorry about my friends. They have a knack for never returning things,” he huffs and you snatch the lighter from him, your face cracking into a smile. 

“Very noble of you,” you say, then hold up the light for him when he reaches for the cigarette behind his ear and puts it between his lips as well. His hand comes to cup yours to shield the flame from the wind and for a second your faces are close, so close, before you lean back again, taking a deep inhale of your cig. 

“Cool costume. You watch a lot of movies? Me too,” he says and rests his chin on one palm, looking at you. There’s something about his gaze that makes you feel drawn to him and you briefly wonder what he’d look like without the cheap white wig and also if he’d keep the costume on if you were to hook up with him and ask him nicely about it. 

“Is that so? Name every movie then,” you retort and it makes him laugh. Fuck. He has a really nice laugh.

You lean over and brush a few strands of the plastic hair behind his ears because the combination of the wind and the lit cigarette seems like a potential fire hazard (you learned a lot about fire hazards this year) and you’d kinda hate to see him combust too soon. 

What you don’t expect is him leaning in, almost nuzzling his face into your palm when you do, and looking back at you with a flicker that can only be described as drunk and lovesick. It makes your heart stumble in your ribcage a little. 

“Or you can just tell me your name. Unless you want me to save your contact as ‘Inuyasha’ in my phone. I can do that too,” you add when you pull your hand away, as if you’ve burned yourself by getting a bit too close to the sun. You put your cigarette between your lips and pull out your phone, tapping the screen a few times before glancing up at him again.

“It’s Iwaizumi. Hajime Iwaizumi.”

You think a lot about kissing Hajime Iwaizumi for the rest of the night.

✧. ┊ TWO

Osamu and Suna share the apartment directly below yours and when they text you that they made weed brownies, you didn’t really think about just how many of them they made. Together with Atsumu you shuffle downstairs, not expecting a bunch of other people to be there. Maybe then you would’ve worn something that wasn’t Atsumu’s old highschool club shirt and a pair of velour track pants you bedazzled yourself so it would read “soup” across your butt, but here you are. 

“Is this some kind of side business now?”, you ask Suna when you pull him aside. He has the biggest, shit-eating grin known to man plastered across his face and shakes his head. 

“A bunch of guys from his culinary school said they didn’t know how to bake weed brownies and Osamu offered to teach them, and somehow it turned into a ‘bring your own weed, get a tray of brownies’ party,” he replies and leans a little closer to you, which you know means he has a piece of juicy gossip to share. “One guy here totally got scammed, too. Spent ¥24,000 on some, can you believe?”

You almost choke on the piece of brownie in your hand. Osamu pressed it faithfully into your palm the moment you entered the kitchen, knowing he could trust you with it. Both of you had a very loose definition of trust–to Osamu it meant believing you won’t be dumb enough to eat more than one piece of the brownies, to you it meant you won’t change the contact names in his phones to soup ingredients again, no matter how high, and you both respected that.

“What, was it gold-dusted or something?” You cough and laugh, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes while Suna pats your back with empathy. “What a guy. Introduce us, I need to add him to my dream blunt rotation.”

Your eyes follow the direction Suna is nodding at, somewhere in the living room, and you meet the gaze of Iwaizumi Hajime slash Inuyasha from the fire escape. You start laughing again and head over to him, the sulk written all over his face.

“Not a word. I know, I know,” he groans when he makes space for you next to him on the couch. You squeeze in beside him and hug your knees to your chest, then catch the pillow he’s throwing at you when you can’t stop laughing the second you look at him.

“It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” “So what if I do?”

Iwaizumi huffs again and his arm just happens to be behind you on the couch, his fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. Appreciate it, he grumbles, and eventually his face softens when you start telling him some anecdotes of your high life that definitely make the ¥24,000 weed purchase seem a little less dramatic. 

It’s loud in the apartment, with music blasting and people chattering, but you barely register any of it; too absorbed by his eyes that dart to your lips every now and then, and his tongue poking out from between his lips when he does, and the rattling desire in your chest that he could kiss you right here, right now. 

