#like combining pretty and tough

[atenderofsycamoretrees]

Louis Vuitton Spring 2023 Ready-to-Wear

Photos by Isidore Montag / Gorunway.com

[hzrnvm]

even before i watched bcs (and even before i watched brba, a little) i found myself imitating saul goodman's mannerisms and phsyicality/gestures. This is because 1. he's attractive 2. I'm already constantly moving my hands and clapping and pointing. I'm not that far off.

[waloeders]

more sketches (traces of in game sc) of my artificer durge cuz im obsessed with the fit!!!

shows up in faerûn. invents the gun. becomes an assassin of some murder god. has an intricate workplace romance with enver. gets fucked over n amnesia'd. and still serving cunt!

[eddie4bat-president]

Haunted house scare actor Eddie Munson is so so real to me. His favorite thing in the world is scaring the Real Tough jocks in front of their dates. What are they gonna do? Retaliate? They'd have to admit they were scared first. Also they'd have to find him first, he wears a mask and hides any distinguishing features for sure.

He's on smoke break when he sees King Steve meandering up to the haunted house with a group of popular kids. And if his instincts aren't lying to him- Harrington seems uneasy? Hesitant, maybe, to actually enter. Flinches at the ominous creaking of branches and witch cackle coming out of a speaker by the tombstones and the flickering of the lights. Fans the conversation when it seems like they'll go in soon to delay the inevitable.

Oh this is going to be fun.

Eddie finishes his cigarette and furtively books it into the house lmao, so he'll get to be the one to scare King Steve. Except instead of cowering or screaming or pushing a girl into the oncoming chainsaw (the aftermath of that one had been fun), he- okay he does kind of yell when scared. But it's honestly a pretty manly yell, especially combined with the arm pushing one of his friends behind himself, like he's gonna use himself as a human shield. Swoon. Also his face is kind of terrifying? He looks at Eddie like he's ready to kill or die to protect and it's annoyingly fucking attractive for the two seconds Eddie sees it before there's a broomstick coming at his noggin.

And then he's down.

Ow.

"Oh shit. Fuck. Oh I'm so sorry, fuck I didn't mean to- are you okay dude? I am so! Sorry!"

And then Steve tells his friends to go on without him and helps Eddie into the- break room? Or maybe just outside somewhere on a bench.

They fall in love, the end

[crockersbian]

also i’ve talked massive shit about transmasc roxy as a headcanon being unfounded and kinda backwards but like. i’ll still take a thousand people who like it than like five “omg i love trans girl eridan so much <3 comfort character” types. like the headcanon *itself* for that one is.... loaded. in its own ways. though frankly i like it in a Nightmarishly Dysphoria-Inducing Culmination Of Homestucks Godawful Gender Roles sorta sense, but like. imagine actually *liking* Eridan, regardless of gender. like not even in a “sucks so much ilu” sense like- villain likers and bastard likers and problematic-yet-not-necessarily-INHERENTLY-irredeemable-shitshow likers are fine cool whatever but imagine sympathizing with that Fuck

[stellewriites]

very much inspired by a post i’ll link at the bottom to avoid spoilers

i love putting john price in situations

simon had known price for over a decade, had served under him as his lieutenant for a good portion of it, so he was pretty confident in answering yes when asked if he thought he knew the captain well.

he could acknowledge he wasn’t as close as say laswell may have been, but he knew that price’s wife was not common knowledge around the base either.

he’d pieced it together over the years on missions; catching the odd comment shared over coms; the glint of a ring around his neck; the odd teased mention of her when they sat in the rec room after barely scraping through a tough spot, when price needed the company as well as the silence ghost offered before returning to the real world.

it was how simon knew the sergeants were staying when price let slip about her one day. because he doesn’t let anything slip, wouldn’t, especially about her.

“got anyone at home waiting for you, sir?” gaz asked as he sighed impatiently over the coms, hour three of silently waiting and watching had finally gotten to him.

“i do,” price said simply, not offering any further information. ghost could imagine the amusement tugging at his daft facial hair as price refused to continue without prompting and simon smiled under his mask when he heard johnny scoff next to him before chiming in.

“c’mon sir, give us a wee bit more’n that,” he weedled. “when’d ya meet? is she nice?”

john hummed, the sound low and crackly over the radio in their ears. “met when i moved.”

“oh, a real meet-cute type thing, eh?” gaz teased.

john ignored him. “wouldn’t say she’s nice, soap. she’s more than that. ‘nice’ is your aunt’s new wallpaper; you have permission to shoot me point blank if i start calling her nice.”

“what is she then?” ghost piped up. this was the chattiest john had ever been on the subject and he was going to take advantage.

john went silent for long enough that the three men thought that was it, the end to their sharing session and knowing more about their captain outside of work. simon chewed the inside of his cheek.

“she’s devoted,” john whispered finally before his voice firmed. “heads up, team, movement 2 o’clock. anyone got eyes on the target?”

—

it was months later when she was brought up again, the team thinking. nothing of it until price’s phone pinged in his pocket enough times to pique johnny’s interest as they prepped to leave.

“that the wife, sir?” he asked.

john huffed, didn’t bother checking his phone as he turned and shook his head. “she’s clingy, but she doesn’t bother me when i’m at work.”

“how’d you know?” gaz asked. “could be an emergency.”

“‘n’ how’d you get her to agree tae tha’?” soap followed up quickly, having had issues with his own flings petering out when he was distant and slow to reply.

“been with her long enough now it’s routine,” john said simply. he checked his weapons before heading for the exit. “helo in 5, be air ready.”

—

the mission had gone to shit, and they were stuck hidden in a building that looked like it was 10 seconds away from collapsing under a brisk wind when ghost finally felt his patience snap.

it was no one’s fault, but being stuck in another country with no back up and a target on their backs for an extra three weeks wasn’t ideal and johnny’s insistence on playing cards at every opportunity to keep his idle hands and mind busy combined with gaz’s tinny whistling had made for the perfect scenario to grate on simon’s patience quicker than anything else ever had.

“tell us about her. ya wife,” simon asked, his gaze slipping across to john, watching him pick at his nails. his cuticles were red and raw from four days of agitated fidgeting since they’d ran out of cigars and cigarettes. every so often simon caught him pat his empty pocket before he’d remember and huff heavily through his nose like a bull.

john closed his eyes at the mention of his wife and sighed. he started his description without protest or hesitance. “shes soft spoken. christ, you’d hardly know she was there half the time, she’s so quiet. but she’s firm. stands her ground no matter what,” he chuckled. “don’t think i’ve ever won an argument against her.”

kyle laughed and ghost closed his own eyes, trying to picture what he thought the captain’s wife might look like. pretty certainly, but was she tall, plump, did she have an endearing gap between her front teeth, did she keep her hair short or long?

“she’s a bit of a homebody,” john admitted bashfully, unaware of simon’s drifting thoughts. “but i can’t say i mind it.”

“not wanting to leave the bedroom much when yer back?” johnny joked, hissing when ghost punched his thigh.

john just smiled placidly, eyes still closed. his eyebrows pulled down as he gushed, “god she’s gorgeous in red. wears it every time i come home.”

“lucky bastard,” gaz huffed.

“yeah.” john nodded and finally opened his eyes. “yeah, lucky.”

“you’ll be back with her soon, cap,” gaz reassured him when he saw price swallow thickly.

“thanks, gaz. now who’s taking first watch tonight? soap?”

—

john was quiet on the plane ride home, not unusually so, but ghost noticed the difference all the same.

he was pensive perhaps, worried what his wife would say when he finally got home a month later than scheduled, uncontactable the entire time. ghost could understand to a certain degree that john would have more important things on his mind than what his three subordinates were going to do as soon as they stepped foot on home soil, so he didn’t push when john ignored the few threads of conversation thrown his way by their younger sergeants. instead he nodded when john said a quick goodbye as they all parted ways in the airport.

simon could only assume john was the same all the way home in the cab that dropped him outside of his little three bed house.

he didn’t see however how john hesitated at the door to his home that evening. how he gripped the front door keys tightly in his fist, shook as he stared down at his feet instead of letting his eyes drift and catch on the windows, and felt as though he could crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

he finally opened the door when he thought the neighbours might begin to get worried and stepped inside, flicking on the lights as he went.

it wasn’t until he got to the kitchen that he found her.

stood bare foot, silent, eyes wide and pleading, blood seeping - always seeping. would it ever stop? would the blood ever end? - through her white pyjama top, his top that she’d borrowed for the night, and trickling down her bare legs.

her mouth opened and she visibly struggled for breath, but no sound escaped even as her tongue wagged on the floor of her mouth, lapping at the backs of her teeth as all words escaped her.

he swallowed back bile.

“hello, sweetheart,” he choked out. “sorry i’m late.”

the blood pooled at her feet, the panties she wore were seeped a dark purple from the viscus liquid dying the dark blue material and the shirt stuck to her front. john had remembered loving seeing her like this in a morning, had always thought she looked best in as little clothing as possible.

“i know you hate it when work keeps me busy, but it was unexpected. we were caught—“ a high screech, not dissimilar to that of a whistle that only a dog could hear, pierced through his ears and cut his words short. he curled in and covered his ears, but he knew it would do no good, he should’ve known better than to talk about work around her.

not after what had happened last time he got back late after overtime.

tears prickle at his eyes and the sound abruptly stopped. he’d never questioned why it seemed to be only him that could hear her protests, why his neighbours never mentioned a shrill cry every so often from his home. he had always said she was made for him and that had apparently translated literally into the afterlife.

he looked up at her again - it was best not to ignore her he found. it only made her angry.

“it won’t happen again,” he promised wetly. “i did my best to get back as soon as i could, i promise, sweetheart—“ he choked on his words, biting back a sob. she watched unblinkingly, silent except for the wet squelch of her feet on the laminate.

they both knew he wasn’t apologising for being late this time. he got like this sometimes, when her agonised face and mangled body was too much to bear after a long mission and the guilt bore down like a physical presence.

he couldn’t help but think if he’d gotten home even just an hour earlier he might’ve been able to save her, to have kept her company instead of leaving her on the floor alone and cold, maybe he could have caught the bastards that had hurt her while he was still travelling back from deployment after agreeing to hang back and finish his paperwork there and then instead of emailing it across.

he reached a shaking hand forward and blew out a ragged breath when his hand met nothing but frigid air. but when he brought his hand up to his face he could smell the copper tang of his dead wife’s blood on his skin. the stench unwashable, cloying, but if he concentrated hard enough it ever so faintly smelt like the vanilla perfume she used to wear.

