#potato ivy

[puppetmaster13u]

I was makin myself a potato waffle. And had a fun realization/idea.

I bet that there's at least a small waffle restaurant in Gotham. Look me in the eyes and tell me there isn't a place that sells Spoiler-themed waffles.

Chocolate filled, batter with edible glitter and purple dye, Spoiler Waffles that Stephanie absolutely loves.

[scrunglepaws]

Good tidings we bring to you and your houseplants. We wish you a Merry Pinap and a happy mewyear.

(Original)

[fincharts]

Some little guys I saw at work

[paranormal-potatoes]

alright!! the known guardians:

notes and thoughts under the cut

first off, i tried to choose darker skin tones for Ross, Briar and Rapunzel (because i hc the last two as spending a lot of time outdoors after their respective curses are broken) but uh. i forgot how limited the skin tone options were so. rip

anyways!

Belladonna: bella baby girl bella. bunny stuffie included ofc

Rapunzel: cannot for the life of me figure out if her hair is in a very loose braid or barely tied back

Ross: look....... the masculine options are not a wide variety, its very much geared towards female ocs

Snow: i kept the same nose and facial frame for her and Ross. not happy with the hair choice but my options are limited

Briar: briar my beloved. fun fact. she is the only one not wearing a dress. yes, ross is wearing a dress. i had to figure out how to keep his tits out look somehow wait oh my god i just realized the first four are in the same dress/shirt FUCK oh well. anyways, briar has nice biceps change my mind

Ivy: not happy with the hair choices but OH WELL. same nose and facial frame as briar. bonus james too

[felikatze]

playing engage again and WOO CHAPTER 17 IS BEAT AND I ONLY LOST MERRIN

ignore the 4 times louis died. didnt happen. nuh-uh. god fucking dammit mauvier.

i was being SO CAREFUL and picked off griss and zephia one by one. then i took one step forward too many and aggro's four bosses at once.

the louis v marni 1v1 will forever be legendary

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

should i post my 1k celebration or save it for 1.5 🧍‍♀️

if you have the time and energy to enjoy the fun now, then do it babyyyyyy

[lackeyhenchman]

I'm looking up vegetarian recipes, and

Maybe I'm just sleepy but I'm enjoying thinking about things farmers would categorically refuse to grow. Poison ivy. Evil potatoes

[savageboar]

im overwintering my outdoor plants this year because i love these guys way too much. so it's a jungle in here lol

[dreadwedge]

Bet you didn’t think a cute little baby goat like me, resting beneath a black walnut tree to escape the summer sun, would be proficient in Microsoft Excel, did you. Bet you didn’t expect me to know how to optimize a spreadsheet by implementing conditional formatting rules huh. Bet you took one look at me and thought “no way this kid knows how to use the VLOOKUP function.” Well guess what, I do. I know a diverse array of useful formulas and my body is capable of digesting poison ivy. I eat that shit like potato chips. Get the fuck out of my paddock

[themediocregatzby]

the only scene more intolerable than an Ivy Dickens scene, is a scene that also includes Rufus

[diamonddaze01]

second servings

pairing: mingyu x afab!reader genre: smut, fluff, a dash of humor bc im fun like that | wc: 3.7k Warnings: unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), drinking rating: r a/n: happy thanksgiving! or as ivy (my beloved @c-oupsie ) aptly put it, dicksgiving // huge thank you to @lovetaroandtaemin for the beta!!! //MINORS DNI

It’s safe to say that this Thanksgiving has been a rousing success.

Your mother had nothing but praise for the way you pulled off her famous sweet potato casserole (even though she was hovering behind you the entire time, making "suggestions"), and your father was borderline drunk on Mingyu’s whiskey-infused turkey. Sure, he’d proudly claimed it was an old family recipe, but you’d seen him frantically Googling “best Thanksgiving turkey recipes” at 2 a.m. the night before. No harm, no foul—especially since your parents didn’t need to know about his panic or how the entire kitchen had nearly gone up in flames during the basting process.

For his part, Mingyu had charmed everyone effortlessly. Between pulling your chair out at dinner, teasing your father about how he could totally outdrink him (a dangerous game, considering how much whiskey had been consumed), and sheepishly admitting he’d practiced making pie crust for weeks, it was clear your parents were absolutely smitten with your boyfriend. By the time your mom hugged you both goodbye at the door, whispering that you’d “picked a good one,” you thought your heart might burst with pride.

But now, the house is quiet. The only sounds are the low hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of the floorboards as you wander through the dining room, stacking dishes and tidying up. The scent of roasted herbs and pumpkin pie still lingers in the air, but you’re already beginning to unwind.

Mingyu is... well, not unwinding. Not in the slightest. You can hear him singing—no, yelling—off-key in the kitchen as he polishes off the last of the whiskey your dad left behind. When you poke your head in to scold him for leaving you to do all the cleaning, you find him leaning against the counter, a lazy, lopsided grin lighting up his face. His tie is loose, and the top buttons of his shirt have been undone, showing off that smooth stretch of skin you always find it impossible to resist.

“You’re wasted,” you accuse, trying not to smile at how disheveled he looks.

“Wasted?” he echoes, incredulous, though the way he wobbles slightly when he stands says otherwise. “Nah, baby, I’m just... grateful. It’s Thanksgiving! And I’m thankful for you.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his nose nuzzling your temple. His voice drops, low and teasing. “And the way you look in this dress... God, how did I keep my hands to myself all night?”

You roll your eyes, even as your heart stutters in your chest. “Because my parents were right there, and you were busy trying to impress them?”

Mingyu hums, the sound reverberating against your skin. “Impressed them so much they probably think I’m an angel, huh?” His fingers press lightly against the small of your back, pulling you closer until you can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “Guess I shouldn’t ruin that image.”

When you laugh, the sound barely leaves your lips before he has you pinned against the nearest wall. Your shriek of surprise is muffled by Mingyu’s mouth on yours, warm and insistent, tasting faintly of whiskey and the pumpkin pie he’d wolfed down before your parents left. His hands bracket your waist, firm and steady, but there’s nothing restrained about the way he presses into you.

“Shhh,” he murmurs against your lips when you try to protest, his voice dark and teasing. “Can’t let them know their soon-to-be son-in-law isn’t the perfect golden boy they think he is.”

Your laugh bubbles up despite yourself, but you manage to shove at his chest just enough to put some space between you. “Mingyu, stop! There are dishes everywhere—”

“Don’t care,” he growls, already pulling you back toward him.

“Mingyu!”

He only grins as you slip out of his grasp, retreating into the dining room, muttering about someone needing to be responsible. But he’s not far behind. You feel his presence before you even hear him—the deliberate slowness of his footsteps, the quiet huff of his breath as he watches you stack plates.

You turn to scold him, but the words catch in your throat the moment you see his expression. His pupils are blown wide, gaze dark and intent, like he’s just barely holding himself back.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, a little breathless.

He takes a step closer.

“Like what?”

“Like—like you’re going to—”

Mingyu doesn’t let you finish. In one swift motion, he’s at your side, spinning you around and lifting you effortlessly onto the dining table. Plates clatter around you, some teetering dangerously close to the edge as you gasp in shock.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, holding up a hand. His gaze flicks to the plates beneath you, then back to your face. “Are these gonna break if I—”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your composure. “If you what?”