His fingers grab your chin and tilt your face up again, just like they did last time on the fire escape, except now he’s brushing over the corners of your mouth, collecting a few crumbs that were still there. He brings them to his lips, licking them off in one clean swipe of his tongue, and you’re pretty sure you’d let him devour you.

✧. ┊ THREE

Mattsun–the Kuromi from Kyotani’s party–and his friends from the forensics science department are hosting an Addams Family themed christmas party on their floor of the dorm and this time you don’t make the mistake of giving your lighter away. Atsumu is on a noble mission to “get laid by one of the goths” and you’re on your own, but not for long. 

“Oh, it’s you! Almost didn’t recognize you without all the fake blood,” Makki–the Melody from Kyotani’s party–shouts across the room when he spots you in the crowd and squeezes past all the people to clink his drink against yours. “You left quite the impression.”

“That so?”, you ask with a raised eyebrow and Makki gives you a boyish grin. You already have a feeling where this conversation is heading.

“Hajime won’t shut up about you. Like, ever,” he says and links his arm with yours, dragging you to the other end of the hallway. “He’s here too, by the way. Last time I saw him he was winning some kind of arm wrestling contest, but if you ask me people just wanted to ogle at his biceps. Can you blame them?” 

Speaking of the devil, you find Iwaizumi stumbling out of the bathroom, stilling when he sees you. His hoodie is tied around his waist and he’s wearing some baggy jeans and a tight, sleeveless compression shirt that does show off his arms nicely. Very nicely. So nicely you forget what to say for a brief second. 

Makki shoves you into Iwaizumi’s arms before heading off somewhere else, probably asking Mattsun to push him against the nearest wall, and you’re alone with the boy again. He caught you by your shoulders, his hands now resting on top of them while he looks you up and down. You wonder if he’ll do the chin thing again, and maybe if third time’s a charm and he’s gonna kiss you tonight for real. 

Instead he asks, “do you want to check out the tattoo station they set up in the other room?” and because your impulse control has vanished the moment you entered his orbit, you agree without a second thought. Maybe not even a first thought. Ten minutes later you’re wearing a pair of black latex gloves and hover over Iwaizumi who is lying shirtless on his back in front of you.

“Kinda sad you don’t want a tramp stamp. It’d look good on you,” you sigh with feigned annoyance while rubbing an alcohol soaked pad over his hip bones to disinfect that part, trying hard to keep your eyes pinned on there, but it’s kind of an impossible thing to ask of you. It would be a shame if you didn’t appreciate the canvas in front of you.

“Maybe next time,” Iwaizumi exclaims with the confidence of a man who simply doesn’t do the whole ordeal of regretting. It’s admirable, really. “And I let you pick the design of this one, didn’t I?”

That he did. You drew a wonky oval shape on the stencil paper which was kind of impressive as it was, given the drinks you had prior to that. Iwaizumi took the pencil from you and added a similar one, overlapping with yours. 

“That’s two eggs,” you muttered, tilting your head to the side and trying hard to focus–which again, was a hard task at hand, given that Iwaizumi leaned over your shoulder shirtless. He smelled nice. You noticed that the first time you met already. Something between fresh laundry, a spritzer of YSL Y on the side of his nape and a hint of sweat, but not unpleasant. It made you want to dig your teeth into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“It’s a heart, dumbass,” Iwaizumi huffed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, second to how much both of you were thinking about kissing the other. 

✧. ┊ FOUR

When Kenma invited you over to his place for the Bouncing Ball winter party, you were promised free unlimited food and a goodie bag, but all you got was ancient rage and a badly rolled cigarette passed back and forth between Iwaizumi and you.

“I will fucking kill Oikawa with my bare hands,” you mutter under your breath and squeeze the can of lychee soda (branded with the Bouncing Ball logo) that you’re holding a little tighter. 

