#i know glue is involved

[pumpkinstep]

with how popular slime as a stim toy has been these past few years, this year and last year especially, I'm always drawn to them with how fancy they can look. However, with the over abundance of online shops and things, I feel it isn't safe enough to really want to get my hands on it.

like for a while everyone was using borax to make slime, and they still do to some extent from my understanding, and that was seriously hurting people. it was all over the news and everything.

Elmer's makes their own glue slimes too but they have a warning on their tubs to wash your hands thoroughly and warn not to play for too long as it can cause skin problems.

now I know not all slime is like that but I just feel like maybe slime is not as regulated as it could be and it's kinda a gamble when you buy a tub.

to be fair, a lot of toys in the US are probably not the safest really when it comes to paints and food based maker toys.

idk, I've been seeing a lot of slime vids lately so I always think about this when I see them.

anyone else feel this way about slime toys?

[kitnita]

i haven't been able to sit down & Watch a hockey game for like a week now & it takes me a day to register anything beyond just. the score when i'm not watching live. so anyway all this to say WHAT is going on with my beloved rabid purse dog in san jose 😭 ty had four (?) fights his whole time in dallas, two of which were cringefail bouts with luke kunin and the rest of which i'm pretty sure he Decisively Lost ......... what is he DOING with two fights in a singular month. what are they putting in his water in california. is this what happens when he's not living rent free in his goalie's house.

[silverview]

charlie & dee & the chain

[cator99]

I always get detained at da border because PROFUNC never ended but basically I'm like if a targeted individual didn't even care

[the-starlight-papers]

We’ve reached the point in the year for my engineering team that I’m just kinda watching everyone (but especially the grad students in charge of the team) slowly lose their sanity

[youjustwaitsunshine]

next week we're gonna make parchment and gold beater's skin, very excited

[deonsx]

helloo there!!♡, I really love the way you write. I'm wondering what it would be like if sae,rin,kaiser, have a gf who is a cosplayer, tyy♡!

Hiii dear!! Have a nice read and thank youuu^^

Rin Itoshi

Rin had come home early from practice. As soon as he opened the door he heard strange noises coming from the living room. When he walked in he found you sitting on the floor trying to shape a large piece of cardboard. The room was a mess with hot glue guns paints fabric scraps and oddly shaped foam pieces scattered everywhere

“What are you doing?” Rin asked with a curious expression. You looked up at him. With a smudge of paint on your face and messy hair you smiled brightly. “I’m working on a new cosplay. This is going to be a piece of armor” you said holding up the cardboard. Rin raised an eyebrow. “Armor? That thing needs a lot of work before it even looks like armor.”

“Don’t tease me!” you retorted. “This is just the base layer. It still needs painting hardening and detailing. Rin chuckled. “Alright alright. But why does the entire house look like a battlefield? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Though you looked a bit offended you could tell Rin was getting interested. “I watched some YouTube videos and read a few guides. It’s a bit challenging but I’m learning. Plus it’s fun”

Rin sat down next to you and picked up the piece of cardboard you were working on. “If you’re going to put in this much effort at least do it properly. You need to cut this cleanly with a craft knife” he said grabbing a knife and showing you how to do it

After that day Rin couldn’t help but get involved in your project. Sometimes he’d point out mistakes saying “You’re doing it wrong” and other times he’d grab a paintbrush to help you add finishing touches

When the cosplay was finally ready you put it on and showed Rin the completed look. As you posed excitedly you noticed the surprised look on his face. “Alright” he said after a moment “I thought it was silly at first but… it actually looks really good”

“Really?” you asked your eyes sparkling with hope. Rin shrugged. “Maybe. But after all that effort I guess I can’t say anything against it.” At the convention your armor caught everyone’s attention. People stopped you to take pictures and compliment your work. Rin stood a step behind you a small smile on his face keeping an eye on the crowd to make sure no one crossed any boundaries

Sae Itoshi

when you first mentioned your passion for cosplay he didn’t think much of it. “Cosplay? You mean dressing up as fictional characters?” he asked one day his tone calm but slightly curious “Exactly!” you replied with excitement. “It’s a lot more than just dressing up though. I design the outfits build props and sometimes even compete. It’s a hobby but it means a lot to me”

Sae gave a small nod. “If it’s important to you that’s fine. Just don’t expect me to dress up” You laughed at his response knowing it was his way of acknowledging your interests without diving too deeply

A few weeks later you were preparing for a convention. Your living room was a workshop with fabric glue guns and foam scattered everywhere. Sae walked in and paused his sharp gaze taking in the scene “You’ve been at this for hours” he commented setting his bag down

“Yup” you said not even looking up from the detailed painting you were doing on a prop. “The convention is in two days and I want this to be perfect” Sae sighed softly walking closer. “Does it really need to be this detailed? No one’s going to notice if it’s off by a little”

You shot him a playful glare. “Oh they’ll notice. Trust me cosplayers have an eye for detail” He didn’t reply but leaned down to pick up one of the finished pieces. “It’s impressive” he admitted after a moment. “I didn’t realize you made all of this yourself”

The day of the convention Sae offered to drive you there. As you stepped out of the car in your fully completed costume he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger for a moment. You looked stunning the outfit perfectly capturing the character you were portraying “You’re really into this aren’t you?” he said his voice softer than usual “I am” you replied with a bright smile. “And I love it”

At the convention Sae stayed in the background watching as people approached you for photos and compliments. He observed the way your face lit up every time someone admired your work. Despite his usual stoic demeanor he felt a subtle sense of pride

Later as you both sat down to eat he spoke up. “You’re talented. I don’t think I could have the patience to do something like that” You grinned. “Coming from you that’s a big compliment.” Sae smirked faintly. “Don’t let it go to your head”

Kaiser Michael

“You dress up as fictional characters and make all this stuff yourself?” he asked, spinning one of your half-finished props in his hand like it was a trophy.“Yes, Michael” you replied, rolling your eyes at his tone. “It’s not just dressing up. It’s crafting, designing, and bringing something I love to life. And no, you can’t break that it took hours to make”

Kaiser smirked and placed the prop back carefully. “Relax. I’m just admiring your… creativity” A few days later, he strolled into the room while you were sewing fabric for your next costume. His golden hair was slightly tousled, and he leaned casually against the doorway, watching you work. “So, when’s this big event of yours?”

“This weekend” you answered, not looking up from your work “Perfect. I’ll clear my schedule” he said with a grin. You looked up at him, surprised. “You’re coming?”

“Of course” he said as if it were obvious. “I have to see how good you are at this. Besides, you’ll need someone to make sure your fans don’t get too close”

The day of the convention, Kaiser arrived in style, dressed impeccably as always. When he saw you in your finished cosplay, his usual cocky smirk shifted into something softer. “I’ll admit” he said, circling you like a critic. “You look incredible. Almost as good as me” “Almost?” you teased, raising an eyebrow “Fine” he said with a mock dramatic sigh. “You look better than me for now”

At the convention, Kaiser stayed by your side, his presence impossible to ignore. People stared as much at him as they did at you, but he didn’t seem to mind. Whenever someone asked for a photo with you, he’d step aside, arms crossed, observing like he was the one managing your image

“You know” he whispered at one point as you posed for a group shot. “You should’ve told me earlier. I’d have joined you in costume. Imagine us as a power duo unstoppable” You laughed, shaking your head. “This is my thing, Michael. You already have football”

“But you’re my girlfriend” he said with a wink. “That makes everything you do my thing too” By the end of the day, you were exhausted but happy. Kaiser drove you home, still talking about how “you stole the show” and how “everyone was lucky to witness your brilliance”

Enjoy!

[gold-onthe-inside]

gingerbread kisses

who? spencer reid (s4) x bau!reader

summary: your first christmas as a couple with spencer involves baking, construction, and lots and lots of kisses

word count: 1.9k

content warnings: oral (f receiving), spencer calls r 'sweet girl', minors dni

"Yours looks so much better than mine," you whined, looking over at Spencer's gingerbread house, perfectly cut panels holding together to form a house while yours sagged at an angle.

"It's not that bad," he replied, if only to make you feel better and shifted closer to see if he could fix the angle of it, and you peered over his shoulder, watching his nimble fingers carefully adjust the panels, reapplying icing like it was glue. "There," Spencer said, pulling his hands away... and then it sagged lower and he frowned at it, puzzled, and you stifled a giggle against his shoulder at his utter confusion. Your nose pressed into his soft woollen sweater, arms wrapping around him. "Maybe if I--"

"Just leave it," you told him, kissing his cheek, your lip balm sticky against his warm skin. Even now, 6 months into dating, his cheeks flushed at your kiss, and he looked down at you, chasing your lips, his hands finding your cheeks, fingers equally sticky with icing. It was always so earnest, filled with as much longing as the first time you'd kissed him. He doesn’t want to let go when he pulls away, but then there's a streak of icing on your cheek and he can't help a wince.

"Sorry," he said, oblivious to your dazed look, moving to wipe his hands and you let out another soft groan of protest at the loss of him, only for him to come back to gently wipe your cheeks clean. "Can I tell you something?" he asked, looking at you intently.

"Always," you replied with your sweet smile and adoring gaze.

