#lives in my houseplant corner now

[garblegarden]

i made a friend the other day it was a little baby assassin bug

[kashverse]

imagine the horror on sukunas face when his daughter starts saying the slangs he uses 😭

it was bound to happen. sukuna’s vocabulary was always going to come back to bite him in the ass. you just didn’t think it would be your sweet, precious angel who would be the one to scream—

"FUCK!"

—in the unusually quiet sukuna household.

you froze. sukuna froze. the houseplants probably froze. there was a pin-drop silence as you slowly turned to look at your sweet baby girl, standing in the middle of the living room with her tiny fists clenched, an identical scowl to her father’s on her face.

"…baby," you said carefully, "what did you just say?"

"FUCK!" she repeated, as if testing out the weight of the word, her face scrunching in concentration. you gasped. 

"sukuna."

"why the fuck are you looking at me?" sukuna hissed, then immediately winced. "shit—fuck—damn it!"

"papa said a bad word!" babykuna pointed, looking gleeful.

"you just said it first!" sukuna yelled, looking personally betrayed. you rubbed your temples, already feeling a headache coming on. “where did you even learn that word?” 

your baby girl blinked at you. "from papa."

you turned your head so slowly towards your husband that you swore you heard your neck crack.

"of course she did."

sukuna was silent.

"baby," you knelt down in front of your daughter, taking her tiny hands in yours. "we don’t say that word, okay?"

her little face fell, eyes glistening with tears as she realized you weren’t pleased. "did i…" she sniffled, voice wobbling, "did i dis’point mama?"

oh. oh no. you felt actual heartbreak rip through your chest as you scooped her up, hugging her tight. "no, no, no, baby, you could never disappoint me—"

but before you could fully reassure her, she burst into tears, wailing, "i don’t wanna make mama sad—!"

"shit," sukuna muttered, running a hand down his face. "now look what you did."

"what i did?!" you shot back, eyes blazing. "you're the reason she knows that word in the first place!"

"it's a normal word!" sukuna argued, throwing his arms up. "people say it everyday!"

"SHE'S FIVE!"

as you continued to yell, sukuna slowly retreating into the corner of the room, crouching down, his arms wrapped around his knees. he was silent. too silent. you paused mid-rant, suddenly aware of the existential crisis happening behind you.

"…sukuna?"

he didn’t respond. just stared into the abyss, eyes vacant. "i failed as a parent," he muttered to himself, voice hollow. "my baby girl… my princess… she swore before she even learned to spell properly. i—i’ve corrupted her—"

you blinked. "sukuna, what the hell—"

"don't cuss in front of her!" he snapped, looking devastated.

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!"

"mama said a bad word!" babykuna gasped.

"oh my god." you wanted to scream.

[monzamash]

lost in japan — lando norris

lando norris x you (femreader) | 3.8k summary – a convincing late night call and a flight to japan. warnings – 18+ (sex, coarse language) inspo – ‘i like being close to you. you’re warm’ for the #monzamashspecial and that shawn mendes song – you know the one. masterlist

“Fly out and see me…”

“You know I can’t, Lando.”

This had been the back and forth for nearly half an hour, like a painfully long rally in tennis and neither one of you wanted to give up the point. Lando had been out in Japan for nearly a week, 5 days and counting and before that, Singapore and before that, Italy for training. He had always been at peace with the time he spent away from home, because up until now it had never really been a problem. Jet-setting across the globe, living out his childhood dream – on top of the world. Chained to nothing and nobody.

But then you showed up in those leather pants; it was all by coincidence and he was in trouble from the very beginning. He liked you. A lot. And you liked him but that one night on a breezy street corner in Melbourne had changed his perspective. Skewed beyond recognition, because now he had someone to miss. Someone who influenced his happiness, his contentedness and that was you. You had snapped up a spot in his cold, precious heart that he had guarded, locked away safely so he didn’t have to wake up to that sinking feeling in his gut, or look at his phone and have his mood drop when he didn't see your name in his notifications.

He was forlorn without you and even though it made him sick that he had ended up like this, he loved it. He took the good with the bad, every chance to hear your voice made it worthwhile and much to your surprise, you felt the same. Infatuated and swept up in this new romance.

“Why not? If you give me a really good answer, I’ll stop asking,” Lando bartered as he trudged around his hotel room, kicking articles of clothing towards his empty suitcase in an attempt to clean up the mess he’d made over the last couple of days.

“Well for starters I have this thing called a job… I have responsibilities and I have my houseplants – you know how much they mean to me.”

A small smirk tugged on the corners of your mouth when Lando rolled his eyes, brow quirked. Even the shaky camera was able to capture his distain for your answer but he quickly bounced back, knowing that he wasn’t completely out of the fight if it was a couple of replaceable pot plants keeping you from dropping everything to see him. Surely he meant more than that.

“You love me way more though.”

“Definitely not,” You scoffed playfully and adjusted the loose, somewhat revealing top you'd been sleeping in before this late night call, “But I do miss you a tiny bit…”

Lando’s frown softened at your confession, one he’d been patiently waiting to hear. I miss you too; he sighed and walked into what looked like a bathroom, carefully balancing the phone on a shelf beside the mirror. 

He was an enigma the night that you met him; a friend of a friend of a friend, someone had said when introducing the two of you at a swanky restaurant in the heart of the city. You had wondered why there was a last minute invite sent your way that afternoon, until your friend explained that her new work friend wanted to show their friend who had just flown in from England a good time. It was a confusing web of acquaintances but you agreed, knowing that whatever she had organised would be worthwhile attending.

Little did you know that the friend would have something to do with why your street was shut down for a week, making your daily commute fifteen minutes longer than normal. But when you looked into those stormy blue, or maybe they were hazel eyes, and grasped the hand he was holding out for you to shake, you didn’t care. In fact, nothing really mattered after the two of you pulled up a seat at the long table and continued chatting, drawn together.

“See something you like? …”

Lando’s tinny voice pulled you out of your daydreaming and snapped your eyes back to your screen. You cleared your throat and tucked a couple of stray hairs behind your ear as you watched him change out of his Phoenix suns shirt; his rippling muscles contracting caught your attention, perfectly sculpted under is sun-kissed skin. Beneath all the boyish charm and dripping sarcasm, he was sexy. And it was taking everything in your power not to give in and book a plane ticket to Japan as soon as possible.

“Nothing in particular but I do like that shirt,” You deflected with a smirk, wanting nothing more than to be crawling your lips all over his skin, tasting the cool mint mouthwash he was swirling and spitting out in quick succession.

“Might have to steal it when I see you next.”

“Which will be…?” Lando teetered off, hoping for sooner rather than later but you simply shrugged and closed your eyes, exhaling so deeply that a whistle rang through your nostrils.   

Lando could tell you were battling internally with the idea, knowing that you wanted to see him just as much as he ached to see you. It’d been too long and with your situationship being so new, so hot – he was desperate to lock in a time or have at least a crumb to cling onto if nothing else. But he needed to be gentle, patient while you worked through all of the metaphorical plates spinning in your head.

“You can steal all of my shirts when you get here,” He sweetly stated, his attention full focused on your solemn expression, “Look, what day suits you the best and I’ll work around that.”

He was serving the ball in your court now, with the promise of taking care of everything else so you didn’t even have to think about it. Make the fleeting decision and the rest will be sorted. Except for the glaringly obvious hurdles you’d have to jump over to get the time off work that you knew Lando wanted you to have.

“Maybe Saturday…”

Lando groaned at your response, “But I’ll be busy all day Saturday.”

“Doing what?” You teased; lip firmly gripped between your front teeth as Lando rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his messy hair in frustration.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” He grumbled and titled his head back, chin and jawline tensed as he groaned loudly into the dark bedroom he was sitting in, “Come on – I’m blue-balling out here and you’re not here to help me… It's not fair.”

“Oh, so you just want me for sex?”

Lando’s eyes narrowed and a small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he planned his next move, “No,” He sheepishly whispered, “But also not no… But definitely not just for sex because that would be wildly perverse and disgusting – promise.” Cheeky fucker.

You hummed, “Just so we’re clear, I’d just be coming out for the sex. Nothing more than that – can’t stand you, actually. Absolutely gross.”

Not even a beat passed before Lando's loud, high-pitched laugh filtered through your air pods, hand barely covering his face. The other was in your face, middle finger perfectly framed on your screen while you sat back and enjoyed the sound you’d missed so much; his laugh alone made you chuckle and forget all about your worries.

“Fuck you,” He cheekily retorted, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, “But what I’m hearing is that you’re coming out… I’m booking you a ticket right now so keep an eye out for the email, baby.”

Baby.

“Baby?” You asked, eyebrow quirked with intrigue.

“Shit, sorry…” Lando cursed under his breath, cheeks reddening as he clicked away on his phone, “It slipped out. Is it bad?”

You shook your head and balanced your chin on your knuckles, “No, I like it – makes me feel like we’re more than just strangers fucking around.”

“Oh yeah? And is that something you want to feel or?”

Now he was just being cocky.

It was your turn to roll your eyes and scowl, “Don’t push it, baby.”

“You can’t go calling me that with that tone and not be naked in this bed right now… You’re killing me.” His voice was strained, eyes dark.

You simply smiled and winked, “I will be soon.”

“Cannot fucking wait.”

It was raining in Osaka when you landed; the red eye flight causing your eyes to flutter close as you slumped in the back seat of the cab, silent. Bright headlights from the heavy traffic flashed behind your eyelids as the driver slowly made his way through the city streets, stopping every two seconds for pedestrians. You were in a foreign country; one you’d never visited before but you felt calm, safe to completely relax after the tenuous eleven hour flight.

Lando had messaged you the address to the hotel he was staying at and let you know he’d left his spare key card for you downstairs at reception. You shyly asked the attendant for the card he left, feeling a little dirty at the insinuation that you were there for a good time, not a long time. A thought entirely in your own head as the young lady gave you a polite smile and sent you on your way.

Because of Lando’s efforts to go above and beyond making your journey as stress-free as possible, you hadn’t bothered messaging him when you landed or even checked to make sure he was at the hotel. Only having carry-on gave you the freedom to jump off the plane and into a cab – no time to really think about the logistics that you had been reassured were taken care of. All you could think about was the instinctual pull you felt to get to him as quickly as you could.

Maybe you should’ve messaged. Given him the heads up as you tiptoed through the long hallway, past the large lounge room and kitchen that was bigger than your own back home. It was massive and as expected, exuding luxury. You could tell from the facetime yesterday that he was living large in the penthouse suite, indulging in all the lavish things life as a professional athlete promised. It was too much but you weren’t complaining when you touched the plush robes hung up on the back of the bedroom door or when you saw how huge, and enticing the bed was.