He flashes you a devilish grin, and before you can stop him, he swipes an arm across the table, sending the rest of the dishes clattering to the floor.

“Mingyu!” you gasp, clutching his shirt as you gape at the mess.

“It’s fine,” he says, far too casually for someone who’s just created a potential disaster. His voice is rough, his breath coming quick as he leans in close, pressing you back against the table. “They’re not ceramic. They won’t break.”

Your protest dies on your lips as his mouth finds yours again, hands already working to undo the buttons of your dress. The table creaks beneath you as he presses his weight into you, his kisses growing more heated, more desperate with every passing second.

“You’re insane,” you murmur against his lips, though your fingers are already threading through his hair, tugging lightly just the way you know he likes.

“Maybe,” he admits, his grin unmistakable even as his lips move to your jaw, trailing kisses down the column of your neck. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

“Not if I kill you for breaking half our dishes,” you tease, though the sharp intake of breath you can’t quite suppress gives you away.

“Then you’ll have to explain to your parents why their perfect golden boy is gone,” he counters, his voice a low rumble against your skin.

"And we can't have that, can we?" you murmur, tilting your head to give him better access.

Mingyu chuckles, the sound vibrating against your throat. "Definitely not. I've worked too hard to impress them."

His hands slide down your sides, bunching up the fabric of your dress as they go. You shiver at the feeling of his fingers against your bare thighs, your skin prickling with goosebumps. Mingyu's touch is warm, his fingers leaving trails of heat in their wake.

"Speaking of impressing," you say, trying to keep your voice steady as his touch wanders higher, "I can't believe you actually learned to make pie crust."

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh, that? I lied. I bought it pre-made."

You gasp in mock outrage. "You fraud!"

"Hey, your mom loves me,” Mingyu bites the junction where your shoulder meets your neck, just enough to hurt, and you whine. “You can’t call me a fraud when her love is real, baby.” His tongue carves a path back up to your mouth.

"Oh, shut up," you laugh, tugging him closer by his loosened tie.

Mingyu chuckles, the sound vibrating against your neck as he continues his trail of kisses.

"You know," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, "I wasn't lying earlier. About being grateful for you."

The sincerity in his eyes catches you off guard, making your breath hitch. Even with his hair mussed and his shirt half-unbuttoned, there's an earnestness to him that makes your heart swell. But then he kneels in front of you, and your heart starts to stutter.

“And what better way to show you how…grateful I am,” he starts, fingers brushing against the wet spot on your panties, so soft it makes you gasp. “Than to kneel in front of you?”

His words make your back arch, shivers running down your spine. He hums softly, fingers brushing the edge of your panties. 

“My baby’s so pretty,” he breathes, pressing open-mouthed kisses against thighs as you shiver. 

"Mingyu," you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair as he slowly drags your panties down your legs. The cool air hits your heated skin, making you shiver.

He looks up at you through his lashes, a wicked grin playing at his lips. "Yes, baby?"

You open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a breathy moan as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him most. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more contact.

Mingyu chuckles, the sound low and rough. "So eager," he murmurs against your skin. "But I want to savor this. Show you just how thankful I am."

His tongue traces lazy patterns on your thigh, inching closer and closer to your center with each pass. You squirm on the table, plates clattering softly around you as you try to press closer to his mouth. But Mingyu's hands on your hips hold you firmly in place.

"Patience," he whispers, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

You whimper, fingers tightening in his hair. "Mingyu, please..."

He looks up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Please what?"

"Touch me," you breathe. "I need you to—"

Your words dissolve into a gasp as Mingyu finally, finally presses his mouth against you. His tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing and exploring. You throw your head back, a low moan escaping your lips as pleasure courses through you.

Mingyu hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves of sensation up your spine. His hands slide from your hips to your thighs, gently urging them further apart. You comply eagerly, desperate for more of his touch. Mingyu takes advantage of the new angle, his tongue delving deeper, circling your clit with practiced precision.

"God, you taste amazing," he murmurs against you, the words sending vibrations through your core. “Better than my pie, baby.”

You can't help the breathy moan that escapes you, your hips rolling against his face as you chase the building pleasure. Mingyu matches your rhythm, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on your sensitive clit.

"Mingyu," you gasp, tugging at his hair. "I'm close, I'm—"

Your words trail off into a strangled moan as Mingyu redoubles his efforts, his tongue working faster, more insistently against you. One of his hands leaves your thigh, and you feel his fingers teasing at your sopping entrance before slowly sliding inside. The dual sensation of his tongue on your clit and his fingers curling inside you makes you arch against the table, fingers finding purchase on the tablecloth and holding on for dear life.

"That's it, baby," Mingyu murmurs against you, his voice rough with desire. "Let go for me. Show me how good I make you feel."

His words, combined with the relentless attention of his mouth and fingers, push you over the edge. Your back arches off the table as waves of pleasure crash over you, Mingyu's name falling from your lips in a breathless cry. He works you through your orgasm, his movements slowing gradually as your body relaxes.

When the last tremors of pleasure subside, Mingyu presses a final, gentle kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. His hair is a mess from your fingers, his lips swollen and glistening. The sight of him looking so thoroughly debauched makes your heart race all over again.

"Come here," you murmur, reaching for him.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it sends a renewed spark of arousal through you. His hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers on the thoroughly christened tablecloth. You bring your joined hands to your mouth and suck on his fingers as Mingyu looks on in dazed fascination.

Mingyu groans, his eyes darkening with renewed desire. "God, you're gonna be the death of me," he murmurs, voice rough with want.

You release his fingers with a soft pop, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. "I thought you were showing me how thankful you were," you tease, running your free hand down his chest. "Seems like you might have more gratitude to express, love."

His answering grin is downright predatory. "Oh, I'm just getting started, baby," he growls, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. "I've got all night to show you exactly how thankful I am." Without warning, his fingers find your sopping cunt again, and you squeal.

Two, then three, fingers bully their way into your weeping pussy, and you groan, wanton, as Mingyu’s free hand yanks the sleeves of your dress off your shoulder.

“Don’t-” your words are cut off with a keen when Mingyu’s fingers go even deeper, back arching off the table. “Don’t rip my dress Mingyu-ah! There! Right there- don’t stop, please please-”

Mingyu chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your neck as he continues to work his fingers inside you. "Wouldn't dream of ripping this dress, baby. I love how you look in it too much." His teeth graze your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. You're caught between the pleasure of his fingers and the slight pain of his teeth, overwhelmed by sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he groans against your skin. "You're so wet for me. So tight."

You can only whimper in response, your hips rocking against his hand as you chase another peak. The table creaks beneath you, the remaining dishes clattering with each thrust of Mingyu's fingers.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice low and husky. "Take what you need. Take it all, baby."

His thumb finds your clit, circling it in time with the thrusts of his fingers. You cry out, hips bucking off the table. Mingyu's free hand slides up to cup your breast through the fabric of your dress, his thumb brushing over your nipple.

"Oh god," you moan, your head falling back against the table, hands gripping his bicep. You’re not sure if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. "Mingyu, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," he growls, curling his fingers inside you. "Let me feel you, baby."

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the table as you cry out Mingyu's name. He works you through it, his fingers slowing but not stopping as aftershocks ripple through you.