“Believe me, I’ve tried many times in the past but this bastard always comes back. Like some demon lord or something.” Iwaizumi takes an angry drag of the cigarette before holding it between your lips again. His fingers brush lightly against your skin when he does and it’s the only thing that calms you down a little. 

“Like. The blue shell right before the finish line felt so personal, right?”

Kenma had sent both of you into timeout outside when you almost flung the unstrapped Wii remote towards the flatscreen and Iwaizumi might or might have not punched a hole into the shoji door after Oikawa won the third round of Mario Kart in a row and was being awfully smug about it.

You’re sitting on the backstairs together, huddled close to each other from the cold and the unspoken desire to kiss the other one stupid. With every minute you spend like this your anger vaporizes little by little, until all you can feel is the body heat radiating off Iwaizumi’s body and how calloused his hand is when he takes yours into his.

He’s wearing the hat you crocheted for him, an apology for the crooked hand poked tattoo you gave him a few days prior to today which now adorned his hip bone. At least it wasn’t infected which was a tiny miracle given the circumstances. His face lit up when you handed the hat to him, wrapped in some tin foil because neither you nor Atsumu own gift paper and that’s the most festive you could do with the utensils you had at hand. At least you threw in a little bit of confetti which was now stuck in his dark hair.

You pick some of it off his strands and Iwaizumi leans a little closer. It reminds you a lot of a big cat asking for head scratches. 

“‘s nice, with you,” he mumbles without looking at you and gives your hand a small squeeze. His thumb rubs over your knuckles with unexpected gentleness and your head sinks against his shoulder.

“Really nice,” you agree quietly, allowing yourself to close your eyes. 

The moment could have been perfect. Just the two of you, the stubbed out cigarette at your feet and the sweet taste of artificial lychee on your lips, the slowly falling snow. If only it wasn’t for the backdoor being flung open again, carrying the chatter and the music from inside towards you and a too familiar voice that will surely haunt your nightmares chirping “yahoo~”, making Iwaizumi next to you groan in agony. 

You spend the rest of the night losing another ten rounds of Mario Kart and Oikawa manifests as your sleep paralysis demon from now on, but at least you got to hold Iwaizumi’s hand under the table a little longer.

✧. ┊ FIVE

Hinata is back home from his semester abroad in Brazil. He texted the groupchat a photo of him (wow, he got really tan and buff, you think) and the three giant boxes of oranges that he brought with him and invited everyone over for an impromptu reunion party at his place. 

It’s not as excessive as other parties of your friends, more of a get together that lasts an entire weekend with everyone dropping by and going as they please, as long as they take a few oranges with them. 

You quite literally ran into Iwaizumi on your way there, your hands full with a bunch of books you borrowed from the library prior to that and him almost crashing into you when he skated around the corner on his longboard. He wore the hat you crocheted him again (with less confetti this time) and offered you his scarf and a ride. You almost wish Hinata would live at the other end of the world just so you’d have an excuse to sit cross-legged on his board in front of him while he pushes it slowly for a little longer. 

Maybe he’ll give you a ride home if you ask him nicely. Maybe the right words would fall out of your mouth this time. Maybe he’ll kiss you on the threshold, with his fingers tracing your jaw and your lips parting for him so willingly.

At Hinata’s place you find your way underneath the kotatsu with Iwaizumi by your side. The air smells like hot punch and christmas cookies and you listen for hours to Hinata talking about the things he experienced while abroad. You swipe through photos on his tablet while around you people come and go, and the entire time Iwaizumi sits so close to you that your knees keep touching underneath the table. Occasionally his hand brushes over the small of your back or pulls you a little closer towards him when someone else squeezes beside you, his touch lingering but never overbearing. 

It’s getting late and you should probably go home soon, considering the last looming deadline you still had to tackle before your winter break, but it’s not easy to peel yourself away from Iwaizumi. Not when he draped his jacket over your shoulders and his fingers brushed the nape of your neck, and especially not when he starts peeling oranges for you and starts pushing the slices directly between your lips when you’re too lazy to lift your head. 