You let your mind wander to the possibility that maybe, just maybe you could get used to this but as soon as that thought emerged, you flicked it away. The gentle sound of running water echoing drew your attention to the door on the other side of the room, closed and most likely locked for privacy, or so you assumed.

Your feet were gliding you towards the sound, hand reaching for the handle before your brain had even registered what you were doing. Impatience and temptation were fuelling all of your movements as you clicked open the door and let out a cloud of steam, warmth instantly hitting your face as you took a couple of steps over the threshold.

“Hello?” You softly called out, not wanting to startle Lando but failing as you heard a shallow gasp from behind the steamed glass. His hand hit the pane and smudged away the moisture obstructing his sight, his narrowed eyes bloodshot from the water but he could see you, wondered for a second if you were a ghost in the fog but grinning when he realised you were here. Really here.

“Holy shit…” He breathed out and pushed open the glass door, thrilled that you were already unzipping your jeans and tugging the tight shirt from your shoulders. He didn't even have to ask.

“You scared the absolute shit out of me.”

He almost giggled as you skirted your underwear down your legs, the cool air sending chills down across your skin, “Let me in, quick!”

Lando moved aside with another chuckle, hands grasping your waist as you searched for warmth, a sigh of relief exhaled when you felt the hot water rushing over your back, eyes closed and skin tingling from the gentle touches trailing down your spine. You fluttered your eyes open; smile etched on your face as you looked up and took in your surroundings. Took in him.

“Hello.”  

“Hi.”

Lando whispered back as you reached out and placed your hands on his chest that was glimmering with water droplets the same size of his birth marks and freckles. Misshapen and lovely. The scent of lemon and sandalwood mingling together filled the air, his skin still slick and soapy from being interrupted mid-shower but he didn't care. Not one bit.

Your fingers danced across his beating heart, tracing small circles on his shoulder before gazing up through your lashes, smile coy.

“I made it…”

“You did… and you’re real,” So real he could feel you and see, for the first time in over a month, how you reacted to his touch.

“How are you real?”

“That’s way too philosophical for my mushy brain so just shut up and kiss me, please,” You teased, tone soft and arms snaking around his waist to bring his body closer; chest stuck perfectly against yours.

“That I can do,” Lando sang back as he grasped your slack jaw in his hands and pulled you in, lips tied in a wistful kiss.

It wasn’t an ordinary kiss. It was a Lando kiss, which up until this point in your life you’d never experienced before now. You felt sparkly, giddy yet set alight, burning with desire – all rolled into one wild emotion. At first you mistook it for lust, merely a physical attraction that would slowly fade away, never felt again. But it was lust disguised when you felt it for the second time and then the third and forth time, the fifth and so on.

The feeling never faded and remained even when you were miles away, kissing through the phone and pretending you were together, touching one another. Chasing that feeling over and over again.

His lips moved so perfectly with yours, in sync and the taste on his tongue reminded you of a warm summers day down on the beach, cocktail in one hand and his fingers intertwined in the other. It was visceral and destined, like you’d kissed him a million times before; but what you were doing with him was all so new, so fresh, so fucking exhilarating that you hadn’t even realised he’d moved his lips to your neck, the soft spot beneath your ear being gently nibbled by his sharp teeth.

“You smell so good... like the first night we fucked,” Lando mumbled against your supple skin, eliciting the tiniest whimper to slip from your parted lips as he brushed the palms of his hands over your perky nipples.

“Hello to you,” He whispered, pressing a soft, smirking kiss to the top of your left boob before moving to the right, “And hello to you.”

“Oh my god,” You groaned at his words, barely slapping his bicep but still making him flinch, as his breathy giggle fanned across your chest, “Such a dork.” 

Lando removed his lips, reluctantly and stood up straight again, slightly towering over your smaller frame, “I remember you saying that you liked that about me…” He defended and suggestively winked, slowly walking you out from underneath the stream of water and towards the shower wall.

“I think it came up when you were touching yourself and moaning my name… Maybe? Can’t quite recall,” He toyed, knowing exactly what had happened last week when you texted him, ‘call me asap’ in the middle of the night.

“You are doing a lot of talking for a guy who replied with ‘I’m watching the new episode of Mandalorian, can’t call’, after I sent you a photo of me literally naked… You know what, maybe I should leave you hanging, now that you’ve so kindly brought it up.”

The whiny protest and strain in Lando’s eyes softened when he felt your hand graze his thigh, fingernails lightly scratching the skin so close to where he had been aching for you. He gasped at the sensation, starved of anyone’s touch besides his own for far too long. Your eyes met in the middle, a humorous smile twitching on the ridge of your mouth when he sucked in a deep breath and his bottom lip with it as you wrapped your hand around him, twisting gently.

Long strokes sent his eyelashes fluttering shut as he pushed you against the wet titled wall; skin slapping as your back made contact. His head was titled back from the pleasure coursing through his veins, somehow still attached to his body as he let out a strangled moan. He couldn’t think straight – the words magnificent and mind-blowing tumbling around his empty head until he heard a squeak and cracked open his eyes to see you turning around, hands pressed against the crimson tiles.

He noticed a hunger burning behind your stare when you glanced over your shoulder, ass brushing over his cock like a woman starved.

“I’ve been dreaming about this ever since I left your place in London,” You confessed as Lando dipped his head and trailed open-mouthed kisses down your back, "Think about it so much."

“Fuuuck,” He grumbled as you rolled your hips steadily, stroking him between your slightly parted thighs with a raspy moan, “Shower sex specifically?”

Lando’s question was punctuated with his tip nudging forward, gliding over your clit before sinking slowly into your warmth with a gruff exhale, “Shiiit.”

A soft giggle slipped from your lips as you leaned forward and rested your forehead against the wall, droplets of water dripping down the ceramic onto your flushed cheeks. Chills crawled down your spine as Lando roughly grasped your hips, fingertips kneading the skin as he slowly fucked into you.

“Shower sex had crossed my mind but honestly, I imagined it all…”

“Did it feel this good?” Lando asked with a knowing smile on his lips as he rocked into you, slow and steady, sensing that the occasion called for something gentle, "Because it didn't in my imagination." You shook your head and grasped his wrist, needing to feel his large hand on your stomach, “Not even close, baby… I want it all.”

Hearing you stake your claim for his heart and hint that maybe you wanted more than just a couple of one night stands strung together sent a surge of serotonin through Lando's hazy mind. It may have started that way; a subtle mention of 'no strings attached' so you could both keep your hearts safe but the countless hours talking on the phone, venting about your day as if you’d known each other for years proved that it was more. The way his touch set every inch of your skin alight proved to you that he was more.

He was the match to your fuse.

A gasp slipped from your lips when he pulled out, the emptiness feeling like a punishment for god knows what but Lando was quick to spin you around and pin your back against the cold wall, “Need to change it up otherwise we’ll be calling it a night very early.”

“Can’t handle the heat?” You teased, hoisting your leg to wrap around his thigh as he stretched you out again; eyes closing for a split second to adjust to his firm thrust.

“Oh, I’m doing great, pretty girl. Dunno about you though...” Lando whispered the last part as his hand skimmed down between your legs, thumb gliding over your sensitive nub ever so lightly – enough to have you hissing in pleasure.

“I am going so good..." You exhaled, trying to keep your cool but the scrunched up brows and slack jaw exposed you and he couldn't help but admire how fucking beautiful you looked meeting his snapping hips, deliciously synchronised .

"Keep touching me like that.”

You unclasped your claws that were digging into Lando's muscular biceps and slung your arms loosely over his shoulders, chest to chest and you could feel his heart beating. It was pumping under the taut skin, thrumming against your own as he rocked his hips into you, long, teasing strokes that were clouding your mind with all sorts of dangerous thoughts.

“I like being this close to you. You’re so warm and soft and god…” He rambled off with a moan and a gritted smile as you opened your eyes and held his face in your hands, smiling back.

“I like it too.”

The words got tangled in your throat as your nails dug into the back of his head, the pace now quickening to a level you’d never really been before with Lando. Sure, you'd had sex but this was different. It was pent up, building to an unparalleled crescendo that was washing over the both of you quicker than expected. Loud moans being swallowed in a desperate kiss, hands fumbling to grab hold of any inch of skin they could to pull you through your earth shattering high. Screams muted by the sound of running water.

And all you could do was ride it out while Lando held you upright, palms shaky and fingertips barely holding on as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck; curls tickling the sultry skin. The air was thick, humidity making everything sticky as your erratic breaths rattled against one another; chests connected, limbs tangled together as you stood under the water.

Wow, was all Lando rasped with no attempt of untangling himself from your embrace until your trembling fingers traced down his back, nails dragging over his supple skin finall brought him into your vision once again. Eyes misty and tired.

“I’m really pruny.” He stated and held up his wrinkling hand; a shy smile appeared on his plush lips as you laced your fingers with his.

You hummed and tucked a couple of the damp curls that had fallen into his face behind his pointy ears, “Shall I suggest continuing this on that massive fucking bed sitting in the middle of a room that’s bigger than my apartment?”

Lando chuckled and ghosted a soft, heart-racing kiss to your pursed lips as he reached for the towel he’d set out for himself, “It’s stupid how massive it is,” He bashfully confessed, wrapping your shivering body up and guiding you out to the warm bedroom.

“It’s… Lavish and maybe a little silly.”

There was comfortable silence as you glanced around the room again, noticing the pile of clothes that Lando had been kicking around on your call yesterday, “Yeah, sorry about the mess. I was gonna clear up but I didn’t expect you to get in so early tonight – I'm bad with time zones and all that shit.”

“Well you have a lot to keep track of with all the travelling so that’s understandable and don’t worry about the clothes, my floor is ten times worse than this.”

There was something familiar in the way you soothed his nerves and made his anxieties melt away with your words. He liked that about you, that no matter what stupid thing he’d said or done, you were either backing him up or affectionately ribbing him before mollifying his worries.

“Can’t wait to see it in person soon,” Lando blurted out, not even thinking about whether that was something you wanted or if your reassuring words warranted that intense of a response.

But you smiled and nodded, again, easing his blushing cheeks that were still burning from his high only minutes ago. There was a comfortable silence as you stood up from the end of the bed and let him bury you in one of the big, fluffy robes you’d noticed on your way in – the gold italic ‘H’ shining under the down lights as you tied the belt up, watching Lando do the same.

“Very soon, I hope.”

You sealed the promise with a kiss to his bottom lip, praying that you could be more than just a stranger he’d met by happenstance. More than an acquaintance who was simply a way to pass the time while he was away from home. Away from his creature comforts.