"This is the best Christmas I've ever had," he said, putting the cloth away, and you wished you could express how much you loved him in this moment, but you've never been as articulate with your affection as him. So you do what you know best; you tugged him closer, kissing him. You could live in this moment forever, his lips on yours, sitting on the floor of your apartment. Spencer pressed you back against the couch, his hands seeking your jaw, his tongue darting to your lower lip. He's always careful with you, slow and thoughtful, his thumb gently angling your chin higher.

You parted your lips, his tongue languidly exploring your mouth. His hand carefully slid down your neck, his thumb finding your pulse and he broke for breath, placing warm gentle kisses along your soft jaw. "My sweet girl," he murmured, reaching your ear. "I could do this forever."

Your heart fluttered the way it always did. He’d called you his since the beginning, sweet girl. He’d say it often, a gentle declaration of his affection. His hand slid down, thumb tracing the collar of your sweater, his face buried in your neck as he left his own mark on you, teeth grazing gently against the soft skin and your breath hitched. “God, Spence…” He felt you shift underneath him, already overwhelmed by his touch. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging a little when he mouthed at your neck. One of his hands rests on your hip, his thumb brushing the skin under your sweater.

He couldn’t help himself. You felt so warm and soft, so lovely wrapped in his arms. He pushed your sweater up gently, baring more of your skin, his touch warm, and light. He could spend hours just tracing his fingers across your skin. You tasted sweet, like sugar and vanilla, and he shifted, adjusting to slide between your legs. You tilted your head back, looking up at him, your eyes slightly unfocused, lips parted with your heavy breaths. His head dipped, mouth leaving marks along your neck as he pushed your sweater up again, just over your ribs, your breath stuttering as his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin. Your hand fisted in his sweater, a needy whisper escaping you, "Spencer..."

"Let me take care of you," he murmured against your shoulder, pushing your sweater high enough for you to wordlessly lift your arms so he could toss it to one side, and he needed to catch his breath as he looked down at you. He’d seen you a hundred times before, all those soft smooth curves, your soft sighs and breathless gasps that he lived for. You were so trusting in his arms, the way your fingers threaded through his hair, your back arching when his mouth found your stomach, kissing reverently at your soft skin. “So perfect,” he murmured.

You don't have the brainpower to spare to respond with anything other than his name, said so many times that it should have lost its meaning by now, but it never does. The way it came out all breathless and needy, desperate and reverent, the way you’d call his name as he pressed you into the couch, body over yours, pinning you in place as his mouth found your skin, tracing a path along your hip. You pulled uselessly at his sweater, biting your lower lip. “So impatient, my sweet girl,” he murmured, and your whine sent a spark straight through him.

"Want to see you, angel," you pleaded and he couldn’t deny you, even if he wanted to, not when your hands already reached to push under his sweater, your hands warm on his skin and he pulled back, pulling the offending garment off completely. You smiled, looking at him fondly. "Much better," you murmured, shifting up to kiss him again, your warm lips meeting his.

He met you readily, pressing you down again, his body covering yours, a warm comfortable weight. He could never get enough of how you fit against him, the feel of your soft skin against his fingers, the way your mouth moved against him, sweet and willing. The way your legs moved to wrap around him. "Okay if I take this off?" he whispered, hands finding the waistband of your pyjama pants, beige with little cookies printed over them, hot breath fanning over your face, eyes watching you as you nod. He slid the soft material down your legs, leaving you bare before him. It was a view he loved, all your bare skin, all his to touch and explore.

Your breath hitched as his hands gently nudged your thighs further apart, and he slowly sank onto his knees between them. You let out a small groan involuntarily, just at the sight of him between your thighs. "Angel..."

He shushed you gently, fingers tracing circles on your thighs, so close to where you wanted him. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail, your breathing and the way your legs twitched. “Just relax, my sweet girl,” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing soothing strokes across your skin.

"You're not making it easy," you muttered back.

He couldn’t help the smile at your comment, his hands slowly shifting your legs, lifting them to pull off your panties, and he could feel the way your breath caught, your body shifting slightly to help. He was so close to you he could practically feel your heat against his face. He was still gently running his fingers over the skin of your thighs, trying to keep you calm. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice impossibly soft.

His warm breath against you made your head spin, and you were too lost in the feel of his hands and mouth to do anything but gasp his name and tilt your head back. You were so wet, so needy for him, and you couldn’t help the way your legs shifted, pleading for more. He gently nudged at them, spreading you open further for him. He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire, the sight of you underneath him, leaning back against the foot of the couch, your chest heaving and your body tense, just for him.

He leaned in, and he didn’t miss the way your body jolted when his tongue licked over you, and he hummed against your skin. You tasted so sweet, so perfect, and he was slowly getting addicted to the taste, his hands holding your thighs in place as he slowly explored you. He’d wanted to make you fall apart, the way you’d done so many times for him, bringing him to the knife’s edge before pulling him over. But he couldn’t wait long, and he pushed forward, his tongue circling before he suddenly thrust forward, tasting as much of you as he could.

The effect was instant, and he felt you jerk against him, your gasp turning into a long moan. The sound made his hands squeeze at your thighs, wanting you closer. You were always so responsive to him, so sensitive, and you were already on edge from his light teasing. He loved the sounds you made, all those soft noises that you seemed unable to help when he was like this. He loved the way your skin felt under his hands, the way you would pull and tug at his hair when he was teasing you. He loved the way you felt, warm and soft all around him. He loved you, and he wanted you to fall apart. He was almost relentless, tongue working over you, delving into you, wanting you to come completely undone.

He didn’t want to pull away, wanted to keep going, to take you as close as he could, but you were already teetering on the edge, so close to climax. He loved how responsive you were, how he could pull those sweet moans and gasps so easily from you with just a few caresses. He wanted to see you come, wanted to feel your body shaking against him. He pulled back for a second, breathless, his voice already wrecked from how sweet you sounded, “Come for me, my sweet girl."

Your fingers scrabbled for his hair, needing something to hold onto as he brought you through your climax, his tongue not leaving you until you were begging him to stop, your body sensitive and overwhelmed. He let his hands gently trail across your thighs as you fell back onto the couch, boneless and still quivering. He couldn’t help a little smile at how wrecked you looked, your hair falling over your eyes, your body trembling. And yet you still looked beautiful, your bare body on display for him, your skin flush and warm. He shifted forward, his lips gently kissing your stomach and travelling up your body, until he laid down on top of you, his weight carefully resting between your legs, his head buried in your neck.

"I love you," you whispered, holding him, your fingers trailing over his back.

He lifted his head at your words, still so touched by your sweetness. After all this time, you still managed to surprise him. He shifted, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at you, his gaze soft and adoring. “I love you more,” he murmured, reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, fingers tracing the line of your jaw.

"Not possible," you murmured.

He smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Agree to disagree,” he teased, his hand gently caressing your hair, fingers carding through the messy strands. He liked you like this; soft and pliable in his arms, your body still trembling from your orgasm. His fingers traced down the side of your face, before his knuckles grazed gently over your collarbone, tracing the line of your shoulder.

"You were right," you murmured, looking at him. "Best Christmas ever. Even if I can't build a gingerbread house for the life of me."

He looked at the wreckage of the house, then back to you, hiding a smile. “You’re good at a lot of things, sweetheart, but decorating is just not your strong suit,” he teased and you huffed and shoved at his shoulder in mock offence. He just pulled you on top of him, kissing you deeply all over again.

[starsjulia]

leah vs the kitchen // leah williamson

a/n : more fluff!!!

warnings : traumatised beth, mentions of sex

The moment you stepped through the front door, you knew something was wrong. The smell… oh, the smell. It hit you like a wall. Burnt… something. Not “oops, I left the toast in too long” burnt. It was the “fire department might need to get involved” kind of burnt.

“Leah?” you called out cautiously, shutting the door behind you.

From the kitchen came a crash, followed by a very unconvincing, “Stay out there! I’ve got it under control!”

You snorted, shrugging off your coat. Under control. Sure. If Leah Williamson ever had something in the kitchen “under control,” you’d eat your own shoe. You’d been with her long enough to know: Leah was talented in many, many ways. Cooking was not one of them.

“Are you burning down our kitchen for fun or…?”

“Just—just five more minutes!” Leah shouted back.

“Love, I think you’re out of time.”

You followed the smell to the kitchen and immediately stopped dead. It looked like a war zone. A pot sat abandoned in the sink, still faintly smoking. Something unidentifiable bubbled angrily on the stove, its consistency closer to wet cement than food. There were bowls, pans, and splatters of something everywhere. Leah stood in the middle of it all, wooden spoon in hand, hair falling out of her bun, and a streak of sauce across her forehead like war paint.

“Leah,” you said slowly, “why does our kitchen look like it’s being exorcised?”

She whipped around to face you, eyes wide with a mix of panic and hope. “You’re home early.”

“You said to come home at six. It’s six.”

“Well, yeah, but like six-ish,” Leah mumbled, abandoning the spoon in the bubbling pot of doom.

You crossed your arms, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Is this… dinner?”

Leah exhaled loudly, running a hand down her face and smudging more sauce onto her cheek. “It was supposed to be. I watched two cooking tutorials for this, babe. Two.”

