#humour veggie

[jhoumous-fr]

"Je suis un prédateur"

[jhoumous]

Carnist reactions

[misforgotten2]

Corn, lima beans, cauliflower, and . . . God only knows. This cookbook doesn’t tell. Are the tiny beets? Pickled chicken hearts?  Alien gonads?

250 Ways to Serve Fresh Vegetables - Ways to Prepare recipe pamphlet #8   1954

[jusuchyne]

Plant-based Burger.

Design is available on Redbubble - https://rdbl.co/3x2pGFe.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Take Me Home Tonight

Summary: You run into a familiar face while working. (Bucky Barnes)

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, fingering, dry humping, flirting.

Note: look, we didn't expect Applebee's to inspire one fic, but now it's done two fics. Shit. We are deranged.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think. Please also reblog because it’s a lot longer than I intended.

You hug the menus to your chest as you approach the booth of four newly sat in your section. As you do, you stutter step, unsure if your eyes are seeing clearly. You know that hair, the subtle wave of brown with strands of silver woven in. You step up and give a smile to the men.

“Good evening,” you place a menu in front of each of them; the burly blonde comedically crowded into the corner beside the man with dark hair and darker eyes, the blonde you vaguely recognise from his acquaintance with the most familiar face at the table, “Mr. Barnes.”

“Oh, hi,” he sits up and sets the drink menu back at the centre of the table, “uh,” he gives you a peculiar look, “I thought you worked down at the Denny’s.”

“Used to. Just got hired here,” you chime, “uh, so, are you all ready to go with your drink orders?”

“You mind?” The blond with the short hair nudges him.

“Yeah, go ahead, I’m still thinking,” he sits back.

“Heineken,” the man orders with a tweak of his eyebrow.

“Seems you don’t carry Hansa so I’ll have a jolly rancher cocktail,” the big blond intones. You almost laugh, thinking of him with the bright blue drink with a gummy worm for garnish.

“Shirley Temple for me,” the other says, “designated driver.”

“Oh, of course,” you note each order in your head, “and you, Mr. Barnes?”

“Mr. Barnes,” the man across from him goads.

“Bucky,” Mr. Barnes corrects you, “uh, I’ll take a Corona.”

“Alright, Heineken, jolly rancher, Shirley Temple, Corona,” you list off, “I’ll be back with your drinks and to take your order.”

“Thanks,” Bucky smiles.

“Yeah, thanks, doll,” the blonde at his shoulder winks. You don’t miss the elbow he receives from his seat partner.

You go to the bar and put in the order. You do a round to check in on your other tables, grabbing a few napkins at request and clearing plates. When the drinks are set out neatly on a tray, you carry them to the booth and dole them out.

“So, are we starting with an appetizer?” You ask.

“We’ll do some nachos,” the man across from Bucky says, “thanks, sweetie.”

“Beef, chicken, or veggie?”

“Chicken,” he answers.

“Hey, I know you,” the blond drapes his arm over the side of the booth, “you’re the neighbour girl.”

“Steve,” Bucky reproaches under his breath.

“What? It was killing me. I just couldn’t place the face.”

Bucky utters your name, almost reluctant to do so, “I’m just out with buddies,” he explains, “buncha old men catching up;” he jabs his thumb towards the man beside him, “Steve, Thor,” he points to the other blonde then to the man across from him, “Sam.”

“Sounds like fun,” you chirp, “well, I’ll go get those nachos. Are we planning on entrees?”

“We’ll just share the chips,” Bucky assures.

Sam leans back and pats his chest, “heartburn.”

You humour him with a smile and nod before spinning away. You flit off and head for the kitchen. It’s strange seeing Mr. Barnes– Bucky outside the neighbourhood. He’s always just been next door. Odder even seeing him without his family. Well, you guess he deserves the break. Every time you see him, he’s on his way somewhere.

🍻

The night wears on. Your shifts always pass quickly as you’re kept afoot by patrons and managers alike. Several times you find yourself visiting Bucky’s table to top up drinks and they grow rowdy as the game comes on the big screen. 

You’re almost amused as you’ve never seen your neighbour like this. He’s always so stern and standoffish. A small wave as he mows the lawn or a ‘morning’ as you pass by him unlocking his car. Even your father claimed he was the most serious man he’d ever met.

“Sweetheart,” Sam smiles at you as clear the empties, “can we get our check? I gotta get them out of here before they break something.”

“Sure thing,” you say as you stack the tray with bottles and glasses, “separate or together?”

“Together. I’ll have to chase them down for the difference,” Sam answers.

As you take the clear Corona bottle from in front of Bucky, he rests his chin in his hand and watches you. Your eyes meet his and your cheeks round even more. He’s definitely drunk.

“Hi,” he babbles.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” you return.

“I told you, it’s Bucky,” he grins.

“Bucky,” you repeat, “you want some water?”

He sits up and drags his elbow off the table, “I guess I should…”

“For all of them,” Sam says from your other side, “please.”

“Alright, check and waters.”

You almost click your heels before you sweep off on your mission. It’s almost closing time and the place is sparse. A few stragglers along the bar but no more hectic families of screaming toddlers breaking crayons and tossing napkins.

