#project || pride socks

[thackeroy]

I made these pride socks earlier this year! I got some yarn custom dyed for them from VeganYarn (the UK one) and decided once I started them that I would grab some more of my yarn from VeganYarn out of my advent from two years ago to make one into a trans flag. The yarn is her old sock yarn base, the new one is slightly different, this one was recycled cotton, bamboo and elastic, I figured they'd be great for the hot weather due to the naturally cooling qualities of the fibres, I was right, perfect summer socks!

[headgehug]

happy pride. behold— lesbian socks! the colors are a coincidence; I just mean they're for my favorite lesbian.

[brittlikestoknit]

knitting is the only thing i’ve ever really been good at. and it feels really fucking good to be confident in something!

i recently decided to kind of challenge myself.

socks are my favorite thing to knit and i am a die hard magic looper, it is my absolute favorite way to knit small in the round.

so i am challenging myself to try and knit a pair of socks in some other ways; dpns, nine inch circular, and flexible dpns.

i stated with dpns because i have some and have used dpns before so i know how (it’s how i first learned to knit in the round) and i honestly expected it to look like garbage but i am pleasantly surprised!! it actually looks good and i am enjoying knitting this way!

i am getting shorter needles tomorrow though because these 8 inch ones are too long.

but yeah! it’s really awesome to have a skill that you can be confident in! feels good.

[somegrumpynerd]

Happy ace day!

Bonus: Toriel got him the perfect shirt

[comfortabletextiles]

After frogging again for 5 times or so, I'm finally content with the pattern I choose for the second sock

Not Shure heat pattern I enjoy more, tbh.

I have squired a sock! I also already started the second sock. I just have to think about what pattern to use

[the-californicationist]

Bone Deep

AO3 Link -- MDNI -- TW: emotional hurt/comfort, make up sex

Your husband, John Price, has fallen into a pattern of behavior that seems to be moving him farther and farther away from you. But, you refuse to play second fiddle for long. 

You were drenched. It had been raining in such a way that made you think the Lord had gone back on his promise. Perhaps the rainbow had been painted just to placate you. Perhaps, you thought as you wrung out your hair on the porch, you would be drowned after all. 

It sure felt that way. Work had mounted up to the point of a fever-pitch. You had three projects due and one to revise. Not to mention, your husband had been home and yet almost fully invisible. 

John Price was back on something like leave, but he was never around. You saw evidence of his presence all over your floor and table and furniture. Socks, dirty plates, dead tablets, scraps of paper with Russian names scribbled on them... He was hunting Makarov in your kitchen and your hallway and your bathroom, and he was leaving that trail of breadcrumbs both literally and figuratively all over your house. 

You’d gone to bed alone for two nights in a row, and as you nearly tumbled over a pair of his sneakers in the foyer, caked in wet mud, you decided that it would not be three. 

“John?” You called out.

There was no reply, but a pale blue light shone under his office door. 

You popped open the latch and saw him hunched over the computer screen. 

“John.”

“Hm?” He responded, but he didn’t turn around. 

“John!”

“What?” He roared, spinning in his chair and glowering at you, shaming you for interrupting him.

“Okay,” you nodded, resigned. 

It would be a cold day in hell before you accepted that tone from anyone. You’d gone in there expecting to have a rational conversation, but your husband had raised his voice to you like you’d been a naughty dog. 

And you were absolutely not going to take that sort of treatment.

You made it to your bedroom in a quick three strides, pulling your overnight bag from under the bed. You shot your best friend, Cana, an SOS text. She lived two hours away, but you didn’t mind. You’d drive all night through the rain if it meant getting out of this prison that you used to call a home. 

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but you had boundaries. Clear ones. And he knew he had crossed them. He just didn’t care. 

You started to pack as you fumed, tossing in a few days worth of clothes, your toiletry bag, the essentials. Then, the bedroom door clanged open, its handle slamming into the railing on the wall. 

“What’s this?” John waved a hand over your bag. 

“When I married you, I married a partner, not a ghost. The only reason I know you’re home is because you leave your fucking laundry for me to finish all over my floor. I’m not going to clean up after you like some maid. Then, you raise your tone at me, disrespecting me? No. When you’re ready to be my husband again, you know my number.”

He scoffed,

“All this bloody drama over some dirty socks?”

You stared at him in a way that told him just how serious you were. The silence between you stretched on for eons, expanding in all directions. You smiled, 

“You know it’s not the socks.”

The look in his eyes said: yes, I know it’s not the socks. But, his pride wouldn’t let him say the quiet part out loud. 

So, you left. 

Starting up the car was hard. Backing out of the driveway was harder. But, every mile you drove simply steeled your resolve. You knew his work was important, but you were important, too. You’d always be his wife, but you needed some space. 

You texted your boss when you made it to Cana’s house; you were taking a few days off. A night of tears and comforting hugs (and strong margaritas) passed, then a morning. Then, a night… and in the middle of it, you saw your phone light up. Despite the million other notifications you received every day, you knew it was him.

John: hey

You: hey

John: can i call

You: one sec

You sneaked out of bed, untangling yourself from Cana’s lanky arms, and lugged your phone out to the front porch. You were about to curl up on her big patio chair when you were stopped in your tracks at the sight of a big black truck idling in the driveway.

You sighed, standing there staring at your husband. He killed the engine and stepped down from the cab. As he approached you, looking up at you from the bottom of the stairs like a wide-eyed disciple, you noticed that his blue irises were ringed in pink, bloodshot and puffy. He hadn’t shaven, and he looked pale. 

But, even though you were still hurt, and even though he looked a little worse for wear, it was hard to ignore the carnal ache in your belly when you watched the muscles bulge and flex in his immense forearms as he crossed his arms in front of himself. The way his chest stretched out his black tee shirt, a tuft of fur peeking out of the crew neckline, the sleeves struggling to contain his round biceps. The way he chewed his full bottom lip when he had something important to say. It was enough to test your resolve.  

“Hey,” you said in a small voice, holding your arms around your body for comfort. 

Suddenly, those sharp eyes focused on you with rapt attention, and he stared right at you, speaking in a low, gravelly purr, trying to keep his voice down,

“I’ve been a proper arse.”

You tried to hold back a smirk. He continued,

“I took advantage of you. I’ve been hunting this fuckin’ bastard for so many years, and I’ve got him cornered. It’s all I can think about. Every night I think if only I was a little quicker, or maybe just bloody braver, I could stop him from killing more innocent people. I let him into our house. Into your life. And I shouldn’t have let my work come between us,” John’s expression softened, and he uncrossed his arms, hooking his thumb into his jeans pocket, “And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, still waiting for his next step. Being sorry was only part of it. 