“Oh, you really committed,” you teased, stepping closer.

“I did!” Leah insisted, throwing her hands in the air. “But then I turned my back for one second, and the risotto—”

“Risotto?” You peered into the pot and grimaced. “Babe, that’s not risotto. That’s glue.”

Leah groaned, leaning against the counter in defeat. “I wanted this to be special. It’s our anniversary, and I thought, you know, candles, home-cooked dinner, romantic gestures… I was trying to impress you.”

You softened immediately, stepping up to her and slipping your arms around her waist. “Leah, you already impress me.”

She looked down at you, unimpressed by your sweetness. “You’re just saying that because I look cute with sauce on my face.”

“That too,” you replied, grinning. “But I’m serious. I don’t need a perfect dinner to know you love me.”

Leah sighed, resting her forehead against yours. “I do love you, though. So much it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” you teased. “Big England captain, embarrassed?”

“Only when it comes to you,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss you softly.

The kiss lingered, warm and sweet, as Leah’s fingers skimmed up your back and yours tangled in her hair. For a moment, you forgot all about the smoke, the bubbling disaster on the stove, and the kitchen that looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Leah kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, and honestly, you were happy to let her…

Until the front door slammed open.

“Oi! Tell me there’s no food poisoning happening this time—”

“BETH!” Leah shouted, jerking back so quickly she nearly knocked you over.

There, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, was Beth, your toddler son perched on her hip, staring at the scene with wide, horrified eyes. Behind her, Viv peered over her shoulder with a grin, clearly enjoying the chaos far more than Beth was.

Beth took one look at the smoke curling from the stove and the sauce streaked across Leah’s face and muttered, “Jesus Christ. It’s happening again.”

“Beth, get out!” Leah cried, her cheeks turning beet red.

“I knew this would happen,” Beth said, ignoring Leah entirely. She turned to your son. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?”

Your son wrinkled his nose dramatically, pointing at the stove. “Mama, why are you burning food again?”

Leah clapped a hand over her face. “I hate all of you.”

You, on the other hand, were too busy laughing to defend her. Beth shot you a look. “Don’t laugh! You don’t know what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Beth pointed an accusing finger at Leah. “Last time I babysat, I came back early and walked in on—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Leah warned, eyes wide.

“—unspeakable horrors,” Beth finished dramatically, turning to Viv for support. “I haven’t been the same since.”

Leah groaned, grabbing a tea towel and whipping it in Beth’s direction. “You’re so dramatic.”

Beth ducked out of the way, still clutching your son like a shield. “I am dramatic because I’m traumatized. I see them kiss now, and I flinch.”

Viv snorted, clearly unbothered. “You brought it on yourself, to be fair.”

“Why do you always come home early anyway?” Leah grumbled, narrowing her eyes at Beth. “You’re meant to be babysitting.”

“I was babysitting,” Beth replied. “But he wanted his dinosaur toy, so we came back to get it. And you’re lucky I did because I think you were seconds away from setting this place on fire.”

Your son perked up at this, clearly unfazed by the chaos. “Is the house gonna blow up?”

“No, mate,” Leah said quickly, shooting you a helpless look. “It’s not gonna blow up.”

Beth raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sure about that, Williamson?”

“Out,” Leah hissed, pointing toward the door.

Beth grinned, finally setting your son down and ruffling his hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll take him to ours and actually babysit. You two… do whatever it is you do when I’m not here to stop it.”

“Beth!”

She only cackled, grabbing Viv’s hand and dragging your son back out of the kitchen.

The moment the door slammed shut behind them, Leah groaned, sinking to the floor. “I’m never going to live this down.”

You sat beside her, leaning your head on her shoulder. “You’re really bad at keeping secrets from Beth.”

“She has a sixth sense for interrupting,” Leah muttered darkly. “I swear she hides in the bushes waiting for us to kiss.”

You grinned, reaching over to tug Leah’s face toward you. “Hey, it’s okay. Despite the ruined dinner, the smoke, and Beth’s trauma, I still love you.”

Leah softened immediately, a lovesick smile spreading across her face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She wrapped her arm around you, pulling you into her lap and pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know?”

You smiled, turning to kiss her softly. “Even though I make fun of your cooking?”

“Especially then,” Leah replied, grinning against your lips.

And as the smell of burnt food lingered in the kitchen and Beth’s dramatic complaints echoed faintly in your head, you realized it really was the perfect anniversary, chaos, laughter, and all.

[yournightmary]

Vi HCs

content warning:: i guess there’s some angst? but it’s arcane so it’s nothing new

AN:: just a mix of different headcannons to get me through season 2.

pitfighter!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’m sorry but she smells so bad. I’m not talking about a little stink- she smells fucking rancid. It’s a mix of sweat, alcohol, blood, hair dye and sometimes even puke. I don’t think she even showers properly, she just runs a wet towel over her body and calls it a day.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She dyes her hair with the cheapest hair dye in front of her cracked mirror- that’s why it’s so shitty. Doesn’t buy enough and ends up not covering her ends every single time.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Barely has any clothes. Owns 3 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts, all of them ragged and stained. Doesn’t even wear the shirts most of the time, she just wraps her chest with bandages.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ At first she didn’t want to do the eyeliner thing but a few fellow fighters told her it’s something to be recognized and remember for. For the first few times she actually payed attention to how she’s applying it, but after that she said fuck it and just slapped it on. Also she doesn’t use proper eyeliner, maybe something like water-activated face paint.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Really craves touch. She’ll glue herself to random girls (bonus points if they have dark blue hair) at bars and blame it on being drunk. Nothing sexual, just plain affections.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her every day looks the same. Wake up in the middle of the day, sulk on the shitty mattress that she calls her bed, work out, put on her make up, head to the pit, drink till the morning. There’s literally no difference in them.

young!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I don’t know where i’ve read it I think it was like an interview or something but she’s literally just a girl. She didn’t want to be the strong fighter that everyone knows not to mess with, but that’s who she has to be to survive in the Undercity.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Definitely gave music a try. Like be so fr, she has a saxophone on her bed. Maybe she found it on a job and thought it was too cool to sell. Always wanted to play guitar but it was out of her price range.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She knew she liked girls from very early on and so did everyone around her. She didn’t hide it from anyone, there was literally no reason to. In season 1 you can even see she has a poster of a half-naked woman next to her bed, like come on now.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’ve seen people saying that she doesn’t know how to make food but hear me out. I think she’s actually a pretty good cook due to her being the ‘caretaker’ when Vander couldn’t do it. Definitely cooked for Powder when she woke her up in the middle of the night because she was so hungry it was bordering on being painful.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She cuts her own hair. One time she fucked up so bad she had to shave her whole side and it just kind of stayed with her.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Never does anything for herself. Whenever she finds something- like clothes or food- she gives it to someone else. Always makes sure the others have enough before she takes something for herself.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She feels so guilty after stealing stuff from other people. She’s not stupid and she knows how hard life in the underground is, and that it justifies her actions but still- she’ll roll from side to side instead of sleeping, thinking about how much of a shitty person she is.

dating!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Literally the best girlfriend out there and I will die on this hill.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s so touch-starved it’s unbelievable. When she was a teen she didn’t really experience anything relationship-like and then she got locked up for a few years. She’ll always have her arm around you, her hand on your hip or waist.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Oh my god her hugs are so good ahhhh. It’s just like being wrapped up in a warm blanket. Really likes to give hugs from behind too.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves cuddling, especially if it involves her lying on top of you. She doesn’t need any pillows if she has you and your lap, stomach or chest.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She is such an acts of service girl. And it goes both ways! If you make her dinner or plan a whole date by yourself she’ll feel so loved.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She stares so much it’s borderline creepy. She’ll just look at you in silence for a few minutes before turning her head away with a smile, thinking about how lucky she is to have you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ You’ll be cuddling with her before sleep, scratching her back or scalp for the whole time. Once you think she’s asleep you stop and she immediately looks up at you with furrowed brows, asking why you stopped.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ While she is proud of her physique and stuff she does feel self conscious about her hands. Mostly because of all the scars and bruises, maybe a little because of how manly they look.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She was a victim of being treated like a guy because she’s more masculine presenting than feminine. Pay for her food at a restaurant, do her makeup, tell her she looks pretty not handsome.

[sokosmic]

Astro Observations #8

📧 Scorpio placements love to probe people for information. This is actually something that comes very natural to them and is often an unconscious behavior. Often the Scorpio doesn't even have to do anything. People tend to reveal themselves willingly and unwillingly. This is the nature of Pluto. It naturally uncovers whatever is hidden. Planets in the 8th House can behave this way as well.

📧 The sign in your 3rd House can give clues about the type of work you may be involved in. Because a theme of the 3rd House includes short distance trips, such as your day-to-day commute, the sign ruling this house often goes hand-in-hand with your work. For instance, I have Leo in the 3H. Leo rules government (source: the rulership book by rex e. bills). I have worked in government for almost 20 yrs.

📧 Mutable Signs/Placements move on their own time. Even if they are punctual, their desire to do things when they want takes priority. It's the nature of scattered energy.