“was telling the lads about you, love,” he forced an empty chuckle as he walked around her to the kettle and went through their usual routine. “think they might’ve fallen a little in love, not that i could blame them.”

he ran a hand over his face and gave himself a moment to let the tears fall as his palm hid his eyes. her silence was the worst part of it all, but he could see the glaring red of her in his peripheral when he dropped his hand to the counter.

it wasn’t pretending his wife was still alive if she was right there at his shoulder, was it?

“looks like i’ll need to grab you some more pg tips, sweetheart,” he said and poured the boiling water into two cups, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his wife. “we’re almost out.”

post link

[markrosewater]

Hi Mark. With a lot of talk recently in the online space about the unreasonable outrage and horrendous death threats towards the Commander Rules Committee and Commander Advisory Group, I want to thank you for being the proverbial "shield" for some of the most heinous and grotesque backlash towards WOTC as the unofficial public representative for MTG. I know it can be absolutely draining for your mental health to receive harassment in this position, so I just want to say I am grateful and empathize that you are in this position. With that being said, as one of the most prominent faces of Magic, is it possible if you could say a word or two about the aforementioned harassment towards the RC and CAG to deter these harassers and possibly share your own experiences regarding unconstructive hate to help the victims of such depravity (if you're comfortable sharing)?

There are advantages and disadvantages of being one of the faces for Magic. When people like something we're doing, even when I had nothing to do with it, I get lots of praise. Most players only know a handful of Wizards employees, so they tend to assume that the people they know are responsible for the things that are happening.

There is, of course, a downside to that. When things happen people dislike, I'm also the light rod for complaint. Whether or not I had anything to do with the issue in question, I get the blame. I am Head Designer. Many times, I did have a hand or a say in what happened. And when I'm responsible, or partly responsible, for something, I try to own up to it.

Players are not a unified front though. When we do thing X, some of you will like it while others will not. I often will get complimented for the same thing I'm being yelled at for.

From time to time, we do something a majority are unhappy with. At times, we do things a majority are *very* unhappy with. That's when things can get a bit ugly. There are a lot of civilities built into daily life. There are just things you don't do or say to another human being. Most of that goes out the window online.

For some reason, the anonymity combined with just how social media has evolved has emboldened people to do and say things they never would in person (and I should also acknowledge society has changed in ways that even what's acceptable in person has changed).

What this means is I get a lot of negativity, some of it very personal. I'm not just talking about people criticizing the in-game choices I've made (or often didn't even make), but comments on me as a person, about who I am and what they think of me. People tell me that want bad things to happen to me. Not just getting fired (although that's a popular one), people vocalize, sometimes quite graphically, about things they want to happen to me.

The first few times this happened, I took it pretty hard. Having lots of people attack you online, saying horrible things about you, is tough. Humans look to other humans for approval. It's just built into our DNA to want others to like us. Having people attack you hurts. You have trouble sleeping, eating, it just weighs on you emotionally.

I was bullied as a kid. This really isn't much different except its much higher in volume and very public.

With time, I learned to adapt to it. It's not that I enjoy people saying nasty things about me. It still sucks, but I've found ways to process it. I came to realize that someone being nasty is more a commentary on them than me. And I adopted a philosophy of looking past the words to the message behind it. Most people complaining didn't like a choice we made about the game. I could focus on the feedback and less on the delivery method. But that took years, and it has a lot to do with who I am as a person. I enjoy the things I get to do with a public profile, so I accept what comes with it.

I've made the conscious choice to build a thick skin and weather social media, so I can continue doing what I love. It saddens me that I have to.

I say all this because I don't know if people really process the harm they're doing when they get negative online, especially towards another person. Most people do not have the years of processing angry messages like I do.

Words have an impact and that doesn't matter whether you're speaking them directly to someone's face or typing them in the privacy of your home.

Bullying is not okay. Cruelty is not okay. Making a conscious choice to belittle another human being, especially because they made a choice you disagree with about a game, is not okay.

When you use ugly words, you are doing harm to another human being (sometimes many human beings). Imagine if someone attacked you like that, or a loved one, or a friend. Don't do something to another human being that would cause pain if it was done to you.

That doesn't mean you can't communicate unhappiness. It doesn't mean you can't vocalize that you disagree with a decision made. I would stress two things. One, make it about the decision and not the person who made the decision. Explain why and how the decision impacts you, not what you think of the person because they made the decision.

Two, watch your language. As I said above, words have power. They can be used to build or to destroy. Is the language you're using designed to hurt? If so, don't use it. Use other language. If you need to take time to calm down, do so.

Community is what we as individuals choose for it to be. One of the things I love about the Magic community is how kind it can be, how accepting it can be, how uplifting it can be. But that's because we each individually choose to do that. The Magic community can get ugly, but only if we allow it to become so.

So please, the next time you're making a message designed to do something destructive rather than constructive, take a moment to reflect. Why are you doing this? What is your goal? Is it your intent to hurt someone? Because that's what negative language does.

I ask the Magic community to be better. I know we have the potential. I've seen it.

Be part of the solution, not the problem.

Thanks.

[katsu28]

home is wherever you are

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: secretly falling in love with your best friend is tough. secretly falling in love with your best friend who also happens to be your roommate is even less than ideal. the solution? move out! (hint: it isn’t a very good one.) (5k)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, a smidge of google translated french lol

a/n: CHARLES LECLERC!!! CHARLES LECLERC!!!!LECLERC!!! LECLERAUGHCOUGHCOUGH

“I still cannot believe you’re abandoning me.” 

Charles shoved another box of your things into the boot of your car rather huffily, as if to reiterate just how unhappy he was. 

“I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving out of your apartment.” You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully at him. You passed him the last box off the ground, wiping your hands off on your shorts before propping them on your hips. 

“That is quite literally the same thing.” He mirrored your stance in total seriousness, frown unwavering. “And it’s not my apartment, it’s yours now too. Your home.” 

You’d been living with Charles for a while now, having been suddenly evicted from your own place three, almost four years ago. With nowhere else to go, you’d turned to your best friend, and Charles had welcomed you with open arms, giving you a home when you’d needed it most. 

There were many good things about living with Charles—he liked to cook (which boded well with you, seeing as you were no master chef yourself. Except for when he’d gone through a questionable phase of combining cuisines that did not go well together.), he was respectful of set boundaries and agreed upon rules. You had the same taste in shows and movies, which made for little fighting when it came to deciding on what to watch. 

But most notably, he loved to play the piano. It was a hobby he’d picked up during long days spent staying at home, and he was good at it too. An electronic keyboard when he’d first started out, just to see if it was something he was serious about, but as he zoomed through the basics with ease, he’d splurged on a gorgeous white piano that stood proudly in the living room. 

Soon enough, it wasn’t unusual for the apartment to be full of music, beautiful songs of Charles’ own composing. 

He played whenever he had the feeling. Whenever he had something on his mind, whenever he was bored, anything, he’d spend hours at the piano, playing, playing, playing. Some might’ve called it annoying, but not you. You found it rather soothing. 

It had very quickly become a habit of yours to fall asleep listening to Charles play. Something about it seemed to always relax you just enough to the point where you could pretty much fall asleep anywhere if he was at the bench. 

Your favorite spot was on the sofa with a big blanket, watching him get lost in the notes until you drifted off. More often than not, you could rarely get a good night’s sleep without Charles’ accompaniment—your very own version of white noise. 

But truth be told, this past year of living together with Charles had been trickier than the first couple. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things began to change, but something had definitely shifted between you. 

You’d been trying to write it off just the two of you being very close, but you’d been dancing on the line of close friends and more than friends for a long time. Falling asleep together cuddled on the sofa, lingering touches whilst you were in the same room and in passing, hugs that lasted a little too long to be considered normal. 

The more your feelings for Charles grew, the more worried you became. Worried about what, you weren’t exactly sure. All you knew was you didn’t want to lose the longest and best friendship you’d ever had because you went and fell in love.

“I know. But I think it’s well past time I get out of your hair and try being on my own for once.” You said softly, stepping in to fold yourself into Charles’ arms. 

Most of that was true. You did feel like you needed to live by yourself for a chance, to see what it was like to be fully independent in your adult life. You’d moved in with Charles when you were twenty two, and you were twenty five now. It was time for you to venture out on your own. 

But the uncertainty of falling in love with your best friend was definitely also a contributing factor. 

He made a displeased sound at your words, but tucked you under his chin nonetheless. “I don’t want you to get out of my hair. My hair likes it with you here.” 

“I live fifteen minutes away, Cha. I’m not moving across the country. You and your hair can come over anytime.” You scoffed, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs. “And I’ll come over here all the time too, you know that.” 

“Fine, fine. I don’t know what I am supposed to do with your empty room now, but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I will take up scrapbooking. Knitting. Needlepoint, maybe. Turn it into a craft room.” 

“Maybe you can turn it into a music room. Move the keyboard in there, your piano.” 

“Ah, bien entendu, my piano. How will you ever fall asleep without my sweet, sweet melodies?” 

“I think I will manage just fine.” You chuckled. 

Charles held you at arms’ length, dark brows furrowing as he scowled. “What I’m hearing is you don’t love me anymore.” 

Oh, if only he knew. 

You smiled instead, patting his cheek good-naturedly. “Come on, you drama queen. I want to move in before the sun goes down.” 

Charles went full protection mode the second all your belongings had made it safely inside the apartment, intently checking every lock, window, door hinge, cabinet—not an inch of the apartment went uninspected by him. When he seemed fairly satisfied with his safety checks, he returned to where you were unpacking kitchen items over by the oven.

“Everything up to your standards?” You asked, pulling out a stack of plates wrapped in brown paper. Charles shuffled over, easing them out of your hands and unwrapping them to help put them up in the cabinet. “No one is going to break in through my window tonight?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” He grumbled, chucking the balled up paper at you gently. “Everything I checked is fine. You will be safe here.” 

Food was simple when it came time for dinner—takeout on the floor of your living room, because you hadn’t had the time to go shopping for a coffee table yet. Or a dining room table. Or even chairs, really. All you had were some pillows and an overturned cardboard box to put the food on. 

Charles had insisted on helping you furnish the whole place before you moved in but you’d declined, saying that you wanted to get a feel for the place before filling it with everything. The last time it would be this empty would be the day you moved out. 

He seemed a little quiet the rest of the night, but you didn’t press it until after dinner, whilst he was helping you with the washing up. Well, helping was a strong word. 

“You’ve been drying that plate for ages now.” You observed, tilting your head at him thoughtfully. Charles inhaled sharply, shaking his head like he’d been snapped out of a stupor. He glanced down at the completely dry plate, then back up at you blankly. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“You’re really going to be gone.”