And if he did need you in his life like you needed him, then you definitely wanted to be his friend. Maybe more.

a//n – really been feeling the lando bug recently so let me know what you thought of this little one-shot! this will actually be the last of the #monzamashspecial celebrating 700 followers and funnily enough, i just passed 1k this morning, i think? so thank you all so much for the support. i still have a couple of great suggestions that i will get to next so keep an eye for that x masterlist | askbox

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Beautiful Boys

Prompt Day 23: Wayne Adopts Steve | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Lingering Injuries/Trauma | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Wayne & Steve, Wayne POV

Wayne is in Hawkins Hardware, looking at the fence pickets. He definitely didn't expect them to have this many choices. He figured he'd come in and buy what he needed, from the only option available. In and out. Wallet a little lighter, but no choices to be made. 

But, no. There are options. Decisions. And he isn't sure which style Eddie would prefer. He just wants Eddie to have a place he feels safe outdoors, again.

Wayne reaches out to touch the samples, again, when he hears clattering and an "oh my god, I'm so sorry" that sounds an awful lot like Steve Harrington.

Wayne pokes his head around the corner of the aisle, and Steve is gathering up a bunch of swag hooks off the floor, swiping them back into his handbasket.

"What're you doin' with those, kid?" Wayne asks, crouching down to help him.

"Eddie's plants," Steve says, standing back up, pushing his hair back and up, out of his eyes. These boys and their hair they can't keep contained. Wayne smiles. He remembers how his (now long-gone) hair was in the sixties. Different styles, sure, but just as impractical, at times.

"Eddie's plants," Wayne repeats with a smile, then asks, "You're gonna hang them from the ceiling?" 

Steve nods, and Wayne grins, "That's a good idea, kid. He'll love that."

Eddie has gathered up a lot of houseplants recently, tending to them, taking care of them, babying them. The first ones were sent to the hospital by his friends, and Eddie latched onto them. And now, Steve drags a new one home every week or two as a gift. Eddie is still recovering, might always be recovering, but his plants make him smile and give him something to do.

Wayne doesn't quite understand it, not with the black thumb he has, but it's like everything else about Eddie. Wayne doesn't have to understand it, to support him. If Eddie wants plants, they can have a whole houseful of them.

Eddie survived something he still hasn't fully explained to Wayne, might never, so if he wants to fill the house with greenery, so be it. 

If he wants to fill the house with Steve Harrington, too, that's also just fine by Wayne.

Steve smiles shyly, "If you don't care that I put holes in the ceiling, that is."

Wayne doesn't care. "I'll help. I've got a stud finder, so we won't have them falling and cracking us on the noggin."

Steve laughs, and nods, "Thanks. What are you doing here?"

Wayne waves him over, getting Steve to follow him.

"Trying to pick fencing for the backyard. If Eddie's gonna keep dragging home strays, we'll need a place to put them," Wayne says, and Steve blushes, just a little. 

"I could make a tent work," Steve teases, and Wayne squeezes his shoulder. Steve is always, and will always, be welcome in the house.

"Good to know, but I was thinking more along the lines of dogs, cats, raccoons. You know how he is," Wayne drawls, and Steve smiles. It's wishful thinking, because they both know the real reason for the fence. Eddie doesn't want to leave the house these days.

"I just assumed I'd get dog-ears," Wayne says, pointing at the slightly-rounded piece of wood on display. "But there are choices."

Steve studies them all, finally saying "I think Eddie would like the pointed ones the most. Looks dangerous," Steve says.

Wayne nods. He was thinking the same thing.

"They're narrower, be more work to set," Wayne mutters.

Steve turns to look at him, "I'll help you, you know that."

Wayne nods. He knows Steve will. He's a good kid, who spends most of his time hanging out in their new little house, doting on Eddie in one way or another. Wayne isn't blind. He knows what this is, what these boys feel for each other, even if Eddie hasn't told him yet.

He will. Wayne just has to be patient.

"Sounds good, kid," Wayne says, and Steve grins, big and bright. Like he wasn't sure his help would be accepted. 

"I don't know much about building a fence, but I can learn. I can follow instructions," Steve assures, and Wayne pats him on the back.

"Let's double-check my math here," Wayne says, pulling a small notepad out of his pocket, rerunning his figures. 

Once he's got a good number, Wayne directs them towards the stain options. Steve picks one with a red tint, and Wayne nods. Looks good to him.

When they get to the counter, he takes Steve's basket and adds it to his.

"You don't have to do that," Steve says.

Wayne knows he doesn't, but it's for Eddie and it's just a few dollars worth of hooks and bolts. He's definitely gonna get his money back in fence-building help.

"I know, I want to," Wayne says, opening his wallet.

Outside, Steve helps the guys from the lumber department load up the trailer full of the pickets. 

"See you at home?" Wayne questions, and Steve nods and smiles.

"Yeah, at home," he answers, walking towards his car, with his small sack of hardware.

And they spend days hanging the over-abundance of plants in front of every window in the house, so many that it seems like they're living in a greenhouse, and then they work on the fence. Putting it up, picket by picket, together.

Sometimes, Eddie comes and sits on the patio and watches, but it still takes a lot out of him, even now, months later. Wayne's worried he might never fully recover. 

But, Steve works hard to entertain Eddie. Steve's funny, and he treats Eddie real good. That's all that will ever matter to Wayne. Eddie's his boy, and by extension, Steve's his boy now, too.

Eddie and Steve fight over the radio, a welcome sound, and Steve's won. 

So, John Lennon's singing about a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. 

Wayne knows that feeling well.

He's got two of those beautiful boys, now. 

close your eyes, have no fear, the monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy John Lennon, Beautiful Boy

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #02)

FEB02: A Bit of Banter

You were outside of his window again, wearing the most ridiculous sleep shorts he’d ever seen in his goddamn life. And by ridiculous, he meant downright tantalizing. Sure, they were highlighter pink and had little hearts on the pockets, but they may as well have been transparent. As you bent over to move your potted plants away from his half of the balcony, he could see… everything.

At the plump, delightful join of your shapely legs, the outline of your adorable little pussy lips kept peeking between them, playing hide-and-seek with his unblinking line of sight and making him sincerely doubt his self-control.

You had insisted, of course, that John needed to take ownership of his half of the outside porch. You had lived there for so long that you had acquired a veritable forest of houseplants. He liked it. The greenery was nice. It was such a departure from most of the living spaces he found himself in, and watching you bend over to pick up fallen leaves or check the soil for its water content was a hell of a bonus. 

He knew he shouldn’t bother you. He’d let himself fall into a terrible, almost insatiable crush. Your voice when you talked on the phone, the little songs you only knew three or four lines of in the shower, the smell of your cooking; he had let it consume him, and now he was hooked. John would make any excuse to be near you. You’d told him to just leave the empty pyrex he’d borrowed on the porch table, but he hadn’t. He’d waited, selfishly, until you were outside so he would be able to hand it back in person. Now, his opportunity had come.

The sliding door shuddered in its track as he climbed onto the balcony with you. You turned to look at him, and when you did, he was treated to the rest of your outfit. Your sweater was a little cropped, and it was full of large, crocheted holes so he could see your skin straight through them. You had a pale blue bralette, all lace and bows, covering your full breasts underneath, and he thought he might pass out from the blood loss. But, he controlled his face, and handed you back your baking dish,

“Ah!” You smiled, taking it from him, “Thanks! Hope you enjoyed the cookies.”

“Enjoyed? Ate them in one sitting, more like,” he chuckled, having a seat at the little round table that sat in the middle of the porch, and pulled out his cigar case. 

“I guess you’ll need another batch this weekend, then,” you winked, obviously joking. But, he looked at you and quite seriously said,

“I would pay money, love.”

You blushed, and he enjoyed watching it flood your cheeks. How badly he wanted to kiss them, to feel the soft flesh bend under the pressure of his mouth…

“Sorry about all the plants. I’ve been working on clearing off your side…” You started dragging another pot into your corner.

“Told you it was alright.”

He lit his cigar, and watched you carefully. You had finally moved all the plants out of his side and had pulled out the broom to sweep it off. 

“Can’t have you cleanin’ for me too, love,” he moved to stop you.

“It’s my mess, John. But, I make a pretty decent maid.”

There was a twinkle in his eye when he responded to your comment,

“Mmm. Bet you look pretty good in the outfit,” he laughed when you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hold back your own laugh as you swept off the stray soil, “Little feather duster?” He mimicked the dusting motion at you and let the smoke billow out around his beard. 

“You’re going to need to hire a real maid if you keep leaving those ashes all over my table,” you shot back, teasing him. 

He feigned injury, pouting a bit, 

“I’ll buy an ashtray, love, don’t worry. C’mon. Don’t you like a smoke every now and then?”

You shrugged, sitting across from him, resting after your chores,

“Never had one. Not a big cigar like that anyway.”

“Think it’s big, huh?” He cocked a sly smile, knowing he was being rude.

You rolled your eyes, but gave him a soft laugh anyway.

He handed it to you, and you admired the glowing ember at its tip. You had to admit, the scent was wonderfully complex, and you had accidentally trained yourself, like Pavlov’s dog, to respond when you smelled it outside. It meant he was around…

“Don’t inhale into your chest. Just pull it into your mouth, and then let it fall away slowly. It’s meant to be relaxing.”

You tried to follow his directions and he grinned with no small amount of satisfaction.

“It’s nice,” you admitted, handing it back to him. 

“You should let me cook for you. Gotta pay you back for all those cookies somehow,” he offered, staring out into the vanilla sky as the sun tucked itself behind the cloud. 

“Mmm,” you smiled, leaning back in your chair and looking out into the sunset with him, “Not sure if it’s safe. You might be a murderer, you know?”

“I might be…” He took another long drag, and there was something in his tone that gave you pause, but he smirked, so he was clearly joking around. 

“You don’t seem very motivated,” you shrugged, “It’s been two weeks, and I’m still breathing. Or, maybe you’re terrible at it?”

He cut his eyes over to you and burst out laughing. You laughed with him, not exactly knowing what was so funny. But, being with him was intoxicating, and you were having a hard time staying away. Laughing together like this felt like a dream.

John finally caught his breath and nodded,

“That’s true. You could make it easier on me by coming to dinner tomorrow. We could eat out here,” he winked, “For your safety.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, pulling your sweater a little tighter around your shoulders, “That sounds nice.”

“Great,” he took another long, enticing drag of smoke, “It’s a date.”

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

[inkpetrichor]

Muse | Azumane Asahi x f!reader

1.-Artist's block. masterlist here<3

cw. a little angsty, use of y/n, the ukai/sakanoshitas being lovely<3

an. Happy new years everyone! And happy birthday to my favorite ace and #1 fictional husband Azumane Asahi!!

wc. 4.3k

Drawing had always been your best coping mechanism. Anatomy sketches, doodles, scenery painting. Ever since your grandpa had gifted you your first sketchbook, you had poured yourself onto the paper, finding in it a peaceful, harmless way to deal with emotional pain—marking paper instead of skin.

It had saved you, in a way. This newfound skill, refined with time and dedication, became your lifeline.