You watch him quietly as he does, his fingers that are usually a little bruised and roughed up now impossibly gentle as he digs through the citrus skin, peeling away layer after layer. It’s beautiful, you think. He’s beautiful. You wonder if he could do the same to you, tearing through every bit of resistance you put up to protect your heart, or maybe if it was already bare in front of him the entire time, ready for him to sink his teeth into your flesh.

You hope he’ll peel a thousand more oranges for you in this lifetime.

✧. ┊ ONE, AGAIN

It’s winter solstice and Atsumu and you decide to host one last party at your home before the year ends. Together you go out to buy liquor and one mistletoe (for the festive spark of it all) but the lady from the flower store insists you take all of them for free since they’re closing soon and she would throw them out anyway. So now there’s around fifty mistletoes hanging from every ceiling of your apartment and the entire hallway of your floor, and you briefly wonder just how many mistletoes it would take for Iwaizumi to kiss you tonight.

Osamu begrudgingly agrees to prepare some food since you’d end up raiding their fridge around 2AM anyway if he doesn’t, meanwhile Suna shows you some paparazzi-esque photos on his phone that he took of Iwaizumi and you over the span of this month. For once you’re grateful that he snaps a photo of everything and everyone, because swiping through these makes your heart do a little flip in your chest.

There’s one with both of you smoking on the fire escape, leaning in close to catch the flame of the lighter. You with your legs thrown over his lap on their couch while waiting for the weed brownies, his arm resting behind you on the couch. The moment when Iwaizumi takes his tight compression shirt off in front of you (it’s slightly blurry and Suna blames it on the goths and their shitty lighting). Iwaizumi and you pinning Oikawa to the floor and a Wii controller on the verge of becoming a murder weapon. You napping with your head on top of your folded arms, a plate with some orange peel in front of you, Iwaizumi’s hand in the back of your neck while looking down at you fondly. 

To be adored by Iwaizumi Hajime feels tender and mellow. There’s something magical about it; never loud or overwhelming, and yet never leaving room for doubt how he does love you with his entire being. It comes to him as natural as breathing. A love as toasty warm like a black cat basking in the sun, storing sunshine in every fibre of your soul. 

When you open the door for him later that night, he hugs you longer than usual, his arms caging you in his embrace. He murmurs something about all these mistletoes against the shell of your ear and you laugh.

“I think it’s a dumb tradition, but they’re quite beautiful, aren't they?”, you ask and Iwaizumi pulls back slightly to look at you, his hand cupping one side of your face now. 

“More than just beautiful,” he mumbles, not talking about the mistletoes.

You learn that night that Iwaizumi doesn’t dance (other than Oikawa and Atsumu who are currently destroying the Dance Dance Revolution dance pads in the living room), but he’ll happily spend hours watching you do your DJ thing. Anything as long as he can be in your proximity. He’s leaning back in the chair in the corner behind your pult, a cold Tiger beer in one hand, his chin resting on the other and his gaze never leaving you. It’s like he’s your personal bouncer for the night. You quite like that. It’s an oddly protective gesture but it makes you feel warm and giddy. 

“Someone just asked me if they can snort protein powder off my biceps,” he tells you when you return from the bathroom back to his side. He holds up a cigarette he rolled for you meanwhile. You lean down and let him put it between your lips before he reaches for your lighter stored in his pocket. 

“And did you let them?”, you ask, your face illuminated for the flick of a second when he lights up the cigarette for you. You’re standing between his spread legs and Iwaizumi reaches for your hips, making you stumble a little closer to where he was sitting. His chest is heaving now, his pupils dilating when he lets his eyes wander over you. You’ve seen this expression before, you think. It’s been the same from when you touched him for the first time, back then on the fire escape.