“When you come home tomorrow, it’ll be different. I’m gonna pull my weight again. You have my word that I’ll only work when you work, and when you’re home,” he squared his shoulders, rocking his hips forward, nervous energy coursing through his body, “I’ll be home with you. I promise.”

You nodded, shifting your weight, staring down at your feet. Then, he called your attention with a caught breath and words that hurt you bone deep,

“You are coming home, right?”

You tried your honest best to fight the tears, but your body shuddered through a sob and you gasped in a sharp breath of air. He moved to hold you, to ascend the steps and repent, to be forgiven, but you held up your hand stopping him in his tracks,

“I won’t have you speaking to me like that, John. I won’t…” You thought about your words carefully, “I can’t be treated that way.”

“I understand, love. Believe me,” he chuckled, “I never want you to feel like that again.”

The way he rubbed his thumb across his sternum made your own chest hurt. He tried to approach you again, stepping up the wooden stairs, creaking under his weight, and he angled his chin up as if to kiss you. But, you stepped away, guarding your own heart for just a while longer. 

The hunger in his eyes followed you like smoke from a fire, warming you with its heat. 

“I’ll be home in the morning, John,” you said, turning to go back into the house. 

The next morning, as you packed, you thought about his promise. You hoped that you were heard. Truly heard and not just for a week of good behavior. You deserved to be respected, and you wouldn’t let your relationship with him become so one-sided again. 

When you pulled into your driveway, you expected to be greeted with the same dark, empty house. As you moved to pick your feet up over the usual mess of shoes, you discovered the foyer scrubbed to a high shine, and there was nothing to stumble upon. All the shoes were shoved into their little cubbies, and there wasn’t a dirty sock in sight. The living room was bright, clean, and John was standing in the middle of it, waiting for you. He took your bags, and scooped you up into a long, tight hug. 

You thought he might try to kiss you, but he didn’t. He just held you against him, breathing in and out, not letting go. Your face was buried deep in his chest, and you could smell his aftershave mixing with the strong scent of his cigars, and a slight musk that was all him. You wanted to feel his fur against your cheek. 

Suddenly, he grabbed your chin in his hand, making you face him, and he said in a dark, warm tone, 

“I’m gonna be the me that you need me to be. From now on. I swear it.”

You felt his soft lips touch yours, kissing you chastely, then deeper, chasing your taste, finding your tongue, licking along its length, savoring your mouth like a treat, cherishing every suck and nip and bite. 

“I missed you, John,” you admitted, feeling hot tears staining your cheeks, not realizing you were crying. 

He wiped them from your temples, smearing them into your skin, cradling your head in his hands so carefully as if you were made of glass. 

“I’ve been away. But, I swear, love. I swear, I’m back. I swear…”

His lips met your wet cheek and took your tears with them. 

“I swear…” 

He kissed your neck, holding your head in his huge paw.

“I swear…” 

You ran your hands over his neck, encircling him, tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his skin. He hooked his arms over his head and rucked the shirt off his back, tossing it on the couch. He pulled you into his lap as he sat down, sinking into the cushions, kissing you like you might disappear again. 

“I’m so sorry, love. Please forgive me,” John growled darkly, his deep voice rumbling between kisses. 

“Forgiven,” you said, forcing him to look at you.

Then, he put his forehead to yours and let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes and simply rubbing your back, trailing his hands over your hips, pulling you in closer to him. 

Tentatively, as if testing the waters of a deep well, you rocked your hips against him, seeing if you could get him to take the bait. If you had your husband back, you wanted to seal that promise with more than just a kiss. 

He groaned,

“Mm, I don’t deserve that.”

You repeated the motion, feeling the twitch of his fat cock inside of his jeans, and you narrowed your eyes at him,

“Sex isn’t a reward. It’s our connection, and I need to feel you. I need my captain back.”

He smiled, nuzzling your jaw, peppering your skin with little, chirping kisses, 

“Pretty girl… I missed you so much. What was I thinking?”

You shrugged, playing coy as you slipped off your leggings and set to undoing his buttons, opening the fly of his jeans to see the shock of dark hair and the swollen prize nestled in it, 

“I dunno. Maybe you just needed a reminder?”

As you teased him at your entrance, letting his head play in your wet folds, you began to sink down onto his shaft, spearing yourself onto his length, rocking back and forth with a tantalizing rhythm. 

“Mmngh,” he sighed, his eyes staring, transfixed on where your bodies reconnected. 

Finally, after some effort, his girth was fully sheathed within you, warmed and cradled by your soft heat. You began to lift yourself on your knees up and down, dragging all the way to his rosy head and then sliding all the way back down to those brown curls, enjoying the faces he was making against his will. 

However, he didn’t put up with your performance for long. Before you knew it, you were laying on the couch with your knees on your chest, taking every inch of his cock as deep as it would go. He had a gentle curve that, in this position, rubbed exactly where it needed to, pulling you along from one orgasm to the next like you were a kite, fully at his mercy and high as hell. 

Your mind swam with murky, unintelligible thoughts, and he fucked you harder and harder, pounding himself into you like a machine. Sometimes you forgot his strength… and his stamina. 

You whined a bit, your timbre changing from other-worldly pleasure to mild discomfort, and he picked up on it like a hound. He slowed, inspecting you, looking for the broken pieces. 

“You alright, missus?” He said, kissing you, thrusting shallowly now, checking in with you.

“Can we sit?”

“C’mere.”

John pulled you into his lap and continued his efforts, rocking himself back and forth, holding your body like a toy. Then, he snaked his hand between you, giving your clit something firm to rub against, and you felt the tingles begin to build inside of your belly, a coil tightening, a dam under pressure, a firework ready to burst. 

He was facing you, so you began to kiss him in a slow, supple way, letting your mouth fall open and your lips meet his with the lightest touch. John matched your energy, getting lost in your ritual, sending out the tip of his tongue to play and taste you again. 

He pulled away and licked his fingers before returning them to your folds,

“Mmf-fuck. You are so bloody good.”

“I want you to come in me, baby,” you confessed, resting your forehead on his, trying to catch your breath. 

You saw the surprise dance through his expression. 

“You sure?”

You knew it wasn’t something you allowed very often. You’d been off of your birth control for a few months, trying to give your body a break from the hormones. And even though you weren’t trying for a baby, that was always a dream that you shared. For John, it was the ultimate dream. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you nodded, kissing his smiling mouth.

“Oh, fuck me,” he growled darkly, gripping you around your waist, changing the angle to something wholly transcendent. How did he do it? How did he know where your body needed him to be? It was absurd. 