You go to the till and print out the bill and grab a handheld from the charger. You place both on your cleared tray and fill three glasses of water. You carry them back to your last table and gently set the condensating drinks before each diner. Sam takes the bill as he holds his card between two fingers.

“You go to school?” Steve’s voice startles you before you can summon small talk.

“Uh, yeah, second year,” you answer him.

“I thought so,” he says, “college girls…”

“Shut up, Rogers,” Bucky grumbles, putting his hand up to block out Steve, “ignore him. He’s trashed.”

“Speak for yourself,” Steve swats his hand down and receives a swipe back. 

The men slap at each others’ hands as Thor stands and leans over, his size deterring the men as he shoves their arms apart, “enough. Or I’ll drag you out like stray cats.”

You try not to show your discomfort as Sam hands you back the machine and it loudly prints his receipt. You offer him a copy but he insists you go and enjoy your night. You bid them all the same and set off to clear the last of your tables.

Your coworkers start their own closing tasks and the music turns off as closing time hits. You glance up, everyone’s gone. You go back to the booth and gather up the mostly untouched glasses of water and wipe it down. With your tables done, you turn in your apron and go to get your cut of the tips. Your tally comes up higher than you expect thanks to the table of middle-aged men.

You head out the back door and round to the front of the shining marquee. You’ll uber home since your mom is out of town. As you step up on the little pavement lip in front of the restaurant, a figure stands from their perch on the ground. You don’t recognise Bucky until he says your name.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” You ask as you lower your phone.

“Ah, well, me and Steve…” he rubs his neck and chuckles, “I’m waiting on a cab but none have passed by.” He shrugs, “plus, I figured we’re headed in the same direction…”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess,” you say, “I was just ordering an uber. Kinda don’t like taking them alone so late at night anyway.”

“Great,” he slurs, “uh, sorry about tonight. My friends are… a lot.”

“It’s fine, you were having a good time,” you select a ride and black out your phone. “Just make sure you drink lots of water.”

“Hmm,” he hums, “you’re so nice… I’ll be fine, you know? I can take care of myself.”

“I know, I just… I hate hangovers.”

“Oh? Didn’t take you for a drinker?”

“Well, don’t tell mom but once in a while.”

“My lips are sealed,” he surprises you as he reaches to squeeze your shoulder. “And I’ve never broken a promise to a pretty girl.”

You want to laugh. He’s tipsy and it’s kind of cute. The glare of headlights flash over you and he drops his arm away from you. The uber approaches and you check the plate, pointing Bucky in ahead of you. 

He sidles over the seat and yawns as you climb in next to him. The driver confirms your destination as you let yourself relax against the seat. The tension of your shift slowly drifts away.

Bucky slowly slides until he’s leaning against you, “I’ll pay you back for the ride,” he grumbles as he rests his head on your shoulder. 

The tension seeps back into you but you try not to overthink it. He’s just your neighbour, a friendly neighbourhood dad, a bit discombobulated from his night out. He probably doesn’t get many of those.

“Been a long time since I went home with a girl like you,” he chuckles.

You laugh, a nervous tickle in your throat as his weight bears down on you. You can smell a hint of citrus from his hair. Hopefully he’ll forget this all by the morning.

You’re quiet as the driver continues on. By the time you get to your street, you’re sure Bucky’s fallen asleep. You’re worried about getting him back to his place. As you get close to your house, you point the driver to the house right beside your own. That’ll be easier.

To your surprise, Bucky sits up and lets out a sleepy grumble. You thank the driver as your neighbour grabs onto your hand and tugs you towards his side as he opens the door. You let him and he clings to you as the uber leaves you in the shadow of the Barnes’ abode.

“Let’s go to bed,” he pulls you towards the walkway.

“Bucky,” you utter, “uh, Mr. Barnes?”

Is he that drunk? He must not realise you’re not his wife. You look around. You don’t see her car. That explains his little boys’ night. She’s probably visiting family again so he’s all alone.

“Hey,” you laugh unevenly as he drags you up onto the porch. He’s very strong. “Mr. Barnes, it’s me.”

He stops and sways. He squints at you and feels his pockets, jangling his keys through the fabric. He steadies himself and grins. His eyes hold yours, drowning you in pools of oceanic blue.

“I know,” he says soberly, “it’s you.”

You stare at him in confusion, blinking as he slides his hand into his pocket. You glance over your shoulder at the dark siding of your parents’ house. You face him again as he pulls his keys out but drops them between his shoes. You put your phone in your purse and shift the bag to rest on your hip.

“I should– oop,” you look down, “Mr. Barnes,” you bends to grab the keys, “alright, I’ll just get you inside and head home.” You stand up and hold up his keys, “which one?”

He points to the square gold one and you shove it into the slot. You push the door inward and gesture him ahead of you. He shuffles over the threshold, tripping before barely catching himself on the frame. You follow him in and look around cautiously. You’ve never been inside.

“Let’s get you to the couch, Mr. Barnes,” you grab his arm as he wobbles, “you just need to sleep this off–”

You tug on his arm but he doesn’t budge. Once more, all unsteadiness fades and he’s suddenly immovably still. He turns his head slowly and puts his hand over yours.