When you finally come down, panting and boneless, Mingyu withdraws his hand and brings his glistening fingers to his mouth. He sucks them clean, his eyes locked on yours; you moan, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Your fingers grapple helplessly with the buttons. He lets you struggle for a little, forehead pressed against yours as his deft fingers work to push your dress off of you, leaving you bare before him on the dining room table. The cool air pebbles your skin, but Mingyu's heated gaze makes you feel like you're on fire.

"You’re delicious," he murmurs, a wicked grin playing at his lips. "But I'm not done with you yet."

He decides to put you out of your misery, pushing away to roughly yank his shirt off and throw it across the room. His hands yank at his belt, and his pants and boxers follow soon after, joining his shirt god knows where. Your eyes rake over Mingyu's exposed body, drinking in the sight of his toned chest and abs. Your gaze travels lower, lingering on his erect cock, already glistening with precum. The sight makes your mouth water, and you unconsciously lick your lips.

Mingyu catches the gesture and smirks. "See something you like, baby?"

You nod, unable to form words as he steps closer, his hands running up your thighs. He positions himself between your legs, the tip of his cock brushing against your sensitive folds. You whimper at the contact, your hips jerking involuntarily.

"Tell me what you want," Mingyu murmurs, his voice low and husky. He rocks his hips slightly, teasing you with just the barest hint of pressure.

"You," you breathe, reaching for him. "I want you, Mingyu. Don’t make me beg.”

"Never, baby," he growls, voice rough with desire. "I want you too much."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Then take me," you breathe, nails raking down his back.

Mingyu doesn't need to be told twice. With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside you, both of you groaning at the sensation. He stills for a moment, forehead pressed against yours as you adjust to his size.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, his arms trembling slightly as he holds himself above you. "You feel so good."

You roll your hips experimentally, drawing a strangled moan from Mingyu. "Move," you urge. Mingyu obeys, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in. The force of his thrust sends a few more plates clattering to the floor, but neither of you pay them any mind. Your focus narrows to the feeling of Mingyu moving inside you, the delicious friction as he sets a punishing pace.

"God, yes," you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Just like that, Mingyu."

He grunts in response, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. One hand grips your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, while the other braces against the table. The wood creaks beneath you with each thrust, but you can barely hear it over the sound of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans. He whines, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you relentlessly.

"You're so fucking tight," Mingyu groans, his voice strained. "So perfect for me, baby. Only for me."

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your walls clenching around him. Mingyu groans, his hips stuttering for a moment before he redoubles his efforts. He shifts slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, and suddenly he's hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. He lifts his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as he drives into you.

"Oh god," you cry out, your back arching off the table. "Right there, Mingyu. Don't stop!"

"Fuck," he grunts, his movements becoming more erratic. "I'm close, baby. So close."

You can feel your own orgasm building, a coiling tension in your lower belly. "Me too," you pant, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Mingyu, please."

Mingyu knows you like the back of his hand, knows exactly what you need to send you over the edge - his hand leaves your hip, sliding between your bodies to rub rough circles against your clit with his thumb. Mingyu shifts slightly, hitting that spot that convinces you that you’re in heaven - your mouth drops open in a low whine, and he savors every reaction you give him.

Your entire body tenses as the pleasure makes spots dance in your vision. Mingyu's movements grow more frantic, his breathing ragged against your neck.

"Come for me," he growls, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "Let go, baby. I've got you."

His words are the final push you need. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your back arching off the table as you cry out Mingyu's name. Your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper.

The sensation of you pulsing around him pushes Mingyu over the edge. He buries himself deep inside you with a final thrust, groaning your name as he comes.

For a long moment, you both stay like that, panting and trembling in the aftermath. The table creaks again, as Mingyu presses loving kisses against your lips, hands rubbing gentle circles on your sides.

“I love you,” he whispers, equal parts adoring and reverent. “I’m so grateful to have you in my life.”

He sounds so genuine, so lovelorn, that it almost brings tears to your eyes. “I love you too,” you breathe, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him close. “I’ll never stop thanking fate for bringing you to me.”

“It wasn’t fate,” he grumbles half-heartedly. “It was your shitty cocktails that almost gave me alcohol poisoning at Jeonghan’s graduation party.”

You sigh, pulling back enough to stick your tongue out at him. “And just when I was starting to wax poetic about you, Kim Mingyu.”

“Oh, by all means, continue-”

The table decides then that it has had enough of the both of you, and the leg gives out with a deafening splinter. The sudden tilt of the table sends you both sliding towards the floor in an undignified heap. Mingyu manages to catch you, cushioning your fall with his body as you land on top of him with a soft "oof." For a moment, you both lie there in stunned silence, the broken table leg jutting out at an awkward angle beside you.

Then, almost simultaneously, you burst into laughter.

Mingyu joins in, his body shaking with mirth against yours. "Oh my god," he wheezes, lifting himself up on his elbows to look at you. "Are you okay?"

You nod, still giggling. "I'm fine. You?"

"Never better," he grins, pressing a quick kiss to your nose. "Although I think we might need a new dining table."

You groan, finally taking in the full extent of the damage. Plates litter the floor, and your poor tablecloth lies in a heap near Mingyu’s feet.

"Oh no," you moan, burying your face in Mingyu's chest. "My parents gave us that table as a housewarming gift."

Mingyu winces, his hand coming up to stroke your hair soothingly. "We'll figure something out. Maybe we can fix it?"

You lift your head to give him a skeptical look. "Fix it? Mingyu, the leg is completely broken off."

He shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hey, I managed to convince your parents I'm a master pie baker. I'm sure I can convince them I'm an expert carpenter too."

You can't help but laugh, swatting his chest playfully. "You're ridiculous."

"But you love me," he grins, pulling you down for a kiss.

"God help me, I do," you murmur against his lips.

[clockwayswrites]

Birdritch part 2 Yeah, there's a subscription post now...

Danny pulled another sweet potato fry from his bag before refolding the top to keep it warm. He’d finish all the fries before he even got home, he knew that, but that was future him’s problem. Right then being able to munch on the sweet, salty goodness as he took a shortcut through the park was just what he needed. There was something about Robinson park that always settled him.

It was probably because of the park’s wild, otherworldly nature that came from Poison Ivy’s control. It almost felt ghostly in how unreal it was. It was another thing Danny tried not to think too hard on and just enjoyed. It wasn’t that Danny was ignoring the fact that he was half ghost (as he always tried to convince himself), he just wasn’t dwelling on it anymore. Ghosts had consumed his life for so long and he needed a break.

Even before his accident (it was easier to just call it an accident when people asked about his scars), his parent’s obsession controlled their house, family, and lives. He got now that it wasn’t normal to grow up not cooking because the food might eat you. Or because your parents were too busy in the basement lab to remember. His time away from Amity Park in college made Danny realize that Jazz and his childhood had been at best unsafe and at worst negligent.

It had taken Danny a lot of therapy to be able to say those words.

Being honest, Danny still needed a lot of therapy, but there was only so much progress he could make when he couldn’t really explain that he was half dead and had spent the end of his childhood fighting ghosts, the government, and his parents. He was half tempted to try and track down Harley Quinn and see if she was up to taking on a new patient. (Danny was pretty sure that she wouldn’t rat him out to the authorities.)

A vine thrashed suddenly in front of Danny, hitting the sidewalk with a meaty thump.

Danny froze.

Fuck.

His phone was out of power.

He couldn’t check if something was going on in the park.