Everything was bright and glittering as you came around him, and you felt yourself squeezing his cock mercilessly, coming down his shaft in hot, thick coatings of creamy slick, unable to stop it from flooding out around him. 

He, too, was erupting. He gasped for air, grunting in loud, animalistic shouts, his whole face contorted into a pleasure-filled rage, pumping you full of his soft, warm cream, frothing it with his rough movements. 

Eventually, he flung his head back, holding you to him in a tight hug, his entire body moving and reacting without his input, fully on instinct. You held him back, clutching him against you like a lifeline.

You thought he would slip out of you once he was down from his high, but he didn’t. He simply held you to him, sweaty and desperate, letting himself soften inside of you. It was as if he didn’t want to leave. 

“Thank you, love,” he kissed you again, shuddering yet powerful. 

“It’s nice to have you home, John,” you smiled, letting his soft laughter warm your heart, basking in it like the sun. 

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 7. Motivated, Sir!

Masterlist

Summary: You struggle to keep up with your freelance work - Soap has the wonderful idea of bringing you and Riley to base.

Warnings: cursing, yeah.

Sure enough, Simon had requested your services about three days after you’d run into him in the café.

He had sent you an email the Tuesday following your run in. It was the same as before – short and to the point. leaving thursday at 0900. riley will need her meds at 1300. i’ll be on base for a few days for trainig, won’t be far. call if you need anything.

You showed up no later than twelve-thirty, your backpack hanging off one shoulder and a fresh bag of peanut-butter-bacon cookies in your free hand. You cooed and smiled at Riley as she all but attacked you as you entered through the front door. She seemed to have grown to miss you, which had your heart swelling with pride. People pleaser and a puppy pleaser, it seems.

After a dose of her medicine and a much-needed walk through one of the nearby parks, you crashed on Simon’s couch to do some freelance work. With your feet kicked up onto the coffee table (politely, with your socks on and your shoes by the front door), you tapped and clicked away at your laptop, fiddling with the edge of your sweatshirt as you concentrated.

You may have bitten off more than you could chew, as much as you hated to admit it. Prancing your skill online – boosting social media posts that boasted about your expertise in logo design and marketing had brought in more customers than you anticipated. Recognition was exciting, and you had taken on four clients at once; something you were currently and mentally kicking yourself for. The burnout had settled in quickly after you finished the first portfolio of logo samples, and you wanted nothing more than to take a nap with Riley as your blanket.

You sighed, sinking further into the couch cushions and running your hands over your face. You were dangerously low on motivation.

A few moments later, you were holding your phone, listening to each ring as you chewed on the edge of your sleeve. A bad habit, one that your mother had tried to break you of in your teenage years, but you stubbornly kept to it.

Soon, the phone picked up with a click. “Hey, babe.”

“Hi Tyler…” you said with a relived exhale. “You busy?”

“Eh-“ he grunted; you heard the sound of tinkering in the background, and the voice of the secretary at his main office. “I’ve got a moment. Everything alright?”

You sighed. “Yeah… nothing’s wrong, I’m just stuck.”

“How so?”

“Well” – you sat upright, crossing your feet under you and putting your laptop to the side – “I’ve finished the one project, and now I-“

“Which project?” Tyler interjected. You heard beeping, followed by one of his coworkers asking for a wire stripper.

“The logo design for that new attorney’s office off of main and thirty-fourth.”

“Oh! Yeah yeah, I remember.”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, I finished that one. I have three other projects now, and one is due by the-“

“Three?! I thought you just had the one!”

A sigh escaped your lips. “I did, and then more clients flooded in, I just got ahead of myself-“

“Sweetheart- here, Max, hold this for a second- you got too much on your plate. You’ve already been house-sitting for that one guy, Sam-“

“-Simon.”

“Right, yeah. But, doll, maybe you need a break. Can you tell him that you need him to find someone else for now?”

You faltered. “You’re saying quit the house-sitting gig?”

“Not quit, I know Riley likes you – but maybe just have him get another guy to finish the week.”

“I can’t do that!” you said, a bit taken aback that Tyler of all people, Mr. Work-Till-You-Drop himself, would suggest that you let go of a project. “He can’t exactly find a different sitter right now, he’s not going to be home.”

“Alright, alright- what about dropping one of the logo gigs?”

“That would look bad for my business.”

“Well, babe-“ you heard someone call for him in the background of the call. “-give me a sec, Ron, it’s important- I don’t know what to tell you. You bit off more than you can chew, it sounds like.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach; why am I bothering him? He’s working, and this isn’t something he can exactly help with. “Yeah- I’m sorry. I’m just- I dunno. I need something to motivate me.”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart.” Tyler sighed; you could hear the pinch in his brow. “I’m not trying to be short with you, I… eh, I guess this wasn’t the best time, hmm? Tell you what: when Sam comes back-“

“Simon.” You said with a chuckle.

“Shit, sorry- when Simon gets back, and you’re back home, let’s have a day in, yeah? You pick a movie, I’ll get the takeaway, and have a look at your portfolio. Sound good?”

You smiled, the knot in your stomach easing up a bit. “Yeah, sounds like paradise.”

“Good.” Tyler said, and you could hear the smile in his tone. “I’ll make sure it is. Let your mind rest a bit, alright? And give Riley a kiss for me.”

“What, I don’t get one?”

“Yours are automatic!”

“Leavin’ me for a dog, are you?”

“I wouldn’t leave you for Aphrodite.”

You smiled. “I love you. But go back to work! I don’t want Ron to hate me.”

Tyler chuckled, the sound sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Alright. Love you too.”

You ended the call, tossing the phone onto the cushion next to you. Why did I call him? He was at work – I knew that. He doesn’t even know anything about design. I could have texted him – or I could have just left him alone. Why would I even bother him with this? How could he have helped?

You groaned, closing your laptop and moving it to the coffee table. Looking across the room, you saw that Riley was no longer in her bed, her blanket partially spilling onto the floor next to it. She whined; you turned your head to find her sitting at the door. She met your gaze, licking her lips and tapping her feet anxiously on the floor.

“Do you need to go out?”

She whined again, impatient.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you huffed, standing on your feet and stretching your limbs. She trotted over to you with a groan, then back to the door.

You followed her there, slipping on your shoes. You reached into the closet and grabbed her leash, leaning down to clip it onto her collar. She grunted and jerked her head back, taking a few steps away from you.

Confusion settled on your face. “C’mon girl, don’tcha want to go for a walk?”

She let out a few voofs, raising a paw and stomping it indignantly. You tried again, reaching out with the clip of the leash, but she darted away once more. She stood by the closet and barked shrilly, still staring at you.