📧 Saturn in the 4th House can indicate karma with the mother or native's family. This placement often requires a lot of obligation to the mother/family . The native feels bound by the obligations and often wishes to escape, but may also feel a sense of duty and embrace their role as the glue in the family. Capricorn ruling the 4th House may also manifest this way.

📧 A 1st House Lilith may attract unsolicited sexual energy. These people have a very natural sex appeal that they may or may not be aware of. And it may not be because of what you would identify as things that are overtly sexy

📧 I've noticed a theme among women with Capricorn in 5th House or Ruler of the 10th in the 4th House is they are often stay at home mothers.

📧 People with Pluto square Mercury have a real tendency to try and tear you down with their words. This isn't always the case, but if threatened or feel they need to gain the upper hand in a conversation, they are very likely to lash out with viscous words. Mars square Mercury can behave similarly, but they are usually the folks that tend to cut others off in conversation.

📧 Cancer placements would much rather purchase you an item than to share that item of their own. It's not that they are necessarily stingy, they just like the security of knowing something belongs to them and exactly when they may need to replace it.

📧 Mars in Libra people can be big procrastinators because they have a tendency towards indecisiveness. These are people who sometimes ride the fence because Libra energy can see all sides.

📧 If you've ever had a terrible experience with a supervisor that goes overboard with micro-managing, it is very likely they are Pluto in Virgo generation. These folks thrive off of getting down to the details, and having some sort of control over outcomes, so nothing goes unnoticed...including EVERYTHING you do lol.

📧 People with Cancer in the 6th House or Aquarius Risings may be annoyingly anal, but in a kinda good way, about taking care of their coworkers or things in the workplace. They may tend to stress over things being out of place or generally keeping up with how things should be "taken care of" in the work environment. This stress can lead to gut and stomach issues, such as ulcers or indigestion. Their daily routines often involves them taking care of things to ensure security for themselves and others.

📧 My studies have shown that the North Node sign and placement, often correlates to the native's Life Path number!

📧 Pisces Mercury / Pisces 3rd House folks are some of the most difficult people [for me] to understand at times! Their minds and mode of communication can be very abstract, which isn't hard to follow (especially if you are Mutable/Mercurial like me), but at times it's like you think they are saying one thing, but their theory isn't translating into a relatable, concrete concept. And there's nothing wrong with that. Pisces Mercury people are HIGHLY creative and artistic. These are your fashionistas, makeup artists, musicians, and poets. They also make great actors.

📧 Moon in Gemini folks can be some of the best storytellers! They use lots of funny words and phrases to express their emotions through their stories. They often get a bad rap for switching up often, but to me, they have an impressive way of intertwining emotions and intellect. If I had to describe them in 2 words, it would be plot twist lol.

📧 Neptune in the 5th House can cause pregnancies to be elusive or deceptive in some form, such as false signs of pregnancy or having difficulty carrying pregnancies to term.

These are my observations and opinions. Take what resonates and leave what doesn't!

-So.Kosmic 👽💜💫

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Carmy stood in the dimly lit laundry room, hands on his hips as he glared at the washing machine like it had personally wronged him. The display panel flashed erratically, like it was trying to send an SOS in Morse code, while a faint but concerning smell of burning plastic wafted through the air.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. All he wanted was to wash his clothes—just one normal task in a sea of chaos. Apparently, even that was asking too much.

With a frustrated sigh, he muttered curses under his breath and gave the machine a half-hearted nudge with his foot, as if that might magically revive it. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. The machine remained defiantly lifeless.

“Wow. Bold strategy. Were you planning to wrestle it next?”

The voice startled him. He turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, holding a laundry basket overflowing with brightly colored clothes. You were dressed in the epitome of Saturday comfort: an oversized t-shirt with a graphic that read 'Physics: It’s Not Rocket Science... Oh, Wait, Yes It Is,' paired with baggy sweatpants and ridiculously fluffy, colorful monster feet slippers. Your hair was slightly messy like you’d just rolled out of bed—or perhaps fought the laundry demons he was now dealing with.

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know machines responded to passive-aggressive foot taps.”

Carmy let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t have a better idea.”

“Well,” you said, stepping into the room and setting your basket down on the counter, “I hate to break it to you, but this thing looks like it’s plotting your demise. What’s the issue? Won’t open?”

“It stopped mid-cycle,” he explained, gesturing toward the uncooperative machine. “Clothes are stuck. It’s probably fried.”

“Oof. Smells like defeat and polyester.” You crouched down to inspect the machine, tilting your head like a mechanic sizing up a stubborn engine. “Looks like it’s giving you the silent treatment. Did you try apologizing? Promising to separate your whites and darks next time?”

“Funny,” Carmy deadpanned, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

You straightened up, planting your hands on your hips in a stance that could only be described as authoritative. “Well, lucky for you, Carmy-next-door, I happen to be an expert in broken things.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah? How’s that?”

You let out a playful scoff, crouching in front of the washing machine as if it were a patient in need of your expertise. “When you work in a place that runs on shoestring budgets and prayers, you pick up a thing or two about fixing stuff. I’ve practically got a minor in MacGyver-ing. It’s part of my many talents.”

He smirked, watching as you pressed a few buttons and tapped the side of the machine like you were coaxing it back to life. “Sounds like a tough gig.”

“Oh, it’s a blast,” you replied sarcastically with a grin, peering at the machine’s latch. “But the real fun is my lovely fourth graders and their… slippery fingers. Nothing keeps you on your toes like finding out your class stapler’s been dismantled to ‘see how it works.’”

“And you adore them,” Carmy guessed, his voice soft but sure.

“Ugh, to a fault,” you admitted, sitting back on your heels to glance at him. “They’re chaos in human form, but they’re my chaos. Like when Marcus decided to see if he could use glitter glue as a bookmark. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t. And then there was Kayla’s science project that involved exactly zero science but a lot of snacks. Kids are wild, but they’re kind of the best.”

Carmy chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

You huff a laugh nodding. “But they make all the broken stuff worth it... also, they’ve prepared me for moments like this. Fixing things? I’m a pro. Diffusing meltdowns? Also a pro. Dodging paper balls? Let’s just say my reflexes are unmatched.”

He chuckled quietly, his blue eyes softening as he observed your easy confidence. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Oh, hardly,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

He watched as you tinkered with the inner workings of the washer, the way your monster-footed slippers stuck out behind you, and the light in your eyes as you spoke about your students. There was something captivating about the way you moved—confident but never overbearing, your words spilling out in an endless stream of humor and warmth. For someone who probably dealt with endless chaos in your day-to-day life, you had an energy about you—warmth—messy and vibrant—that felt oddly grounding in his otherwise muted world.

Finally, with a triumphant click, the washer’s door popped open. A puff of warm, damp air escaped, carrying with it the faint scent of detergent. You rocked back on your heels, grinning up at him as if you’d just disarmed a bomb.

“And there you have it!” you declared standing up, sweeping your arm dramatically toward the liberated laundry like a game show host revealing a grand prize. “Your clothes are finally free, Chef Carmy. Laundry liberation, courtesy of yours truly. I accept gratitude in the form of snacks, coffee, or eternal admiration—your choice. But please, no autographs. I have to stay humble.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” Carmy said, huffing a quiet laugh as he shook his head, stepping forward to start transferring the damp clothes into another machine. His tone softened slightly as he added, “But thanks, really. I owe you one.”

You waved a hand dismissively, already moving to the next machine with your own basket in tow.

“Don’t worry about it, Carmy…” you said, your tone casual, though the smirk playing on your lips suggested otherwise. “But, if you do feel like you want to repay me, feel free to bring me more of those leftovers—like the ones you brought when I first moved in.”

He paused, eyebrows raising slightly as he met your gaze. “That’s what you want? Leftovers?”

“Not just any leftovers,” you clarified, turning back to load more clothes. “The fancy ones. Braised short ribs, perfectly roasted vegetables... whatever culinary magic you’re whipping up in that kitchen of yours. Don’t think I forgot.”

Carmy paused mid-transfer, glancing at you with a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “You liked those, huh?”

“Liked?” you scoffed, tossing a pair of socks into the machine. “I was ready to write you a thank-you sonnet. That braised short rib? Poetry in food form. You’ve ruined me for takeout forever.”

He chuckled softly, shutting the door to his machine. “It was just a test recipe.”

“Well, then I’d be happy to test more of your recipes,” you said with a wink, starting your own machine and leaning back against it. “Strictly as a favor, of course. I’m nothing if not generous.”

“Generous,” he repeated, shaking his head with a smirk as he pressed the start button on his machine. He glanced at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“See?” you teased, flashing him a grin. “You’re already getting the hang of this whole neighborly exchange thing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my expectations high.”

Carmy shook his head, letting out another quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you quipped, settling yourself into the nearby chair and grabbing a book from the empty laundry basket at your feet. You opened it casually, like you weren’t fully aware of the fact that his attention was still on you. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Chef Carmy. I’ve got standards now.”

Carmy smirked faintly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, watching as you flipped through the book, completely at ease. The light in the room, though dim and slightly yellowed, softened your features, making you look... warm. Pretty, even. The oversized t-shirt, the messy hair, and those ridiculous monster slippers didn’t detract from it—in fact, they only made you more endearing. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. Instead, he tucked the thought neatly into the back of his mind, letting it sit there quietly.