While Poison Ivy was much more Pamela Isley than rogue these days, as seen by the city just letting her have control of much of the park, she was still temperamental and the right— or wrong— sort of thing could set her and her plants off. (Sometimes the plants went off on their own. Everyone knew not to be a sleaze bag in Robinson park.)

Slowly Danny started to back up.

Several more vines wretched themselves out of the ground around him.

He could hear shouting somewhere off to his left. Out of the corner of his eye he could see movement from the plants that direction.

Alright, not angry at him then.

Danny crept forward slowly, keeping his motions as calm and small as possible. Just because they plants weren’t angry at him it didn’t mean they weren’t a threat to him. His best chance was to stay on the path and head in the direction away from the noise.

And away from the over sized flowers.

Well fuckity fuck.

Most things Poison Ivy could do weren’t really a threat to Danny. He could phase away from vines, after all. But the flowers? The flowers had pollen and pollen was an unknown; one that Danny didn’t want to be known. Sam was rather certain that the pollens could effect Danny in odd and unknown ways due to his half ghost nature.

He had refused to let Sam experiment on him to figure it out. Comparing her fervor to his parent’s helped shut that idea down for good. Danny didn’t regret avoiding being a lab rat, even as he was staring down the ruby red flowers to his right. He still just had to keep his motions as calm and small as possible.

The flowers were only an issue if they let their pollen out.

Danny started to move in as wide of an arc as he could around the flowers.

While they were closed up he was safe.

Danny’s left hand spasmed.

The paper bag of food crinkled.

The flower petals unfurled.

Fuck.

---

AN: I know there are issues, another no read through late night post, but I'm getting my serotonin where I can. Stay delightful, darlings.

[illbegottenfaith]

sweet?!

you may not be the one dating theodore nott but you'd be damned if you let anyone think of him as sweet (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - I meant to make a separate post a while back but college has been kicking my ass so 😭 but 300 followers!!! insaneee ily all sooo much mwah I feel so so grateful and also a little weirded out cuz wdym 300 people... (I am SO bad at these can you tell um anyways) also this was inspired by a new girl episode!! I kind of have plans for a part 3 but im still workshopping it so idk yet but !! we'll see :)

tropes/warnings - fluff, slight angst, mattheo not understanding physics (but its not like he had a formal education in the subject so is it rlly his fault??), tw descriptions of injury

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @kandralice @clairesblouse @deenaaa

"You're still coming this afternoon, right?"

You were having lunch in the Great Hall with your best friend Ivy, hours before one of the most entertaining sporting events of the year - an underground Muggle sports day. Every year, a group of students from each house would compete in some arbitrarily chosen muggle sport, with varying levels of success. Casualties and knee-slapping memories (for those standing in the sidelines, such as yourself) were a guarantee.

You nodded. "Are you kidding? Watching the boys wack each other black and blue at some poor attempt at a muggle sport? I wouldn't miss it for the world. I hope it's hockey. It's got sticks, you know." You got an odd, dreamlike look in your eye. "Merlin, I hope it's hockey."

Ivy dug into her Shepherd's pie. "Good. It sounds interesting enough. Plus, Theo's new girlfriend will be there."

You nearly upset your pumpkin juice.

"Girlfriend? When did that happen?"

Something in your voice must have given your true feelings away from the way Ivy squinted at you suspiciously. You pulled a face. It seemed convincing enough.

"It's all very new," Ivy said a tad bit sternly. "They met at Davies' party a while back and, well, they fancied each other, so -"

You snorted.

"What, is he blackmailing her?"

Ivy frowned at you. "Don't snark," she rebuked. "It isn't nice. She's a regular daisy, you'll see."

Yeah. Sure. You piled some more mashed potatoes onto your plate.

"Has anyone checked her for brain damage? Look - I'm not even snarking, I'm genuinely concerned for her wellbeing - "

“I don’t understand how this is supposed to work,” Mattheo was saying as the two of you walked over the makeshift Muggle basketball court someone had fashioned out of one of the disused storerooms in the dungeons. He and the rest of the Slytherin boys were wearing matching fluorescent green mesh vests to distinguish themselves from the Gryffindor team, engaged in some deadly serious discussion. A part of you wondered if you should mention that muggle sports weren’t generally meant to be as fatal as Quidditch.

As usual, Theo looked bored to death by the conversation. "We've been over this a hundred times. You dribble the ball -"

"Yeah, right," Mattheo vehemently said. "Like this thing's coming up if I throw it down. What do you take me for, an idiot?"

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, oddly reminscent of the way you did when you felt a migraine coming on.

"Remember the tennis ball, Matty? The fuzzy, green one?"

"That's different. That thing was tiny, and bouncy. This thing's heavy. It's the size of my head. No, a quaffle. No, a -"

"Then what do you think is going to happen?" Theo interrupted irritably.

“Stick to the ground, obviously. Watch - "

As seasoned as the lot of you had become in anticipating Mattheo's often highly dangerous impulses, this one came entirely out of left field. Theo yanked him back by his vest, but it was too late. He slammed the basketball down and it ricocheted back up almost immediately, punching him right in the nose. Mattheo swore loudly, and the last thing you saw before you looked away was an awful amount of blood.

Even after Enzo took him to the Hospital Wing, once Theo had sufficiently plugged his nose with obscene amounts of tissue, things did not improve for the team. About halfway through the game, an unfortunate scuffle between some of the players left Draco curled up in a ball, grimacing as he clutched his knee. Theo winced, running over to where Draco was doing a rather poor job of concealing his pain.

"Oh, that's so Teddy," Margaret gushed to you, "always stopping by to help anyone in need. Isn't he such a gentleman?"

You nodded stiffly, your slight smile frozen on your face, willing Ivy to hurry back with the snacks and drinks she had left for. After she had introduced the two of you to each other, you decided that Margaret was a perfectly pleasant person, even if she wasn't the type of friend you typically sought out. If anything, you were more confused than ever about what she was doing, hanging around a guy as bitter as Theo.

However, one thing that truly bothered you was the odd remark here or there that revealed her grossly inaccurate perceptions of him, such as this one. You thought back to just last week when you had tripped in front of him on one of the Shifting Staircases, your books tumbling down into the recesses of the stairwell. He had stopped by you, alright. Stopped to point and laugh, that is.

"Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. He's really sweet," Margaret finished.

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head.

"Sweet?"

Just in time, Ivy hurried over, gently pulling you away with some half-hearted excuse.

"O-kay, I think that's enough bonding for today."

"Sweet," you echoed weakly as you limply allowed yourself to be carted away, the appalled expression still on your face. "She thinks he's sweet." Euch.

But Ivy wasn't paying attention to you anymore. "How bad is it?" she asked, as the two of you neared the cluster around Draco.

"Bad," Ivan replied, gingerly pressing Draco's knee. "He definitely needs to see Madam Pomfrey. No way he'll be able to play any more today, and we're out of reserves, so we're a man short." He turned, motioning to the Gryffindor players scattered across the field that the game was over.

"Damn. I'll take him to the hospital wing, I've been meaning to check on Mattheo too. Meg, you'll help me, won't you?"

With a little difficulty, the three of them limped along once they had pulled Draco's arms over their shoulders. One of the Gryffindor players approached the crowd, picking up on what was happening after a glance at Draco.

"What about the game?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "We'll rematch, you nitwit."