This lasted for a few more minutes; you’d stand there, taking every woo and wuff that she threw at you. After a few moments of the following silence, you’d take a step towards her, holding up the leash with a cocked brow, and she’d huff and turn in a circle.

“I’m sorry I don’t speak awoowoo.” You said in frustration, putting your hands on your hips. “spreek je Nederlands?”

She huffed dramatically, lying down and resting her nose on her front paws. You sighed yourself and headed back towards the couch – she yipped, whining at you through her nose.

“What?” you asked, throwing your hands up. “I don’t know what you want!”

She barked back at you. Helpful.

You groaned. This wasn’t getting you anywhere. You went back to the couch and grabbed your phone, flopping stomach-first onto the cushions. Riley trotted over to your side and whined, sitting politely on the rug.

With a few clicks, Simon’s contact appeared on your phone; well, it was Riley’s face, her snout taking up most of the camera and her ears tucked back against her head as she had sniffed the lens in the moment. You chewed your lip. It’s not an emergency… but maybe he forgot to tell me about part of her routine? She hadn’t acted this upset the last time you were here… and she had certainly never indicated no when you got ready to take her outside.

You pressed the call button, putting your phone on speaker. Not half a ring had passed before Simon answered.

“Wha’s wrong? ‘S Riley ok?”

“N- hi, Simon – yeah, Riley’s ok. She-“

“Are you ok?”

You chuckled. “Yes, I’m fine. This isn’t an emergency.”

You heard him sigh, and quickly tried to deescalate the situation. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you-“

“Don’t apologize,” he said, “ya did nothin’ wrong. I know you wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”

You laughed again. “Well, I don’t really know if it is or isn’t – I’m trying to take Riley out for a stroll, and she won’t go,”

“No?”

“No. I try to put her leash on and she runs away. She’s yapping at me though, like she’s got something to say.” You looked at her, reaching a finger to boop her nose.

You heard the faint sound of gunshots in the background of the call. You had half a mind to ask if he was in battle- war- whatever they called it- at the moment, until you remembered that he said he was training this week. “Ya sure she needs t’ go out?”

“She’s acting like she does.” You said, rolling onto your side.

He grunted. “Pain flarin’ up?”

“She’s not limping.”

“Biscuit?”

“She’s had her first daily.”

He sighed. “Beats me. I’d think she was-“

“Oi! LT!”

You listened closely, suddenly drawn to the commotion beyond the speaker. “Simon?”

“One sec, luv-“ he said quickly. “I’m busy, Soap-“

“Cap needs ye back oan th’ feld. One o’ the Jimmies hud o’ nice fall.”

“Fuckin’ wot?”

“One o’ the rookies collapsed.” Soap was now closer to the phone; close enough that you could hear he was out of breath. “Cap wants ye out there.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“Tell ‘im yer feckin’ self, ye dry piece o’ shite-“

Riley suddenly barked, making you jolt. She stood with her paws on the edge of the couch and staring at the phone.

“Awe, tha’ mah girl?” Soap said from the other line. “Mah Bonnie, yea? She miss me?”

“’M on the fuckin’ phone, Johnny.”

“Ah know, I’m talkin’ to the pup.”

You thought for a moment, as Simon and Soap bickered in the background. Maybe, Riley misses Simon’s coworkers? She used to work with them… judging on her reaction – panting and ears perked up as she listened to the conversation – you’d guess you were right.

“Hey, uh… Simon?”

‘- hm?” Simon halted his bickering with Soap at the sound of your voice.

“Does she maybe want to see your- team? Or Soap, at the very least?”

“Aye, she does.” Soap chimed in, making Riley whine. “Ya hear tha’? She misses ‘er ol’ uncle Johnny.”

“Bugger off, mate.” Simon grumbled.

You suddenly felt like you made a mistake even voicing your thoughts. “Sorry if it’s not a good idea, I just heard how she reacted to Soap’s voice, and, y’know – how she used to work with you all…” you chuckled at yourself. “Now that I think about it, I probably couldn’t even get on base, could I?”

“It would-“

“None o’ that keech!” Soap said, cutting off Simon for the umpteenth time. “Ghost, ye can tell the gate guards you’ll be expectin’ er. Or cap, he’ll vouch for ‘er. Want tae see my girl.”

You felt a bout of excitement roll through your veins. “I think that would be great! And I’d get to meet you all finally. I should know who Simon travels the world with, right?”

There was a moment of silence over the phone, save for the distant gunfire and the cadence of orders being called out. You wondered if you had said something wrong; ‘travel the world…’ it’s deployment, not a vacation. Why did I say that?

“Don’t see why not.” Simon finally said, and you sighed quietly.

“You sure?” you confirmed.

“It’s jus’ what the pup needs.” Soap said. “Probably misses ‘er other friends, too-“

“Jus’ head towards the naval base, n’ I’ll send you the address to the gate.” Simon said with a huff. “Tell them you’re here for Ghost.”

“Ghost…” you repeated.

“’S my callsign. Oh, and, uh- put ‘er harness on. She wears that to base, probably why she won’t take jus’ the leash.”

You smiled, heart fluttering a bit at the information. “Great! I’ll see you soon!”

“Drive safe.”

You bit your lip as the call ended, that warmth still bubbling within your chest. A thousand, fleeting questions circled within your head as you rolled onto your side, clutching your phone to your chest. Does he call everyone luv? What gave him the callsign “Ghost”? I wonder what his team is like… I wonder what Johnny- Soap?- is like. I wonder if they’re all as attractive as-

Riley barked; you yelped, body tensing as you were torn from your thoughts. She pawed at you, still standing on her two hind legs and yowling lowly in your direction.

“Alright, alright- let’s go!” you rolled off the couch, equally as excited as she was. She happily obliged to sit next to you when you grabbed the harness from the closet, slipping it over her head and latching the leash to its back. She then eagerly trotted to the door, tapping her feet anxiously and whining.

You stuffed your feet into your shoes (you hoped that a sweatshirt, leggings, and rain boots would be appropriate for bringing your client’s dog on a military base). You stepped out into the overcast day, locking Simon’s door behind you and shoving the key into your bra; excitement boiled underneath your veins as the two of you headed over to your car, right as your phone buzzed with Simon’s text.

Simon watched as your contact photo faded from the screen. His eyes hardened as he turned to Johnny – the bloke had a cheeky grin on his face, staring right back at his lieutenant. Simon wanted to grab him by his mohawk and swing him into the wall like a discus.

“Wha’?” Soap said innocently, shoulders shrugging with irreproachability. “I miss ‘er.”

“Ya don’t have nothin’ to miss, you wanker.” Simon snarled, stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “You’ve never met ‘er.”