“Told them I was already taken,” he murmurs, almost not audible, and even in the dim light you can see the tip of his ears dusted in a dark pink color. His eyes flick up to yours and his expression is something between pleading and demanding. Oh. 

How brazen. 

He lets out a labored breath when you push him back in his chair, making room for you to straddle his hips. His hands find your thighs, fingers digging into your supple flesh and it’s clear that he doesn’t plan on letting you go for the rest of the night. Or, forever maybe.

You take a long drag of your cigarette and this time it’s you cupping his chin, tilting it up and hovering above him. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to be told what to do, his head falling back, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly before he parts his lips and lets you blow a mouthful of smoke into his lungs. It’s greedy, how he swallows it so willingly, watching you through half-lidded eyes. Hungry. Begging. Adoring. 

He’s in love with you like no one else ever was. 

“I need to kiss you or else I’m going insane.” 

His voice is hoarse, strained. As if he is clinging to the last bit of his resistance and sanity. In one swift movement he snatches the cigarette from your lips with one hand and carelessly drowns it in his half-empty beer bottle, his other hand wraps around the back of your neck and pulls you closer to him again.

“Please,” he huffs and it sounds like he’s pierced with ten swords, in agony over not feeling your lips against his. “Pretty please.” 

Your arms wrap around him and you kiss him. During the longest night of the year it’s like the sun is rising just for you. You don’t think, just let the feeling wash over you as your body melts against his. Iwaizumi lets out a quiet growl and kisses you back, gently at first, until your tongue slides against his and his calloused hands against your bare skin start trembling slightly. He’s using every ounce of self-restraint so he wouldn’t devour you on the spot. He knows you’d let him and that is a problem. 

“Took you long enough,” you mumble against his lips once you pull apart to breathe, which could have been an hour later or a lifetime. Time becomes a blur under the soft caress of Iwaizumi. He mirrors your smug smile, stealing another kiss from your lips.

“I’ll make up for it,” he rasps, closing his eyes when you rest your forehead against his. His hands on your waist pull you impossibly closer again, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, caressing the sliver of skin there. He lets out a quiet hum, a sound very close to purring. “Gonna kiss you stupid till you forget your own name and can only remember mine.”

“Silly,” you huff back and kiss him again. “Is this a threat or a promise?”

“Both. With you, it’s both.”

a/n: hi eggy ily!! your wishlist was spectacular and i had a lot of fun writing this for you (at some point it got a little out of hand i'll admit lmao). hope you enjoyed your gift and that the rest of your 2024 will be warm and tender. trying not to get sappy here, just know you always leave such a mark with anything you write, it's something i deeply admire. happy holidays & all the love for you <3

[10thmusemoon]

Askbox title/word game!! Let's see *checks my list of song lyrics that would make great fic titles*

Title: it's a relief when it goes wrong

Alternatively, word: esuriant

oooh this would be a comedic modern QiJiu fic, SJ centered, where he has a string of boyfriends that are 100% convinced that they are The One. They've listened to all the times he's complained about his terrible ex husband and have decidedly done none of those things that piss Shen Jiu off.

(somehow, this still pisses Shen Jiu off)

They're doing SO WELL, they are communicating and doing their best to anticipate his triggers and boundaries, so certain that they are the ones that will help Shen Jiu finally move on.

(cue the pitying stares from cumplane)

Only for SJ to be the one to break it off the second he even hears a hint of YQY doing something that could possibly indicate he's trying to move on.

"What does your ex buying a houseplant have anything to do with us?"

"Why are you still here? I have a knife, leave before I use it!"

-

"Jiu-ge...YQY started volunteering at an animal shelter..."

Shen Jiu, engagement ring thrown out the window, four inch red sole Louboutins on. "I'm five minutes away."

-

It's a never ending self destructive cycle where SJ can't stand the possibility of not being the center of YQY's world but also fears being the one that Ruins It For Good when they are together. So he constantly leaves knowing he can come back, YQY will always open his arms to him if SJ is the one that initiates it. There is no way they can grow to resent one another in the relationship if they are not together long enough for the spark to disappear.