You went back to your seat, trying to figure out what to do with Ivy's refreshments. Once it was clear that the game was over, the last of the players and the scanty audience filtered out of the room.

"What gives?"

You pulled your gaze back to the lone Slytherin player left, in a blood-spotted mesh vest. Your least favourite player. You could slap that on a T-shirt - not that you wanted to cheer for him. Merlin, no. Cheer against him, maybe. You wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy - which, coincidentally, happened to be him. You momentarily abandoned your musings as you returned to the real world, noticing the expectant look on his face.

"Hm?"

Theo spread him arms out and shrugged in a helpless sort of manner.

"I don't get it, L/N. What do you want from me?

You stared at him blankly. "...what are you talking about?"

He scoffed half-heartedly, like he was too upset to put any real heat behind it.

"I have this amazing new girlfriend that everyone loves." He tossed the ball away with a defeated air. "Everyone, except you."

The words stung. You stuck your chin out defiantly.

"Why do you care so much about what I think?"

"Why can't you just be happy for me?

"I just want you to be honest."

Theo's eyebrows shot up. "Honesty? That's what this is about?"

That's what it had always been about, you wanted to say. You sniffed nonchalantly, rearranging the pleats of your skirt.

"I don't think it's fair to Margaret that you're selling her some lie just to -"

"You think I'm lying to her?"

He kept his voice cool, almost offensively neutral. You rolled your eyes. "I know you are."

Theo was quiet after that, as if mulling over what you had said.

"So," he pressed after a moment, slowly walking towards you, forcing you to crane your head up to maintain eye contact, "you think I should be more transparent with her. That is...show her my unpleasant side."

You allowed yourself a brief smile. "Exactly."

"Be more rude to her."

"Yeah."

"Mock her."

You furrowed your brow slightly.

"Erm, sure."

"Insult her."

"I - what?"

"In short," Theo continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "you want me to treat her like I do you."

He tilted his head.

"Why is that? Do you feel...betrothed to me? Or, perhaps, you consider me your boyfriend? Since we're being honest, and all."

In that moment, you decided you never hated Theo more than you did then, with his domineering stances, condescending sneers, and caustically sarcastic remarks. You swallowed hard, your throat almost painfully tight as you felt the traitorous prick of tears behind your eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," you muttered. But he wasn't being entirely ridiculous, was he? It was what made the whole thing all that more upsetting.

If he noticed you were teary-eyed, he didn't comment on it, as if it were disappointing. As if you were yet another disappointment in his book of unfairly high expectations. He straightened with a barely convincing air of nonchalance. If anything, he looked just as upset as you felt.

"Whatever, L/N. See you around."

Part 3

[greenwitchcrafts]

September 2024 Witch Guide

New Moon: September 2nd

First Quarter: September 11th

Full moon: September 17th

Last Quarter: September 24th

Sabbats: Mabon- September 22nd

September Harvest Moon

Also known as: Autumn Moon, Child Moon, Corn Harvest Moon, Falling Leaves Moon, Haligmonath, Leaves Turning Moon, Mating Moon, Moon of Brown Leaves, Moon When Dear Paw the Earth, Rutting Moon, Singing Moon, Wine Moon, Witumanoth & Yellow Leaf Moon

Element: Earth

Zodiac: Virgo & Libra

Nature spirts: Trooping Faeries

Deities: Brigid, Ceres, Chang-e, Demeter, Freya, Isis, Depths & Vesta

Animals: Jackal & snake

Birds: Ibis & sparrow

Trees: Bay, hawthorn, hazel & larch

Herbs: Copal, fennel, rye, skullcap, valerian, wheat & witch hazel

Flowers: Lily & narcissus

Scents: Bergamot, gardenia, mastic & storax

Stones: Bloodstone,carnelian, cat's eye, chrysolite, citrine, iolite, lapis lazuli, olivine, peridot, sapphire, spinel(blue), tourmaline(blue) & zircon

Colors: Browns, dark blue, Earth tones, green & yellow

Issues, intentions & powers: Confidence, the home, manifestation & protection

Energy: Balance of light & dark, cleaning & straightening of all kinds, dietary matters, employment, health, intellectual pursuits, prosperity, psychism, rest, spirituality, success & work environment

The full Moon that happens nearest to the fall equinox (September 22nd or 23rd) always takes on the name “Harvest Moon.” Unlike other full Moons, this full Moon rises at nearly the same time—around sunset—for several evenings in a row, giving farmers several extra evenings of moonlight & allowing them to finish their harvests before the frosts of fall arrive. 

• While September’s full Moon is usually known as the Harvest Moon, if October’s full Moon happens to occur closer to the equinox than September’s, it takes on the name “Harvest Moon” instead. In this case, September’s full Moon would be referred to as the Corn Moon.

This time of year—late summer into early fall—corresponds with the time of harvesting corn in much of the northern United States. For this reason, a number of Native American peoples traditionally used some variation of the name “Corn Moon” to refer to the Moon of either August or September. 

Mabon

Known as: Autumn Equinox, Cornucopia, Witch's Thanksgiving & Alban Elved

Season: Autumn

Element: Air

Symbols: Acorns, apples, autumn leaves, balance, berries, corn, cornucopia( Horn of Plenty), dried seeds, equality, gourds, grains, grapes, ivy, pine cones, pomegranates, vines, wheat, white roses & wine

Colors: Blue, brown, dark red, deep gold, gold, indigo, leaf green, maroon, orange, red, russet. Violet & yellow

Oils/Incense: Apple, apple blossom, benzoin, black pepper, hay/straw, myrrh, passion flower, patchouli, pine, red poppy & sage

Animals: Dog & Wolf

Birds: Goose, hawk, swallow & swan

Stones: Agate, amethyst, carnelian, lapis lazuli, sapphire, yellow Agate & yellow topaz

Food: Apples, blackberries, blackberry wine, breads, carrots, cider, corn, cornbread, grapes, heather wine, nuts, onions, pomegranates, potatoes, squash, vegetables, wheat & wine

Herbs/Plants: Benzoin, bramble, corn, ferns, grains, hops, ivy, milkweed, myrrh, sage sassafras, Salomon's seal, thistle, tobacco & wheat

Flowers:  Aster, heather, honeysuckle, marigold, mums, passion flower, rose

Trees: Aspen, cedar, cypress, hazel, locust, maple, myrtle oak & pine

Goddesses: Danu, Epona, Inanna, Ishtar, Modron, Morgan, The Morrigan, Muses, Pomona, Persephone, Sin, Sophia & Sura

Gods:  Bacchus, Dionysus, Dumuzi, Esus, The Green Man, Hermes, Mannanan, Thor & Thoth

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Accomplishment, agriculture, balance, goals, gratitude & grounding

Spellwork: Balance, harmony, protection, prosperity, security & self-confidence

Activities:

•Scatter offerings in a harvested fields & Offer libations to trees

• Decorate your home and/or altar space for fall

• Bake bread

• Perform a ritual to restore balance and harmony to your life

• Cleanse your home of negative energies

• Pick apples

• Collect fall themed things from nature like acorns, changing leaves, pine cones, ect)

• Have a dinner or feast with your family and/or friends

• Set intentions for the upcoming year

• Purge what is no longer serving you & commit to healthy changes

•Take a walk in the woods

• Enjoy a pumpkin spice latte

• Donate to your local food bank

• Gather dried herbs, plants, seeds & pods

• Learn something new

• Make wine

• Fill a cornucopia

• Brew an apple cinnamon simmer pot

• Create an outdoor Mabon altar

•Adorn burial sites with leaves, acorns, & pinecones to honor those who have passed over & visit their graves

The name Mabon comes from the Welsh/Brythonic God Mabon Ap Modron, who's name means "Divine/great Son", However,there is evidence that the name was adopted in the 1970s for the Autumn Equinox & has nothing to do with this celebration or this time of year.