“The dog, ya git.” Soap sighed. His eyes narrowed in amused suspicion. “Yer awfully protective o’ the lass, don’t ye think?”

Oh, Simon could have launched the Scot into next week. He knew what he was doing, the bastard. He knew Johnny was either going to try and pair you with himself, sweep you off your feet and charm you with his stupid blue eyes and bright smile – or, he was going to pitch you with his lieutenant. Simon didn’t like not knowing how to prepare himself: to either cockblock you and Johnny, or to refuse any advances Johnny made to him on your behalf.

Soap huffed, not intimidated in the slightest by Ghost’s dissociative, angry stare. “Calm doon, LT.” he said, shoving his shoulder with two, sturdy fingers. “She’s got a lad, aye? I jus’ want tae see Riley. I’ll leave your precious house-sitter alone.” He held a hand up and crossed a finger over his chest. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never in Boy Scouts.” Ghost grumbled.

“Does it make a difference?” Soap said with a quirked eyebrow.

Simon sighed, leaving Soap on the training field to find Price. He had to let him know you’d be coming to base, or you’d be stopped at the gate and turned away – or worse, dragged off by the military police. It would be a surefire way of keeping you away from Soap, but it was also rather unhospitable. Riley wouldn’t be too impressed, either.

Still, Johnny had a point. Why was he fretting? You weren’t his.

“Jus’ keep an eye on the recruits. Be back in a moment.” He said over his shoulder.

“Aye, LT.” Soap responded: Simon could hear the grin on his face.

Smug bastard.

Next ->

Taglist (trying this again): @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae @cum-tea-and-towels @boystepper @definitelynotaclown @your-wifes-boyfriend @ghostslittlegf @bossva @poppingaround @katzykat @mileyraes @chocolate-noodles @jupiternighties @sadlonelybagel @rorysbrainrot @reevesdriver @kingshitonly @ghost4love @lilyofhoon

[cyoc49]

Put Some Clothes On!

I’ve made my thoughts about modern young people known in the past, but you must know I really do try to hold my tongue. Even if I disagree with the way today's young adults dress, that doesn't mean I have to project it onto folks who are just trying to enjoy themselves... I mean, I very much can project onto them if I wanted to, if you've read some of my other material you've seen what I'm capable of. But doing that comes with all other sorts of consequences, which are admittedly usually very fun for me, but can be a headache to deal with. So again, I hold my tongue and silently lament the state of manners and dress in the world.

But sometimes, even I reach my limit. The other day, for example, I was going for a walk by the beach, when I came across a group of summer breakers having a party. All were dressed in far too little, but I did my best to ignore them and keep walking. Until I saw this one man. He was clothed only by the loosest definition of the word. His swimsuit was more like a folded napkin, designed to cover the bare minimum. Where did he even find a swimsuit that small? Do they sell them that small nowadays? And worst of all was the cockiness. The clear pride he felt for his body and all that he was showing. It made me sick. I could see in his eyes he genuinely believed this is what a good life was about. If I looked closely, it even looked like he had applied oil to his body to maximize the appearance of his exposed features.

This was just too far, even for me. I felt my words wanting to make themselves known. And before I could quell my tongue, I burst out in anger

“Put some clothes on!”

The group looked at me, and several started jeering. But I only paid attention to the undressed man. He was staring back at me, and I could see a blank look in his eyes. Uh oh. This is what I was trying to avoid. But this young man had pushed me over the edge and now he was going to learn firsthand the effect I can have on people.

Suddenly the man stood up and started walking away from the group, paying no mind of any of them. He stared dead ahead, no sign of brain activity behind his eyes. He was walking like a man on a mission, until he reached what I presume was his car. He got in, still clad in only a speedo, and started to drive away.

Shoot. This was getting out of hand quickly. Before he got too far, I hailed my chauffeur and told him to follow the runaway vehicle. Roughly 10 minutes later we arrived at what I presume was the man’s house. He'd driven his car haphazardly up the driveway, leaving the car door open and keys still running in the ignition. I headed towards the front door, which had similarly been left wide open.

From what I could tell as I walked through his house, he lived alone. I heard noise coming from a room around the corner. I walked into what appeared to be the man’s bedroom, where I found him in the attached bathroom looking very different already.

True to my word, he had put on some clothes. But he’d done more than that: he’d gone into his closet and picked out an outfit typically reserved for more formal occasions. He was wearing a purple plaid dress shirt, a Vineyeard Vines whale emblazoned on the breast. The shirt was tucked into a pair of pressed white dress pants, cinched with a brown leather belt. He'd chosen a pair of brown loafers to wear with the ensemble, but had decided to forgo socks, giving him the air of someone more likely to spend summer afternoons at the docks or the country club than half-naked on the beach. To that same effect, he'd taken some hygiene measures to clean himself up all around. He had given himself a clean shave, now looking much more fresh faced than he did with the previous mustache. And he'd run some product through his hair, giving him an appearance that was put-together but not overly formal.

I slowly approached him, taking in the transformation he'd undergone in just a few minutes. He was intently staring in the mirror, flossing his teeth. Once he'd determined that those too were spotless, he turned to face me.

I looked him in the eyes again. The blank expression was gone, and I could again see that cockiness he'd exhibited before. Instead of pride for his body, he was now showing pride for his appearance. As I looked at him, the side of his mouth formed a smirk.

"Is this alright?" He asked me, with a tone somewhere between sarcastic remark and genuine inquiry.

He'd impressed me a lot in the past 20 minutes, but this was once again a step too far. I'd already broken my pledge to keep my words to myself, I might as well finish the job.

"On your hands and knees," I snapped, and within half a second he was on all fours on the ground. Bent with his head pointed towards my feet in reverence. That was more like it. “Now look at me” I commanded him, and his eyes turned up to meet mine. I could see a mixture of emotions in his eyes: Fear for the control I exhibited over his body, fading hints of that cockiness trying to hold on, a slight arousal at his current situation. But above all, in his eyes I saw that he now understood exactly what he was: an object. His life as he'd known it was over, from now on he existed for my pleasure. He could do his little cocky hot boy act, act like he was king of the world dressed up or down, but he would always know I totally controlled him, and with just a few words I could make him be or do anything I wanted.

I stared him back in the eyes with a hard glare.

“You’re mine now, you know that right?”

“Y-yes”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir”

“Say it again”

“Yes, sir”

“Say it again”

“Yes, sir”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, sir”

“Who do you answer to?”

“You, sir”

“Whose boy are you?”

“Yours, sir”

“You love the orders I give you”

“I love the orders you give me, sir”

“You were lost before I found you.”