The faint hum of the working washing machine filled the space, stretching the silence between you into something that felt oddly comfortable. He wasn’t used to that—not in conversations, not in moments like these. Usually, silence felt heavy, awkward, something to be broken. But this? This felt... different.

Still, the need to say something eventually won out, despite his lack of finesse with small talk. Clearing his throat softly, Carmy shifted his weight and finally asked, “So... uh, how are you liking it here?”

You glanced up from your book, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “In the building? Or in the laundry room?”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “The biulding, I guess."

“Oh, it’s not bad,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “The walls are a little thin—I may or may not know the entire plot of the soap opera your upstairs neighbor is binging—but they are decent. A little quiet, though, except for one guy who keeps kicking appliances. Total menace.”

“Sounds rough,” Carmy deadpanned, though his smirk gave him away.

“It is,” you said with mock solemnity before your smile softened. “But honestly? I like it. It’s... cozy, you know? Feels like a place where things can settle down.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor. “That’s good.”

“It’s growing on me,” you admitted, closing the book and resting it on your lap. “I mean, it’s not every day you move into a building and immediately make friends with someone who’s probably going to be on the cover of Some Fancy Chef Magazine someday.”

“Friends?” he said, arching a brow.

“Yeah, friends,” you replied with a teasing grin. “Or at least laundry room acquaintances.”

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine. “Friend's better.”

"Good," You smiled, shifting slightly in your chair. “So, Carmy-next-door, aside from working and battling possessed washing machines, what do you do for fun?”

“For fun?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as though you’d just asked him to name every spice in his kitchen alphabetically. “Uh... I don’t know. Not sure I’ve got much time for that.”

“Not buying it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Everyone’s got something. Come on, spill. What’s your guilty pleasure? Do you secretly knit in your downtime? Binge-watch trashy reality TV? Start a garden but refuse to tell anyone because it ruins your ‘serious chef’ vibe? And if you are, I know someone who could be your new best friend.”

He let out another quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of those, but now I’m thinking I should start knitting just to throw people off.”

“Do it,” you said, pointing at him. “Then you can make me a scarf. But seriously, what’s your thing? There’s gotta be something.”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “I guess... sometimes I’ll just walk around the city. Clears my head, you know?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “That’s a solid choice. City walks are like people-watching with a side of fresh air. What’s your favorite spot?”

“There's this park near the river. Quiet, not too crowded. Good place to think." Carmy tells her.

"Sounds nice," you replied, smiling. "I might have to check it out sometime."

"You should," Carmy said, his expression softening. He clears his throat, "I-uh, I used to draw, though. Sketch stuff when I had the time.”

“Used to?” you asked, leaning forward a bit, intrigued. “You mean you don’t anymore? Or are you just too modest to admit you’ve got sketchbooks hidden under your bed?”

His smirk faltered into something a little more genuine, a touch of shyness creeping into his expression. “I still do. Sometimes. When things aren’t too crazy.”

“Now that’s interesting,” you said, sitting back with a thoughtful smile. “What kind of stuff do you draw? People? Landscapes? Elaborate food masterpieces?”

“A little of everything,” he said with a small shrug. “But mostly recipes, or at least how I want them to look."

“Like a visual diary,” you said, nodding. “That’s actually really cool.”

“Yeah, well...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing big.”

“Carmy,” you said, tilting your head at him. “You just admitted to having an actual hobby, and I’m here for it. Don’t downplay it.”

He huffed, shaking his head flushing ever so slightly. “Alright. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Me?” you repeated, your eyes lighting up as you sat back in the chair, clutching your book like a prop in a comedy routine. “Well, let’s see. I’m a professional daydreamer, certified in overthinking, and an expert-level snack enthusiast. It’s an impressive resume, I know.”

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smile. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“Oh, it is,” you said with a mock-serious nod. “But if we’re being serious... I like to read, obviously.” You held up the book for emphasis. “And I’m a sucker for a good movie. Big screen, small screen, doesn’t matter. I also like to go out with friends— go to clubs, a karaoke bar, grab dinner, play board games, complain about life. You know, the usual.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “Any favorites? Books or movies?”

“Hmm,” you mused, tapping your chin. “For books, I like a little bit of everything—mysteries, fantasy, even the occasional cheesy romance. Keeps life interesting. And movies... I’m a sucker for feel-good comedies. But every now and then, I’ll binge something dark and broody just to balance it out.”

Carmy nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Feel-good comedies? Got any recommendations?”

“Oh, I’ve got tons,” you said, your eyes gleaming. “But only if you’re ready for some real classics. Think Clueless, The Princess Bride, or When Harry Met Sally. If you’ve never seen those, we might have to reassess this friendship.”

“Clueless,” he repeated, remembering the movie because of Natalie who forced him and Mikey to watch it, one eyebrow-raising. “That the one with ‘As if’?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “See? You’re already on the right track.”

He smirked, shaking his head again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“What about you? Do you watch movies, or is that too much fun for someone as serious as Chef Carmy?”

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I watch stuff sometimes. Nothing specific. Just... whatever’s on.”

“Lame answer,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. “We’ll work on that. I’ll make you a list. Everyone needs go-to favorite movies.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said, his smirk softening.

“Good,” you replied with a playful nod, leaning back in your chair. “And since you’re such a layer enigma, like an onion, I’m guessing you don’t do the whole ‘night out with friends’ thing often?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “Doesn’t happen much.”

“You should,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your tone teasing but warm. “You might surprise yourself. One minute you’re awkwardly standing in a corner, and the next, you’re reenacting a dance scene from Dirty Dancing with a stranger. That’s how the best stories happen.”

Carmy shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Not sure that’s my thing.”

“Hey, it doesn’t have to be Dirty Dancing,” you said with a shrug. “But everyone deserves a good night out now and then. Even mysterious chef-next-door types.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But no promises.”

“Fair,” you replied, looking over at him with a soft smile. “I’m just saying, Chef Carmy, you can’t live in your kitchen forever. Sometimes you’ve gotta step out and find your own rom-com moment.”

Carmy stared at you for a moment, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head, as though amused by something he couldn’t quite put into words, but the warmth in his expression lingered.

The hum of the machines filled the room, a soft backdrop to your easy conversation. What started as playful banter drifted into more thoughtful exchanges—small glimpses into each other’s lives, quirks, and histories.

Minutes melted into what felt like seconds, neither of you noticing the time slipping away. For once, it wasn’t about schedules, responsibilities, or the ever-present noise of the outside world. Just two neighbors sharing stories in the glow of the laundry room’s dim light.

A/N: So, thank you so much for all the support. It really keeps me going. I'm thinking of making like a small series of this, like a few interactions before they started dating- maybe some jealousy along the way lol- the first date- maybe the future but idk.

Also, just in case I do, please tell me if you would like to be tagged.

Part 4?

@themorriganisamonster

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x girlfriend fem!reader

Summary: You want to help your boyfriend with his prank but it goes horribly wrong (happy ending)

Prompt: angst - "I told you not to touch that, now look what you've done."

thank you for requesting @doting-dov3 🤍! this did indeed help with writers block ;)

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

James takes his pranks very seriously. 

You know this, his best friends know this, hell all of Hogwarts knows this. Usually, he keeps you separate from his pranks because he knows you aren't into them that much anyway, and that's never bothered you because him and the other Marauders have been doing their pranks longer than you've been dating him. 

But, around James's seventeenth birthday, you had wanted to join in on a prank. You wanted to show your loving boyfriend that you liked the silly, sometimes reckless, side of him as much as the charming maturity he'd grown into.

So, you wanted to surprise him and you asked Sirius if you could add your flair to his enchanted fireworks. Sirius had warned you that it wasn't a good idea and that you shouldn't do this, but you dismissed his worries.

Your idea was funny.  

However, when the charm you had enchanted into the fireworks, sent them into a frenzy that countered the original spell James had used and changed their direction from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor one, coincidentally landing over James and his friends, the pink powder you'd infused the fireworks with suddenly wasn't so funny anymore.   

The Marauders and a few other students jump from their seats and everyone in the Great Hall erupts into laughter. You stand as well, your eyes wide, proving your involvement in the mess.

You rush over as Sirius and Remus pat their robes and James shakes out his hair, his cheeks tainted almost as pink as the powder on his skin. 

"I told you not to touch that," Sirius hisses, glaring at you as he points at the fireworks, "Now look what you've done!" 

You flinch, feeling helpless as James's head turns to you, and his voice is strained when he asks, "You did this? You messed with the prank?" When you nod, he narrows his eyes and grabs your hand, practically dragging you out of the Great Hall and into one of the bathrooms. 

"James," you spin around, desperately pointing your wand at him to clean him up. 

Your boyfriend's eyes round and he snatches the wand from your hand. "Woah, haven't you done enough!?" he snaps, clearly furious as he turns to look in the mirror. He touches the now, weirdly gooey pink substance on his cheeks. "What the fuck is this, Y/n?"

"It turns into glue," you whisper, ashamed, "It wasn't for you, obviously! I enchanted the powder in the fireworks and it must have changed the trajectory. I didn't mean to mess up the direction, I promise. I just wanted to help!"