“I told you,” he faces you as he guides your hand up his arm, “it’s Bucky.”

“Um, alright, uh–”

He backs you up and you collide with the door, the impact forcing it shut. You gulp and press yourself against the inside as he pens you in, clutching your hand to his shoulder. The beer on his breath mingles with the citrusy scent that cloys from him.

“Mr. Barnes, what–”

“Shhh,” his hand slips from your and he grips your chin, “it’s okay–”

“St–”

He smothers your protest with a kiss. You’re too stunned to do more than flatten yourself against the door. His grip makes your jaw ache as his other hand crawls up your thigh. You squirm and push against his shoulder with a whine.

He doesn’t relent. He pushes his foot between yours, edging them apart as he picks your fly open. You curl your fingers, jabbing your nails into him. He growls but doesn’t stop.

You turn your head, forcing your mouth away from his.

“Mr. Barnes… Bucky, please–”

He hushes you again as his hand falls from chin to throat. He squeezes, crushing out any hope of screaming for help. He nuzzles into the side of your neck, his nose tickling the line of your jaw. You whimper as his hand delves beneath the cotton of your panties.

His fingertips brush along your trimmed vee of hair and he swirls the short curls with a purr. He extends his middle finger, feeling along your folds and dipping between. He flicks his finger back and forth, exploring you until he finds your clit. He rolls his finger, stoking a heat beneath his touch.

You wriggle and trail your hand down his arm, gripping his wrist as you fight him. You’re too weak. You croak through your tight throat as you try to fight the swirling tide building with the friction of his roughened fingertip. This can’t be happening.

He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not like this.

A million thoughts race with as many sensations. You stand on your toes as your muscles knots and the tension coils in your core. You shouldn’t feel like this. This is wrong. This isn’t real. Your eyes roll back and you hide behind your eyelids.

His finger glides as you slicken against him. He quickens his pace, toying with you as he breathes against your neck, puffing damply as his hand remains firm on you. He keeps you pinned as he goads your body on, fueling a fire you’ve never lit before.

You squeak as you twitch without permission. You succumb to the brewing storm, blown away in the whirlwind as your mind is stifled by your body. You gulp and gasp, your hand slipping down to his chest as your other falls away from his arm.

“You’re so sexy,” he purrs as he lets you go.

You brace yourself against the door, breathless and paralysed as you watch him raise his hand. He presses his fingertips to his mouth and you see the glisten on them. He pushes them inside and sucks them clean with a growl.

“And so sweet, baby,” he steps forward, crowding you again.

The afterglow has you helpless. He feels along your side as his other hand wanders down your leg. He pulls your knee up and brings himself flush to you. He bends his knees as he presses his crotch into yours. You murmur at the hot weight between you. 

He curls his arm around your neck and your head lolls back. He bows to kiss you, devouring you as he slowly rocks his hip. A fiery heat builds between the layers of fabric, the friction of your seam rubs you through the damp cotton of your panties.

He gasps into your mouth as his pace quickens. The door shifts and squeaks with his motion as he pounds you into it, hips pumping as his bulge pokes through his jeans rigidly. Your head droops to the side and his wet lips smear over your cheek. He bites into your ear lobe and snarls.

Another tickle flares and you moan. A small burst that has you just as senseless. Your delight leaks onto your panties, spreading to the edges.

“Mmmmm,” he hums and releases the pinch of his bite, “fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me go– right in my–” he chokes as his fingertips sink into the bottom of your thigh and he pulls your leg higher, “jeans–”

He shakes and lets out a long rattle, sprinkled with deep groans and soft mewls. He leans into you completely and shudders, stilling at last. He sinks down with you, bringing you to straddle him as his knees meet the floor.

You heave and lift your head, gaping at him as his eyelids droop sleepily. He smiles, the expression crinkling around his eyes. He leans in and kisses you again, nibbling on your lower lip before pulling away.

“I won’t tell your mom about that either, kitten.”

[adnauseum11]

Mess Hall (John Price x Reader)

John explains his early departure from poker night to you.

1.8k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex (MDNI)

second part of the two-part scene

feedback welcome! writing smut is hard (lol) if anyone has any tips I'm grateful for them. Always looking to get better so don't be shy :)

Dinner was not edible, to John’s lasting amusement. The veggies cooked at disparate times, some too mushy and some practically raw. The pasta had been fine, John’s contribution solid as always. The flavour of the sauce had been the real star, if one didn’t mind the shrapnel you had introduced to it. Both of you had decided after half a bowl each that it was more work than it was worth. Your real dinner ended up being the world’s saddest charcuterie board, but John assured you he’d made do with worse. 

“Just happy to be eating.” He said, brushing off your concerns about him going hungry. 

“We could go to the pub.” You pick at the salami, perched on one foot tucked under you on a chair at the table.

“I just want to be with you, not up for the pub if that’s alright, love.” John’s honesty takes you by surprise, you glance at him but he seems otherwise content, building cheese and pickle onto a cracker.