“You say that like I told you I’ve only got days to live. I won’t be gone, Cha. I’ll be around.” You chuckled, flicking dish soap bubbles in his direction. Charles responded by flinging his towel at you, cracking a smile. You liked it when he smiled, hated it when he frowned. He was still unfairly attractive, but it wasn’t Charles’ scowl that made you fall in love with him. 

“We can spend the day together anytime, you can come over whenever you want, and if it makes you feel any better, I will give you your very own key.” 

That seemed to put him a little more in higher spirits. 

 “What will you ever do without me?” He wondered out loud, feigning a thoughtful expression. 

“Probably clean up a lot less. Be able to take a shower without running out of hot water halfway through. Oh! Have a bottle of shampoo last more than a month because someone—not naming names, of course, won’t use it because they’ve run out of theirs. Not have to fight for—” 

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Charles huffed, grabbing you by the shoulders and promptly shoving your face into his chest to stop you from talking. 

You grinned against the softness of his hoodie. “Shall I go on?” 

“No, no you shouldn’t.” His hold on you loosened, but you stayed right where you were, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Just admit it. You’ll miss me.” 

“I will miss you.” You said softly, pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck. If there was something Charles was unbelievably good at (besides literally anything he’d ever tried), it was giving the best hugs. Something about them made you feel safe, like nothing and nobody could ever hurt you as long as you were in his arms. 

“You already know how much I’m going to miss having you around.” 

“Yeah, I am pretty great.” 

A laugh rumbled through his chest. “You are.” 

“You’ve been the best roommate I could’ve asked for. Thank you for everything.” Your words were muffled between the two of you, and you were glad for it, because he didn’t seem to notice the waver in your tone. But he did squeeze you a little tighter, so maybe he did hear you. “I love you, Cha.” 

Charles’ voice seemed to waver just a bit too. “I love you too.” 

“Okay, okay, you really need to leave. Go before I change my mind and make you stay.” You blurted, pushing him away playfully. It was better than letting him see you get emotional. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“No, it’s a threat. Go home. I will see you soon.” You gave his hand one last squeeze, nodding reassuringly to rid him of the crease between his brows. “Don’t worry about me. Go, get some rest.” 

It was only then that he seemed satisfied enough to leave, but even then, he cast another backwards glance towards you on his way down the hall, as if he was waiting for you to beckon him back. You just smiled as best you could. 

You’d get over it. You had to. There was still a lot you needed to get done before you called it a night. 

It wasn’t until you were getting ready to go to bed that you started to feel lonely. You and Charles had your respective bedtime routines, but they always intertwined. 

You never liked being the one to turn off all the lights in the apartment because the switch was at the end of the hallway opposite from your bedrooms, so he knew to do it because you hated running back through the darkness after flipping the switch. 

He always filled a glass with water for late night sipping, but never remembered to actually bring it to his room until he was already in bed, so you always grabbed it for him so he wouldn’t have to make the trek back out the kitchen.  

The bathroom counter was where you’d find each other the most, terrible jokes and funny stories told muffled through toothpaste bubbles, even though you could’ve just waited until you were finished to tell each other. You’d flick water at him as you washed your face because he took up too much space at the sink, he’d turn off the tap in retaliation, things like that. 

Sometimes Charles would stay up later playing video games with his friends, or take some extra time to practice piano, so you wouldn’t get to do your well oiled machine routine, but he’d always take the extra second to pop into your room to say goodnight when he heard you bustling around, even if he was in the middle of something. 

The times you fell asleep on the sofa to Charles’ playing the piano, he’d camp out at the other end of the sofa for the night, or at the very least made sure you were covered with a blanket if he went to sleep in his own room. 

It was something you’d grown accustomed to over the years, oftentimes the well-needed end to a not so great day. Charles never failed to put a smile on your face, even with something as small and mundane as a bedtime routine. 

But there was none of that as you ran through your routine this time. 

You didn’t hear him shuffling around over in the other room, the muffled sounds of his shouts as he played his games, and most of all, you didn’t hear him and his piano. 

Because there was no Charles. Of course there wasn’t. You were in this new place that you hadn’t had quite nearly enough of a chance to get used to yet, alone, and it was finally settling in. 

Suddenly moving out and away from him seemed like the worst decision in the world. 

You knew it was only the first night. You had to give yourself a chance to reacclimate, and that would take time. So you inhaled a deep breath, trying to get as comfy as you could for a long, probably sleepless night ahead. 

It was nearing four in the morning when you finally decided to give up and call Charles. Part of you thought he might not even pick up the phone, because he was probably asleep. Any sane person would be sleeping right now. 

Much to your surprise, he answered on the second ring. 

“Why are you awake?” You asked, maybe a bit harshly. 

“Um, you are the one who called me? Why are you awake?” He replied, groggy voice still teasing. His accent always grew thicker when he was sleepy. You thought it was adorable. “You cannot sleep, can you?” 

“...No.” Your voice grew smaller. You felt embarrassed at the fact that you couldn’t even make it one full night without Charles around. “I just…I wanted to hear your voice, I guess. I miss you already, Cha.” 

Charles fell silent for a few moments, the only sound on his side of the line being his gentle exhales. “I miss you too. Do you want me to come over? I can stay the night, if you want.” 

“No. No, you don’t need to do that.” You said softly. “Can you just talk to me?” 

This was also something that had become somewhat of a ritual when either of you couldn’t sleep. 

You’d tiptoe into each other’s rooms quiet as a mouse, slipping into bed beside the other. Charles always stirred when he felt the bed dip under your weight, half asleep but still reaching out to pull you against his chest like it was second nature. On the occasions when he came into your room, you’d feel him tuck himself close to you, nosing against any part of you he could find with a content sigh. 

There was no rhyme or reason to the things you’d talk about in those moments, but eventually, somehow, you’d both end up asleep, usually fairly quickly. Maybe it was the extra added comfort of each other that helped, you could never tell. 

It wasn’t unusual to wake up a jumble of limbs tangled together, and neither of you ever addressed it either. Just went on with your business as usual, never talking about it because it was just something you did. To help each other sleep, of course. 

Another thing that really blurred the line between friends and more. 

Charles hummed a noncommittal sound, soft and fond like he always was around you. “I’ll do you one better. How about I play some music for you?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You sighed, relieved. He knew what you needed without you even having to ask. 

You heard him get up, footsteps padding along until there was a thud and some shuffling coming from Charles’ side. A few warm up scales in and you were already feeling a little less anxious, letting yourself get comfortable. 

“Any requests from the audience?” 

“Been working on anything new?” You yawned, nuzzling a little deeper back into your pillow. 

“I have, actually. It’s still—fuck, how do you say it…a work in progress?”

“Anything you play is perfect.”

“You flatter me.” He snorted. “Alright, here goes nothing.”  

He began to play. You knew jack shit about music, so there wasn’t much you could think of to describe how it sounded, but you could describe how it felt. You could almost feel the emotion pouring from his playing, even through the scratchy quality of the speaker. 

It felt like something you’d hear in the background of a movie montage, lilting and delicate and warm notes swirling together to create a bright melody, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

Memories of good times with Charles flashed through your head—all the long days and even longer nights you’d spent together because you thrived in each other’s company, cooking together, binging Netflix shows until you both passed out on the sofa. 

Hushed laughing during dinners at fancy restaurants that Charles could get into by flashing his name, soft conversations accompanied with expensive food and even more expensive wine. 

Day trips up the coast with the top down on the car, pushing the speed limit just to feel an ounce of the freedom that it could give you. Walking through Monte Carlo on late night gelato runs, switching flavors because you both enjoyed each other’s choice more than your own. 

Most of all, you thought of the love you felt for Charles, ever since you’d first met him. You’d never been one to believe in the concept of soulmates, but fuck, it was so easy to think of him as yours. Never had you felt as much for someone as you did for him. 

God, why were you even thinking of those things? 

It would never happen. Any love that Charles had for you would be strictly platonic, limited to however much one could love their best friend. 

Surely he’d drawn inspiration from something else when he’d composed the beautiful piece. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know. 

Soon enough, you’d drifted off like you always did when Charles played, coincidentally right before he came to a lingering stop. 

Had you been awake, you would’ve heard him say that the beautiful piece had been inspired by you. Instead you were fast asleep, still none the wiser to anything. Maybe it was a good thing. You might not have believed it if you’d heard him. 

-------

Charles was on your doorstep first thing in the morning, coffee and pastries in hand when you opened the door for him. 

“Hello, good morning, your savior is here. And with breakfast!” He chirped, coming to just enough of a halt for you to slide an arm around his shoulders in a hug and grab one of the drinks out of the tray before he swept past you.

Bright morning sunlight poured into the open area, washing the whole place aglow. A warm breeze floated in through the ajar window, rattling the shutters only slightly, and you could hear the all too familiar sounds of the city in the morning coming from the streets below. It was a gorgeous picture of peace; one of the apartment’s many fun quirks that convinced you to go for it in the first place. 

The only thing that might’ve rivaled the beauty of the moment was Charles standing at the window, leaning against the sill drinking his coffee while the breeze ruffled his hair. His back was to you as he checked out the view, but even the mere image of him here was nice. 

You sipped your own coffee, smiling to yourself when you realized Charles remembered exactly how you took it. You didn’t even need to look inside the bag to know they were your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street from your former apartment that both you and Charles loved. He was always thoughtful like that. Things like remembering your favorite foods and drinks, and going out of his way to get them as a little pick-me-up. 

It seemed wrong to ruin the moment, but you felt like you had to say something. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up last night.” You sighed, taking a cross-legged seat on a pillow. 

Charles turned away from the window, shaking his head quickly. He took a seat on the floor next to you, long legs stretching out towards your crossed ones to nudge a sneaker against your socked foot. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, I’m glad you called me.” 

“Right, but it’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? First time on my own and I didn’t even last a whole night.” 

“Not pathetic.” He insisted, entirely firm in his words. He set his cup down as if it could strengthen his point. “It is a change, definitely. You can’t expect yourself to get used to such a big change immediately. It takes time, you know.” 

You messed with the lid of your cup, picking at the plastic with a scowl. “I know. But I can’t always come running to you whenever I need help. It’s not fair to you to have to keep rescuing me every time I need saving.” 

“Okay…” He trailed off, stretching out the last syllable in confusion. “I feel this is about something more than just last night. We can talk about it, if you would like?”

“I don’t know what it is.” You huffed. “I thought I was ready to be on my own, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I don’t know I’m doing and I’ll never figure it out, and—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Where is this all coming from?” 

“I don’t know,” You repeated, bordering on a whine. “But what I do know is that I can’t always keep relying on you for everything. It’s not good for me, or for you.” 

“You know, you could always just move back home if you’re truly not ready to do things on your own.” Charles offered, taking a casual sip of his own drink.