For YQY, he's a defeatist and will let SJ leave, if that's what SJ thinks is best. But at the same time, it's gratifying that time and time again, SJ always comes back to him. All he needs to do is be a little patient.

Things are "fine" until YQY actually talks about this in therapy and his therapist points out (at this point already having deciphered yqy doesn't do things for Himself) that always taking SJ back, always leaving that opportunity open, just keeps SJ in a cycle of heart break and misery. Isn't that also unfair to him?

[YQY, gripping the chair arm, gritting his teeth.]:...i see

Which leads YQY to going on his first not-SJ date in years. He tries to keep it on the dl, so as not ruin SJ's current relationship, unfortunately, TLJ cannot keep his mouth shut and mentions it to his book club, who mentions it to his estranged son, who mentions it to his boyfriend SY, who has SJ on speed dial to tattle.

More than YQY buying a couch or fostering a pet, this lights a fire under SJ's ass where he decides to cut that avenue off for yqy entirely and shows up to his date to propose to himl

TLJ, clapping in the bg: wow! Amazing! Can I- SJ: why are you here, scram

For the 12th time, they move in together and SJ still leaves occasionally during arguments, but just harasses SY or SQH in the meantime before returning. The threat of divorce turns into a very intricate foreplay.

YQY, of course, fires his therapist.

Alternatively, for esuriant cw: body horror, gore, cannibalism

SJ needs, for whatever plot reason, to consume pieces of YQY to stay alive. This leads to them finding a way to clone YQY, split his consciousness into the clones, and harvest his organs as needed. If anyone found out they would be horrified and try to rescue yqy from this situation. Unfortunately, they are truly freak4freak and this is quite possibly the ultimate form of happiness that yqy can reach. There is no greater joy than lovingly preparing his(?) old body for SJ to consume, feeding him small chunks by hand and delighting in SJ's impatience when he just decides to bite yqy's neck and drink his blood.

Truly, what bliss.

[boymanmaletheshequel]

Some subtle ways to worship Artemis 🦌🏹

- Be kind to and respectful of women.

- be kind to your siblings or sibling

- be kind to your mother

- support woman’s rights and feminist movements

- be protective of women in situations where they may be taken advantage of (bars, clubs, etc.)

- do not be creepy or perverse to women (or men for that matter) unsolicitedly

- Honor your body and be discerning of who you allow to have sex with you

- be kind to children

- say hello to and be respectful to deer and other common native fauna

- keep a houseplant (or in my case 147 of them)

- enjoy the moonlight

- embrace righteous anger and indignation

- go for a walk in the woods

- watch the hunger games (movies about a strong female protagonist who hunts and kills with a bow and arrow, loves children, fights for justice, and gets very animalistically angry, very Artemis coded)

- forage for wild foods if you can

- embrace your feminine aspects

- wear a piece of moonstone, Amazonite, or emerald jewelry in her honor

- don’t support animal cruelty

- buy meat from local farmers or hunters who use ethical and sustainable hunting practices (if you can)

- embrace your androgynous aspects

- bathe or swim in a lake or hot spring (if you can)

- fight against corporate deforestation for logging and land development

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

[thesunbums]

❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed ELARA "ELLE" LOCKHART walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who SHE is? they kind of look like JESSICA ALEXANDER and i could be wrong but i think that they might be 24 years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last TWENTY-TWO YEARS...