“Yeah, of course that’s alright. You want to tell me what happened?” You ask carefully, not wanting to call back his bad mood but curious what brought him to your doorstep now that he seems a bit more even keeled. He stuffs the food into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, looking at you from under his lashes. It’s the most indecisive you’ve seen him in a long time and you wonder suddenly if you want to know at all. Then he sighs and pushes his plate away, seemingly deciding something.

“I was offered a contract. Walk on, ready to go.”

Your lungs freeze, and you forget how to breath for a moment. Your focus narrows onto the man beside you, who is closely watching for your reaction. The question must have been written across your face because he answers without it needing to be spoken aloud.

“I told them no, love.”

“Oh, thank god.” You say in a rush, your lungs sucking in a breath desperately. You can’t help the selfish sentiment, reflexive as blinking. Your hand lands on your chest as if trying to keep your heart contained. John watches you, a soft smugness pulling at his features. 

“Good to know you want me around, darling.” 

“I always want you around, John.” The bald truth is out before you can temper it with humour.

If anyone had told you a year ago that you would be dating your oldest friend and making heartfelt confessions in your kitchen over a crappy dinner, you would have thought them crazy. But here you are, a mere few months into this with your heart in your throat at the thought of him leaving for any length of time. What used to be routine seems devastating now.

“Is that…are you upset you said no?” You ask cautiously, breaking the intense eye contact to pick at your plate.

“What? No, they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Can’t play cards being badgered like that. They ought to know better.”

Relief that you aren’t the root cause of the bad mood floods through your system, making you bolder.

“You are incredibly stubborn. One ‘no’ should be enough.” You agree, earning yourself a dark look. You smile sweetly at him and reach across the expanse between your seats to cup his cheek, leaning in to his space to press a soft kiss to his frown. 

His big palm slides up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place when you would retreat. He deepens the kiss before you can move, his fingers sliding into your scalp with delicious pressure. When he finally releases you, instead of backing off you follow, slipping out of your seat and crawling onto John’s lap, his thick thighs spread wide. He accepts your weight without even blinking, shifting you into a more comfortable position before fisting his hand in your hair and kissing you again. The delectable rasp of his tongue against yours makes liquid heat pool in your lower belly. You’re suddenly desperate to feel his skin pressing against yours, your smaller hands grabbing at his sides and shoulders.

Your urgency seems to bleed into him, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and tugging it up your back, pausing only for you to lift your arms before he’s pulling it free from your body and throwing it on the floor. You mimic his actions, pushing his shirt up to reveal the thickness of his chest. He grabs the fabric and tugs and it joins a growing pile of clothing. The dark wiry hair of his body whispers against your delicate skin, sending lightning bolts of desire through you, eager to be pressed against his heat. 

Without any warning John is shoving the plates out of the way, the clanking tableware startling you out of your lust driven haze. Before you can speak, he’s lifted you, depositing you on the cleared space of the table with a gentle tinkle as glass knocks together. You look up at him wide-eyed but his intense blue eyes are darkened with desire and locked on your bra, his fingers moving faster than your brain can catch up. The look in his eyes and the cool air has your nipples pebbling, biting your bottom lip as he leans into your space and kisses you again. You have a vague notion of him throwing the piece of clothing, in the next heartbeat both of his hands are on you, urging you to recline backwards. 

John’s hot mouth trails over your collarbone and sternum as you recline, your fingers curling into his short sandy brown hair. The wet pull of his mouth on your nipple has you gasping, arching into him. His hands have dropped from your sides to your abdomen, flicking your jeans open with hurried movements. He pauses long enough to cup your mound, the heat of your body making him groan low in his throat. 

“Fuckin’ hell love” 

His voice has slipped down an octave, desire making his cheeks and chest flush under his dark hair. Your body has a pavlovian response to his, anticipation spiralling through your limbs. When his fingers curl in your jeans and panties, you lift up automatically, using his thighs to balance as he tugs the clothing free of your body. 

He’s back on you as soon as the clothing leaves his hand, fingers tracing up your calves and thighs, making room for himself between them while his mouth blazes a trail over your ribs to the delicate underside of your breast. His whiskers dragging across your skin make you gasp and twitch, the tableware clinking together by your head with each sudden movement. When the wet heat of his mouth closes over your nipple again you moan, fingers pressing into the back of John’s neck to keep him in place. You can feel the backs of his fingers grazing against your low belly as he’s undoing his pants, twisting and pulling something out of his back pocket.

“John, let me.” You try to sit up but he won’t allow it, rasping his teeth over your nipple, making you suck in a breath and squirm underneath him. He releases your flesh with an obscene ‘pop’ and a smug smile slides across his face. 

“Too late, next time.” His voice is a rumble, one hand fisted around the condom on the base of his hard cock and the other landing on your chest, keeping you pinned to the table and spread out for his viewing pleasure. The slow back and forth glide of the head of his cock over the seam of your pussy makes you groan and hook your heels into the back of John’s thighs. Your hands curl around his forearm, your nails biting into his flesh as he presses into you slowly, eyes locked on your face.