"Help!?" James grits, glaring at you, and then turns back to the mirror as he removes more glue and shakes it from his hands and into the sink. "You wanted to help? This isn't helping! You know almost better than anyone I don't like when people mess with my pranks and look what you did!" 

You hold in your tears. He's making you feel stupid but you refuse to cry because of this. "I was trying to do something good. To help you," you plead and walk to him, reaching out to hold his hand. "I didn't mean to upset you, I promise."

"You humiliated me and my friends." James pulls his hand away and looks at you again. "In front of everyone." 

Your lip trembles. "I'm really sorry."

James pauses and he stares at himself in the mirror for a minute. Finally, he lets out a tense sigh and nods towards your wand. He'd put it on the edge of the sink and you move closer, taking it in your hand.

Your eyes are shiny with tears as you wave your wand in front of him and clean him up. James is silent and he feels better once he feels clean.

"You wanted to help?" he whispers, needing more of an explanation.

"Well, it was sort of an early birthday present because I wanted to show you I like your pranks a-and I support them most of the time," you add in a whisper, your cheeks feeling warmer, "so I wanted to surprise you and join in. I didn't know I was gonna mess everything up," you ramble as some tears escape from your eyes, your hands shaking. 

James's facial expression softens now and he holds his hands over yours so they don't shake. He feels like a prick now, realizing your intentions had been nothing but good and kind, just like you.

"Hey, I'm sorry I shouted at you," he says and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "It's okay. I understand you didn't mean any harm."

You nod and he leans in, kissing under your eye, halting your tear on its descent. "Dry those tears, dove, everything's all right. Next time, just ask. If you wanna join me in doing some pranks, all you have to do is ask, okay, my sweet girl?"

James nuzzles into your cheek and kisses under your other eye as he adds with a smile, "Didn't think you liked the pranks, my love. I thought you found them mean."

You sniffle. "Sometimes they are."

James laughs against your hair as he kisses the top of your head. "Adding pink goo to the fireworks doesn't count as mean then? How saintly of you," he teases. 

You scrunch your nose and look away, your cheeks all warm. "Um, no? It wasn't meant to be mean, it's just funny."

James grins and leans in to kiss your lips this time. "My baby can mean," he ignores your desperate attempts to convince him it hadn't been slightly messed up to want to pour some pink guck on a group of Slytherins, no matter how horrible they were themselves.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you how to prank properly," he whispers in a promise, "It takes time and practice and you have to plan it all out and—" James begins to ramble back to the Common Room and you can't help but smile at his hearing his explanations.  

James does take his pranks very seriously, but he also takes you seriously and if you want to help him with some pranks from now on, that's what you'll do.

tag: @mischievousmoony, @longlivedelusion, @sayitlikethecheese, @fangirl-swagg

[paused-waterfall]

I wanna make a bold claim: QSMP's greatest innovation as an international server wasn't the live translation, nor the cultural events, nor the multilingual eggs and NPCs.

It was fofoca.

The other tools in the translation toolkit were all crucial, and maybe novel for a Minecraft SMP, but they're not quite novel in the larger streaming space. But the gossip. The fofoca was something truly incredible.

Cause translations are always gonna have gaps. Automatic translations have many errors. Meticulous human-made subtitles can be misread by audience members who are trying to split focus between the subtitles and the rest of the visuals. And even if dialogue is completely dubbed over in another language, cultural context can be missed.

This all sets up a lot of hurdles for viewers who want to watch a streamer whose language they don't know. It's so easy for vital bits of information to bounce off the language barrier, and cause a viewer to lose the plot. And good luck figuring out what you missed from chat or wikis.

But on QSMP there was a glorious fallback for any viewer confusion, and that fallback was fofoca. At its peak, almost every QSMP stream involved one interlude where some other nosey islander would show up and pester the streamer for gossip. And much of the time, these gossip sessions were multilingual. This meant that viewers got regular summaries of important events that were actively tailored to be understandable across languages. Confusing or mistranslated concepts had immediate feedback, allowing for immediate clarification. And none of it felt like a forced concession to international viewers, because it happened in character.

Fofoca wasn't just a running joke, Fofoca was glue that kept the server together during quite a wild year.

[maxarchive]

"A season that brought the best out of the best" Motorsport Magazine, February 2025 Issue, by Mark Hughes

We've seen plenty of demonstrations of Max Verstappen brilliance on his way to a fourth straight title this season. But has he become a yet-greater driver in '24? Yes. But not because of what he's done in the car; that's always been remarkable. Rather, in a challenging combination of circumstances where it would have been very easy for the whole team to have come undone, he has been the glue. He couldn't have been that if his power was not underwritten by the enormity of his talent. It was on display this season just as always – the virtuosity of dancing through the Interlagos rain, the steely focus of keeping a closely chasing McLaren from getting within DRS reach for 30 laps in Qatar, the technical perfection of Suzuka, the defensive masterclass of Imola, etc. But the circumstances he found himself in this season brought out a leader. At 27 years old he's no longer only the dazzling hurricane of speed and ambition. No longer only someone so driven, drilled and practiced that he’s virtually unbeatable in an equal car. No longer only someone of which his friend and Formula 1 driver coach Atze Kerkhof says is as good as he is, "because of a brilliant natural talent and millions of hours of training. He’s only got better. The rough edges have gone and now he’s like a machine. You cannot beat him." No, Max Verstappen is more even than all that now. A driver in their tenth F1 season doesn't get faster. They can possibly access their best stuff more consistently. But he's been doing that almost perfectly for seven seasons now, a remarkable achievement in itself. So where has he got better? Circumstances have demanded an extra dimension from him – and he's delivered it. But in a way which has not buried him, which still allows him his easy delineation between racing and home, keeping his mind perfectly uncluttered to focus on performance.

He prepared like never before for the new season, as team boss Christian Horner revealed at Suzuka in April. "He changed trainer over the winter. He's fit and lean. You can hear how much spare capacity he has in the car. He wants to know not just who's behind him, but who is behind them as well and what times are they doing. He's become very astute at managing the tyre. The way he managed to extend the tyre life here [at the Japanese Grand Prix] was so impressive."

But that's just a detail, a polishing-up. The leadership dimension came from the circumstances of Red Bull's season. Specifically the strains arising from the controversy surrounding the Horner internal investigation in the early season. Then the car's mid-season competitive decline.

The serenity in the cockpit at the start of 2024, as Verstappen continued from where he'd left off in his dominant '23 campaign, was very much in contrast to how things were in the team as the Horner controversy about the employee complaint against him played out and Max's father Jos got involved, opposing the team boss, campaigning for him to be ousted. 

The way Max dealt with the powerplay, which also involved Helmut Marko, the man who had almost single-handedly brought him to F1, was illuminating. He did not align himself with Jos, stayed on good terms with him but went his own way. He did state his unambiguously firm support of Marko – "If he goes, then so do I" – so sending an implicit message to Horner not to overplay his hand.

But then he helped bring calm equilibrium back, just continued with the competitive imperative and remained civilised with everyone, Horner included.

"What I know is that this team doesn’t give up," said Verstappen after clinching the title in Las Vegas. "There are a lot of very confident people and I really enjoy working with them. I know there was a lot of pressure on them. When you come out of a season like last year where we broke every record and then start to struggle to understand what is going wrong, it's important to remain calm as you try to fix it. Every person in the team has their own emotions which you have to deal with. It's also people-management – because everyone acts in different ways to good results or bad results. But that's something I enjoy as well. Because we all have our own character but we all have to work together to the same end goal and I'm proud of how we stuck together through those races where we were a bit lost."

As Jos was saying that Horner remaining would tear the team apart, Max was ensuring that it wouldn't. Probably this didn't come as much of a surprise to his mother, Sophie Kumpen, the former top-class karter who provided much of his genetic make-up. "Max will always want to solve things first by talking," she explained in a Dutch TV interview. "He is a sensitive person. He gets the fierce racing side from Jos. The gentle side from me. But make no mistake, eh. Under the helmet he is a tiger."

Given Max's childhood and the tempestuous marriage surrounding his early home life before his parents split, it's not much of a stretch to imagine where that diplomatic impulse might come from. It's something so at odds with his racing image, someone who is so uncompromising in his desire to win, he's even prepared to cross the line. As he phrased it in one of his own documentaries, "Sometimes you even have to be a dick to win."

The combination of that sociable, easy-going, even tempered guy outside the car (the Sophie side) and the uncompromising competitive monster in it (the Jos side) is a big part of his strength. But specifically, it has been front and centre in how brilliantly well he kept everything so cohesive in the '24 campaign when it had many ingredients which could have decimated it.

Further fallout from the early season controversy came as Adrian Newey announced his departure from the team, just prior to Miami in May. Max admitted it was a blow, but still he stayed focused. Because there was much to focus on – this was not going to be the breeze the early races had suggested it was going to be. There was a nagging trait in the car, one which had started to become apparent in last year's towards the end of the season: as they applied more aero load to it, so it was becoming more imbalanced. The front end wasn’t keeping up and it was becoming ever trickier to get the car into its sweet-spot window with set-up.