STATS

NAME: Elara "Elle" Quinn Lockhart

BIRTHDATE: December 22, 2000

BIRTHPLACE: Savannah, Georgia

HOMETOWN: Palmview Grove, FL

TIME IN TOWN: 22 years except (Except for 4-years of university)

NEIGHBORHOOD: 550 Pacific Drive, Emerald Point (Childhood Home)

ORIENTATION & STATUS: Heterosexual & Single

OCCUPATION: Vet Tech at Dune Animal Rescue

PERSONALITY TRAITS: + Conscientious, Kind-Hearted, Patient, & Trusting | – Critical, Non-Competitive, Reserved, & Stubborn

AESTHETICS: diving head first into work, writing long to do lists, staying up too late watching true crime documentaries, polaroid photos, needing perfection, too much coffee and too little sleep, smelling of vanilla and strawberries, delicate jewelry, those everlasting summer sunsets & has a great passion for houseplants

BIOGRAPHY

Elara Quinn was born in Savannah and raised in Palmview Grove with her head of the PTA, former pageant queen of a mother, and a reserved and pragmatic businessman of a father. Picket-white fences with the two golden labradors and the beach within walking distance were the backdrop of her life. Elara was raised to be the All-American girl who came from the dutiful and beloved All-American family in their town that was Palmview Grove.

Every second of every day of her life was perfectly curated. From the things she ate to the friends she had, to the things she studied and did. From sunrise to sunset, Elara's schedule was packed out. Beyond maintaining a perfect GPA throughout her schooling, she mastered fluency in French and Spanish, eloquently played the violin and flute, won every equestrian competition, and stood high on the top of the cheerleading pyramid as a premier flyer. While she did her part, her parents perfectly rounded the Lockhart image in town with her mother's notable holiday parties and luncheons, and her dad's annual golfing fundraiser at the country club.

Little did she know that her parents had perfected this image to mask the life and past of her father. A few days before she was supposed to start her senior year in high school, with a clandestine resume packed and ready to be submitted to the colleges of her dreams, Elara learned who she was. She was no longer just the only child of her father's, but the youngest of four. A man who had a life long before her and her mother. One with a previous woman and a family of his own. That truth derailed Elara's perception of her world and the people she loved and trusted.

Breaking away from the expectations of her parents who had wanted Elle to simply go off to a prestigious university, to follow in her mother's footsteps of being a trophy wife connected to a well-to-do family, she chose herself for the first time. Incredibly terrifying, she trimmed the things that were forced upon her to the things that truly brought her joy and it was caring for her horses throughout her childhood. So, she decided to pursue to become a veterinarian as she rewrites her narrative for once.

As Elara immersed herself in her studies across the country, she discovered her unique quirks, interests, and dislikes about the world. She also attempted to connect with her half-siblings but encountered more resistance than acceptance. Nonetheless, she remains optimistic that everything will fall into place in time. Over the past few years, Elara has found security in her authentic self and has never been happier. Now, in her second year of veterinary school in her hometown, Elle can confidently express her true identity within the community she has always known and loved.

CONNECTIONS

Step-siblings (1/4): Alyssa Lockhart (@sunshinesfm)

Childhood friends (0/3):

Current neighbors (0/4):

Friends of shared interest/hobbies (0/5):

Crush and potential love interest (0/2):

[colgatebluemintygel]

re reading oao and getting to r’s chapter…he’s..

a loser !!!! he's crying in the club. he's my sad pathetic angel with soggy socks n floppy sandals . he is every houseplant's worst nightmare

[houseplant-unicorn]

Ryuji's helping Akira pick an outfit.

He's not sure about the shirt but the boots are a definite win!

Here are the frames:

[itsbansheebitch]

Ideas if you live in a community where people at least sort of know each other (In regards to the election)

Ask your local public library if you can hold support group meetings for people who are stressed about/in danger from the election. Ask them if you can bring blankets, snacks, etc. Be mindful of allergies. Ask if they have anything you can borrow/use like coloring books, a TV & Cart, beanbag chairs, etc. Make a group chat & share mental health resources. You can even host a book club.

Talk to your local bookstore & ask if they have study areas. Bring a friend to study with you.

Start a movie club if one of your friends has the space and some stuff to watch, make it an event.