Home. He said it so casually, like home was with him instead of this new place you’d chosen to make yours. In a way, Charles was your home. Safety, comfort, love—all the things that made something home, you felt with him. 

That was the problem. You didn’t feel right relying on him for all those things, not without him being aware of how you actually felt about him. It seemed like too much of a burden to put on a friend, even one as perfect as Charles. 

His eyes met yours over the rim and he shrugged. “I still don’t know why you were so insistent on moving out in the first place.” 

You sighed, again. There weren’t many ways you could make yourself any clearer. Other than telling Charles one of the real reasons why you had to leave, which again, was more of a last resort (hopefully not at all) type of thing. “It was time—” 

“It was time for you to venture out on your own, yes, I know. But it doesn’t seem to be working out so well right now, does it not?” The last sentence seemed to slip out of Charles’ mouth before he knew what he was saying, because his mouth snapped shut right afterward. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t want to argue.” 

But what had been done was done, what had been said was out there for you to know. Your coffee suddenly left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the traffic from outside became glaringly loud. The once peaceful atmosphere had been shattered now that you knew Charles’ true thoughts on it all. 

You stood up, letting your feet take you across the room from him. “No. Tell me more, Charles. Tell me how you really feel.” 

His nose wrinkled at the use of his full name. You never called him Charles unless you were upset with him, which wasn’t that often. Even hearing it come out of your own mouth seemed foreign. 

That seemed to change his reaction, because he stood too instead, doubling down on his words. “Okay. Yes, that is how I feel about you leaving. You barely even talked to me about it, and the next thing I knew, you were packing all your things into boxes! I didn’t understand where this—this sudden desire to leave came from. I still don’t.”

“You don’t have to understand it. It’s already done.” 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?”

You almost faltered. Almost.

“Did you ever think maybe me wanting to leave had nothing to do with you?” 

“Honestly? No. It feels like it has everything to do with me. It feels like you moved out because you didn’t want to be around me anymore!” Charles exclaimed. “And I have kept my mouth shut, I’ve been trying to be supportive of your decision, but I think I have a right to know. Am I why you wanted to leave so badly?” 

“That’s…part of it.” You admitted. Charles froze, brows flying up towards his hairline. “But not because of anything you did. Not because of the reason you’re thinking of.” 

“I don’t really see any other explanation. And I am sorry, but that is a shit excuse. I would’ve thought that you of all people would tell me the truth.” He didn’t sound angry, just disappointed and a little hurt. Somehow that felt worse. You’d rather him be mad at you than hurt by you. 

“I didn’t want to move out.” You said firmly. 

“Then why did you?” 

“I had to! I—I couldn’t live there anymore.” 

“But why?” He sounded desperate, begging for you to clue him in to any reason, anything at all that would help him understand. And god, as scared as you were of changing things by telling Charles how you really felt about him, you were infinitely more scared of losing him for good if you didn’t. 

“Because I’m fucking in love with you, Charles!” You blurted, finally. “I couldn’t live with you any longer, keeping this huge secret all the time, because it truly made me feel like I was about to explode. I just couldn’t do it anymore—pretend like everything was alright when every time I looked at you, all I could think about was how I felt about you! How much I felt for you.” Your voice rose with every word, emotion lacing your tone. 

You could feel the tears burning your eyes, threatening to fall no matter how much you willed them not to. “I just thought, maybe if we lived apart, if we didn’t see each other all the time, maybe those feelings would go away.” 

Charles blinked at you slowly. He scrubbed a hand over his cheek, across his mouth, letting it disappear into the neckline of his hoodie as he continued the motion near his jaw. Still, he said nothing. You weren’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one, but still you continued. 

“So no, it wasn’t because of anything you did. Or maybe it was, for making it so fucking easy to fall in love with you. I don’t know. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t say anything to me, but I’m not sorry for making the decision on my own. It was for the best.”

There it was, out there in the open at last. It felt like a proverbial weight lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time like a thousand rocks sinking to the bottom of your stomach, because he wasn’t saying anything. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how you’d fuck up the best friendship you’d ever had. 

Charles was silent for the longest time before he replied, and when he did, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it before. It felt unnerving. “You could’ve just told me.” 

“Told you?” You had to fight the urge to let out a bitter, watery laugh. “Telling your best friend you’ve fallen in love with him isn’t just something you mention at the bathroom sink one night.” 

“It is, if he feels the same way about you.” 

A coldness crept down your neck, shooting through your veins like you’d just had a bucket of ice cold water dumped over your head. 

“No you’re not—you don't...you can't.” You whispered, disbelieving.

Charles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “What, do you want me to prove it?” 

You couldn’t give him an answer even if you wanted to. You weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to say a damn word, just in case this was all a dream and you'd wake up any second, still alone, still without him there.

He must’ve taken your silence as a yes to his question, because he crossed the room in three strides, took your face in firm hands, and he kissed you. 

Despite your utter shock, you managed to kiss him back clumsily, fingers curling into his hoodie tightly. Charles kissed you like he was afraid to let you go, like you’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful enough.

A guiding hand curled around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss, but only for a few seconds before he broke away, panting. His forehead stayed pressed against yours, soulful green eyes boring into your own in total seriousness.

“Do you believe me now?” 

“Maybe.” You breathed, letting your nose bump against his gently. This was not a dream. Charles was real and here and one hell of a kisser (just as you suspected).

“I am in love with you.” He murmured, stroking his thumb over your cheek fondly. “I have been for a long time. And I never thought you would feel the same way.” 

“I love you, Cha.” You were suddenly brought back to last night, when you’d uttered the same words to him. Only this time, they had a whole different meaning to them. 

This time, you knew Charles loved you in the same way you loved him.

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[zelcii]

sense | james potter

"you're not selfish for wanting to be treated well," you remind yourself, your voice barely a whisper as you slip into the dimly lit library. the echoes of your parents' howler still ring in your ears as it did while it echoed off the walls of the great hall. its harsh words were seared into your mind. you can still see the mocking smirks of the slytherins, and hear the whispers from your own housemates—hufflepuff loyalty running thin.

you’ve been trying so hard, but your grades this year have been less than impressive, and nothing you do seems to make a difference to your parents. it was enough that you'd been housed in hufflepuff. you just always seemed to find a new way to disappoint someone.

you wander through the rows of books, blinking back the tears that have been threatening to fall since breakfast. you find a quiet corner, hidden behind a stack of dusty old tomes, and sink to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. the library is mostly empty this time of day, a perfect place to disappear for a while.

but not for long.

you hear him, harsh whispers exchanged with his friends, before you see him.

james potter's sat in front of you, a concerned frown replacing his usual grin. he leans back, crossing his arms as he watches you with those warm, green eyes. the two of you would talk often. either in passing or during classes. he'd gotten into the habit of pairing up with you for projects. whether compelled by pride or pity, you weren't entirely sure. you considered him a good friend. not so much a close one.

“fancy finding you here,” he says, trying for his usual light-hearted tone but failing. "don't even remember the last time I've seen you 'round a book."

you don't look up at him, your vision blurry with tears. "not really looking for company right now, potter." your voice is muffled as you speak.

james tilts his head, his frown deepening. "good thing it found you, then."

you sniffle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "what do you want?"

“to talk, maybe?” he suggests, leaning forward with a playful smirk. “or at least distract your pretty little head from all that house shit with my dazzling wit and charm.”

you can’t help but let out a small, watery laugh. “you really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“someone has to,” he quips, but there’s no real arrogance in his voice, just a gentle teasing meant to pull you out of your funk. “besides, you’re one to talk. weren't you the one calling yourself dumbledor's reincarnate?” james laughed, his eyes teasing as they held your gaze. "he's not even dead, love."

love.

you roll your eyes, but his effort to make you smile isn’t lost on you. “was just joking."

"well then, it was a wonderful joke."

"flattery will get you no where, potter," you retort.

"charmed thing i like it right here with you, isn't it?" james' expression softens, his teasing fading into genuine concern. you blush. “i saw what happened this morning. i'm sorry about your parents… they’re tough.”

you nod, swallowing hard. “they're just… pureblood. you know? nothing will ever be enough.”

james sighs, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on your knee. the warmth of his touch somehow grounding. his silence is far more reassuring than any combination of words someone else could string together.

you look down at his hand, at the way his fingers curl gently against your knee. your voice is barely above a whisper, ashamed of all that's happened in a single morning. “they said I was selfish. for… for wanting more from them.”

“they’re wrong,” James says firmly, his voice steady and reassuring. “you’re not selfish for wanting to be seen and heard. for wanting to be loved for who you are, not for what they want you to be.”

“you sound like professor mcgonagall.” a tear slips down your cheek though you can't help but laugh. "thank you," it's soft and endearing when you say it.

james grins, a bit of his usual mischief returning to his eyes. “anytime. now, what do you say we blow off some steam? maybe a trip to the kitchens?"

james stands up, offering you his hand. you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. he doesn’t let go right away, his fingers lingering in yours as he looks down at you, his expression suddenly serious again.

“you know, the others'll make sense of it. eventually,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

"i know," you give him a small, grateful smile. “just as long as it makes some sense to you.”

[strwberri-milk]

Hi! Can you do each lad boy on how they would be with a sensitive reader? (As in like they are emotional and get their feelings hurt easily and stuff)

im combining these two bc they are very sim to me <3

Zayne is very good with your feelings, thankfully. He learned very quickly what sorts of things upset you - not by doing them himself but simply by asking you what your boundaries are. That means typically, he's not the one who's going to be hurting your feelings unless something very extreme happened.

More likely than not, if you're upset it's either because of something you saw or something someone else said to you. Thankfully he's going to try to comfort you, telling you that whatever they told you doesn't matter because at the end of day you know who you are and that's all that matters. You thank him for helping rationalise your feelings, knowing that you can always depend on him to help you out whenever your feelings are hurt.

When you're watching sad movies Zayne always makes sure he's already holding you. He tucks your head under his chin and wipes away your tears whenever you start tearing up. He thinks it's adorable how touched you are by movies but he'll never say it aloud, worried you'll grow insecure if he points it out.

Xavier seems a little apathetic when you don't know him as well which means sometimes you worry he doesn't actually like you as much as he says he does. It takes him a bit of time for him to pick up on your insecurity but once he does he's very good at affirming his love for you through his words. He doesn't speak much but when he does he definitely makes sure his affections for you are felt.

He also doesn't shy away from defending you if someone says something to you while the two of you are out. He's more than happy to defend you and make sure that you know that he doesn't think whatever it is that the other person seemed to be insinuating. He'll remove you from the situation and comfort you once things settle down, wanting you to use him as an emotional crutch.