• Though many cultures see the second harvest (after the first harvest Lughnasadh) & Equinox as a time for giving thanks before the name Mabon was given because this time of year is traditionally when farmers know how well their summer crops did & how well fed their animals have become. This determines whether you & your family would have enough food for the winter.That is why people used to give thanks around this time, thanks for their crops, animals & food

Some believe it celebrates the autumn equinox when Nature is preparing for the winter months. Night & day are of equal legth  & the God's energy & strength are nearly gone. The Goddess begins to mourn the loss she knows is coming, but knows he will return when he is reborn at Yule.

Related festivals:

• Sukkot- Is a Torah-commanded holiday celebrated for seven days, beginning on the 15th day of the month of Tishrei. It is one of the Three Pilgrimage Festivals on which Israelites were commanded to make a pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem. Originally a harvest festival celebrating the autumn harvest, Sukkot’s modern observance is characterized by festive meals in a sukkah, a temporary wood-covered hut, celebrating the Exodus from Egypt.

• Mid-Autumn festival- September 17th

Is also known as the Moon Festival or Mooncake Festival. It is a traditional festival celebrated in Chinese culture, similar holidays are celebrated by other cultures in East & Southeast Asia. It is one of the most important holidays in Chinese culture; its popularity is on par with that of Chinese New Year. The history of the Mid-Autumn Festival dates back over 3,000 years.  On this day, it is believed that the Moon is at its brightest and fullest size, coinciding with harvest time in the middle of Autumn.

During the festival, lanterns of all size and shapes – which symbolize beacons that light people's path to prosperity & good fortune – are carried & displayed. Mooncakes, a rich pastry typically filled with sweet-bean, egg yolk, meat or lotus-seed paste, are traditionally eaten during this festival. The Mid-Autumn Festival is based on the legend of Chang'e, the Moon goddess in Chinese mythology.

• Thanksgiving- This is a secular holiday which is similar to the cell of Mabon; A day to give thanks for the food & blessings of the previous year. The American Thanksgiving is the last Thursday of November while the Canadian Thanksgiving is celebrated in October

• The Oschophoria- Were a set of ancient Greek festival rites held in Athens during the month Pyanepsion (autumn) in honor of Dionysus. The festival may have had both agricultural and initiatory functions.

-Amidst much singing of special songs, two young men dressed in women's clothes would bear branches with grape-clusters attached from Dionysus to the sanctuary of Athena Skiras & a footrace followed in which select ephebes competed.

Ancient sources connect the festival and its rituals to the Athenian hero-king Theseus��& specifically to his return from his Cretan adventure. According to that myth, the Cretan princess Ariadne, whom Theseus had abandoned on the island of Naxos while voyaging home, was rescued by an admiring Dionysus; thus the Oschophoria may have honored Ariadne as well. A section of the ancient calendar frieze incorporated into the Byzantine Panagia Gorgoepikoos church in Athens, corresponding to the month Pyanopsion (alternate spelling), has been identified as an illustration of this festival's procession.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

[stcrforged]

a HUFF escaped the lips of the woman who had just thrown a grown ass man across the room before she took her third shot of vodka. she didn't really know if it was impressive. it was an easy way to earn quick cash. she was no superhero. she was a LOST cause. the sudden words about the dude who had been asking for it made her smile ever so slightly. almost invisible. " he's really gonna feel the pain tomorrow when he's all hungover. " ivy turned, not only her head, but her whole body, to really look at the other. " i guess you new around here? haven't seen you before. " head tilted, thoughts filling her head, UNSURE of how she should answer the question. " hm - i guess you could say i'm born with it but it ain't no damn fairytale. "

❝ can't say I actually have before but, damn if that wasn't impressive. ❞ strong independent women that don't take shit off of anyone are always the kind of women that Minjee wants to be around more often because birds of a feather absolutely should flock together. ❝ The idea is intriguing, I won't lie. I do like money but I don't want to end up a whimpering sack of shit like that guy. ❞ She juts her thumb in the direction of the where the guy had landed. ❝ I've gotta ask, how are you so strong ? That's so damn impressive, seriously. I know I said that already but I'm blown away. ❞

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (10/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: It's dinner time. Time to find new friends, since your roommate decides to treat you like shit.

Warnings: fluff, angst (whoops), asshole!Charles, alcohol consumption, Google translated French, swear words

Word Count: 3.9k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: a podium part! grande, Charlie! feedback is appreciated

Charles' mood has deteriorated quite a bit between his lunch and his return. 

Funny, easy-going Charles, who would have loved to drive to dinner with you in potato sacks, is now sitting next to you in the Renault and the silence is deafening. Not a word does he say, but at least he's not crushing the leather of the steering wheel with his hands like yesterday. He doesn't just sit there like a statue, but in every now and then he rubs his forehead, runs his hand through his hair, or twists the rings on his long fingers. 

The fact that he looks and behaves like a real person and not a sculpture calms you down a bit, but the stress is still clearly visible in his face. At least he looks more approachable, like you could talk to him. Like he needs someone to talk to about what happened.

Determined to get him out of his foul mood, you turn in his direction on the seat so you can look at him properly. "You want to talk about it?"

Your roommate clenches his jaws even tighter and exhales loudly, as if annoyed by your question. Good start to a conversation. "About what?" He stares ahead, propping his elbow against the car door as he steers the vehicle with his right hand. 

You furrow your eyebrows. "About whatever is going on inside you right now."

He gives a short laugh, but it sounds spiteful and not at all like the Charles you know. "It's none of your business." 

So at this point you've both arrived again, how nice. Your gaze moves from his eyes, to his nose, to his mouth, and you try to read his expression, but find only irritation and displeasure. Finally, you lower your gaze to your hands folded in your lap. "At least pull yourself together for your friends. Otherwise you'll screw up everyone's evening with your bad mood," it slips out of you.

"I won't."

He knows that you know that something is wrong. And if he wanted to talk about it, he would have answered differently than so snippy and irritated, so annoyed. But apparently he'd rather sit grimly next to you and take out his frustration on you, which would be fine with you if you knew the reason. 

You can't help him if you don't know what it's about, and you'd love to grab Charles by the shoulders and shake him until he comes clean. But you're afraid he's not one to be talked down to or pushed into something he doesn't want to do, so you let it go at that. If he wants to talk, he knows where to find you.

You don't know the restaurant Charles stops the car in front of, but it looks beautiful from the outside with the ivy vines winding around lamps and awnings. Some of the tables inside are occupied and even from the car you can tell that the food on the plates looks delicious. 

As you unbuckle your seatbelt and reach for the door handle, your roommate doesn't move a bit. "You go on in. I'll park the car and catch up with you." He doesn't even look at you, but clenches his jaw and waits for you to exit the car. So you just nod at him and get out. 