The heat of John’s palm on your sternum makes you aware of how fast your heart is beating against it. Your rattling moan spurs John on, the rocking thrusts of his hips making the dishes dance by your head. The obscene symphony sends shockwaves of sensation up and down your spine, making you squirm as you clutch at his arm.

John hisses a curse, followed by your name and you can feel the muscles of his arm fluttering under your grip. The world narrows to just the two of you, John rocking you and the contents of the table with his thrusts, gripping your hip to steady you under his body. You can feel your body start to pull taut, your orgasm building in pressure and a whine climbing the back of your throat as your senses start to overwhelm. 

John slides his hand off your chest to hunch over you, putting his full weight behind his thrusts. He drops close enough to run his open mouth over your collarbone, panting hot breath against your skin. The increased pressure and change in angle make you clench around him, wrenching a low moan from his chest. The tableware crashes in time with your movements.

“John, please.” You’re begging mindlessly, wrapping your thighs high on his hips, your legs trembling. 

“You make me crazy when you say my name like that.” John rumbles into your ear, giving you what you want and sliding his thumb over your clit in small circles. It only takes a handful more thrusts before you’re reaching your peak.

Your orgasm overtakes you and you claw at the back of his neck and shoulder with your nails, desperate to ground yourself. Your keening cry bounces off the walls of the kitchen as your body clamps down on his, bucking underneath him. The throbbing grip of your inner muscles is enough to drag John down with you, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he cums hard, his cock pulsing inside you. He groans deeply, his grip on your body bordering on bruising as you both slowly come down and try to regulate your breathing.

“Holy fuck John” You whimper, aftershocks making you tremble and grab at his arms as he leans back, easing out of your oversensitive flesh with a hiss. His palms are stroking over your body, cataloging the shape of you, soothing both of your nervous systems before stepping back. He disposes of the condom in the trash and is back between your legs, giving orders like he never left. 

“Legs around my waist darling. Good girl. Up we go.” He’s gathered you against his chest and is hefting you off the table before you can process. Your brain finally catches up and you clamp your thighs around his waist tighter, your arms slung around his neck, hanging off of him like a burr. You trust him implicitly, doing as you're told, your brain still too gooey to do its own processing.

John checks the lock on your front door before carrying you upstairs to your bedroom. Both of you are too exhausted to give a shit about the state of the kitchen at the moment, curling together in your smaller bed. You try not to focus too hard on how suspiciously tight your chest feels when he spoons you, face buried in your hair with a contented sigh. 

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @syoddeye @cadotoast

[the-letterbox-archives]

file (1)5-29-0812: character inspiration

thank you @willtheweaver for the tag!! the rule is to share some inspirations for the name/personality/design of a character! (originally it said to do more than 1, but i wanted to give all the attention to one new character)

i'll share some stuff about sunny from my new wip, school rules!

i didn’t take sunny’s name from any etymological concept, in fact it originally was planned to be a pseudonym since i didn’t want to come up with a surname haha (she has one now, it’s sunny finch). to get her name, i considered the name at face value, if that makes sense. a sunny day brings forth the image of happiness, brightness, and is generally a good thing.

but the sunny of school rules is anything but unassumingly bright and happy. while she is fairly cheerful and playful, the topics she discusses are violent and dark, and her casual (borderline aloof) demeanour towards those topics subvert the image that the word/name ‘sunny’ evokes.

her personality is similar to this idea. sunny is upbeat, she cracks jokes, and is hopelessly obsessed with famous nepo baby darcy spencer. i wanted to have fun designing her character, because so many of my other mcs from other wips are in dreary situations and react accordingly. i wanted a change of pace, so i wrote a character in an undeniably horrible situation, left to broadcast all the competition and suffering in her school for profit, but she’s able to have fun regardless.

i want her to have a kind of humour similar to mine to contrast the macabre setting and genre she’s in. i guess in that way she’s mostly inspired by me, with some tonal inspirations from characters like cecil palmer from wtnv (his vibes), the narrator from the stanley parable (his humour/delivery), and alastor from hazbin hotel (his sass).

since i don’t really describe character’s appearances (not intentionally, just a habit), and that wouldn’t fit in the first-person radio narration, sunny doesn’t have a concrete character design. i can’t describe exactly how i visualise her, but i picture her with dark hair and brown eyes, and kind of improper in presentation; think wearing the fancy, high society uniform incorrectly, awful posture, ‘hasn’t slept in three days but still energetic as ever’ energy, that kind of thing (@millipede333 i think you’d do a good job drawing her!).

that’s all for sunny, i think. school rules ep2 should be out sometime soon, too! thank you for reading!!

tagging @introchasingstars, @honeybewrites, @paeliae-occasionally, @ominous-feychild, @the-golden-comet,

@noxxytocin, @moltenwrites, @tc-doherty, @the-ellia-west, @theverumproject,

@thecrazyalchemist, @laylathewordwitch, @dragonedged-if, @leitereads, @autism-purgatory,

@gioiaalbanoart, @drchenquill, @fenmere, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @melpomene-grey,

@yourpenpaldee, @corinneglass, @agirlandherquill, @frostedlemonwriter, + open tag!!