Whenever you watch a movie that makes you sad Xavier's there to wipe your tears away. He lays down with you as the two of you watch, holding you tightly as he tries not to doze off to keep an eye on you. Even when he does the comforting sound of his breathing thankfully helps keep your emotions at bay, letting him hold you as you watch the movie alone.

Rafayel is a little tough at first because his words can definitely be biting. He's playful and a little harsh at times which means if you take everything he says personally you will not have a good time with him. That doesn't mean that he's going to hurt your feelings on purpose - just that sometimes the things he say might hurt you if he doesn't think about it.

Despite that he's very gentle with your feelings. Once he figures out what sorts of things you don't want to hear he'll be more intentional with his words and reassure you whenever you need it. He also does have lots of pretty words for you which is very great, letting you bask in them if you're having a rough day emotionally.

The two of you get affected by movies, but you more physically than him. Rafayel tends to keep his more intense emotions on the inside but when you're openly reacting to a movie he's there to comfort you however you need to. Whether that be wiping your tears or being a punching bag when you get mad at a character he's there for you.

Sylus is also hard at first, more so than Rafayel only because he doesn't seem playful about his biting words. If you don't pay attention to the way he looks at you or the softness in his touch towards you then you might not realise that he's actually very deeply in love with you.

He'd have to explain himself to you time and time again and tell you that he does care for you. He definitely does become softer over time but his way of speaking might just be disagreeable if someone is incredibly sensitive. You don't have to doubt his feelings though because he's constantly holding you or trying to kiss you silly, gently teasing you if you're needy and reminding you how much he loves you.

He'll tease you slightly for reacting so strongly to movies but he's the one holding you to his chest and running his thumb over the back of your knuckles. He's comforting you physically even if he's slightly teasing you, reassuring you that you aren't too much for him and he really doesn't mind taking care of you.

[dwaekkicidal]

Curly Hair Routine with Changbin

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Teaching Changbin how to take care of his curls. based off this post/request!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1k (how did i do this.. i thought it was like 500)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: none really :3 just fluff and mentioned that reader has longish, curly hair

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: i saw a few moots repost that prompt and i have curly hair (like 3A/3B?) that i've been learning to take care of the last few years so :3 thought this was cyuuute!!! also probably gonna write chris' later today/tomorrow! (my insomnia came back so.. we'll see when it gets done LMFAO)

@chaeryred (also @httpdwaekki cause hehe) i hope you guys like it >< thought it came off a little messy but i still think its pretty cute

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

"YAH! IT'S TOO COLD"

"SIT STILL! I JUST HAVE TO WASH IT OUT-"

"NO!!!! MOM!!! HEEEEEEELP-"

After wrestling your boyfriend like a cat taking a bath, you managed to wash the rest of the conditioner out of his hair and wrap his head up in a towel. You sent him to sit on the floor in the living room while you went to grab all your products from your bedroom. Once you returned, you were met with the biggest pout you've ever seen mixed with the nastiest side eye known to man. His head is almost completely wrapped up in a towel, minus the big circle where part of his face peeks out, and his arms are crossed sassily.

You couldn't help but smile and chuckle, shaking your head as you dropped the products and tools on the couch. You sit directly behind him, putting your legs on either side of his shoulders and leaning him into you. He shivers and your heart pangs a little, but you lean forward and wrap your arms around him and rub them soothingly. A quiet 'hmph!' comes from him and you laugh again.

"I'm sorry, baby. You said you wanted to do my hair routine just like me. And I always end it off with rinsing with cold water." Your fingers sneak into the hole in the towel and pull it back some, exposing his cheeks more as well as some of his wet hair. He makes the angry noise again and throws a small fit, turning away from you and tugging the towel back to its previous position in defiance.

You peck his cheek a few times and combine it with a mumbled apology. Then a small smile forms on his face and you start ruffing the towel, rubbing your hands back and forth and using it to poke fun at him while also starting to dry his hair off. Giggles erupt from the both of you as he drops the tough act and reacts to the ticklish feeling, his distinct giggle ringing through your ears in the best way possible.

Once you both have calmed down, and he's no longer feigning distress, you start to gently dry his hair. "I brought a mirror too." His hair is mostly dry and you grab your brush before realizing that Changbin's eyes have been glued to the show on TV. This was supposed to be a learning experience so you wanted him to watch, but it was also endearing to see him trust you so blindly that he resorts to iPad-baby tendencies.

"Are you gonna watch me do it so you can learn, or was this just an excuse for you to get pampered?" You tease, tilting his head back gently so he can look you in the eyes. He smiles apologetically and reaches for the mirror, "Sorry, Bunny. Got a little distracted hehe. I am your apprentice tonight! Teach away, Jagi." You smile widely and lean down again to place a kiss on his lips. One he reciprocates it before fixing his posture and placing the mirror in position.

He then lowers the television down and sits there patiently, allowing you to take him through the steps and using the mirror to peek at what your hands are doing. You start it off by showing him the products and explaining what they do and then tell him how you're supposed to use them, using a strand of his hair as an example.

Each step doesn't take long, thanks to the fact that he memorized the first few steps of your routine; the brushing and cream application. What you did explain was the styling techniques. He could have just left it as is and not done anything, or he could do what you do and finger-coil each strand.

He had seen how you slaved over your hair for over an hour each time you finger-coiled it and was dreading his experience to be similar to that. But thanks to how short his hair was compared to yours, it was a cakewalk. However, when he tried to coil one strand himself, his fingers did manage to get tangled in each other a few times... but you have to experience something to really learn from it! And the texture of the gel you used seemed to drive him crazy, but he got used to it eventually.

Then it was onto drying! You had brought out the diffuser attachment- or.. what Changbin called the "claws of death," for your hair dryer. He had seen you use it countless times before, but it looked like a jumbled mess of things from the outside and he never knew if there was a technique to it or if it was just random movements.

After teaching him the tips and tricks you used for extra volume and just how to diffuse his hair in general on a small section of his hair, you watched proudly as he dried the rest of his hair on his own with little to no problems. You did a dramatic reveal, wiggling your fingers and adding a "Tada~" when he looked into the mirror for the final time.

He stared for a while, eyes tracing the unfamiliar, defined curls on his head. They were pretty, and you have literally never seen his hair like that before. But what really made it worth it was his reaction. A big smile grew on his face and he turned to you, crawling up the couch to give you a big kiss. "Thank you, Bunny."

"Of course, baby. You look good like this." You smiled and admired your handiwork for a while until you remembered that today was supposed to be your wash day in the first place.

"Okay!! Time for me to wash my hair now." You peck him on the lips and playfully shove him onto the couch, running away after. The pitter-patter of his steps chases after you and he wraps his hands around you once the water is turned back on.

"Wait. I want to do it!" He smiles widely despite the unsure face you make. But he's your Binnie, so it's kind of hard not to cave in. You agree and resume the same position he had earlier, sitting on the tile with your neck resting on the edge and your head hovering over the big bowl of the tub. He steals another kiss before gathering your hair products and directing the water to your head.

"Don't worry, Bunny. I'm a professional at this~"

Taglist:

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha

@bubblerizz

[luveline]

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

When Eddie asks you on a date, you don’t believe it. He probably meant as friends, right? Spoiler alert — Eddie wants to be more than friends, and he’s willing to prove it. [4k]

fluff, slight hurt/comfort, fem!reader, plus-sized!reader, reader feels undesirable, kissing, obligatory ‘don’t be cruel’ scene, eddie calls you pretty like ten times, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has one of those smiles that screams trouble. Every time he looks at you with that smile he might as well have "I'm gonna break your heart," written across his forehead in tandem. 

You sneak a glance at him across the atrium. Eddie’s paused bussing tables to talk to a patron, his customer service voice in play with a matching smile. It isn't the one you mean, but it's bad enough to make you flush red-hot. You cross your arms over the bar, regret it for its stickiness, and let your head rest against the crook of your elbow. 

You've been working together for a long time now, almost six months, and he's your favourite coworker hands down. He cleans up after himself, he brings snacks that you never accept (lest you look like the greedy chubby girl you worry everyone expects you to be), and he talks to you like a real person.

It's horrifying and it's not fair, but being fat means that sometimes guys don’t want to look at you. They don't want to be in the same room with you, and you can tell; they avert their eyes, or simply don't talk to you directly.

You've never had that feeling with Eddie. He meets your eyes, unflinching, and he sends you one of those pretty smiles and you think Fuck, because he should've been a movie star, he has the cheekbones for it, or a rockstar like that band he's always raving about. He'd have a slim LA girl on both arms, no doubt about it. 

He likely wouldn't waste his time with you. 

Not someone pretty as he is. Sometimes he'll lean over and expose the flat stretch of his stomach, his v-lines and the dark trail of hair peeking above his jeans, and you feel acutely miserable 'cause you know you'll never get to touch him. Workplace crushes suck. 

"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks, a hand dropping against your shoulder. 

You pull yourself up quickly. Speak of the devil, Eddie stands beside you with his hair tied away from his face. He looks more entertained than concerned, his smile unfortunately genuine. 

"I'm fine," you say, stepping back. His hand falls away from your shoulder. "Sorry, just tired." 

Eddie leans into your space, squinting. You freeze up, but he's only checking the time on the clock behind you. "Gotta tough it out. Still an hour and a half 'til closing." 

Which means there's more than two hours of your shift left. Your face must show how unexciting that is —Eddie laughs, warm and quiet, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

"You'll live," he promises. "Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go get pizza or something." 

"What, nobody else is available?" you ask. 

His head juts back a touch, put upon shock. "And why can't I ask you? I like you and I like pizza, that's a good combination. And even if you don't like me that much, you like pizza, right?" 

You know —you know, you do— that Eddie doesn't mean it as a slight. This isn't some thinly veiled insult on how you look. Why wouldn't you like pizza? Most people do, but his comment twists itself into an evil inky ball in your chest anyways, thick and hot as tar. 

You shake it off. 

"Who says I don't like you?" you ask, steering the conversation away from food altogether. 

His smile gets somehow better, which is to say worse. You're being punished for something, a childhood wrongdoing or a future crime, perhaps. Nothing else could warrant the mental torture that is being so close to him while he looks the way he does. 

"Good. Good, then we should get pizza. It's a date," he says, nodding. 

Morgan the shift manager calls for him to stop distracting you, though the Hideout is abandoned tonight, and there's nothing to distract you from. Eddie stands at full height, with a soldier's salute. "Yes, sir. No more lollygagging." He turns to you when you laugh, and you share a secret smile. 

He and Morgan disappear into the back of house. If you strain your ears, you can hear Eddie complaining about having to keep his hair in a bun, as it's totally against what he stands for, dude, it's stifling his self expression. 

"Count yourself lucky I don't make you wear a hair net, kid," Morgan says.