When McLaren made its breakthrough update in Miami, Red Bull's limitation was exposed. It was no longer superior, merely competitive. Then, as McLaren further developed its aero elasticity to give it a great front end at low speeds without compromising its balance at higher speeds, it began pulling clear of Red Bull. The middle part of Verstappen’s season – Silverstone to Monza – was all about wrestling with the competitive consequences of that as Mercedes surged into form too.

It was at this point that Verstappen began visiting the factory at every possible opportunity, maximising his simulator time, working with the engineers in trying to find a solution to the car's limitations. "His workload has been phenomenal this year," says an admiring Horner. But without surprise, for as he’s also said in the past, "The more pressure you put on, the better he delivers… his mental resilience is the strongest I've ever seen."

Only at Hungary did the strain that the competitive struggle was putting on the relationship become apparent. There, he was having an untypically scrappy race trying to overcome the car’s limitations on a day when both McLaren and Mercedes were faster. His race engineer Gianpiero Lambiase (aka ‘GP’) is a tough but calm character, gives as good as he gets and in that sense is perfect for Max. There’d already been a terse exchange between them about Max giving a place back to Lando Norris after having passed off-track. When GP admonished him for not bringing in his new tyres sympathetically, it triggered the sullen kid who hates to be beaten and he responded with (the more-severe expletives removed), “No mate, don’t give me that bullshit now. You guys gave me this strategy, OK? I’m trying to rescue what’s left.” The strategy was perfectly good for the limitations of the car and was predicated on having newer tyres in the last stint, even though that involved getting undercut initially.

It was the low-point of his season – the breaking point after he’d carried the load for so long. It’s where the competitive fierceness conflicted with the leadership role, and it took a sit-down with Horner and Lambiase before the following race to realign that. They were in the car with him, they emphasised. He wasn’t alone, even if it feels like that in the cockpit sometimes. They felt his pain. He took it on board, as always completely straightforward in his communication. He likes to feel he can call the team out when it’s not delivering just as they can call him out when he’s wrong. This was one of the latter times. But there’s never any lingering resentment. “He’s emotional,” says Horner. “Partly that’s where the performance comes from. He’s incredibly strong-willed. He’s a thoroughbred and can be very sharp when emotions are running high. He doesn’t hold back.”

As that sit-down coincided with Monza, with the car at its absolute nadir, we were witnessing how close the whole thing was to falling down. Had the relationship not been repaired and the car’s shortfalls continued not to be understood, it’s easy to imagine a scenario where the partnership broke down irretrievably. But actually not only did they rally around Max and give him the reassurance he needed to get out of that negative place the Budapest weekend took him to, but Monza then shone a big light on the cause of the car’s woes. Which they could set about addressing. Together, they emerged from the crisis.

As they did that, we saw a classic bit of Verstappen hard-headedness in Austin and particularly Mexico against his title challenger Norris. The niggle between them had started in Austria back in June, when they’d punctured each other’s tyres as Verstappen fended off Norris’s attacks in a way which stretched the sporting regulations. It was like that again in Austin and Mexico and in the latter event his move at Turn 7, with no attempt to make the corner so as to ensure Norris went behind once more, was outrageous. It brought to mind his quote about what you had to be sometimes. That’s where he draws his lines; it’s about prevailing and about how extreme he’s willing to be. No one is ever going to pass him around the outside, he says. Something that was drilled into him as a kid in karting by Jos.

If there is turbulence in the aftermath he’ll not acknowledge it. In fact he seemed mystified about why Norris was so upset afterwards in Austria, that delineation for him between on-track and off rarely so well illustrated. Criticism for the incidents by the media did seem to sting him, though. “He’s more sensitive than you think,” Horner says. “Inevitably he’s aware of the criticism and some of it, I think, is very unfounded. He’s a driver that drives aggressively; he’s an attacking driver. But so was Senna, so was Schumacher, so was Hamilton, and they all came under the same kind of spotlight at various times in their careers.”

It was the criticism he received after his incidents with Norris in Austin and Mexico which particularly bugged him. He perceived them as attacks from countrymen of Norris rather than as attacks against professional fouls. He knows he’s the best out there and if there’s some nudging over the specified lines of regulation on track involved in overcoming the competitive limitations of the car, then he probably feels justified. That, for some, puts him in the same bracket as Michael Schumacher as someone whose achievements have an asterisk against them. But he’s not racing for their approval.

He’s not even racing for achievements. As he says about more titles, “I’m already very proud to win four. Winning one or seven is the same thing. You’re just repeating. It’s nice to repeat but it means the same thing. The first one is what you are chasing, is the whole reason you are there. You’ve done it. After that, it’s just nice and doesn’t really mean as much. What’s been beautiful is that each of the four titles have had different emotions. This one has been the best as we’ve not had the fastest car. But the first one will always mean the most.”

That indifference to the statistics of achievement means he won’t be trapped into chasing numbers that only mean anything to outsiders. But there’ll be a conflict between his love of racing and his stated yearning not to be racing long before he reaches 40 (which is what Lewis Hamilton used to say too!). That conflict will surely play a crucial part in what he decides to do with the rest of his life. He’s never known any other life, of course, as the boy brought up in the circus. 

As a driver he’s one of the all-time greats, a more formidable all-rounder even than Fernando Alonso, faster, more extreme. But similar. Alonso is the nearest driver in overall traits. But even the great Alonso bows down to the level Max has attained. The number of times Max has not maximised his car since joining Red Bull in 2016 can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Is he the outright fastest over a lap? Often he is, yes. But this is a misunderstood concept. A driver can only get to the ceiling of his ability if the car’s traits, the way it is balanced, allow him to. There are many reasons why it won’t be, especially in this era of thermally sensitive tyres. 

But let’s assume every driver on the grid was magically given a fully competitive car, each perfectly balanced to match the outer edge of their specific style, in how each driver was wired up physiologically. Would Max be the fastest in qualifying? Possibly not. If it wasn’t him, you’d be looking for Charles Leclerc, possibly Lewis Hamilton at the height of his powers. But in the grind of a race and the even grittier grind of a season, would Verstappen in those circumstances prevail? Almost certainly he would, yes.

There’s no weakness. Schumacher had weaknesses, Senna too. Alain Prost was as rounded as Max but not as quick. Before then, we are heavily into the dangerous era – the years which killed Gilles Villeneuve or Jochen Rindt or Jim Clark and mortally wounded Stirling Moss, drivers who, like Senna, could conjure things that left their contemporaries shaking their heads in wonder. None of the current stars, Max included, quite have that. But Max can maximise every situation with unerring consistency like Fangio, like Clark, like Stewart. And if the peaks of his raw speed are not quite as miraculous as some of the past, he runs close to that almost all of the time, probably more than anyone before.

He’ll be missed when he’s gone, when the rewards no longer offset the energy draining irritations.

[hiiikiko]

𝕚 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕔𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖 [5] : casual

“Yeah? You gonna believe them?”

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ellie williams x fem!reader | friends with benefits

casual m.list | tlou m.list

tw: cursing, light smut, ellie being a douche

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You groaned as you got up from bed, the previous nights events had done a number on you. After you had left Ellie in the restroom, you ran after Abby. Weaving through the crowded bar and finally getting a hold of her outside. She was leaning against a empty keg, her fists clenched, and her eyes fixated on a puddle in front of her.

“H-hey, Abs,” you said, your voice barely audible, you even wondered if you had said that in your mind or in your head.

Abby said nothing, instead, she turned her head away from you.

“I can explain,” liar, you couldn’t explain why you were drawn to Ellie or why you and her had such great chemistry, “I—.”

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say, Y/n,” Abby finally spoke up, you were almost grateful that she did because you truly did not know what you were going to say next, “You think you’re special? She’s a dog, Y/n, she’ll fuck anything that comes her way.”

You gritted your teeth, you didn’t want to believe what Abby was saying but deep down, you knew she was right.

The blonde continued, “Y’know this isn’t the first time she’s done this, Y/n..”

Your blurry eyes shot up, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Abby rubbed her temples and let out a dep sigh, “Ah, y’know how we were looking for a new lead singer before we found you? Well, our old lead singer’s name was Cat, she was the glue of our band and she really knew how to get the crowd goin’, er, not that you don’t, I’d say that you’re even better than her.. anyway, we had been a band for over a year and we were finally making a name for ourselves, at the time we were called “The Fireflies,” but a little after a year, Cat started acting fishy. She was constantly skipping practice, coming back to our place smelling of lucky strike cigarettes, and then one night, Manny was out at a bar, y’know how he is, and he saw her, Cat, our lead singer, in Ellie’s lap,” your mouth went dry and a ball was forming in the pit of your stomach, Abby gulped and continued, “So, when we confronted Cat, she went on and on about how this doesn’t involve the bands, that they truly do love each other, we… we, uh.. believed them.. they dated for around three months but the night before Battle of the Bands, she caught Ellie with another girl, a girl from another band, ‘The Ravens.”

You could still hear Abby’s word clear as day, even now as you brush your teeth.

“Fuck,” you groan, “How could I have been so stupid.”

Jesse hadn’t been home since last night, you were praying that he didn’t find out about what you and Ellie are.. were doing.