[fayes-fics]

6. A: Friends+ - Friends & Family

For uhhhh no particular reason and nothing at all to do with anyone particular person nope 😇

Hi lovely!

Bwhaha. Well, apologies for being a few days late on this, but as both you and the wonderful @colettebronte asked for Friends & Family... I wrote ten or so sentences.

This is what I hope is a sweet, fun humour scene during this fic. It may vary a little from the final version I post, as this is the first draft.

___

“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, what is this??” 

There is an undignified yelp, and your spatula drops to the floor with a loud splat. Apparently, he didn't hear you come in.

“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me… And what is the full name business all about?” he spins around, holding his hands aloft as if in a hostage situation. The sight is made even funnier by the fact he is wearing one of your novelty aprons, complete with floppy bunny ears….

You have walked in from afternoon coffee with some old friends to find your kitchen in absolute disarray. Pots and pans on every surface, opened containers, the contents of your spice cupboard all pulled out and haphazardly dotted around. There is a large pile of reusable shopping bags with half-open veggies in and what looks like a sourdough loaf cut open and likely going stale next to the completely wrong knife for the job at hand. There is almost no worktop surface not unused or covered in some sticky looking residue from god knows what.

“I said yes to you making dinner while I was out, I did not say you could conduct some kind of controlled explosion in my kitchen,” holding your hands up in exasperated resignation.

He walks towards you with that adorable puppy dog expression that is his perennial get out of jail free card. You pick a fleck of what you think is broccoli from his hair as he reaches you.

“Points for effort?” he pouts, a tiny smile seeking forgiveness toying with the corners of his mouth.

“You are lucky you are so damn handsome,” you sigh, letting him pull you into his arms as he breaks into the full charming grin and drops a kiss on the tip of your nose.

____

Thanks for your ask, lovely 😁🧡🧡

[jhoumous-fr]

Point de vue carniste

[jhoumous]

Everything and Its Opposite.

[the-penguinspy]

19. “You deserve so much better.” mary x shannon

thanks for the prompt, em :)

--

The late afternoon sunlight casts a muted, golden hue on the courtyard, light shining through in lazy bursts at the behest of the clouds fast-moving eastward. A gentle breeze ruffles the grass and provides a welcome respite against the heat, no doubt refreshing for those sister warriors at the tail-end of the day’s training sessions, especially evident to those who close their eyes and tilt their heads toward the heading of the wind.

All-in-all, a serene end to the day. Mary is certain that she’d be enjoying it a lot more if she wasn’t currently following Shannon to the outdoor sparring mats.

They reach the mats and Shannon starts stretching immediately. Mary stares for a second before she starts her own warm-ups. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

“Your shotguns do an excellent job at keeping enemies at bay, but what happens when you run out of ammo? What happens if someone gets inside of your guard?” Shannon stands and brings her legs together, bends at the waist until her palms touch the floor. Mary simply continues with her arm stretches. Show off. 

“That’s why I have two shotguns, instead of just one.” 

Shannon frowns, straightening her body once more. “I’m serious. I know you can take care of yourself, but I still worry about you.” She takes Mary’s hand and squeezes gently, and when she speaks, her voice is soft. “Humour me this once. We can see how it goes.”

Mary squeezes her hand back and sighs. “Fine, but only if your next prank is played on Lil. It’s her fault that I still double-check the sugar and salt shakers each time I use them.”

//

A dozen instances of eating mat and Mary finally, finally performs the disarming maneuver successfully. Shannon grins proudly, canines sharp, and Mary looks at her mouth just in time to catch a tongue darting quick over teeth. She resets her body into the starting position once more, and Mary rolls her shoulders before mirroring her stance. 

“Again.”

//

By the time Shannon calls for a stop, the sun had already reached the horizon and painted the sky into a beautiful red-orange. Mary flops down on her back to better appreciate the view, heartbeat hummingbird-quick, her breathing still ragged from the impromptu training session.

She hears Shannon shuffle down beside her, looks over to see legs stretched parallel to her own. Shannon leans back on her hands, nary a hair out of place and with only the slightest sheen of sweat on her forehead to give evidence of physical exertion.

They stay that way until Mary’s stomach growls. “Any idea what they’re serving for supper?”

“Mashed potatoes and roasted veggies, if my sources are correct.”

Mary closes her eyes and groans. “Ugh, mashed potatoes again? After that workout you put me through? I deserve so much better.”

“You deserve so much better,” Shannon agrees.

Something’s off about her voice. It wavered a bit at the end, and Mary looks over to assess if there’s anything wrong. Shannon keeps her gaze trained in front of them, squinting at the sunset, her mouth set in a neutral line. Her face is a careful mix of nonchalance and solemnity, and she would have succeeded in her portrayal of such if her lip hadn’t wobbled when Mary looked over, if her teeth hadn’t bitten down on the inside of her bottom lip to tamp down a smile. For an enthusiastic practical joker, Shannon’s got a surprisingly bad poker face.

Mary narrows her eyes and scrambles to sit up. “Shan.” A responding hum. “I know that look. What do you have planned?”