You're about to ask him what name the table is reserved in, when he leans over the center console and closes the passenger door from the inside before sitting down normally and speeding off, disappearing around the next corner. He leaves you on the side of the road, and the wintry evening wind swirls around you so coldly that you can't be mad at him, but enter the restaurant directly, where you stop at the hostess's counter. 

"Bonsoir," she greets you with a friendly smile, typing away briefly on the iPad in her hand. "Avez-vous réservé une table?" good evening. have you reserved a table?

In your mind, you give Charles a pat on the back of the head. Couldn't he have waited a moment longer? 

Behind you, the glass door opens and other guests enter the restaurant. You press your lips together. "Bonsoir. Une table est réverée, mais je ne sais pa à quel nom," you try to say in your best French, and apparently the hostess even understands you. good evening. a table is reserved, I just don't know what name.

The friendly hostess opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, a slender hand rests on your shoulder. "Je crois qu'elle est avec nous." I think she's with us. Confused, you turn around and look into giant brown eyes. "Y/N, right?" The woman in front of you is so beautiful that you can only nod mutely. Smiling, she takes her hand off your shoulder and looks at the hostess. "La table est réservée au nom Gasly." the table is reserved in the name of gasly. 

Behind her stands a young man with one hand resting loosely on her hip. He smiles at you as he notices your puzzled look. "We're Charles' friends. I'm Pierre and this is-"

"Kika," the brunette grins, interlocking her arm with yours, "nice to meet you. Where's Charles?" she asks as the three of you follow the hostess who takes you to a long, set table. There are individual chairs on one side, with padded booths across from them. 

You shrug your shoulders. "He's parking the car. I should go in already."

"Ah." Pierre pulls one of the chairs back so Kika can sit down - a gentleman, that is - but she just shakes her head. 

"Girls belong on the booths, Pierre," she says, and before you know it, you're sitting side by side at one end of the table. "So, Charles said you're a photographer?"

Charles. English pronunciation. Somehow it sounds strange, so out of place for the Monegasque. The fact that his friends pronounce his name so differently unsettles you, as does the fact that he seems to have been talking about you to his friends. But if Charles's friends call him Charles and not Scharl, then it must be right, no?

You nod. "Right."

Kika picks up her purse and sets it next to her on the bench. "How cool! So where do you work?"

Before you can answer - you wouldn't even know what exactly, to be honest - Charles pops up behind Pierre, who's sitting across from Kika. "What are you talking about?" He puts both hands on his friend's shoulders and squeezes them briefly before standing next to him at the table and leaning over.

"We're talking shit about you," Kika jokes, also leaning over the table so that the two of them can kiss each other on the cheek. In contrast to just now, he actually seems changed, just like yesterday when you went to Joris. It's almost creepy how well he can mask his feelings. 

"Doesn't surprise me," your roommate replies with a smile and sits down on the free chair facing you. But he doesn't acknowledge you at all. 

Is he ignoring you? Did you do something wrong during the time he wasn't home that he doesn't pay attention to you now? Or is he angry because you just gave him a piece of your mind? If it's the latter, then he can go to hell. 

But maybe it's the former. Maybe you shouldn't have written him while he was gone. Just picked out clothes, got ready, and waited for him. Maybe you misjudged the friendship. 

You make yourself smaller next to Kika, almost invisible, and watch as more and more people join the small group. They all introduce themselves briefly, but you immediately forget their names as they sit down. The seat next to you remains empty, for which you are somewhat grateful. But the fact that the person you know best here gives you the cold shoulder makes you feel uneasy - 

- and suddenly you are ten years old again, in the back seat of your father's car, trying to breathe shallowly so as not to provoke a sudden choleric fit in him. 

You avert your eyes from the people and study the menu, on which the actually not-so-expensive dishes are written, so you don't even notice how someone else joins the group until your name comes up. 

"Y/N?"

You look up and see the blue eyes of your helpful stranger from this afternoon. This time, however, he is wearing a white shirt, which greatly accentuates his tanned skin, the top two buttons are undone despite the weather, and light-colored pants hang from his hips. On his head, instead of a cap, are now brown curls that hang a bit in his forehead. 

You'd be lying if you said he wasn't incredibly handsome. And as you look at him, his smile widens.

The feeling from just now has fizzled out as you stand up and walk towards him. As you face each other, he spreads his arms, wraps them around your middle, and squeezes your body tightly against him. "I didn't think we'd meet again so soon." His arms are so long that his hands are on your sides while you have your arms around his neck. You're so close you can breathe in his scent. 

"Is this a good thing or a bad thing?" you ask him as you pull away from each other, but his hands remain on your hips. He looks down at you. 

"You two know each other?" 

You turn around, feeling Lando's hands slide off you, and behind you stands Charles, who looks at you with a look you can't interpret. Apparently you're talking to each other again. 

Uncertainly, you look from him to Lando. "Yes. We met at the grocery store this afternoon."

"She was shopping for her roommate," Lando continues, then points to Charles, who smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "So you're the roommate, I guess?" He looks back at you and smiles. "I knew Charles had a roommate, but I didn't know she was that beautiful."

"And bam, there went my hunger," Kika calls out to you, rolling his eyes playfully. 

Embarrassed, you look back to Lando, whose gaze is already on you. "Shall we?"

To your amazement, Lando sits down in the empty seat next to you and not with his friends. He pulls your menu over a bit, even though his own is right in front of him, and scoots a bit closer to you so you can browse the dishes together. 

"So," he finally says, leaning back. "I'm afraid I can't find any canned soup."

You nudge him with your shoulder. "I'll eat something else, too."

"There's no BigMac on here, either."

Before you can shove him off the bench, Charles interjects. "Canned soup? BigMac?"

Lando nods. "We found out today at the supermarket that Y/N's culinary journey ended somewhere between canned soup and BigMac." He points his index finger at a spot on the menu. "Ah, look. Kids' plate, with fries and chicken nuggets. How about it?"

You roll your eyes. "I think I'll order the carbonara."

"Ohhhh. Are we venturing out of our comfort zone?"

"Shut up, you dumbass," you say, playfully annoyed, and are glad to see the waitress come to the table shortly after, taking both drink and food orders. You ignore Charles' cold stare.

Kika taps you on the thigh. "You two know each other already, too?" She points to you and Lando, who has risen briefly to greet someone at the other end of the table. 

"Since noon today, to be exact." The waitress puts the drinks on the table. Coke for Kika and you, and a beer each for the three guys sitting with you. "I went shopping and couldn't find some things. He was kind enough to help me find them."

"You didn't tell me that." Charles tone is as cold as his gaze. You would have preferred him not to talk to you at all. You don't like this Charles. Not at all.

You don't know what you've done that he can be so friendly and lighthearted toward others, but act completely idiotic toward you. But you definitely don't let that happen to you. "I had to go to another supermarket because ours doesn't have some of the things you wanted." You raise an eyebrow and shrug. "Lando helped me find the sesame seeds and chili flakes."

"That's very kind of him." Charles's expression is impenetrable, but anyone who knows Charles even a little can pick out the underlying sarcasm.

You smile at him sugary sweet. "Yeah, right? He even walked me home and carried the bag."

Kika, whose gaze bounces back and forth between you like a tennis match, is glad Charles doesn't respond, just rolls his eyes. "And you two have only been living together for two days, right? What's it like having a roommate?"