You turn back to your sticky bar, numb. It's a date? Did he mean, like, an actual date? A romantic date? 

Not a chance in hell. It's a colloquialism. Nothing more. 

Despite yourself, you stare into the silver reflection of a beer tap and try to liven up. You fix your hair, check your teeth, dig a lip balm out of your apron pocket and scratch the corners of your mouth just in case. The entire time you're heckling yourself about delusions. Eddie Munson doesn't like you. He's had a girl come around once or twice, and she'd been everything you're not: slender, confident. You'd wanted to dislike her, but she hadn't done anything wrong. There's no crime in being desirable. 

For the remainder of the night, you man the bar and serve the occasional patron. It's a Sunday night, so most stick to light beer or soft drinks. The live entertainment says goodnight and the Hideout empties like an opened floodgate. You clean the bar, Eddie buses the tables, and the kitchen staff turn on the radio and get to work cleaning. Soon, you can smell cigarette smoke and reheated mozzarella sticks. 

You wander into the kitchen to help. 

"Hi beautiful," Leon says, one of the cooks, "you want something to eat?" 

"No she does not!" Eddie says, helping the dishwasher Marcie with her last round of plates. Suds drip down to his rolled sleeves as he waves his hands around. "We're going to get pizza." 

"Yes!" Marcie says, delighted. 

"Where are we going?" Paul asks, another cook. 

"We," Eddie says, pointing at you and then himself, "are going to Marletto's. Yeah?" 

You startle when you realise he's asking you. "Oh, sure. Anywhere you want." 

His head bobs up and down, pleased. He goes back to his dishes. "Anywhere I want," he murmurs to Marcie, though he's saying it for everybody to hear, "hear that, Marc? I'm spoiled." 

You wipe down a few counters, label some leftover iceberg lettuce and put it back in the fridge. It's easy work, made better by the camaraderie of your coworkers, but you can't settle down. Your heart races at what's to come. "It's a date," is starting to feel less colloquial now Eddie's dissuading the other from joining you. That's how that works, right? He wants to be alone with you.

It might not mean anything. Maybe Eddie needs something from you he doesn't want the others to know about, like money. Maybe he wants girl advice, finally chasing that pretty girl who drops by sometimes. Or boy advice —there's a guy who comes around too, tall and blond and handsome. 

There's a logical solution. Any other girl would hear the word date and take it at face value, but you aren't them. You're you. You can't remember the last time somebody looked at you with desire in their eyes, if they ever have. High school was a shit show and work isn't exactly a hub for romance. Eddie joining the team here is the most excitement you've ever had in your life, for all his gentle squeezes and teasing elbows, his inside jokes and his tendency to burst into an air guitar solo at any given moment. He's a cheeseball, and you like him. It sucks. 

"Hi, are you ready?" he asks, coming out of nowhere. You're kneeling down near the lockers tying your shoelaces. 

It is a horrible position for him to see you in. You can't imagine what you look like, but you know it won't be pretty. You spring up with your shoelace untied still and smile weakly. "Yeah, I'm ready." 

"You need help with that?" he asks, eyes on your shoe. 

You burn with embarrassment. "I– no, I–" 

Eddie kneels down on the floor and reaches for your shoe. He ties it quickly in a double-knotted bunny-loop and pats the side of your ankle when he's done. When he looks up at you, you're in the middle of hoping a natural disaster will occur and put you out of your misery. 

He smiles at you from his position. Does he ever stop? 

"Cool," he says, standing up. He grabs his coat from his locker and doesn't bother closing it. "Let's go! I'm starving, man, Leon needs to mess up more often so I can steal the rejects." 

You follow him in a daze. Through the lockers and out of the kitchen, waving goodbye to the lingering closers and a grimacing Morgan. You aren't looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. You're more than sure he'll have something to say about workplace fraternising and general dawdling. 

"You okay for us to take the van?" he asks. 

Eddie's given you rides home before, and what felt awkward before has lended itself to a familiarity. You nod your agreement and cross the small parking lot out back, your breath rising in the cold night air. 

Eddie pulls open the passenger door of his van with a strong-armed tug. 

"Been meaning to get the latch looked at. I'd rather it have trouble opening than trouble closing, though, so that's a plus." 

He waits for you to climb the short step and sit before he closes the door. 

“All limbs inside the ride?" he asks. 

You laugh. It comes out weird. You kind of sound like you're being held at gunpoint. 

Eddie gets in the van and makes small talk as he starts the engine and pulls her out of the lot. Your mind isn't there, exactly, or rather it's too close. You want to think about your answers but instead you're worrying about how you look while you say them. You're worried about the seat belt around your stomach, and the way you look from the side. Being around Eddie makes you more self-conscious than usual. 

Marletto's isn't the best pizza place in Hawkins but it's open until three AM. You and Eddie take the first empty booth you come across, and the agony of ordering in front of someone else begins. 

"Meat feast for me, obviously," he says, pulling off his jacket. 

The cracked vinyl seat beneath him crunches with his movement. You dedicate yourself to staying still. 

"I'll get a margarita," you say, glancing between him and the menu for his reaction.  

"Didn't take you for such a bore," he teases. "Drinks? Sides?" 

"Just water will be fine." 

"Are you sure? I'm paying. If you wanna take advantage of me, now's the time."

You shake your head, pushing your cold hands under your thighs. 

Eddie frowns. "If you're sure…" 

He gets up to track down the register. You sit there, wondering why you agreed to this, what possessed you, why you could ever think this was a good idea. You don't wanna eat in front of him, you don't know what to say, he's looking at you like everything's normal but this is so not normal, this is the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Eddie returns with your water and a coke, all smiles despite your clear nerves. 

He puts the drinks down and clambers into the seat with a leg folded underneath himself, his elbows halfway across the table. He looks you straight in the face. 

"That guy just looked at me like I was crazy. I'm hungry, sue me. Three orders of mozzarella sticks is a normal human thing to get, right?" 

"Three?" you ask. 

His hand reaches toward you. If your hand were there, he'd likely squeeze it roughly as he sometimes does, like a playful scolding. "I'm hungry," he repeats. "I didn't get any lunch on my lunch break. What's the point in that? Just sat down in the locker room thinking about it. It was actually worse than working." 

"You should've had Leon make you a burger. He's always offering." 

"Always offering you, maybe. The rest of us gotta fend for ourselves." 

"That's not true. He asks Marcie, too." 

"Yeah, well, Leon's a sucker for pretty girls." 

You look down at the table. 

"I got enough fries for both of us, I know you didn't want any sides but everyone wants fries. I won't be sharing the mozzarella sticks, so if you want some you better speak now." He raps the table with his knuckles. When you look up, his face softens. "Well, alright. Maybe I'll share them with you. I'm a sucker, too." 

"What's that mean?" 

"What?" 

"You know what," you say. 

Eddie crosses his arms across the table. His hands and arms are pale, the ink of his black tattoos stark. You could draw them without prompting, that's how often you've fallen into his trap. When he crosses his arms like this, his biceps bulge up a little bit, emphasising the pretty curves and ridges of his arms and the hints of greeny-blue veins hiding under his skin. He tilts his head toward his shoulder, his limp curls dragging against the table. 

"It means…" he says, holding your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips, "that you're pretty. You're so pretty, I'd do anything you asked me to." 

You flinch. You pull your numb hands from under your thighs and cover your stomach with your forearms, glaring at the table between you thoughtlessly. 

"That's cruel." 

"What?" 

"That's cruel, Eddie. You're being mean," you mutter.

"I–" Eddie stammers. "What? I'm just trying to tell you how I think about you– how I feel. I'm sorry if you don't wanna hear it, I'm not trying to be mean." 

Hurt creeps into the lines of your face, your eyebrows pulled down and the starts pulled up, your lips pursed. Heat bursts in your throat as a molten lump takes shape there. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you have to. 

"I thought you were my friend," you say quietly. 

"I want to be more than that." 

"You're making fun of me." 

"No." 

Eddie reaches across the table again. There's nothing for him to grab so he spreads his fingers and presses his palm flat. He ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are ridiculously big, the black of his pupils blown and leaching into his dark irises until they're almost indistinguishable in the fuzzy lighting of the restaurant. 

"Come on," he says quietly, "when have I ever done that to you? I mess around, but I wouldn't say shit like that unless I meant it." His fingers lift off of the table. "I mean it. I think you're beautiful." His voice takes on a raw quality. 

You bite the tip of your tongue, fully frowning now. "I don't believe you," you say. 

"Why not?" he asks, frowning back. 

"Because I'm– I'm– I'm fat." You hate yourself for saying it out loud. 

People hate that word. Usually, if you admit to it, there's a rushed response. No, you're not. Pretty friends talk you down, loved ones wrap an arm around your shoulder and harp about puppy fat or big bones. 

Eddie doesn't do either. He sits back in his seat and smiles hesitantly. 

"Why's that a bad thing?" he asks. He shakes his head at himself. "I mean– I'm sorry, I should've said you aren't, you aren't–" 

"No, I am," you say. 

"You're so pretty," he says again, in a rush. "I don't care what size you are, I really don't. I just think you're beautiful and I wanted to ask you on a real date but I saw you and I couldn't wait anymore." He wraps his hand around the neck of his coke bottles and pulls it towards his chest. "Shit, I've made a huge fucking mess of it." 

You lean forward. Your body doesn't know what to do, the whiplash of hurt smothered by his enthusiastic, sincere compliments.

Why's that a bad thing? means more than anything else he said to you. 

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask timidly. 

"Drop dead," he says. Hope flickers behind his eyes. "Morgan pulled me aside on my second week, you know that? Said if I didn't stop staring at you he'd put me in the back for the week." 

"He did put you in the back," you say, confused. 

"Exactly." 

Oh. You raise your head properly. Eddie's watching you, just you, obviously waiting for you to speak. The hope on his face is clear as day now, his lips parted, the tiniest peek of his tongue on display. 

"You promise you aren't messing with me?" you ask finally. 

"I promise." He holds his hand out, palm up. "I swear." 

Your heart a hummingbird, you take your hand from your waist and put it carefully in his. His fingers curl around yours like a prince, the tip of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles slowly, half an inch at a time. You exhale out of your nose as goosebumps race up your arm. 

He looks like he has more to say, but the pizza and all his sides arrive. You spring apart like teenagers, blood rushing in your ears. The server unloads his tray.

"Alright guys," he says, looking down at you both with a knowing smile. "Anything else I can get you while I'm here?" 

Eddie sneaks a look at you that holds way too much meaning. "No, I think we're alright." 

There's a tiny, awkward silence. You busy yourself with unfolding a napkin over your lap, not sure what to say to bridge the gap. 

Eddie takes the plunge. 