“I was lost before you found me, sir”

“You were degrading yourself with nudity.”

“I was degrading myself with nudity, sir”

“You were degrading yourself with vanity.”

“I was degrading myself with vanity, sir”

“You will follow a better way.”

“I will follow a better way, sir”

“You will follow my orders.”

“I will follow your orders, sir”

“I will make you into a man.”

“You will make me into a man, sir”

“A man has class.”

“A man has class, sir”

“A man should always respect himself.”

“A man should always respect himself, sir”

“A man should always dress properly.”

“A man should always dress properly, sir”

“A man should always obey his superiors.”

“A man should always obey his superiors, sir”

“A man knows his place.”

“A man knows his place, sir.”

“Now repeat it all back to me, boy, and tell me what you are in this world.”

A last trace of fear flared up in his eyes, one dying attempt of his conscious to hold on. One last breath of his old self. And then it was gone, and there was nothing behind his eyes. Just a drone’s gaze. Then, he began to speak in a complete monotone:

“I am what you make me into, sir. I was nothing before you, now I exist entirely for you, sir. I was lost, now I see my one goal in life. I need to be a good boy. I need to dedicate every fiber of my being to becoming a good boy. To following instructions. To respecting myself and other. I need to be molded into the picture perfect image of a gentleman, and I need you to do it for me, sir.”

It was done. Just like that, he was mine. I knew it wouldn’t take long to reach this point, but I did always enjoy the process. The rebellious ones are always particularly fun to break.

Now that he’s mine, I’ll need him to take care of a few last tasks.

“Listen up. I’m going to let you stand up in a moment, but you need to listen carefully.”

“Yes, sir”

“You’ve got a few tasks you need to take care of right now. Understand?”

“Yes, sir”

“Good. First of all, all this old junk has to go. All your clothes, all your furniture, it's all vulgar and unbecoming of a man. Go through some luxury catalogs and order new clothes and furniture. Everything you wear should have at least three digits on the price tag. All your furniture should be vintage. And as for that hunk of junk outside, go to the dealership and trade it for something with an Italian name. You might drain your savings doing this, but you don't need that money anymore."

"Yes, sir"

"Next, you're going to quit your job. Your friends, any clubs you were part of, any sports, it's all going away. You're not even going to say goodbye. Take your phone and throw it away."

"Yes, sir"

"Good. Once you've done all that, you're going to pay a visit to me." I handed him a card, "This is where I live. You'll be spending a good deal of your time here from now on. You'll get the chance to meet your new colleagues, other men like you who have come under my employ through one circumstance or another. They'll make sure to give you a warm welcome, as well as explain the duties and regulations you'll be expected to obey. Does that all sound good?"

"Yes, sir" In his eyes I saw total obedience, not just a desire to follow my orders but a love for my orders. He’ll make a good boy. Particularly malleable, ready to be shaped into a fun new mold.

"Good, now stand up."

He stood up and looked at me eye-to-eye again. Any of the previous cockiness was gone. I silently admired my handiwork to myself. This was a particularly troublesome man, and I had done a good job getting him into this shape. I thought about making some clever remark to him about the change he’d undergone, but my tongue had already got me into enough trouble today. So instead, I just looked at him and smirked.

He looked down, embarrassed and aroused by the power I held over him. He walked off in an extremely rigid, formal walk, picking up trash to throw away. I walked out of his home and back towards my car, where my chauffeur was ready to take me back to my home. I’d alert my other boys that they’d be expecting a new arrival tonight, and then the fun will really begin.

[its-avalon-08]

i love the angst! like what would charles and y/n do when they fight> headcannon form thanks!

charles leclerc x fem!reader - when they're angry at eachother message from anon - Hi! Can you change it to - what would charles and y/n do to take care of eachother when they fight.

Y/N picks up Charles' favorite takeout even though he's being a grumpy git about the whole fight, leaving it on the counter with a silent "don't starve yourself" note.

Charles makes sure to leave the coffee pot full despite their argument, knowing a good night's sleep after a fight is out of the question.

In the midst of their cold war, Y/N remembers Charles hates showering with cold water and adjusts the thermostat before he gets in.

Charles, despite being fuming, remembers Y/N's forgotten project deadline and discreetly reminds a colleague to forward her the missing data.

Y/N, while stewing, notices Charles hasn't packed his lucky socks and throws them in his bag with a glare that says "don't mess up without them."

Charles, after a particularly heated exchange, sets the alarm on Y/N's phone a few minutes earlier than usual, a silent "I don't want you to be late" tucked away.

Y/N, even though they haven't spoken in hours, leaves a box of Charles' favorite chocolates by his side of the bed with a small, defiant, "there."

Charles, in a fit of stubbornness, puts on a new movie Y/N had been wanting to see, silently inviting her to join him on the couch.

In the middle of a tense stand-off at the grocery store, Y/N grabs Charles' favorite cereal despite his earlier grumbling about needing a healthier option.

During a heated argument at a cafe, Charles, mid-sentence, notices Y/N forgot her usual sugar packets and flags down the waiter for her.

Charles, mid-scoff at Y/N's comment, sees a street vendor selling her favorite flower and impulsively buys a bouquet, shoving it into her hand with a mumbled "kiss me now?"

In the middle of a tense breakfast, Y/N catches Charles wincing at a sore muscle and, pride swallowing her anger, reaches across the table to discreetly offer him a pain reliever.

Charles, while pretending to be engrossed in his phone at a cafe, flags down their usual waiter with a subtle nod, knowing Y/N will - forget to order her favorite latte in their current state.

During a heated argument at a gas station, Y/N, fuming, grabs the pump and fills Charles' car with gas anyway, throwing him the keys with a grumble.

Charles, after a particularly stubborn silence, walks past Y/N "accidentally" bumping into her shoulder, dropping a new book he knows she's been eyeing.

a bonus scene of charles apologising and y/n apologising :

⋆ charles saying sorry : The air crackled with unspoken apologies in their apartment. Charles, ever the racer, paced like a caged lion, while Y/N pretended to be engrossed in a book, the furrow in her brow a dead giveaway of her lingering annoyance. Finally, Charles couldn't take it anymore. He tiptoed closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight.

Y/N held her breath, pretending not to notice. Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a solid chest that smelled faintly of engine oil and his signature cologne.

"Alright, alright," Charles mumbled against her hair, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "I messed up. Big time."

Y/N bit her lip, torn between holding a grudge and melting in his embrace.

Charles, sensing her hesitation, nuzzled his face into her hair. He inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of her shampoo and vanilla body lotion a soothing balm to his racing heart. "You smell like sunshine," he murmured, his voice husky.