Life in Tokyo had been one of the darkest times of your life. Living with your parents would have killed you—slowly, like a houseplant deprived of light and water, silently withering in the corner of a dark living room, incapable of providing for itself what should be provided for it.

Your grandpa saved you. Taking you away from your parents the moment he realized how badly you were hurting, how badly they were hurting you. He took you under his wing and assured you everything was settled—that you would never have to go back to Tokyo again.

Unsurprisingly, your parents didn't even fight to keep you with them. And while that hurt a little, it didn't surprise you. You tried to convince yourself that you weren't really attached to them either. There wasn't anything there to be attached to, really. Only the crushing weight of their expectations and absolutely zero affection.

You tried to find a memory from your childhood where you felt the warmth of their love, maybe a kiss to your forehead or a bedtime story, but the "child memories" drawer in your mind was almost sealed shut.

You were certain they had never truly loved you. They were probably relieved that someone else would take what they saw as a burden off their hands. You had never been good enough for them. That plant wasn't pretty enough to care for. 

And yet, under the Ukai and Sakanoshita household, you bloomed. Your grandpa put a sketchbook in your hands, food in your belly, and a warm family unit that actually felt like family around you. You were infinitely grateful for it.

You could feel the love they had for each other in this household. They would occasionally engage in playful banter with each other, like they actually got along, not just the typical family politeness where respect is law far above love. And everyone from your uncle to his wife, even their son Keishin, had assumed the responsibility to give you a home without expecting anything in return.

Your uncle's wife treated you the way you assumed an actual mother would, even though you weren't related to her. She was sweet and spoke to you softly, almost as if she was afraid of scaring you away—she was— You knew this was special treatment since you'd heard her nagging her son, every now and then, being far more severe with him than she ever was with you.

She always made sure you felt comfortable and acted as your personal guardian when you first arrived, ensuring everyone respected your space. You were skittish at first, and the Ukai family could be a little... intense. For the first week or so, you barely left the improvised room they'd given you while they set everything up.

And set things up they did.

Behind the Sakanoshita store stood a "Kura" storehouse, a large, traditional structure about the size of a small garage. You weren't sure what they used to store there or where it went once you arrived, but by the time you came to the Sakanoshita house, your grandpa, uncle, and cousin were already hard at work adapting it into a livable space.

"I don't like the idea," your aunt complained over dinner one evening after the men had finished working on it for the day. "It's too dark in there, and she'll be all alone. Besides, my grandma used to say people locked their children in there as punishment back in the day. It feels cruel."

Your uncle sighed, setting his plate of freshly served takikomi gohan down.

"That was way back in the Edo period, love. We can't have her sleeping in such a small room forever. She needs a bigger space."

"And besides! We've already started building; you should've said something sooner," Keishin added, sitting down and immediately talking through a mouthful of food.

You looked up from your warm, savory plate and smiled at your aunt as she cupped her face in her hand, brows furrowed, clearly unconvinced.

"I genuinely don't mind where I sleep. If it's small or dark, even if it's cold or humid, I'll still be grateful for it," you said, hoping to calm her worries.

Instead, your words seemed to have the opposite effect. For one, everyone looked at you in shock, as this was the first time you'd said more than a soft "thank you," "good morning," or "good night" since arriving. And second, your aunt's worried expression deepened with sorrow. You felt a flicker of panic, thinking you had somehow offended her with your words.

"Y/N, please don't speak like that. You're part of this family now, so it's important that you live well and comfortably. Besides, these are your last years of high school—equal parts fun and responsibility. You need to be well to do well."

Her words, though tinged with sadness, filled you with a warmth you weren't used to but would grow into soon enough.

After all, it's hard to feel cold when surrounded by warmth.

Your uncle nodded in agreement with his wife.

"That's just another reason why the Kura is perfect—she needs space and privacy."

Your aunt turned to argue again, a soft "but..." leaving her lips before Grandpa Ukai's voice interrupted.

"The Kuras weren't only used for bad things," he stated with his usual serious, matter-of-fact tone, not looking up from his plate. "Royals originally built them to protect their valuables and other precious things."

Even if his words seemed cold and emotionless, there was deep tenderness within them. Maybe he didn't intend it, but he had implied you were something to be valued and protected. It even seemed to convince your aunt, as she dropped the subject after that.

You didn't dare look at her face, though. You quickly looked down at your plate as soon as you felt your eyes grow hazy with tears of deep, joyful gratitude.

You quickly learned your grandpa was probably the sweetest man alive. It was easy to warm up to him, and even easier to see why the entire household was so loving. He might have looked scary or intimidating, but behind that cold attitude and coarse facial features was a deeply caring, kind man.

For starters, he had quite literally rescued you—taking you from the place that was killing you emotionally and putting you in a place that nurtured and cared for you. He showed you that drawing and art—something you already enjoyed a little but had never devoted much time or effort to—could be the perfect way to help yourself. To distract you from dangerous urges, to put your feelings on paper, to visualize.

Drawing required you to look up, to look inside, to look beyond. It demanded that you see past your mental fog. And the moment he realized you had replaced your self-destructive mechanism with art, he quickly placed even more art into your hands.

All sorts of supplies: canvases, acrylics, oils, art books, art lessons at the community center. He even asked you to paint him some landscapes under the excuse that "his house was looking empty and old." And nothing made you feel better than seeing Ikkei Ukai—a harsh-looking man who would never sugarcoat—genuinely love your paintings.

It built you up, sketch by sketch. Painting by painting. Like building blocks reconstructing a dark, forgotten Kura storage and turning it into a home.

Art was working. It was healing you. And once he noticed this, once you were slowly coming out of your shell and blooming into life again, he showered you with everything you needed to transform this hobby—this coping mechanism—into a lifeline. A ladder to climb your way out of the cave, the tomb where you had been buried and told to call home.

You didn't need that "home" anymore. You didn't believe in it. You had an actual home now. He had given you not only a place where you could be helped but also a tool to help yourself.

When he fell ill and was hospitalized, everyone in the Sakanoshita house watched you closely, as if expecting you to crash, to wither again. But you stayed strong. The thought of not letting their efforts—the time, money, and care they'd spent on you—go to waste kept you firm and focused on what you did best: art.

You painted and drew landscapes for him in the hospital, using the traditional Japanese style you knew was his favorite. Landscapes of the Sakanoshita store, the farm, his own garden, his own house. So he wouldn't forget the place he had to return to. They were reminders that silently said, "Get well soon. You need to come back home."

In a way, you kept each other in check. You kept your grandpa in the hospital, getting better, and he kept you in line with your own recovery. You didn't want to worry him, and he didn't want to worry you. You helped each other. You used that tool—art—in every way you knew it could help.

So naturally, when that tool started failing you, when the dreaded artist's block you'd heard of and feared so much finally arrived, it came as a grim reminder. Creativity was not an infinite resource.

And in its absence, you felt the beast that had once been your friend stir in her slumber, threatening to wake. She wasn't dead, only dormant.

And she was hungry.

"What if it gets bad again?"

"What if I get worse again?"

"What if I get worse again and they send me back?"

"What if I can't give back to them what they gave to me, and that causes them to resent me and discard me?"

"Me. Them. This."

"I don't wanna lose this. I don't want to lose them."

"Draw. Draw. Please draw. More landscapes, more."

It was different, though. It wasn't enough. Landscapes were good, but they didn't feed the beast; they didn't put her to sleep like they once had. And somehow, where you once found yourself in front of a seemingly never-ending ocean of ideas to put on paper, there was now a drought-stricken view of your imagination—dry and hot, burning your naked feet raw where you stood.

And the beast was starting to bite the bars of its cage, threatening to swallow you whole once again.

Finding solace in the written word of a good book was an okay coping mechanism. An okay replacement tool. But it worked even better when you had the presence of a certain someone there too.

Azumane Asahi exuded a sort of aura that made you relaxed. Everything about him, from his huge frame and strong facial features in perfect contrast with his infinitely softer demeanor, had your heart in a knot and made the once-scary beast in you purr like a cat while you were in his presence. He made you feel at home like the Ukai family did. He made that library you both shared feel like a sanctuary. Not quite like home, but enough. And even if, at the beginning, you tried to deny it, and even if it confused you, you were self-aware enough to know you were starting to fall for him. Hard.

Because how could you not?

At the beginning of your third year, he started showing up less, though. And you could tell something was bothering him. Your eyes would find him in class—as usual—and they would find him deep in thought, with his brows furrowed and eyes foggy, like he was somewhere else, like he was reminiscing about something, something that hurt. It's not just about what you saw, but about what you felt in that moment—a sense that something was unsettled within those warm, soft eyes. They seemed to carry a weight, like a shadow that words couldn't mask, something you could feel was bothering the tender smile he gave you every morning, making it falter.

And then the kouhais.

One morning, right before class, you were coming back from your little sanctuary—that felt less and less like one every time he wouldn't show up—just to find him standing right outside the classroom, talking to two first-years. He looked a little taken aback, as one of them—a tiny ginger one—was expressively trying to get his point across, talking with his hands and his whole body. You could tell he was small but full of passion. As you got closer, the bell rang, and the tall, dark-haired classmate that was with him lightly slapped him in the back of the head, encouraging him to leave. The ginger started walking away, looking very disappointed, and the tall one turned to Asahi and said one last thing.

"You don't win alone. That's just how it is. That's why there are six other players on the court. I didn't realize that till recently, so I'm not one to talk. Excuse me," he said, then politely bowed and walked away. You silently made your way to Asahi and tried to scoot behind him to get into the classroom.

"Excuse me..." you whispered, loud enough for him to hear. But he didn't seem to.

He didn't take his eyes off the duo that had just been talking to him, and there it was again. That fog in his eyes. That distant, almost haunted quality to them, as if he was reliving a moment he wished he could forget—or one he wished he could go back to, though you weren't really sure.

The pain lingered just beneath the surface, visible in the way his gaze softened, seeing something only he could. It was the kind of look that told a story without words—a memory that still hurt too much to speak aloud.

Your heart felt a little tight seeing him like that. You allowed your fingers to brush lightly against his back, feeling the texture of his school blazer and the warmth of his body under your fingertips. 

"Azumane-san. Are you okay?"

He seemed to snap out of his trance and looked down at you with wide eyes, slightly embarrassed to be caught in deep thought.

"A-ah... Yeah, don't worry. Just thinking," he said, scratching the back of his neck and averting his gaze. His lips curled up, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. It lingered there, a practiced gesture—just wide enough to look convincing. The feeling in your chest was so different from that usual warmth his smiles gave you. You didn't buy it. And he seemed to realize you didn't buy it, as his expression turned a little anxious. However, you nodded, giving him an understanding smile.

"I see... Well then, class is starting."

"Don't worry, Azumane. I won't pry," is what your smile seemed to say. And he seemed to get the message, immediately relaxing again. Still looking a little uncomfortable at the fact his cover was blown off so easily, but appreciative of your respect.