Shannon turns to face her and, now caught, releases the abused lip to offer her happiness freely. “You deserve so much better,” she repeats. “You deserve someone who you can kiss in public, someone you can love in the open.” Her smile wavers slightly. “You deserve someone who can stay.”

“Shannon.” The name rasps out of Mary’s mouth, and she brings a hand up to cradle Shannon’s cheek. “It’s my choice to be here, to be here with you. I love you, I’m staying, and there’s nothing that you, or anyone, or the goddamn universe can do that’ll make me leave.” 

“Language,” Shannon says, but her smile settles, is no longer turbulent, and she turns her face into Mary’s palm to hide it. The heat of her cheek spreads evenly through Mary’s palm, and the small kiss that Shannon places there electrifies her skin. Tiny bolts of lightning travel up her arm and through her veins, thousands strong; restarts her heart and awakens her body, and Mary blinks fast in an effort to stabilize her focus.

“You also deserve,” Shannon continues, “a reward.” The words come out muffled against Mary’s hand, vibrations smoothing out over the skin, and Mary leans in to hear her better. “Seafood paella. That place by the beach, the one with the perfect shrimp-to-clam ratio? I’ve made a reservation.”

Mary laughs, touched, and her affection spills out in the form of a thumb stroking reverent over Shannon’s cheek. “And what exactly am I being rewarded for?”

Shannon’s smile turns sharp. “Finishing a session of hand-to-hand combat training. I think they call that positive reinforcement or something.”

The eye-roll from Mary is inevitable. “They don’t take reservations. It’s barely busy at this hour, too.” “Is it so wrong to want everything to go smoothly?” 

Mary smirks. “Everything, huh? There’s more to this little date of ours?” Shannon flushes, cheeks turning rosy. She keeps her gaze locked with Mary’s and brings her own hand up, fingers circling Mary’s wrist. Her thumb brushes over Mary’s pulse – a quick one-two pass – and Mary watches as the thumb is replaced with lips, as Shannon presses a slow kiss over thin blue veins, pressure feather-light, imprint barely-there. 

The expression on her face must be amusing at the very least, because Shannon’s mouth curves upwards and chuckles, and the breath that Mary had been holding in finally finds its way out. Her lungs snatch greedily at the air, and she’s certain that her unsteady breathing isn’t due to the lingering exertion from their earlier spar. 

“Are you coming, or what?”

Shannon’s already on her feet. She stands in front of Mary, extends a hand down and wiggles her fingers to entice a handhold. The sun from behind her casts her shadow long and dark over Mary, over the courtyard. In the shadow of her face, her smile is a gentle arc; small and shy, directed towards one recipient, and one recipient only. 

Mary takes her hand and hoists herself up from the ground. “Obviously. Can’t let that hard-fought reservation go to waste.”

Shannon shoves at her shoulder playfully, but their hands stay linked all the way to Mary’s parked motorcycle.

[kidddoz]

Maurice Headcanons!!

Maurice 20/08/1932 (Leo), 12 years old.

Half English (mom), half Italian (dad). I know he gets in so much trouble while visiting his nonna! Imagine a sunny Sunday and an old lady yelling "MAURIZIO!" because her grandson ate all the tomatoes that were going into the sauce for pasta.

His hair is controversial. His hair is parted in the middle, but before the island, it was super easy to brush it down and make it stay in its place. During and after the island, his hair goes BOOM, the fluffiness arrives, and it is impossible to make it stay in its place. The worst thing is that he doesn't care at all.

His dad is a marine biologist!! Whenever his dad is in another country, he brings Maurice souvenirs, mostly magazines and other things that he adores because he looks for original jokes in the humour section to tell at school. His humour is pretty much a mix between already-made jokes and ocean facts. He is also great at making up stories because of this.

He is an only child, and he is super spoiled. I would confidently say he has one of the most healthy relationships with both his parents. He's just a happy kid (maybe too happy).

In other conditions, Piggy and Maurice could have been besties. Maurice is a Physics nerd while Piggy's a Chemistry nerd, so they'd go to Piggy's aunt's sweet shop to do homework.

Related to that, he is super sweet-toothed. You can convince him to do everything if you are offering him something sweet. He had a lot of trouble on the island because the only mildly sweet things were fruits, and of course, he hates veggies and fruits. It was his hell.

During his teens, his humour grows darker and bitter, including making witty remarks now and then. It might seem he's fine after the island, but has a bunch of unhealthy coping mechanisms, such as using humour to the point of being horribly insensitive to others and even triggering other's traumatic events.

It is quite surprising seeing that he has no healthy coping mechanisms, even if he has a good family circle. That is because his parents, although being great caretakers, always push him to smile or not cry because those problems will eventually pass. I guess his issues derive mainly from repressed feelings and no space for him to digest trauma.

After coming back, he grows closer to Jack, which is super surprising for everyone. The thing is that Maurice leaves the choir once they're back in England but only keeps in touch with Jack, becoming a pen pal almost instantly and never losing contact. Jack doesn't mind this, he thinks Maurice is one of his most genuine friends, if not the only one.

Something inside him still needs closure about the island, so he keeps contact with everyone who was on the island incident, and I mean EVERYONE. He researches and sends a lot of letters to everyone. However, he maintains some distance from the littluns.