A soft smile tugged at Y/N's lips. "That's not exactly an apology, Leclerc," she teased, her voice barely a whisper.

Charles chuckled, a rich sound that vibrated against her back. "Fine," he sighed, tilting her head back with a gentle finger under her chin. His eyes, the color of the Monegasque sky after a summer rain, held a plea that was hard to resist. "I'm truly sorry, Y/N. Can you ever forgive this stubborn Monegasque?"

Y/N looked into his eyes, the anger slowly dissolving into a puddle of affection. "Maybe," she said, her voice playful.

Charles, unable to wait any longer, leaned in and captured her lips in a soft kiss. It started slow and sweet, a gentle apology that spoke volumes. Then, as his frustration melted away, the kiss deepened, a silent promise that they'd work through anything together.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless and smiling, Y/N snuggled back into his embrace. "Just promise you'll think twice before doing that again," she muttered, her voice muffled against his chest.

Charles chuckled, tightening his hold on her. "Scout's honor," he whispered, and for now, in the warmth of his arms, Y/N knew she believed him.

⋆ y/n saying sorry : The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy like a Monaco summer night. Y/N sat huddled on the couch, stealing glances at Charles slumped in the armchair across from her. The air hung heavy with unspoken apologies.

She couldn't hold out any longer. With a sigh, she rose and padded over to him. Charles moved slightly but Y/N surprised him. She launched herself onto his lap, burying her face in his chest.

"Charles," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his t-shirt. Her arms wrapped around him like a koala's, leaving him no room to escape.

He stiffened for a moment, unsure how to react. Then, a small smile played on his lips. "Alright, alright," he chuckled, his voice warm despite the tension. "What's this about, then?"

Y/N squeezed him tighter. "Sorry," she mumbled, the word muffled against his shirt.

Charles felt a wave of warmth wash over him. He knew that was her way of apologizing, stubborn and sweet all at once.

"Come on, Y/N," he teased, trying to peek around her head. "You gotta say it where I can hear you."

Y/N remained stubbornly silent, her grip unwavering. "Sorry," she repeated, a little louder this time.

Charles couldn't help but chuckle again. He placed a hand on her back, gently stroking it. "Alright, alright, I get it. You're sorry."

But Y/N wasn't finished. "No," she mumbled, her voice firm. "Look at me and say it's okay."

Charles sighed, a happy sound. He reached up with his other hand, tilting her chin up until their eyes met.

Her eyes, usually full of fire, were soft with regret now. "I messed up," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Can you forgive me?"

Charles could resist anything except Y/N like this. He leaned down, his lips brushing hers. "Yeah," he murmured against her mouth. "It's okay."

The moment he said the words, Y/N's face broke into a radiant smile. Before he could react further, she peppered his face with kisses, small, quick pecks that chased away the last remnants of their argument.

Charles laughed, pulling her even closer. "Alright, alright, I get it," he said, his voice thick with amusement. "You're forgiven."

Y/N snuggled into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping her lips. In the quiet of their home, surrounded by the warmth of his love, the fight already felt like a distant memory.

[ladytyburn]

"The Akatsuki are evil capitalists, but also very silly" the comic!

Fancomic / no particular ships / general audiences / Office AU

Chapters:

1: Evil Meeting You Here!

2: Deidara Throws a Fit

3/4: Millenial Deidara vs. Zoomer Sasuke: Fight! (+Janitor Jumpscare)

5: OminousChanting_AkatsukiTheme.wav

6: The Girls Are Fighting!

7: Classic Naruto

8: Character Development

9: Tobi Encounters of the Third Kind

10: The Return Of The King

Status: Hiatus / Probably dropped? Not sure

Feel free to send me asks about this comic project, I love talking about it, and might draw something with the answer :)

Bonus Content:

Nagato and Konan at a Summer Themed B2B Convention

Company Summer Retreat by @succikko-nebulae

Pride Month Logo Change by @succikko-nebulae

Sasori and Sock Puppet

Young Deidara

Paper Jam and Deidara and Naruto

Blorbified Deidara by @silbaria

Nagato's Surprise Birthday Party by @succikko-nebulae

Konan and AUX Puppet Yahiko by @mukkiethekip

New Patreon Logo

Additional Links:

Archive Tag

AO3

The post that started this whole ordeal <3

This comic is certified:

(Thank you to the ~ ten people that keep hyping up this project ily)

[smogfromkortalmombat1]

Lin Kuei trio (Childhood fanfic drabble)

Kuai Liang and Bi-Han attempt to build a birdhouse (because why not), Tomas is there too just being himself. The three having a little bonding session, basically.

Mostly just straight up humour/brotherly bonding. Might end up as something more (aka in my AO3 childhood Lin Kuei series), might not- enjoy regardless! Tons of fun to write.

//

“You’re doing that wrong.”

Bi-Han huffed, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Kuai Liang shrugged, the instructions held close to his face as he squinted at the fine print. His finger dragged dramatically along each word, “You skipped step six.” He tapped the paper for exaggeration, “Very important step, you know.”

“I don’t care,”

Kuai scoffed. “Rude.”

Wispy, grey curls appeared in Bi-Han’s peripheral vision, a small, pale face peering around his shoulder, curiously gauging the mess around him. “What doing?”

“Hey Tomas. We’re making a birdhouse,” Kuai Liang chuckled, glancing up from the paper, “Or at least, we’re trying to.”

“I’m trying to.” Bi-Han corrected, “You’re just holding the instructions.”

“That’s a form of helping, if you weren’t aware.”

Tomas tilted his head, listening to his brothers bicker intently. He was still getting used to Chinese, and every word seemed to take extra effort as his little mind worked to translate them to and from Czech, his native tongue. “Can I… uhm…” His brows knitted in concentration, his little face scrunching up as he searched for the right words. “Can I watch?”

Kuai Liang’s face softened with a warm smile, and he patted the spot next to him on the floor. “Very good, Tomas.” He encouraged, “Yes, you can watch.”

Tomas beamed at the praise, his small chest puffing up with obvious pride. His socked feet shuffled quickly over as he plopped down next to Kuai, his big eyes fixed on the project. The birdhouse pieces were scattered across the floor in various stages of assembly- some nailed together, while others still lay semi assembled or straight up abandoned, still waiting for their turn to even be looked at. It was utter chaos.

“Hand me the hammer, someone,” Bi-Han said, his gaze entirely focused on choosing the right nail from a small box resting on his thigh. His free hand reached out blindly, waiting. “Please.”

“Ham-mer,” Tomas repeated, testing the new word on his tongue. “Hammer. What hammer?”

Kuai Liang nudged him gently with his elbow, nodding toward the tool resting near Tomas’ side. “That’s a hammer.”