"Right..."

It was bittersweet. How desperately you wanted to be near him, talk to him, know more about him—and how little progress you had made in the month you shared the library with him almost every day. It's not like you were doing any active efforts to get closer to him, though. But you just didn't know how to approach him. He was clearly a rather private person, so you were afraid of crossing unspoken boundaries and driving him away.

You sighed and clutched the book you were holding to your chest. Even from the door to the library, you could tell he wasn't there. Another no-show. You felt a wave of disappointment wash over you and turn into frustration as you turned away from the library and decided to just go home for the day.

You still hadn't drawn a single thing, and the book you were reading wasn't helping either. You sighed again as you walked out of the school, and as you walked down the hill toward the Sakanoshita store, and again as you entered it. You didn't realize you were doing it, though. It was more of a compulsion, something your body did on its own, probably to ground itself.

You might not have noticed doing it, but a sharp-eyed blond behind the counter sure did. And he wasted no time shifting his perceptive gaze from the sports magazine he was reading to you.

"Another tough day?" he asked, making you stop in place and give him a confused look.

He rested his magazine on the counter and the lit cigarette on his lips, propping his face on a closed fist, observing you with prying eyes. With his other hand, he lazily pointed at the door. "Every day you cross that doorframe with heavy feet, and sighing all gloomy-like." Keishin mocked your "gloomy-like" walk through the door as he spoke, and your cheeks warmed a bit in embarrassment. "Which means... something has been bothering you."

You let out a defeated sigh and nodded, finding no use in trying to hide your frustration since he was so sure and so right about it. Keishin raised an eyebrow at you, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Have you been drawing?"

"No... Not for lack of trying, though."

"I see... so it's like that, huh?" He lay back in his chair and returned to his magazine. His demeanor seemed carefree, but his eyes still flicked to you attentively. "It happens sometimes, kid. Every artist goes through it. It'll eventually go away, and you'll be able to draw again."

"Sure. But how? How do I make it go away?" Your voice betrayed the pent-up frustration you had been feeling, but if Keishin noticed, he didn't show it.

"Well, I don't know—I'm no artist. Take a walk around the farm, look at nature and whatnot. Look at your surroundings, find something to inspire you I dunno."

"You know, that's actually a great idea..." His eyes returned to the magazine as he gave you a triumphant smile.

"Heh. Is it? Look at me, the wise older cousin... Now go, you're on pork bun duty today. The ones you make sell a lot better." The praise cheered you up a little, and Keishin smiled to himself at how easy it was to see what you were thinking.

"They do?"

"Uh-huh."

The confirmation only made you cheerier, making you forget a bit about your frustration. You hurried to your room to change so you could get to work on those buns.

The next day, you followed Ukai's advice to a tee.

You tried to look at everything around you attentively. Went for walks around the school building instead of going to the library, stared at the flowers the gardening club had planted around the yard, and tried to study their colors. You looked at the little bees and butterflies fluttering around, enjoying the spring's warmth and abundance. You even tried to conjure some haikus in your head about spring and sakura trees or anything and everything that could inspire you. But sadly, it didn't seem to be working.

Staring at your sketchbook at the end of the school day, you still couldn't think of anything to draw. Nothing of substance, at least. You drew little doodles of bees and butterflies, and the gardening club's tulips, but instead of helping, you found yourself growing more and more frustrated.

The beast growled, reminding you of her presence, her hunger. You closed your sketchbook and tried to calm yourself, calm the frustration, clenching your teeth as you took a deep breath through your nose.

"Okay! Time for another walk!" you said out loud, standing up and moving. You were determined not to let the frustration consume you.

As you walked around, your mind started drifting to Asahi. The moment his face appeared in your mind, you could feel the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy, making you embarrassed.

His face in your mind was an uninvited but always welcome, recurring thought. Azumane was an incredibly gentle soul; you could tell that by the way he spoke, his expressions, his body language, and especially his eyes when he looked at you. Even though it didn't help your attempts at not falling for him, you couldn't help but observe and analyze him whenever he was around you, studying him, willingly putting on those rose-tinted glasses. The beauty in him was so apparent to you, so attractive. There was nothing unlovable about him.

You missed him.

You missed his comforting presence next to you while you both read. You missed the small conversations you occasionally had about books or about homework. You missed his deep yet soft voice, which made your heart beat faster every time he'd laugh or stutter.

You missed him.

And then you heard him.

"SUGAAAAA!!! ONE MORE!"

In your trance, you made your way to the school gym without realizing it. And as you passed right outside the gym door, his scream made you jump in place and stop dead in your tracks. You never heard him scream; you were surprised your gentle giant could even do that. But you were sure it was him. You recognized his voice. Your pulse quickened, and your stomach tied itself in knots—anxiety or excitement, you couldn't tell—as you peeked inside to watch what was happening.

When you spotted Azumane on the court, you held your breath. There he was, mid-air, ready to hit the ball. It was like time froze. And suddenly everything fell into place.

You felt an electric current flowing all over your body. From the top of your head to the tips of your fingers, an electric current that begged you to grab your pencil and sketchbook and get to work. That inspiration you had been missing filled you suddenly and fully, just by looking at him in the air, spiking the ball.

It was like you were standing in the middle of a vast, uncharted desert before, where the limits of your imagination stretched in front of you.

Then suddenly, Azumane was hitting the ball, powerful and loud, and the terrain before you was alive again, vivid and navigable. All the shapes, colors, and concepts that were once elusive, that escaped you, were now a coherent vision—a vision you could put on paper, a vision you could turn into art.

You felt an urgency to draw, to create. To get home and doodle away this intense feeling.

You wanted to draw him.

Everything, from his determined and focused expression taking over the face that so often looked nervous and unsure, his muscular arms, which might as well be considered artillery weapons judging by the sound the ball made when it hit the opposite side of the court and how the three blockers couldn't possibly stop it, to the toned legs that helped him cushion the fall of his jump like the springs of a perfect machine.

You weren't looking at his body in a particularly lewd way, but more like how you look at an already finished, already perfected work of art, deserving of a place in the most prestigious of museums. Your heart was racing even though you weren't breathing, holding onto that first inhale like a lifeline, and your fingers clung to the door as you watched with wide eyes. 

You needed to draw him.

After the powerful spike, his feet were back on the floor and his teammates seemed to congratulate him. You just couldn't stop staring at him.

And if you weren't so hypnotized by your big fat crush on this man, you would have noticed some familiar faces from the Neighborhood Association, or maybe you would have seen a freckled guy notice your presence and approach you with a confused look in his eyes.

"Um... excuse me... Who are you?" he asked politely.

You snapped back to reality, the crash of your adrenaline shock hitting you like a cold slap in the face. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out, and you felt your face heat up with embarrassment as you looked behind you to where Azumane was staring right back at you with wide, dumbfounded eyes.

"I-I..." You jumped in place again, jolting at the sound of the gym door being violently pushed open. Just to get even more disoriented when you saw none other than Keishin Ukai looking back at you with his own set of confused eyes.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" he asked. And luckly, you could feel the confusion replace your embarassment a little. "What are you doing here? And who's- oh, hello, Shimada-san" you offered a polite smile to Keishin's friend as you recognized him, and he gave you a polite yet confused nod back. You turned back to your relative with furrowed brows "Who's watching the store?" Keishin lift an eyebrow down at you.

"My mom." he sighed and motioned you to go inside the gym. "It doesn't matter, come in and wait for me here, we'll leave together when this is done." He turned to the court and clapped his hands once. "Sorry about that everyone, let us continue." You entered the gym with a bow and an apology, and you avoided Asahi's eyes as you sat on the floor next to where Ukai and a teacher you recognized as Tanaka-sensei were standing. You could feel his eyes on you, and you couldn't find it in yourself to meet his gaze. It's not like he knew you were practically spying on him, if anything it looked like you had come to meet your relative, who so happened to be the coach. But that didn't really helped you feel less of a creep.

And yet, the feeling of guilt was occuping only a small portion of your head as the vast mayority of it was overwhelmed by the need to draw. So you pulled out your sketchbook and pencil and numbed out the sorrounding sounds as you worked your magic like you used to do.

It was easy again, natural. You could barely hear the sounds of Ukai and Tanaka-sensei talking about the match and the players, you could barely hear the shoes on the court floor, or the ball hitting the floor. But there was a particular sound you quickly learnt to recognize. The strong "boom" of a particularly strong spike, that only pushed you to draw more, like the drum that marked your tempo. You felt Keishin's eyes on you, but you didn't mind them, too absort in your sketching to look up.

"No more art block then?"

You shooked you head softly and hummed. "No more." You could hear his smile as he answered to you.

"That's good."

I know we saw too little of him on this chapter, but don't you worry cause next one will have lots. Next chapter↪

[cosmicaces]

compilation of details about the souls' home:

not many things on the exterior! they have a clothesline and a lawn chair. we can assume they wash their clothes by hand.

we don't see much of it, but there's a very small entrance area! they have an old doormat, can't really make out the design because it's faded. i can't tell what those papers are on the wall... ads, maybe? there's a storage crate holding umbrellas and planks of wood—shelving? i can't tell what's rolled up in the corner, either... my first guess is carpeting. tucked next to it is what looks like a pair of winter boots.

across from the front door is the bathroom! their bathroom is pretty cramped. they have a cabinet with what looks like a lock on it, the mirror hangs by a nail, and i think that's a light fixture on the wall? they have toothbrushes and mouthwash. there is no door to the bathroom so they use a curtain instead. if they have a shower, it would have to be a small stand-up since there's no room for a tub.

(silly screenshot moment)

we get a small glimpse into their room across the hall. looks like there's an upper cubby with different books and a mystery box.

they have a kitchenette! there are various cups, two tea kettles, and a cooking pot. there's a box on the top shelf... that could be a first aid kit but i'm not entirely sure! gonna take a guess and say that the two bottles next to the stove top are cooking oil. there's a vent on the wall. some of lala's drawings are hanging up on the wall. there's a toy box underneath the side table. there are flags strung up around their living space. cabinets over the couch. i'm not gonna talk about the shelving to the side because there's an inconsistency in the credits where it is now a bunch of cabinets.

in the credits, their living space is now a little more decorated! they have a tv and houseplant. the mobile has moved from being over one end of the couch to the other end. we can see that they've hung some notes on the refrigerator, too. we don't see too much into their room, but i can only assume that they keep any extra chairs in there? speaking of:

the other little glimpse we get into their room! lala's drawings hang above the bed.

some final notes:

they live on the right side of the river, just by the airport. for any trips into the main city, they would have to either use public transportation or walk (assuming there's a designated area for walking).

in the credits, we can see that there is a small playground located in the trailer park as well as a garden!

and... yeah that's about it 👍

[bullet-prooflove]

³³⁾ farmers’ market peaches, burnt coffee and houseplants

Sean Archer ❤️

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mandy426 @mysticcandymiracle @mckinleysbones @cosmic-psychickitty

Companion piece to: Three Minutes - Sean thinks its time to take a pregnancy test.