He slides a basket of mozzarella sticks at you. "Pretty girl privileges," he says.

You feel insecure eating in front of him, but the sheer ferocity of his compliments discourages any shame. He thinks you're pretty. He held your hand like it was made of glass and he got put in Hideout jail for staring. 

"I think you're handsome, too," you say. 

Eddie almost chokes on a handful of fries. "Shit," he says, swallowing roughly, hand thumping at his chest. "Thank god for that. I mean, of course you do. My devilish good looks are hard to resist." 

He's not wrong. 

—

Getting put on kitchen duty isn't half as bad as Morgan seems to think it is. Eddie kind of likes it, the noise, the chaos, the heat. Plus, he can steal fries hot and fresh out of the basket. He's only burned himself once. 

"What're you in for?" Leon asks him.

"Staring." 

"You're a freak, Munson, you know that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "If your girlfriend looked like mine, you'd stare too." 

"Uh-huh." Leon grabs up a spatula to flip a burger, pink meat down and brown side up. Fat sizzles dangerously. Neither man flinches. "She ain't going nowhere." 

"You don't know that. Some rockstar might blaze through here and snap her up. Who would I be to stop her? She should be a trophy wife, she's a stunner." 

"Christ," Marcie says from across the room. 

"How the fuck can you hear us?" Eddie asks. Over the sound of the overhead spray and the sizzle of the burners, Marcie must have superpowers or something. 

"Uh, 'cause you're fucking yelling," she says. 

Eddie looks to Leon for some defence, but Leon agrees. "You are super loud." 

"You would be too–"

"If I had a girlfriend as pretty as yours," Leon says, audibly grouchy. "I know." 

"Don't be jealous that I got there first." 

"How is this fair? You get in trouble and I'm the one punished." 

Eddie blows a big breath out of the corner of his mouth, one of his shorter curls dancing away from his warm face. Ridiculous. They're all awful, and jealous, and nobody wants him to be happy. "Losers," he mumbles. 

He's kidding, mostly. He knows that everyone is actually very happy for the both of you. How could they not be? Eddie's happier than ever and you've turned to mush. It's his favourite thing in the world. 

He thought you were pretty before. These days, you're gold dust incarnate. You see him and smile like you've been waiting for him, no more nervousness (which, he found out, was down to a raging crush on him) (he walked on air for days), no more shying away from his touch. Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder and you don't tense; you melt. Butter in the sun. 

It's glorious. 

And sure, Eddie ends up in the brig a lot. He 'hovers' apparently. So what? He'll say it again, if any of these guys were in his shoes, they'd fall victim to the same compulsion. 

He waits for an opportunity to arise, four dinner tickets and a dishwasher disaster, and sneaks away as silently as he can manage, creeping out of the kitchen and to the bar. You're busy pouring a beer and don't notice him until the customer's left and he's wrapping an arm around your waist. 

"Eddie," you scold lightly, leaning forward to accommodate his weight against your back, "come on. You might actually lose your job." 

"They can't fire me. I'm the best bus boy ever." 

You turn your face to look at him. Eddie wants to put you on TV, you look that sweet. 

"No, you're awful, you," —Eddie interrupts you, leaning down for a quick chaste kiss— "distract me, and you," —he steals a second— "don't actually bus tables when you should," you finish, disjointed. 

He brings his hand to your soft cheek, stroking a badly behaved baby hair back into place. You go lax like he's some kind of quick fix drug, and your eyes contain a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He covers his heart with his hand. 

"You're awful," you murmur. 

He takes your face into both hands slowly. One cups your cheek, and the other slides behind your ear. He pulls your face forward and down toward his chin, his lips by your ear. You smell amazing. His eyes close on instinct.

"A little. It's not my fault. You're just–" 

"So pretty?" you ask. "Yeah, you've told me." 

"I have, have I? Have to let me tell you again." He kisses the skin before your ear, more a press of his lips than anything. "You're beautiful," he mouths. 

You shiver, but ultimately end up planting your hands against his chest and ushering him away from you. 

"Stop it. I mean it! We're in public, at work, and you're gonna mess me up." 

"I want to mess you up," he says easily. 

"I know you do." 

Eddie sighs, agonised, but heeds your warning. "Alright," he says, squeezing your shoulder in goodbye. You smile and squeeze his elbow in return. It's your new thing, silent conversation in fond touches. 

He's a couple of feet away when the urge to turn back is too much. He jogs back to your side, gets his hand behind your neck, and kisses you with enough pressure that your lips part underneath his in shock. He adores the side of your neck with his thumb one sweeping stroke at a time, his nose digging sliding against yours as he inches in further, and further. The dizzy pleasure of your lips can't be understated. Eddie fights back a kiss-ruining smile with all he's worth. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling back. Your lips shine and you blink, dazed. "Sorry," he says again, leaning in to kiss them dry. 

You laugh quietly, a breath against his cheek, and he's a goner, dropping pecks all over your pretty face until you're giggling and sinking into his arms. 

"I really am sorry." He punctuates with a kiss under your jaw. 

"No," you say breathlessly. Your hand twines loosely in his hair. "You're not." 

No, he isn't. He's never felt less sorry for anything in his life. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please consider reblogging, it helps more than you know!! <3 

[zebuie]

#♡BOYS WILL BE BUGS♡#

❝𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒❞; bbf!ellie x reader

❁ཻུ۪۪ ⋅ READ THIS. # DAILY CLICK ➹

❝𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒❞; After a breakup, your brother's best friend offers guidance through guitar lessons, but the connection between you deepens, crossing the lines of friendship.

❝𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒❞; 1.7k words, reader had a bf, swearing, this is actually pretty fluffy,✂️✂️✂️, fingering (r receiving, nipple sucking (r receiving, Ellie calls u princess like once, i honestly don’t knowwww😔

↳𝐀/𝐍; Ellie being bbf is mentioned like once……✊🏽 it’s the thought that counts tho right !! i whipped this up in honor of pride month when I was work.happey bride month❤️❤️ be whooo u areeee 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩✂️

It was a crisp morning, the sun just peeking over the horizon when your boyfriend shattered your heart in the most cowardly way possible - through a simple text message. 

I mean- how shittier can he get?!

You found yourself unable to leave the comfort of your bed for three whole days as you grappled with the depth of betrayal. Just when you thought you were alone, your brother's best friend, Ellie, entered your room with a gentle knock on the door.

"She sat gingerly on the edge of your bed, her eyes filled with concern and empathy. Softly, she spoke, her voice a soothing balm to your wounded heart. "Hey," she began, her gaze never leaving your face, "I know this is tough, but you can't keep hiding in here forever."

Ellie's hand reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. 

Her touch was soft, almost reverent, as if she was handling something fragile and precious. 

Her fingers lingered on your cheek for a moment, tracing a soothing pattern against your skin.

She continued to stroke your hair, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. I just thought...maybe you'd want some company.” You stayed silent.

Ellie paused for a moment, her eyes glinting mischievously as she seemed to come to some sort of decision. "Wait right here," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. She rose from the edge of the bed and disappeared out of sight.

"I think this'll cheer you up," she said, her fingers dancing over the strings, producing a soft, melodic tune. The guitar hummed under her touch, the notes weaving a soothing, gentle melody that filled the air. (and of course she’s playing take on me by a-ha.)

Ellie began to sing, her voice soft and sweet as it matched the melody of the guitar. 

The words she sang were familiar, the chorus of a song you knew well. 

Despite the pain you were feeling, you couldn't help but be comforted by her presence, the sound of her voice, and the gentle strums of her guitar.

Her eyes never left your face as she sang, the words seeming almost like a comforting anthem aimed at lifting your spirits. 

The room was bathed in a warm, golden light as she continued to play, the notes hanging in the air like silent promises of better days ahead.

As the last note faded away, Ellie set the guitar down, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. 

"How was that?" she asked, still peering intently into your face, searching for signs of improvement. "Did it help even a little bit?"

You found yourself nodding slightly, a small spark of hope flickering within you. 

The music, combined with her gentle care, had managed to break through the cloud of despair that had surrounded you for days. 

Her eyes lit up at your response, her smile widening into a full-blown grin.

You found yourself suddenly sitting up a little straighter, the spark of curiosity igniting within you. "Could you..." you began, your voice hesitant, 

"teach me how to play?"

Ellie's eyes widened slightly, surprise flitting across her features before being replaced by a soft smile. 

"Of course," she replied, her voice tinged with excitement. "I'd love to teach you."

Ellie's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she shifted on the bed, moving behind you. 

"Alright," she said, her voice a soft whisper against your ear. "Here, let me show you how to hold the guitar properly.

Her hands gently guided yours as she positioned the guitar across your lap, her fingers delicately adjusting the placement of your hands. "Just like this..." she murmured, her voice soft and patient. 

Her body was close, her chest almost touching your back, as she leaned forward, her chin resting on your shoulder.

Her breath was warm against your skin, the tips of her fingers tracing lightly over your knuckles. "Now, place your fingers here, on the strings," she instructed, her voice a soothing murmur. "Yep, just like that.

Her hand enveloped your own, guiding your fingers into the correct position on the fretboard. "Now, press down firmly, but not too hard," she instructed, her voice steady and soothing. 

As you pressed down, a soft chord echoed through the room, the sound surprisingly sweet.

Ellie let out a soft laugh, her breath tickling your ear. "Not bad for a beginner," she said, her tone filled with pride. "Now, try strumming the strings gently.

You took a deep breath, positioning your fingers properly as you stroked them over the strings, producing another soft sound. 

Ellie nodded her head in approval, a smile in her voice as she spoke. "Perfect. You're catching on quickly."

She moved to wrap her arms around you, her body pressing closer against your back. 

Her chin was still perched on your shoulder as she watched you intently, her breath warm against your skin. 

"Try strumming a little faster now," she encouraged, her voice rich with patience.

You obeyed, your fingers moving a bit faster over the strings, producing a slightly faster, more melodious sound. 

Your heart was pounding, a strange mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through you. 

Ellie chuckled, the sound rumbling softly through her chest. "See? You're a natural."

Her chin moved from your shoulder to your ear, her lips hovering dangerously close as she spoke. 

"Now try and do it without looking at the strings. Trust your fingers to find the right frets..." her voice low and gentle.

Your breath caught in your throat at the nearness of her face, but you pushed the sensation away and focused on the strings beneath your fingers. 

Slowly, you began to strum, trying to remember the placement of your fingers without looking. It was a bit more challenging, but the sound was still clear and sweet. 

"Good..." Ellie whispered, her voice filled with encouragement.

Her breath was warm on your neck now, the proximity of her body making goose bumps erupt on your skin.

 "Keep going like that," she murmured, her hands still guiding your own on the guitar. "You're doing great."