Have Zoom/Facetime meetings with friends where you talk about your houseplants and bitch about life

Bring your own food picnic in the park: exactly what it sounds like. Make or order your own food, then bring it to the park. Have someone responsible for bringing a easy-to-clean blanket

Make a list of comfort YouTubers, shows, movies, books, fandoms, etc to return to

When you feel helpless about a situation, educate yourself & find out what you can do to help. When in doubt, visit your local library and ask for help.

Feel free to add to the list

[everybodyshusband]

per aspera ad inferi ; chapter four

[aka: the university ghouls fic]

aeon & rain & swiss (the band ghost)

mature | gen. | 1.7k words (11.9k in total) | alternate universe (university), banter, fluff, alternate universe (coffee shop)

big thank you to @wrathofrats for helping me figure out the name of the coffee shop because oh goodness i was STRUGGLING and there's always a thank you to @ghoultrifle for pre-reading this for me and cheering me on :3

snippet and ao3 link under the cut !!

The first thing Aeon notices about the courtyard when he rounds the corner is that it’s completely empty at this time of the morning. The only sign of life is the sound of coffee beans grinding and a milk frother hissing filtering out through the open door of Rain’s cafe. Well, it’s not actually Rain’s cafe, Aeon reasons with himself, but since learning that Rain works here, Aeon has been unable to refer to it as anything other than Rain’s cafe in his head. The official name is Sunshine Cafe according to the sign hanging above the door, which makes him giggle to himself. He’s sure that Sunshine probably knows this is here and has made a plethora of jokes about it but he can’t help but run through a load of possible jokes in his head too, just in case he can come up with one that Sunshine wouldn’t have made yet.

Stepping into the cafe, he’s to be immediately enveloped by a sense of warmth and comfort. The temperature outside is much too low for Aeon’s tastes and he can only hope that Rain is actually working the early shift this morning and that he hasn’t woken up too early and braved the cold for nothing. Inside, the atmosphere of the place is incredible and definitely well-matched for the early hour, especially with those heaters cranked up to such a high setting to combat the frostiness of the outside world. The tables and chairs are all mismatched, with leather couches replacing chairs along the far wall. There’s a bench along the window that faces out to the courtyard too, with high stools lined up, ready and waiting for the customers who want to enjoy a spot of people watching while drinking their morning coffee. Three out of four walls are exposed brick, all decorated with a combination of framed artwork, posters advertising events and clubs around the university, and the creeping tendrils of houseplants. The other wall, the one behind the counter, is decorated with teacups, bottles of syrup and tins containing all manner of things. Underneath the decorations, it’s painted teal and it matches the coffee machine behind which someone who is decidedly not Rain is standing.

Damnit.

“Morning,” the man says cheerfully, stepping away from the machine to stand behind the register.

“Morning,” Aeon replies, stifling a yawn as he makes his way to the counter.

“Someone’s up early,” the man—his name tag tells Aeon that he is: Swiss, he/him—jokes.

Aeon nods. “I was hoping to catch Rain this morning, but I guess they’re not working until later?”

Swiss shakes his head in disagreement. “Nope, they’re here. They’re just doing muffins or something out the back, I can grab ‘em if you want.”

“Oh, yes please!”

[ineffableaddiction]

Angels vs Demons

Aziraphale

-Goes to discreet gentleman’s club, learns to dance

-Owns a gun (and has a permit)

-Leans about new and promising restaurants in places he visits

-Understands more about romantic human emotions and affections (probably due to books)

-Learns magic and French “the hard way”

-Socializes with humans on a somewhat regular basis

- Owns and runs a bookshop

Crowley

-Has a human vehicle (Bentley)

-Drinks excessively on a semi-regular basis

-Has favorite TV shows (comedies, one with excessive alcohol consumption)

-Owns mobile phone

-Likes houseplants

-Likes humans, but doesn’t know what to do with them (see: conversation with Nina about rain and canopies)

-Likes to wait in the bookshop

-almost perpetually unemployed

It amuses me that Crowley’s dear angel is more worldly than his introverted self is.

Oh, and labels suck. See above for proof.