You’re obsessed with peaches, more specifically the ones that come from the farmer’s market just around the corner. It’s where Sean ends up every Sunday morning before you wake up because he loves to see the expression on your face when you find them residing in the fruit bowl.

When Sean steps through the door of the apartment, he smiles despite the scent of burnt coffee that floods his nostrils. The pregnancy makes you forgetful sometimes, he isn’t surprised to find you in the shower when he removes the pot from the machine. Your propensity to burn the house down is something the two of you are going to talk about once you get out of the shower.

Another thing you’ve started doing since you found out you were pregnant is buying house plants, fucked up ones, the type that get left behind because they’re dying on the shelf.

It started when the two of you had stopped in at the bodega for mouthwash. You’d seen one abandoned alongside the trash and burst into to a flood of tears. Sean had thought something terrible was happening and it was, you had told him as you picked up the browning fern, this poor thing was being tossed away as if it was garbage.

You now have six of them residing in the living room, all in different stages of rejuvenation because you’ve been taking care of them so well. Sean already knows you’re going to make one hell of a mother.

When you step out of the bathroom, you’re clad in that peach robe he bought you for your birthday, his breath catches. The silk clings to your skin, draping over the baby bump that’s beginning to show and Sean doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so beautiful.

“How’s he doing today?” Sean asks you, his palms coming to cradle your stomach.

“Your son was awake most the night, busting out moves like he was on the dance floor.” You say as he caresses the bump lovingly.

“Takes after his mom.” Sean replies with a smile because he remembers the night this baby was conceived. It had been at the party Isobel had thrown to celebrate his father’s new lease on life. The two of you had gotten a little hot and heavy in the bathroom because you’d felt so damn good pressed up against him on the dance floor he couldn’t stop his hands from wandering.

“Have I ever told you how incredibly sexy you are?” He murmurs as he wraps his arm around your waist, drawing you close.

“All the time.” You reply, your palms coming to rest upon his chest. “But maybe you should show me.”

Love Sean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[dongslinger--420]

Hey guys, can I just say something? Oh I'm sorry, I don't wanna mispronounce your name. It's Diane. You'd probably get sick of me. I don't think that's going to happen. You're not gonna make me look like an asshole, are you? I don't know, are you an asshole? I found this letter back at the bar, I think it's for you. That's the nicest letter he ever sent to me. A Diane thing would be something that shows he really knows you, like giving you an iPod loaded with all your favorite podcasts, or a practical houseplant, or surprising you with a bound album of photos and emails he saved. I think it took a lot of guts to do what you did back there. Why did you have to make things weird, BoJack? I made things weird? Hey stranger. I need you to tell me that I'm a good person, tell me, please, Diane, tell me that I'm good. I don't think I believe in deep down. I kind of think all you are is just the things that you do. I really wanted you to like me, Diane. I know. When have you ever been on my side? I am always on your side! Really? Like when you wrote that book? This is bigger than you and me, and I need you in my corner now because I don't have anyone else. I'm in your corner. Hey, is it cool if I crash here for a couple nights? I don't know where else to go. You SUCK, Goober! Go sit on a sharp DICK you piece of SHIT! I always tell people you're like the not-cool version of me. Sometimes that's great, but it also means we can bring out the worst in each other. I'm embarrassed by the person I was when I was staying with you. I make you unhappy? I don't know if I believe in real lasting happiness. I wanted to make sure you're ok. That's a funny way of saying congratulations. I don't fetishize my own sadness. I don't fetishize my own sadness! Sure. BoJack, there are millions of people who are better off for having known you. Why didn't you tell me this? I guess to preserve some fiction of journalistic objectivity. I wish you didn't get so distant after you moved out, you know me better than anyone and you can't not be a part of my life. Everyone belongs in Los Angeles, there's like, no barrier for entry. Oh god, that's true, they do let in just anybody. I've missed you, BoJack. I've missed you too. I should've called you. Yeah, you should've. I said I was sorry. No you didn't. Ok. BoJack, I can't wait for you to be better, I need you in my life. You're the biggest asshole I know and you're the only thing that makes sense to me. When have you not told me how you really felt. All you do is tell me how you really feel. I'm a sad, sad girl with a terrible, dirty apartment. Come on in! Isn't it weird that this is the first time we're both single at the same time? I just really need a friend right now. You know what I mean? A friend? Yeah. I have this friend, and right around when I first met her, her dad died. Diane, come on, it's me, we're the same! We are not the same! We'll just put that in the large bucket of things we don't talk about. Baby Bjorn Borg. Oh my god, yes! You haven't changed at all. Yes! Congratulations! You are the last person to get that. I need you to write one of your take downs about me. I am done writing about you. I don't understand why you're being so nice to me. After everything you know about me, all the shit I put you through. And now you're here, and I hate you, but you're my best friend, and you need me. I can't leave if I don't know you're gonna be ok. I live in Chicago, I can't save you. So what do I do now? BoJack, it doesn't matter. Well if it doesn't matter, can I stay on the phone with you at least? Ok. How was your day? Good. Yeah? Yeah, my day was good. I wish I could've been the person you thought I was, the person who would save you. That was never your job. Then why did you always make me feel like it was? You don't owe me anything. No, I need to tell you: Thank you. And, it's going to be okay. And, I'm sorry. And thank you. Life's a bitch and then you die, right? Sometimes. Sometimes life's a bitch and then you keep living. Yeah. But it's a nice night, huh? Yeah. This is nice--MR BLUE

[muldermuse]

Houseplants. Fox Mulder X Reader

I wrote this in an evening so pls allow for any errors.

Just a fluffy bit about boyfriend Fox helping reader move into her new place.

You can’t remember it being this small, the windows looked larger than you had planned for and you never noticed how loud the pipes creaked. You took a deep breath and tried to settle the butterflies in your stomach. This was your first day in your new apartment; your new home. It wasn’t perfect but you were desperate and the rent is affordable for the neighbourhood. After several trips up and down the stairs, your living room was filled with boxes. All your possessions crammed into one small room- why did you own so much stuff?. You had so much too organise that it quickly began to feel really overwhelming. As if he could sense your anxiety creeping, there was a knock on the door.

There stood Fox, your boyfriend of just under a year, holding a succulent plant and a large peace lily. It was his day off so rather than his usual crisp shirt and pants, he was wearing a tight grey t shirt, a black over shirt and jeans. His hair was pushed back and light stubble covered his chin. One of your favourite things about him was his ability to ease your nerves, he was such a relaxing presence to have around and you felt tension leave your body just by looking at him. A smile crept across your face as your anxieties began to fade. Without a word, you stood back against the door and held your arm out, gesturing for him to enter your new home.

“Congratulations, you’re officially my first visitor” You pressed a small kiss to his cheek.

“It’s an honour and a privilege,” he turned his head to press his lips to yours. “It’s nice!”

“Fox, it’s a room full of boxes but I appreciate the support.” He shook his head as you finished your sentence, carefully placing both plants on the window sill.

“Here’s the thing, you see boxes but I see potential.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and you tilted your head up to look at him. “I know you’re going to be happy here. I can sense it”

“My apartment is not an X File, please don’t say you’re getting senses or vibes from it.” You pleaded as he laughed, “thank you for the plants- they’re beautiful”

He kissed you quicker this time. “Okay, how can I help?”

***

You didn’t know how long you’d been unpacking but it was nearly done. Your bathroom was unpacked as was your kitchen. For some reason, you’d prioritised filling your fridge with magnets despite the boxes of crockery that begged to be unpacked. You and Fox spent far too long deciding on where your Vancouver magnet should be placed. It became a silent battle between the two of you, when one of you was in the kitchen they would move it back to the preferred place and then re enter the room as if nothing had happened.

Your bedroom was largely finished, your clothes needed unpacking but it was hardly an essential right now. Your bed was made, your bedside table set up with your alarm clock, book and framed photo of you and Fox on a date night. Your living room was still a work in progress but Fox was right, it did have potential. You’d moved your book shelves into a corner and filled each shelf with books and trinkets you couldn’t bear to part with. A yellow blanket was thrown over your sofa and the TV was set up near your vinyl player. You’d watched nervously as Fox hung your frames on the walls and fitted your curtains. You had chatted idly as you unpacked, it felt personal to have him look at your possessions as if you were baring your soul to him. You felt you were letting him in more than you had with previous partners. You caught him smiling at pictures of you and your family and toys you’d had since childhood (you were far too attached to give them away). You felt comfortable with him and it felt right to have him here in your new space. You both felt comfortable in the silence and he knew this meant a lot to you. You’d told him about your hope for your own space and the plans you had for it. He felt honoured to be a part of this.

The sky was dark outside and you felt proud of the effort you’d both put in. It was time to relax, you idly tossed a small ball between each other and chatted argued about your plans for dinner.

“It’s your day off, you’ve graciously spent all day here so I am going to buy the pizza.” You chucked the ball across the room to him.

“Okay but counter argument, it is your first night in your new home. I am going to buy the pizza as a celebration” He threw it back, a cocky smile on his face.

“Great point, it is the first night in MY new home and you’re my first guest. Therefore, I am buying the pizza. Also, if you don’t let me, you may never be welcome here again.” You flicked your wrist and the ball landed with a thud in his hands.

He put his hands up in defeat with a laugh. “Fine! But I am going to the store to get snacks and beer so we can properly celebrate. Deal?”

***

The pizza boxes were discarded on the floor along with empty bags of chips and crushed cans of beer. You both hadn’t realised how hungry you’d got after hours of moving. You were laid with your head on his lap, his hands absentmindedly running through your hair as you both half focused on whatever was playing on the TV. You felt yourself drifting into sleep, Fox’s steady breathing and soothing hands lulling your eyes to close.

“I forgot to ask, which house plant do you prefer?” He kept his hand running through your hair; his fingers occasionally massaging your scalp.

“You can’t make me choose! Plants are like children you know, you’ve got to treat them with respect and properly look after them. It’s a big responsibility so I can’t have a favourite.” You opened your eyes and moved to straddle his lap.

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk, “Okay let me rephrase, I bought you one and Scully bought the other. Which one did you think I bought you?”

You turned to look at both plants placed on the window sill. The peace lily was gorgeous, it’s white flower perfectly matched the blue marble vase and you knew it was from Scully. The succulent was more understated, it’s leaves a mix of green and red with a bright yellow vase. Now you were looking at it, you swore you’d seen it before. As you went to speak, you felt him press a kiss to your jaw.

“I got you the succulent, do you recognise it? It’s from that tiny store near my place. You’ve looked at it every time we’ve been in there, you always touch the leaves like it’s your good luck charm.”