The heat of her body was intoxicating, the closeness almost overwhelming. 

Your fingers moved over the strings, each stroke producing a clear, sweet sound that filled the room. Her breath was warm against your ear, her chest rising and falling in time with your own. 

"That's it," she whispered, her voice a soothing murmur. "You're a fast learner.”

You couldn't help yourself anymore. 

The tension in the room was palpable, and the proximity of her body to yours was driving you wild. Turning around abruptly, you captured her lips in a swift, impulsive kiss.

Ellie's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but quickly softened as she melted into the kiss. 

Her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified. The guitar fell to the side, forgotten, as your lips moved together hungrily.

The moment your lips meet Ellie's, the world around you fades away. The guitar, the lesson, the fact that she was teaching you how to play guitar minutes ago—none of it matters as you lose yourselves in the kiss. 

Ellie's fingers dig into your hips as she pulls you flush against her body; her tongue dancing with yours in a passionate tango.

Finally breaking apart for air, Ellie's cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are heavy-lidded with desire. "Fuck," she breathes hoarsely. 

She looks up to you as a way of asking for permission and eagerly you nod, she lows herself down and pulls down your shorts.

 She licks her lips before leaning in to press a kiss to the fabric. "So pretty." Her fingers hook into the elastic, pulling the material aside as she gives your bare sex a long, admiring look. 

"so wet already," she notes with a smile. With that, she plunges two fingers inside you, feeling you clench around the intrusion.

Ellie gently rocks her fingers inside you, curving them to stroke that magical spot. You moan softly, your hips undulating against her hand as she explores your sensitive depths. "Relax, princess," she coos. 

"jus let me take care of you." Her thumb rubs slow circles over your clit as her fingers continue their tender thrusts. 

You feel your pleasure building under her ministrations; your body trembling and your breath growing short.

As you near the edge, Ellie slows her movements, pulling her fingers out of you slowly as she gently pulls off your shirt.

she kisses you again, soft and sweet; her tongue flicking across your lips as she holds you close. When she finally pulls away, she leaves a trail of gentle kisses down your neck. "I want to see all of you," she whispers, snapping open your bra with deft fingers. 

She guides it off, letting your breasts fall free. "So beautiful," she breathes, taking one of your nipples into her mouth for a tender suck.

Ellie laves your breast, lapping at the nipple with her tongue before nipping it gently. 

She worships your chest with slow, reverent kisses as her hands roam over your skin, rediscovering every curve and dip. When she finally looks up at you again, her eyes are dark with need.

 "Please," she whispers, "I need to feel you against me." With that, she guides you down onto the couch, settling between your legs as she lines herself up with your entrance. Slowly, she sinks inside you—both of you moaning at the sensation of their joining.

The kiss breaks, and Ellie rests her forehead against yours; her body buried inside you to the hilt. "Holy shit..” she breathes. "so good." She begins to move, slowly at first, rolling her hips as she searches for the perfect angle. When she finds it, she doesn't hesitate, pounding into you with all the passion she's been holding back. 

The bed creaks in protest as you're slammed against it—Ellie's nails digging into your hips as she claims you.

You cling to Ellie as she rides you hard, your fingers twisted in her hair as your bodies slam together again and again. The sound of skin on skin fills the room; mingling with your ragged breathing and Ellie's throaty moans. 

She slams her hips down, burying herself to the hilt inside you as she grinds against your clit with every thrust, “my fucking god-“ she gasps. "I'm gonna...fuck, I'm gonna cum." With that, she buries her face in your neck, biting the sensitive skin as she convulses above you; her pussy clamping down on you like a vice.

[fallingforyouforeverr]

𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝:

summary: just general dating hc's

authors note: I literally change hyperfixations like I change clothes but started watching him on tiktok recently and immediately fell in love so here we are. also its my first time writing hc's so pls don't judge

please consider checking out my masterlist

-> firstly, this man deffo gives golden retriever bf energy. like it takes a while for him to fall in love, but when he does he is absolutely whipped for you

-> seems like the type of guy to act all tough in front of his mates but as soon as you two are in private he just melts

-> definitely a physical touch and words of affectionate bullying affirmation person. he just loves to remind you how much you mean to him

-> he also loves gift giving. nothing makes george happier than seeing your smile when he buys you something you've been wanting for a while or something that reminds him of you . also, you can't tell me he wouldn't buy you a necklace with his initial on it after you guys had been together for a while

-> it genuinely makes him so happy to see you getting along with his friends. he adores it when you come along to recordings with him, especially when he gets to show off in one of chris' football videos, or even just go out to the pub with him and the arthurs.

-> 100% a jealous boyfriend but he's pretty subtle about it. he gets more flirty and touchy, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your neck while death glaring the guy you were speaking to

-> if you ever mention it he will deny it until the day he dies tho (but he can't hide the pink blush spreading across his face)

-> loves to post you all over his social media. whether it be featuring you in his tiktoks or random insta posts of your latest date night, he loves to show you off

-> he's a very busy guy. between planning/filming tiktoks or yt videos and the podcast he sometimes struggles to make time for you but he always makes up for it with cute little surprise dates at your favourite places.

-> lots of dinner dates. he loves food and he loves you so it's the perfect combination. he also loves watching you get ready and helping you put on your outfit and taking it off later

-> george is secretly a bit of a romantic and does a bunch of cute stuff like buying you flowers before each date and paying for you when you go out together

-> unfortunately, he can also be very annoying sometimes, and likes to tease you and rile you up because he finds your reaction funny. he never takes it too far tho, he would never want to hurt your feelings

-> if you ever do get in an argument, he can be pretty hot-headed in the moment but once he calms down he is literally down on his knees begging for your forgiveness

-> overall 10/10 boyfriend, would date again

thanks for reading! feel free to request a fic!

[skycowboys]

Hey!!! You made a "how to draw wings" sheet, but— how on Earth do you draw horse!?!? The bane of every artists existence

Yeahhh horses are hard. They have lots of little nuances on top of complex anatomy and weird ass shapes (literally and figuratively). Drawing them requires lots and lots of practice. And this is like...entire art book levels of subject matter but here are a few tricks that I've picked up over time -

Key body shapes - shoulder, barrel, hip

I won't go too far into this one because Ken Hultgren does a much better job in his book The Art of Animal Drawing. But TL;DR - a horse's body has three main masses - the shoulder, the barrel, and the hip. Each one is tricky to draw on it's own since they're all weird shapes, but it's helpful to me to break a horse body down into simpler terms.

Key muscle masses

When I draw horses, I like to emphasis curves vs straights. Horses have that built in naturally as their body is often either "pure muscle" or "pure bone". There's some really nice details at the intersections of body parts, like at the front elbow and behind the ears along the neck (aka the "poll") where there's highly definable muscle groups that can help with visual clarity.

Fun fact, young horses grow hip-first. The horse in the photo above is 8 years old. That same horse at 4 years is below. Cracks me up how much taller his hip was at the time.

Ok so the muscles on the front legs combined with the shoulder mass is a fave combo of mine. The shoulder mass itself is something that I've found that is particularly horse-ish. For me, it's a pretty big visual signifier - almost more important than the neck. You can show a lot of tension/action in the body with the shoulder depending how you simplify it. Horses use their shoulders A LOT (too much if you ask any dressage rider or reiner), so emphasizing the shoulder can make a horse more expressive.

Legs. Oh heavens, the legs.

Yeah ok so again, Hultgren goes into fantastic detail on legs and hooves (I still follow how he simplifies hooves to this day my gosh that guy is a genius), but I often break them down like this for quick sketching. Are horse's legs realistically this emphasized? No, but I like the visual language; believable but expressive. This can apply to any size/shape from arabians to drafts.

And finally...

A few head details -

Overall horses have SO many variables. The fun part about that is that they're highly customizable and able to be endlessly stylized. The tough part is that they're hard to draw strictly because of all of the little things to keep track of to make sure the horse reads as "horse".

And so because third time's the charm, Ken Hultgren's Art of Animal Drawing really is one of the best I've seen for breaking down, simplifying, and applying horse anatomy to active drawings.

But most of all, the more you draw horses the easier they'll be.

–

Discord | Patreon | Art Prints

[thegoldencontracts]

Is Azul Actually Kind?

I know how it sounds but pleaseee hear me out.

Azul isn't kind. That seems to be pretty obvious, right? His benevolence is clearly a facade, meant to hide the selfish, cunning nature lurking within.

I thought that too. But then I saw something that made me question it.

Namely, Azul's Platinum Suit Vignette, where he looks at the Sea Witch's actions regarding Ariel, and calls it 'tough love'.

He isn't talking about himself, he has no reason to fib. He even brings up his Grandma, making it pretty evident he's being sincere. He views the Sea Witch's actions - punishing deal breakers and setting people on them - tough love.

And the Sea Witch's actions are remarkably similar to his own. He makes deals, and he punishes people who can't fulfill them. But there are some very interesting things that, to be, combine with this to bring about the theory that deep down (or maybe not so deep down) he views it as an act of tough love.

1. Azul almost never harms his clients in a truly crippling manner. The one exception to this is the Prefect, but I feel that's easily explained by the fact that this was shortly before his overblot, and like other characters, Azul too was behaving in a manner worse than usual.

Other than that, though, his punishments are typically servitude, or giving up a talent. Keyword: a talent. Not the thing itself. Someone with a good voice who gives it up doesn't become voiceless, they just start sounding hoarse. This is proven during his backstory.

2. Azul comes from a place where 'survival of the fittest' reigns dominant. This is proven during book 6, where he mentions being hypervigilant and a risk of predators under the sea. This was also heavily implied by the twins.

To him, people who don't understand not to trust others likely seem misguided - especially considering his childhood.

3. Azul and Riddle have a lot of Parallels

This one is interesting. If you look closely, Azul and Riddle share many similarities: Sophomore Housewardens, Honors Students, completely broke down during their overblot rather than still concealing their emotions, tyrannical behavior over underlings, heavily implied eating disorders, incredibly hard-working despite their smug appearance, being short-tempered, the list goes on.

Riddle also truly believed that he was doing a service to the students of Heartslabyul by enforcing the rules the hard way. He likely viewed it as a form of tough love.

And so, Azul being kind in his own, odd way starts to make sense. It would give him another parallel to Riddle. And his 'survival of the fittest', bootstrap-pulling upbringing may be he doesn't actually find his actions that cruel, if anything, he genuinely may believe he's doing them a favor by teaching them early on not to trust others, to only make deals they know they can keep. And he's not exactly crippling them, so it's better him than someone who will.

So yeah, maybe Azul really does think he's being kind - at least, deep down.

Discourse, critique, and requests for proper citation are always welcome!