Your phone buzzes and reads ‘Coworker 1 - Glasses.’

You groan and burry your face in your pillow, you forgot all about work.

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Arriving at work had you dead, your feat trudged in.

Please, please, please, please, please, please don’t let Ellie be here.

“Mornin’ doll,” you inwardly groaned.

You ignored the auburnette and made your way to the break room to get your badge from your locker and prep yourself for today.

Just as you had made your way into the room, you heard the door close a second time and before Ellie could say anything, you slammed your locker door shut and turned to face her, her lips were in a smirk, as fuckin’ usual, her eyebrows propped up in amusement at your sudden anger, and her eyes lingering on your pretty lips, “I’m really not in the fuckin’ mood right now Ellie, so, if you don’t mind, get the fuck outta here and stay outta my way, ‘kay?”

For a second, you could swear that her smirk falters but then it’s back on as quick as it went, “Aww, what’s matter, doll?” She sauntered over and used her arm to prop herself up against the lockers, her green eyes staring into yours.

You rolled your eyes, “While we’re at it, don’t contact me if it’s not about work, got that, Williams?”

With your back turned to her, you couldn’t see how Ellie flinched at the sound of you calling her by her last name, this time it stung a little more than usual.

The rest of your shift went by smoothly, Ellie stayed out of your way, mainly keeping to her office as she suddenly had a lot of inventory to prep. Closing was a different story..

It was just you and Ellie, this wasn’t unusual, the other employees had kids or siblings to pick up from school and you two were always available to work closing.

“Can.. can you help me with these boxes?”

You nodded and followed her into the back room, “What are these?”

“Guitar strings and stuff,” she muttered, “Uh, after this.. can we— never mind, you can leave after we get these outta the way..”

What was she going to say? You were curious but right now, you needed to focus on your band, “Okay.”

You were about to leave when Ellie ran up to meet you at the front door, “W-Wait!”

You turned around to look at her, “What, Williams?”

“Wanted to talk..”

You’re surprised.. you didn’t expect her to be so mature, you’re actually impressed but that feeling soon goes away when she speaks, “Why can’t we fuck anymore?”

You groan, “Ha, I can’t believe I—. I don’t need a reason, okay?”

“It’s Abby isn’t it?”

You shoot daggers at Ellie, “N-no..”

She laughs, folding her arms and rolling her eyes, “Of fuckin’ course.. you know, Y/n, I actually thought you had enough brain cells to think for yourself, I didn’t think that you were like every other brain dead bimbo with a half decent voice out there.”

Ouch, “Oh, fuck you, Williams. God, you think you’re so fuckin’ cool, huh? Just because you can play a good riff every once in awhile and because pathetic girls with no self worth throw themselves at you so that they can live their fantasy of being a groupie but you know what? You’re not as half the woman you think you are. You’re a liar, a fuckin’ cheat, and a player.”

Ellie almost looks hurt, “So, Abby told you, yeah? She told you all about how I’m a player? A cheat? Hm?” She punctuated each question by taking a step toward you, she had you pinned against the wall now, her arms on either side of you.

You nodded, “Y-yeah.”

“Yeah? So.. you gonna believe them? All those rumours?” Ellie leaned closer to you, her breath hot against your neck where old hi kids she had left were finally starting to fade away.

Before you could be tempted further, you pushed her off of you and rushed out of the shop, you could hear a faint chuckle as the door shut.

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The next few weeks were hell, you had no one to hook up with.. well, that’s a lie. Since moving to Seattle, multiple guys and girls and given you their phone number but none of them could live up to the new standards Ellie had set for you. So you decided to pour all that pent up sexual frustration into your music. It wasn’t that bad, you tried to convince yourself.

You tapped your pencil against your notepad, “I need this like a…. a….a..”

“Cigarette?” Jesse chimed from your doorway.

Your eyes lit up and you nodded him a thanks as you jot that down, “Thanks, man.. I… neeeed.. this.. like.. a cigarette.. no, actually.. I.. WANT.. this.. like a.. cigarette.”

“What’s that for,” Jesse sat across you, “Like, what’s it about.”

“It’s about a fucked up bitch with a fucked up perception of sex and a fucked up hook up,” you muttered, your pen working furiously at a paper.

“Well.. sounds great,” Jesse stuttered out, “Hey, so me and Dina are goin’ out for dinner, wanna come with?”

Without looking up from your paper, you shook your head, “Nah, I’m good..”

Jesse ripped the notepad from your hands, forcing you to make eye contact with him for the first time since he came into your room, “I’m worried about you, Y/n, you’ve been holed up in here for a few weeks now, you barely eat and all you ever do is write.”

“Battle of the bands is in two months and—!”

“You need to get out,” he sighed. He was right, you don’t know why you were keeping yourself holed up in here, you weren’t sad about Ellie.. just more so mad and Battle of the Bands was coming up so you had to get ready for that too, on top of dealing with the annoying auburnette at work and the frustrating blonde at band practice.

‘Come on, we can get something to eat, maybe go to a bar?”

You nodded and pulled yourself out of bed and got dressed.

The three of you went to a nearby bar, it was nice. A little different from the one you played at, it was still lively but the energy was different.. the room wasn’t full of smoke and the music wasn’t as loud.

“One whiskey,” you said to the bartender, she was a tall and muscular woman, a friend of Dina’s late sister. Her thick black hair was pulled into a ponytail, her tattooed arms covered by a rolled up flannel, she smiled at you as she handed you your whiskey. “On the house,” she winked.

You blushed a bit, for the rest of the night, she gave you free drinks and flirted back and forth with you.

She told you her shift ended in half an hour, obviously signaling you to wait up for her, which you did.

“Hey, you waited,” she marked.

“Y-yeah.. um.. your place or mine..?”

“Mm. let’s go to mine, yeah?”

You nodded and looked at your feet as the two of you walked, she said that it was a short distance away. As you were about to take another step, ash was flicked at your feet.

“The fuck?” A raspy voice echoed.

“Got a problem,” the bartender snarked at Ellie who was pushed herself off the wall, flicking her cigarette on the ground and snuffing it out.

“Yeah, I do,” she said, the bartender’s frame towering over her, she obviously was no match.

You groaned, you knew you were going to lose your hook up for this but you got in between them, “Hey.. sorry, but I think I should get her home..” you say to the bartender.

She scoffed and walk off muttering something like “Your loss.”

You could smell beer wafting off of Ellie’s breath, she smiled at you, obviously out of it, “God, Ellie, how many drinks did you have?”

She laughed and stumbled onto you, “You.. you called me by my first name,” she smiled at you like a puppy, “That’s so fuckin’ cool.. ugh.. Y/n..”

She tried to kiss you but her lips missed yours by an inch, “El— er, Williams, stop. Let’s take you home, ‘kay? Anyone I can call?”

She shook her head.. you were really dreading this.

You were able to find her keys and load her into the back of her van.

The drive to her place was.. eventful to say the least.. you stopped once for her to throw up, another time because she insisted the two of you get slushes, and once more because she claimed that the vehicle was too hot.

Getting her into her apartment was rather easy but as you made your way inside, Ellie was all over you. Her hands pulling you in by your waist, her smile pressing kisses into your chest, you whimpered at the familiar feeling, god, It’s been so long since you’ve had a good fuck..

I want this like a cigarette.

But, just as a cigarette could feel good, they were also detrimental.. so was Ellie. No matter how good Ellie could make you feel, you knew she had as many negative side effects as a cigarette.

1. She could fuck up your band. Her lips make their way back up to your neck.

2. You get attached. Her hands make their way under your shirt.

3. You ruin her band, causing Jesse and Dina to hate you.. She tugs at your nipples.

Before you could get to tease four, she’s got you wrapped around her finger.. all logic is out the window until, you hear her quietly say, “Knew you couldn’t quit me.”

You push her off, “The fuck does that mean?”

Through slurred chuckles she says, “You thought you could quit me, huh? You’re fuckiin’ addicted to me, doll, you’ll never be able to get a fuck better than me.”

You roll your eyes and fix your clothes, this was going to be the last time you’re ever alone with her.

“Bye,” you say as you slam her door, she says something but you can’t hear it.

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Even though you weren’t allowing yourself to see Ellie, that didn’t mean you couldn’t stalk her instagram… right?

You clicked on her latest post, your breath hitched in your throat as your eyes fell on a picture of Ellie, pants unbuttoned, wearing a cropped tank, her boxers poking out, and her face in that goddamn smirk..

You couldn’t help but blush a little, a dull ache appearing in your panties as your hands made their way down south.

“Fuck,” you muttered as your hands skillfully worked at your aching clit, sometimes dipping down into your pretty hole.

As you pleasured your needy cunt, you imagined Ellie working her fingers inside you and teasing you for being such a desperate slut, begging for her to be inside you even though you know she’s bad.

You whimpered as you stared at her figure, the tank top hugged her so fuckin’ well and the way her eyes felt as if they were staring right at you made your pussy clench around your fingers. You were getting so close but then..

“SHIT,” you screamed, sitting straight up in your bed, the worst thing possible had happened…. you liked her photo..

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taglist: @elliessweetheart @bready101 @elliecoochieeater @sevyscoven