Your gaze wanders to Charles, expecting a snarky comment or whatever he would come up with to put you down right now. But the opposite is true. His previously serious expression softens, his shoulders don't seem so tense anymore, and the little smile around his mouth makes your heart skip a beat, even though he was acting pretty out of line until just now. He's looking at you - really looking at you. This is Charles right here. Your Charles. 

"Y/N Is the best roommate you could ever ask for," he replies, and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks. "She's kind, considerate, and so funny. I couldn't ask for a better one."

You're definitely still going to talk about what's happened so far this evening, and you're definitely going to throw words back in his face about how dare he ignore you for half the evening. But right now, you're too relieved that Charles is Charles again that you can't even be mad. 

Kika pokes you in the side. "So what's Charles like?"

"Charles," you begin, but don't quite know how to answer. Charles is so much more than your roommate. He's your savior in times of need. Your confidant. Your friend. He's that warm feeling that spreads through you when you're together. 

Charles is everything. 

When you say his name, he barely noticeably screws up his face. 

"You can go ahead and say he's an asshole," Pierre grins, catching Charles' fist directly as he gently punches him in the shoulder. 

"Does he leave his dirty socks everywhere? We were all on vacation together once and you couldn't enter his hotel room without stepping on his dirty laundry," comes Max, sitting next to Pierre and thankfully far enough away that he only gets a nasty look. 

"Or does he take too long to style his hair? Ouch!" Kika rubs his shin and gives Charles a venomous look. "What? You take longer in the bathroom than I do in some cases!"

"You're all soooooo funny." Your roommate leans back in his chair and clasps his hands behind his head. The sleeves of his shirt stretch across his muscles. He winks at you. "I'm the very best roommate."

You take a sip of Coke and look at him over the rim of your glass, grinning. "The jury's still out."

Several waiters bring the food and the conversation takes its course. The carbonara tastes delicious and the conversation between Kika, Charles, Lando, Pierre and Max changes topics so frequently that you can't keep up with questions and laughter. In the meantime, Kika asks for your number "so you can talk to someone other than Charles" and you are infinitely grateful to have found a friend in her. 

The small group you are in seems like a small family and as much as they include you in everything, you feel like a part of it. A feeling that is foreign to you, but doesn't feel strange.

You knew that Charles must have such great friends. But you didn't expect them to accept you directly as part of their group. 

The plates are getting emptier, the conversations are getting louder, and people are changing their seats to be able to talk to others. Charles has gotten up to sit down three seats away, but not before asking you if it's okay if he leaves you alone for a moment, whereupon Kika has wrapped her slender arm around your shoulder, saying, "Don't worry, Charles. Y/N is in good hands with me". 

In between, he still gives you glances as if to ask if everything is okay, to which you just smile and nod. 

"So, was the carbonara better than canned soup?" Lando takes a sip of his beer.

"Nothing comes close to my favorite canned soup," you joke, "but I have to admit, I didn't know pasta could taste so great."

The Brit laughs up. "I saw that. All that was missing was you licking the plate."

You cross your arms in front of your chest and act offended. "Would it have surprised you?"

"Definitely not." He slips his tongue into his cheek, which is much more attractive than it should be. "So, about dinner-"

From across the table, someone calls his name and you notice him hesitate to get up, but the guys wave him over energetically. 

Lando looks at you. "Is it okay if I just-"

You wave him off and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's all good. Go ahead and see your friends. It's definitely not the last time we'll talk."

He reaches for your hand on his shoulder and presses a fleeting kiss to its knuckles before standing up. He doesn't let go of your hand until the distance between you grows too far. "See you in a bit."

Before you can realize what just happened, Kika catches your attention by scooting close to you. "What was that about?"

Your gaze lingers on Lando, who slaps his buddy on the shoulder and then sits down on a free chair there. He glances back at you and winks before turning to his friends. "I have no idea." 

As you turn toward Kika, Charles catches your gaze. Despite the dim lighting in the restaurant, you can see that his cheeks are flushed, almost certainly due to the beer. His smile is warm and infectious, and as you smile back he stands up and makes his way over to you. 

As he plops down in the seat next to you, he's still smiling. "Hi."

"Hi yourself."

Your roommate bites his lower lip and nervously twirls the rings on his fingers, and you wish you could have grabbed his hands and intertwined your fingers with his. But even though everything seems to be fine between you again, you have a relatively poor grasp on him, which is why you let it go.

"Listen," he begins, turning his whole body to face you, "I'm sorry I was so shitty to you." He looks down at your hands. "You - you were so understanding and kind and you just wanted to help and I treated you like crap. And you definitely didn't deserve that." When he looks you in the eye again, his gaze is soft and there's something sparkling in his green eyes that makes him look so young you melt. 

Pull yourself together. 

"It's okay," you reply, taking a sip of your Coke to wash down the lump in your throat. 

"It's not. I don't know what got into me, but my behavior wasn't okay." He takes a deep breath, as if he needs to buy time to think about his next words. "I, um, was with my ex and-"

"Charles," you interrupt him gently, and he barely flinches. But you're so close that, of course, you can't miss it. "You don't have to tell me if you're not ready for it. You don't have to tell me at all if you don't want to. But if you're ever that mean to me again and don't give me a reason, I'll kill you in your sleep."

Charles smile turns into a grin. "Then I guess I'll sleep with one eye open now." He takes a big swig of his beer. A drop of it escapes his lips and runs out of the corner of his mouth toward his chin. When he catches it with his tongue, you have to look away for a moment. "I wasn't lying, by the way. You're actually the best roommate anyone could ever ask for."

"Stop it."

"I'm serious." He puts his beer down and looks at you. "We've known each other for two days - two days - but somehow I feel like we've known each other forever, you know what I mean?" You can only nod in response. "And I've never had that feeling with anyone." He takes a deep breath. "And I also think I can tell you everything, which is why I really need to tell you that I-"

"Charles!" The guy the roommates had been talking to until recently sits down in the vacant chair across from you. "I heard about Annika, by the way. I'm really sorry."

In all your life, you've never witnessed how quickly the mood can turn. 

The easy-going Charles, the warm, friendly Charles, is gone as quickly as a shooting star. His body is tense to bursting, his fingers are clawing at his pants, and his jaws are clenched so tight you fear he's breaking his teeth. He doesn't even breathe. 

Is Annika his ex? The one he was probably with today? Is that why he was in a bad mood?

He doesn't breathe, for a minute he hasn't taken a breath, just stares ahead, through the guy who apparently realized his choice of subject was absolute shit. Charles isn't present, as if he's on another star. Like he's short-circuiting. But by God, the man needs to breathe before he turns blue.

Without giving it much thought, you press your knee against his. You're so focused on helping him that you ignore the heat of his skin burning through the layers of fabric, and the goosebumps spreading all over your body, and the closeness you've never felt with anyone before, even though there are two pairs of jeans between you. You focus only on him, on making him breathe again.

Until he pulls his knee away. Like you've burned him, electrocuted him. As if you had crossed a line. And for a moment your heart stops because you think you've done everything wrong. 

But then he presses his knee against yours again, more than that, he moves a little closer to you, so that not only your knees but also your thighs touch. Fire spreads through your veins even though your skin isn't even touching, but just being near him, this familiarity, causes lightning to twitch through your veins into your brain and your thoughts to stop. All you feel is heat. All you feel is Charles. 

Charles next to you takes a deep breath, but you're too absorbed by him to realize he's looking down at you. "I'm alright. I have everything I need."

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