You kept looking at the plant as Fox pressed soft kisses to your jaw.

“I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” You intertwined your fingers with his. “It reminds me of you”

***

Your head was resting on his bare chest and you traced your fingers on his body as you normally did. It gave you comfort to know he was here with you right now. The X Files took him everywhere and moments like this were what you missed the most when he was gone. Feeling his body pressed against yours, the safety in his arms and the sweet conversations you always had before bed.

“You know I was joking before right? You are welcome here any time. I know sometimes you struggle to relax at your place, so if you feel like that, come here. Please. I love having you around” The darkness in the room meant you couldn’t see him but you felt him press a kiss to your forehead. He was silent for a few moments and you were sure he’d fallen asleep.

“I meant it, you’re going to be happy here and it means a lot that you let me help you today.” You felt his heart begin to beat a little faster. "Maybe one day we could have a place like this together… I know you’ve just moved in and it might seem like a lot for me to say that b-“

You kissed his lips softly and you felt his begin to regulate back to it’s normal pace.

“I’d love that."

[feraltuxedo]

Saving Face

New fic alert! My contribution for this year's @fandomtrumpshate auction is live - a five part human AU featuring author Crowley and faceblind bookseller Aziraphale.

Saving Face by FeralTuxedo E, 1/5 chapters Summary: Bookseller Aziraphale has never had much of a green thumb, but when radio host A.J. Crowley's new book about houseplants arrives at the shop, he makes an effort to sell as many copies as possible. His job is on the line, after all. And a mysterious redheaded customer with a penchant for vandalism isn’t helping.

I was prompted by @comicgeekery to write a meet-cute get together fic in that setting and with Aziraphale's prosopagnosia complicating things. Since I have the condition, too, I was all over that idea. You can check out an excerpt from the first chapter below the cut:

Abandoning his mug of tea, Aziraphale stepped out onto the shop floor, where the redhead was perusing the display table with the new arrivals.

‘I wouldn’t get that one if I were you. Dreadful slog all throughout the second half and the killer couldn’t be more obvious if she walked around with a bloodstained knife in her hand.’

The man’s sunglasses flashed at him as he looked up with that mixture of delight and apprehension that had baffled Aziraphale for weeks now. Every time this particular customer sauntered into the shop, nerves barely concealed behind the swagger, he appeared rather more interested in the shop assistant than the books he was half-heartedly browsing.

It had taken a while for Aziraphale to acknowledge the flirting, even after Newt had made several allusions to it. But by the time he’d summarised every single Bond novel to the man, noticed him hanging onto his every word, only for him to off-handedly comment that he’d already read them all, he’d cottoned on. Which was for the best, or he would have been more than irritated by what Gabriel no doubt considered a colossal waste of his shop staff’s time.

‘D’you read all the books you sell?’ the customer asked now, mouth twitching at the corners.

‘Goodness, no. If only. That would be the quickest way to get my notice handed to me.’

‘Right.’ The man’s eyebrows shot above the stark line of his sunglasses, surprise evident on his sharp features. ‘Isn’t this your shop?’

The absurdity of the idea made Aziraphale laugh.

‘Mine? Oh no, far from it. I am but a humble shop assistant.’

He tapped the name badge pinned to his chest. The man didn’t look at it, but fumbled with the book in his hands.

‘Right, sorry. Just thought… ‘cause you’re in here all the time…’

‘I’m the only full-time staff member,’ Aziraphale explained. ‘Everyone else is part-time, except for the manager, and he works upstairs.’

He pointed at the ceiling, beyond which Gabriel sat in his first-floor office, presumably doing very little. Aziraphale preferred it that way. Once or twice each day, he would descend the stairs into the staff room to make a snide comment about sales figures or the correct way to lay out a shop window, and then disappear again.

‘Though, if I might be so bold as to admit, with him very much busy with his accounts—’ Aziraphale put the last word in air quotes— ‘I’m mostly left to do as I please. Which is for the best, really. If my manager was in charge of the displays, you’d see nothing but How to Win Friends and Influence People. I’m sure it’s the only book he’s ever read, not that it’s done him much good.’

The man’s laughter rang through the shop bright as a bell. Entirely charming. Encouraged, Aziraphale took a step closer and looked back over his shoulder to make sure Newt was not lurking in the doorway to the staff room. He gathered all his resolve, and to his own surprise, his smile was as steady as his voice when he spoke.

‘I was wondering, actually, if I might take you out for a coffee. There’s a lovely little place just around the corner, and I can take my break as early as in half an hour. I just need to let my colleague know. The thing is, I’d love to talk more about books with you. Or anything else, for that matter.’

The man stared at him through dark lenses, a deep frown forming beneath his widow’s peak. Well, that wasn’t at all a good sign. Had Aziraphale misread the signals? Was he being a creep?

This moment of building panic was interrupted by Newt, who stomped onto the shop floor with an armful of new releases.

‘Was it you who ordered a whole box of Yelling at Plants by A.J. Crowley?’

Aziraphale, grateful for the distraction, whipped around to relieve Newt of some of the books precariously balanced in his grip. They were bound in a striking black and green cover, with the title embossed in gold. Eye-catching.

‘Yes, I did. How exciting, I didn’t realise they’d already be here. We must clear a space for them, maybe over here?’

He bustled over to the large table in the centre and directed Newt to dump the pile of books on top of it. Prime real estate. As soon as the shop was empty, he’d make it look all nice. And then sneak a look at the book itself. He had been rather looking forward to this one.

Newt regarded the books with a shake of the head.

‘How on earth are we meant to shift thirty copies of a gardening book? Are you actually trying to get us both sacked?’

‘Don’t be silly. This is not just any gardening book. It’s A.J. Crowley’s literary debut.’

This statement was only met with confusion.

‘You don’t know him? Yelling at Plants, every Saturday morning on Radio 4?’

Lovely way to wake up, with the silky voice of A.J. Crowley coming through the airwaves, much less choleric than the name of the show suggested.

‘My nan listens to Radio 4,’ Newt said derisively.

‘Your nan clearly has better taste than you.’

[thegodthief]

A question was asked:

Do you know people (humans) who are good at getting very nasty beings out of others/to leave them alone? I'm in a bit of trouble and me struggling seems to make it worse. Its been a year and a half.

I do not, me included. To be very fucking honest, it was such problems that drove me to looking into magic when the religious structures available to me, failed me miserably. I, and all the social spheres/circles/clutches that I'm adjacent to, are very much prone to handling it ourselves with as little third-party involvement as possible.

That might not be an optimal solution for you, though.

So while I am not able to recommend any services or classes, I can only tell you what worked for me:

Cultivate positive spiritual connections. This could be an ancestral practice. This could be entreating the spirits of your houseplants as guardians of your space. This could be making peace with the land(s) around you so you will always have a place to "sit". This could be religious practices if that religion makes space for it. The idea being, that you are not a solitary being, that you do not exist in a vacuum, and that when the problems are being loud, you know someone/something that can muffle that sound or just be louder.

Cultivate yourself. Do things that make you engage with the world on your terms. Have a frozen dessert. What's that one beverage that makes everything all right for a while. Go watch that one movie again. Interact with other people, in person and/or online. Yea, things are shit, but right now you're wearing your favorite slippers and your feet are happy so that problem can go wait in the corner for a while.

Examine your fears. What are you afraid of? Why? Is it something you can desensitize yourself to? Is it something that was frightened into you at a young age but you never got the chance to examine it? You already know what is expecting you to react, but is anyone else? Are you expecting it of yourself? Why? How can you use what you are afraid of to your advantage? Confront a little fear, and use that victory against a big fear. This is not a quick process, so any progress is big progress.

Know this will likely be an ongoing process for the rest of your life. Even after ejecting the problem spirit(s), there is still the matter of how your interior self was affected by that spirit. There might not be a "before-self" that you can go back to. There will always be a "current-self" that you need to take care of. You might need to perform purification rituals on the regular to keep yourself shored up and defended. You might need to change some part of your practice. You might need to walk away from certain folk in your life that seemed to be the best of allies at first, but co-dependency is a bitch and funny how you don't have certain problems until you've been around them for a while.

A third-party ritualist would be able to help rid you of anything immediate, but the aftercare would remain in your hands. Do not mistake a few-days relief as the end of an era. It is a pause in the cycle.

I know this isn't the answer you wanted. But it is the answer I have learned the hard way. If I could go back in time and advise my younger self how to survive the coming storms, the first mandate would be to trust my instincts because not everyone that declares themselves to be the good in my life is working for my personal good.

The second mandate would be to cultivate positive spiritual connections, because no person acts alone when it comes to these matters. You may only see one ritualist in the room, you don't see their myriad of connections and spiritual attendants that they are calling upon for your behalf.

The third mandate would be to fucking live, to get out from under the fear as soon as possible and as large as possible even if (especially because) they haven't been evicted yet. Because you're right, they want you to suffer. Shove joy into that maw and watch them choke.

Good luck to you. I wish you well.

[heniareth]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @greypetrel and @shivunin several weeks in a row thank you so much for keeping the tags going and reminding me of this and I finally have something to show!!! I'm excited!!! XD XD XD XD XD

Have some Astala philosophizing:

Astala knew hunger. She knew what it did to you. Hunger paralyzes you; persistent, aching hunger turns you into an utter fool, makes you cry in random corners; it makes you snap at people who don't deserve it, makes you weak, makes you lie down when you should stand up and run. Hunger is cruel.

Starving someone was crueler still.

She pulled out a piece of bread that she had saved up for dinner, broke it in two and offered one half to Sten.

"I don't want your pity," Sten spat with disdain.

"Hey, I'm hungry," Astala said and shrugged. "It's rude if I don't share."

Sten frowned, but evidently decided arguing wasn't worth the effort. He took the bread and sat back to eat. Astala did likewise.

Did you know that canonically, Sten has been sitting in thay cage for 20 days without food? If we're super exact, also without water, but that doesn't fit into my brain and I'm glossing over it. Bc I did not until I rewatched that dialogue to get a feel for the scene! It is heavily implied that other races wouldn't have survived that, while Sten expects to live a little bit longer, but only a week more at most. Anyways, I found this very cool (and it certainly gives Astala grounds for recruiting him)

I am tagging you both back! I enjoyed looking at the stuff you posted in the last weeks and I am 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 nosey. Also tagging @bumblerhizal @siriskulksnerding @scribbledquillz @wild-houseplant @oxygenforthewicked and @icy-warden in case you have somebody you'd like to share, now or however long you want from now on. Have a lovely day you all!!

[happyinjection]

♠️♥️High Card Short Story 5 “Poison Phenomenon” (3/3)♦️♣️

The guys were supposed to be having a listening session, but somehow a dance battle broke out!? It was then Chris joined the fray...