He might tend to develop a lot of addictions because of his constant need for short-term happiness. Enjoys gambling, alcohol and whatever that can entertain him.

During his late teens, he starts living in France and finds a job in a newspaper agency! He loves his job and found out that learning French is easy for him, so whenever he visits England, he is like, "Bonjour, fellas!".

Of course, he loves the French ladies or ladies in general. He's such a Casanova, or at least that's his mental image. Even if he's quite famous among the ladies, he never ends up with a girlfriend lol.

He loves the idea of being a reporter but has heard about the new stand-up comedy in America, and he is willing to try.

This is more of a theory than a headcanon, but I firmly believe Maurice's name is based on "Maurice, or the Fisher's Cot" from Mary Shelley. Please look it up because the whole story brings me to tears, but I think there are too many coincidences, and it reflects so well on Maurice's character.

[jinxedwood]

So. I’m one of those weirdos that always skate by the veggie deals when I shop in LIdl. This week they had bok choy  on sale. A quick google on my phone gave me a bok choy and shitake mushroom stir fry that looked tasty  so I blew whatever savings I made on the Bok Choi to buy some fresh shitake mushrooms. Here is the recipe I used. I added  some hoisin marinated tofu pieces and some chilli garlic paste ( because chilli makes everything better) and swapped out the veggie broth for veggie stock but this shit was good. I never get stir fry sauces right so I usually rely on store bought versions but this was so simple I figured I couldn’t get it wrong, and I’m definitely using this sauce again for other stir fries.  

For entertainment while cooking/eating, i listened to ContraPoints pull apart Twilight on youtube, which seems to be a thing at the moment because I also listened to Princess Weekes pull it apart a few days ago. (Am I missing something? Is there some kind of remake on the horizon?) 

Both are good videos, which address different aspects of the books so it's worth your while to watch both, but ContraPoints' sense of humour edges her into first place for me. 

[simping-on-the-daily]

It's really funny whenever you see people bash on TWST for like. Letting the Overblot gang and company get away with the overblotting when honestly the lack of jail time is honestly the funniest part. Yes Ortho and Idia nearly destroyed the world. Yes they picked up trash for a bit. The worst punishment for all the Overblot gang was being locked in a room for thirty minutes with a therapist but the therapist is actually a pineapple with a glued on moustache. Yes Jamil tried to throw Yuu out of a building and to the edge of nowhere. Yes Yuu always helps Jamil by chopping the veggies for him. The highlight of the Masquerade is Rollo's punishment entirely relying on Catholic guilt. Fucking hilarious y'all just need to develop a sense of humour

[paeliae-occasionally]

OC interview tag!

Thanks @drchenquill for the tag!

I have answered some of these for Xaeren, so this time I will answer for Apollo.

Were you named after anyone?

Well my given name was Syrelne, after the rune of illusions, but Apollo was given to me by an old friend. I have no idea where they are now, but I wish them well.

When was the last time you cried?

When I thought Tyro was killed. I know I shouldn’t but I still blame myself for not being with them.

Do you have any kids?

Not biologically. In my line of work it is not greatly practical, all of the running for my life and such. I do consider lots of the children who pass through the camp to be like my children.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Yes. I shouldn’t but humour is one gift that cannot be taken from me despite the many who have tried.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I think that depends on the person. Nowadays I usually check for rune pouches, and determination. I have found many would-be assassins have the same glint in their eyes.

What’s your eye color?

Green, but in some light I have been told they look grey.

Scary movies or happy endings?

I have never seen a movie, but I have always enjoyed stories with happy endings. Hope is a great tool.

Any special talents?

Well runes, but other than that I can sing relatively well. I enjoy singing with other people. It is one of the best ways, in my opinion, to connect with new people.

Where were you born?

Probably near Kar’wysan. I don’t quite know because I was taken to Vasens when I was very young. Kar’wysan is near the Ponturesi but is a much larger city and is mage run, so the runics have to be, at least publicly, a little subtle.

What was your favorite subject in school?

I never went to school officially. I always enjoyed reading about magic theory. The simple components and strands that form Ike are all so interesting.

What is your dream job?

If I wasn’t raised a runic I would have liked to have trained as a mage. I think with a little political power I could have effected a lot of good for my brother and all sorcerers in the Altic lands. I also would have enjoyed studying, magic will always be one of my greatest passions.

Tagging @leahnardo-da-veggie, @theprissythumbelina and @theink-stainedfolk

[evviejo]

🧄🧺🌴

what do i like in others that i see in myself? a dry sense of humour, being sarcastic and appreciating puns.

the perfect picnic includes cheese, hummus, veggies, some dessert. i'm not a fussy eater, so most picnic foods would probably satisfy me.

my dream holiday is spending a couple of weeks (not longer, because it would be hard to get back to work lmao), just exploring a country on my own. going to museum, wandering through cities and towns, and taking trains or something from one place to the next. my trips to the uk in 2017 and to croatia in 2021 were the closest to this so far (if you ignore the food poisoning i got on my penultimate day in croatia).