Original: https://twitter.com/highcard_pj/status/1540170704884072448

Author: https://twitter.com/poipheno

Artist: https://twitter.com/ebimoji3

After I showed off my street dance, Leo came at me. A face-off had been declared.

Leo sneered, one corner of his lip curling up.

“Finn. It seems that you have forgotten. I’ve received education for the specially gifted. There’s nothing I can not do.”

“You’re all talk, huh. Ain’t ya just bluffing? If you think you can do it, then show some proof. Only if you have the guts to, though.”

“Hmph. Such a simpleton.”

Leo turned on his heels and walked over.

Wendy just so happened to be there. Since she had been standing idly nearby, he gracefully took her hand into his.

“Eh, eh, eh...”

Wendy was utterly dumbfounded.

“Come.”

Pretending to not hear her, he dragged Wendy to the center of the showroom.

This guy must’ve been kidding.

“Impossible, impossible! I can’t dance to save my life!!”

“I’ll be your escort. Just follow my lead.”

Leo put his hand around Wendy’s waist and pulled her closer. There’s nearly no visible height difference between the two, but perhaps because he was guiding the other, Leo seemed a bit taller than usual.

“Ballroom dance, is it not? How nice.”

Vijay had a faint smile creeping up his face, but it was actually his houseplant (Justin for today) speaking.

I fiddled with my smartphone and picked an upbeat tune to play.

—On Leo’s command, the two began to dance.

Although Wendy’s movements were initially stiff and unsteady, as one would expect from the daughter of a master swordsman, she had complete control over her body. She adapted right away and held her own somehow.

With each step, Leo was whispering in Wendy’s ear their next move. Between the steps, nimble footwork were subtly mixed in. As Leo raised his hand toward the ceiling, Wendy’s hair swirled smoothly around them like a blooming flower.

“It’s Jitterbug, you see. Original movements are also added in to match the music.”

Vijay was also nodding his head along to the music every now and then. Meanwhile, Wendy used Leo’s arm to support her as she greatly curved her back backward. Wendy appeared to be nervous but having fun. On the other hand, Leo’s face looked very serious.

“Gah. As expected from the heir of Pinochle...”

I must admit that he had an airtight defense.

And just right then.

“What do we have here? I was wondering why it says temporary closed, but isn’t it lively?”

Chris, who had been doing business out, had just returned. Following that he stopped at his tracks.

“Woah, Wendy is dancing! She looks out of her element!”

“Shut up! It’s not like I wanted to!”

Wendy retorted as she kept on dancing.

“By the way, if it isn’t Poipheno, Finn’s favorite bunch. Perfect, then allow me to join.”

Chris threw his clutch bag on the sofa, and briskly leaped. When he landed, the soles of his leather shoes collided against the marble floor, making two faint thud sounds.

From there on, as Chris followed the rhythm with his feet, he danced as though he was made of flowing fabric from his arm down to his fingertips.

“Amazing!”

It was tap dance. Since it was done to match a rock number the moves might have been different than the original stuff, but he managed to fare with the music splendidly all the same. There was a dynamism in his dainty movements.

“I didn’t know Chris has this trick up his sleeve.”

At Vijay’s remark, as Chris continued to dance, he turned to face the former.

“If I can’t at least do this much, I’d be unworthy of the title of a ladies’ man, right.”

He spun, making a flourish show of a turn.

All of a sudden----

“Everyone, have you all been drinking alcohol?”

Bernard-ojiichan emerged from the office. His expression remained unchanged from the usual. Even if it was peaceful waters, as one couldn’t see what’s at the bottom, it evoked an instinctive sense of fear.

We shut our mouths at once. I quickly tapped away on my smartphone to stop the music, and a moment of silence washed over us.

“...You rascals, get back to work.”

At Leo’s cue, we disbanded right away.

Vijay was the only one wearing a serene smile which I couldn’t quite figure out, and as he poked at the leaves of his plant using his fingers, he was still subtly shaking his head.

♠️♥️♦️♣️

TL notes: I’m in no way a professional translator so if you find any mistakes, please do not hesitate to inform me right away. Anyway, Jitterbug just means Swing in case you’re wondering (it was my first time hearing that). As usual, let’s enjoy High Card together~

[tobiasdrake]

The Disappearance of Nagato Yuki-chan, Episode 11 - The Disappearance of Nagato Yuki-chan, Part 1

So, for clarity, this is Haruhi content but it's not Disappearance because Disappearance is the movie that closed out Melancholy. This is Disappearance the series, but it's specifically the Disappearance arc of Disappearance the series, not to be confused with the Disappearance movie.

Check. Weirdly enough, both show title and episode title are entirely different contexts that both make sense and are meaningful in different ways.

At the end of the previous episode, I asked,

"WHAT IS HAPPENING IN YOUR BRAIN

EMOTE YOU USELESS ROBOT"

She is now telling us what is happening in her brain and I am still lost. I thought before that maybe she was running some kind of backup of her original program but now it seems like she was just... wiped. Like somehow her new Escapist Yuki persona got deleted in the car crash and she's just... rebooted at factory settings.

Are we going to get to see Factory Reset Yuki opine about all of her friends? Because I'm down for that. Can't wait to see her shit-talk Haruhi in strictly clinical terms.

That's okay, Nagato Yuki's just as perplexed so you're fine. The practical difference between Anxiety Disaster and Unfeeling Robot is marginal.

I mean. In this reality, yes. I'll grant you that.

At least Factory Settings is coming right out with it. Now that she's been confronted, she isn't going to withhold anything.

Ryoko is taking this way better than I am. She's sitting there like, "Well, this is weird and I do want to get the old Yuki back but this version of Yuki's existence is equally valid, and it's not my place to make judgments about which Yuki is correct."

Meanwhile I'm over here like "DEATH TO THE INTERLOPER RESTORE OUR YUKI" because I was invested in her journey and want it to continue.

See, this is why Ryoko isn't my character. Haruhi is. Ryoko is a way better person than me.

What we in the medical field refer to as "Panicked so hard she reset to factory settings."

Oh hey, I can actually say that because I work in the medical field! ...in accounting.

Again, I love that we aren't making any effort to hide this. Her factory reset is not a secret to everybody. It's a medical condition that our friend just got hit with. It's being handled as such.

Every time they say stuff like this, it makes me afraid that this might be permanent. And I have. Very confused feelings. About that.

Because I wanted Yuki to have nice things, and if Escapist Yuki never comes back then all that time spent rooting for her just... fizzles. It would effectively be a character death for our main protagonist, as her body and memories remain alive but her personality and identity and hopes and fears are all dead.

But it's not less transformative, going from Escapist Yuki to Factory Reset Yuki, than it was going from Original Flavor Yuki to Escapist Yuki. It's functionally the same. Yuki lives on but has metamorphized into a new state of being.

And then the LGBT part of me is like, "Is this trans?"

Like. There's parallels to when a person comes out as trans, and everyone around them has to put aside their previous interpretations of that person and accept the new reality.

But it's. Not exactly the same, either, because those interpretations are a falsehood while both versions of Yuki are presented here as equally valid. Coming out as trans doesn't fundamentally change who you are; Only how you are perceived by others. The part that went bon still goes kyu; It's just that other people didn't understand before how it goes kyu, and now they do.

For Yuki, the part that went bon no longer goes kyu.

But that's also. Like. Part of how life works too? People change. Sometimes, as you get older and have new experiences, the part that went bon stops going kyu. That's just part of life.

I don't know. Very complicated feelings right now.

She's made her way back over to her houseplant corner. Yuki is once again a room decoration.

AAAAAAAAAA He is trying so hard but she is a houseplant again. This is killing me. T_T

TRY HARDER

I WILL SHAKE YOU

XD Okay, for real, Factory Settings Yuki intaking a slice of toast like a paper shredder nuked a lot of the tension and inexplicably has me feeling a lot better about this development.

Amazing tension-killer. Okay. I'm fine. I will live. I can be patient and see where this is going.

T_T The part that went bon no longer goes kyu.

Factory Settings over here is starting to... fill in over time. She admitted to being embarrassed earlier. She enjoyed helping Kyon with his homework.

It's unclear if the Escapist Yuki identity is regenerating or if Factory Settings is simply growing into being an emotional human being, but she is starting to develop back into a three-dimensional person as the days pass.

I'm still nervous and freaked out and everything but seeing this blank Yuki start to grow into her humanity once more has put me more at ease. I'm no longer at "DEATH TO THE INTERLOPER".

[zelzelez]

after a disturbing day at work I went to pick up a free mirror in the city. when I got it, I tried to think of an alternative to going home, with nothing coming to mind until I hesitatingly stopped in front of a cafe right around the corner of the house door. I've always wanted to visit and was always held back by the fact of it being too close to where I live. this time it instead became a factor of comfort, so I went in, ordered coffee and food, then asked if I could give advice on the plants by the window, both of which were dying. the guy was happy to listen and asked me about his houseplant too, wondering about its recent yellow leaves. after a bit of chitchat I sat down to read. It felt really calm for a while, the little nook I was sitting in felt like an unlocked seat at a newly found, long movie about to begin. I felt weirdly at home although the place is much whiter and cleaner than I usually feel comfortable in. With a bittersweet smile came to me the thought of both the place and me being a white washed version of an oriental idea. Soon the food was ready and I ate the best falafel I've had in my entire life, for what this life's judgment is worth anyway.

Shortly after a middle aged, kindfaced woman entered and in a very familial way asked the worker how he's doing, repeating the question for the cook who now came to the front to greet her as well. They chatted a bit, then she sat down with her cup of coffee and now saw me. The smile she gave to me almost instantly made me cry.

I quickly smiled back as warmly as I could and lost the ability to read for the moment, so I picked up my diary to write about these feelings. The pages were filled quickly and I couldn't stop looking at this woman who had touched this mother-longing spot of my being with just her warm smile, so I started doing a sketch of her. I think at one point she noticed that I had started watching her, with me awkwardly smiling each time she caught my eye. So I focused on detailing the sketch for a bit so she could get a break, thinking that I'd go up to her to apologise and offer her the sketch as soon as I was done. When I looked up again, she was already gone. Because I was wearing headphones to block out the street noises I hadn't noticed.

Again, I felt like I could cry. The sketch took the same dark turn all of my drawings have been taking lately. I then forced down the rest of the food and coffee, packed my things and brought the plates over.

At the counter I was asked routinely, but with a seemingly extra touch of warmth, if I enjoyed the food, for which I affirmatively thanked both a lot. I then asked if they would want to use the mirror, as I could see it beautifully on the wall next to the nook I had sat in. They only agreed when I said I got it for free anyway, and we agreed I'd return soon to either see the result or take it with me.

I paid, and I was gifted a pistachio cookie.

Another day that with tiny little wonders and reminders of longing kept me from following up on wanting to leave this world so intensely.