“Oh.” Tomas reached for the tool, the hammer looking comically oversized in his small hands as he heaved it up by the handle. “Kladivo,” he said, handing it over to Bi-Han with both hands. “Here you go,” he added, each word carefully pronounced.

“Kleu-deevo.” Kuai Liang repeated, furrowing his brow in concentration as he tried to mimic the word. “Kle-Kleu.. Kla…? Devo. Divou?”

“Thank you, Tomas,” Bi-Han said, taking the hammer from the boy with ease. A faint, rare smile tugged at his lips. “Your Chinese is coming along very well,” he added, curling an amused brow at Kuai Liang, who was still struggling with the pronunciation of the fairly simple (in his mind, at least) Czech word. “Unlike Kuai Liang’s Czech, apparently.”

Tomas giggled at the comment, patting Kuai Liang’s knee in sympathy, offering an encouraging smile up at his big brother. “Really close! You can do it!”

Bi-Han snorted, amused by the scene, which only made Kuai shoot him a glare that, if it could, would definitely burn holes right through him. His brother’s chocolate-brown eyes narrowed, then suddenly dropped to Bi-Han’s lap, attention back to the birdhouse in progress. Then, a slow, smug grin spread across his face as he noticed something. 

“You put that piece upside-down,” Kuai pointed out with a triumphant grin, turning the instructions around so Bi-Han could clearly see how the pieces were supposed to fit together, the little images massive and painfully obvious. “It’s supposed to be the other way around. See?”

“Dammit-” Bi-Han muttered under his breath, reaching for the hammer once more- this time, the clawed side. He’d already nailed the damn pieces together- Kuai just had to wait until the end to tell him, didn’t he? Sly bastard.

Tomas, still watching the whole exchange, broke into another fit of high-pitched giggles. “Hloupý Bi.” He drummed his fingers on his leg in quick thought, “Silly.” He translated for them, “Silly Bi.”

Kuai chuckled, ruffling Tomas’ hair, “Ha-loopy indeed.”

Bi-Han just found himself rolling his eyes yet again.

[meowzfordayz]

staying in

Author’s Note: feeling cheesy and silly and lazy. ☺️😝🥱

staying in

Hashira x Reader, Kamaboko x Reader

Word Count: ~900

CW: mild sexual content

Song Inspo: Low Key by Russell Dickerson

~faqs~

An evening in consists of…

… almost getting scammed by an astrology website with Zenitsu, before finally agreeing that the free version is fine, and who believes in astrology anyway? Clearly, you’re made for each other (despite there being some ~areas of conflict between your charts). 

… board games with Inosuke until one of you rage quits, and the other has to convince them to: stop sulking in the bathroom, and play again. Who rage quits usually depends on the game, and you’re much better at goading him into another round than he is at bribing you.

… a quiet stroll out with Gyomei, so not exactly staying in, but still more peaceful and mindful than going to a bar or attending an event. He compares your presence to the radiant fullness of the moon, and you tuck a fallen flower behind his ear. “How do you know what the moon feels like?” He doesn’t quite know how to explain gentle, mystical tug of moonrise, so he settles for, “I can feel you, and that is more than enough.”

… cleaning and redecorating Kaburamura’s cage with Obanai. It’s a little gross, and a lot of a fun. From teasing him for his obvious doting, “Does Kaburamura really need six donut cozies?” to being flat out rejected, “Sooo that’s a no to body painting? It’s safe for humans! How could it not be safe for snakes?” You end up falling asleep as he dutifully photographs Kaburamura curled up on your shoulder #guess I’ll finish cleaning by myself.

… doing Tanjirou’s make up, and him doing yours. If you don’t own any make up, then you go on a field trip (minimal budget). You randomly pick themes (old fashioned via “from a hat” or modern via “app for raffle draw”), set a time limit, and then send photos of your final looks to your Hashira + Kamaboko group chat to decide on a winner.

… making the most outlandish cocktails (or mocktails) you can think of with Mitsuri. They have to be intricate, original, AND taste delicious (~just okay suffices too), or you put on a pair of socks. By the end of the evening, you’re drunk (or sugar high) as heck, and have at least four pairs of socks on.

… a project with Shinobu. Whether that’s tackling a Lego set, making candles, or deep cleaning a specific room (likely the kitchen or bathroom), the laughter is ever constant, frustration to be expected, and resulting pride and excitement at the final product a worthy reward — not to mention the way she kisses you afterward! *happy sigh*

… cooking with Kyojuro #bet you didn’t see that coming #sarcasm intended teehee. Sometimes it’s complicated, hours long endeavors; other times it’s spaghetti; and there’s always take out if your fancy Huntsman pie doesn’t go to plan. He’s almost unbearably efficient when it comes to cooking tidily, and chops vegetables so quickly that you just marvel at how his fingers are intact.

… watching a movie with Sanemi. This includes: ~arguing over which movie to watch for a solid hour (give or take), another twenty minutes for snack prep, and another half an hour to spontaneously design and build a pillow fort (for the optimal movie watching experience, of course). Even when it’s a movie he swears he despises, he’ll still stay awake through the whole damn thing because it matters to you, and you matter to him.

… creating scavenger hunts for each other with Muichiro. You roll dice to determine who gets to claim which room(s) and in what order, set up your hunts, and then hunt (duh)! Winner gets to choose dinner (or dessert if you already ate dinner), and loser gets to cook aforementioned dinner (or dessert). You usually win, but he notices when you begin making his clues easier, and promptly informs you that he’d rather lose honestly than win on Easy Mode. “Your happy noises whenever I feed you are prize enough for me.”

… planning your future with Giyuu. It’s easy to get caught up in the mayhem of Life™, so evenings in are a grounding, intimate opportunity to reconnect and recenter with him. From cuddling on the couch to dancing in the kitchen to watching the moon’s traverse through your favorite window, you discuss current stressors, recent successes, and your gratitude for each other. It may seem simple, but it’s the little things that fit most snugly in your hearts. “Where do you see us in a year? Five years? A decade?” you ask. His answer remains constant: “Together.”

… reading with Tengen. He’ll read to you, or you to him; you’ll share a book, or the couch, or the bed; and you alternate who gets up to brew more tea. If you prefer audio books, then he’ll occasionally eavesdrop, and when it’s your turn to be on tea duty, you more often than not return to a cute sticky note (with dramatic commentary regarding the chapter you’re on) bookmarking your page.

[gaypleasantview]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☆ lonely dancers. // Pride Gift #4 ☆₊‧⁺˖⋆

╰┈➤ download here for ts4

⋆ AF, shoes only, categorized as bottom

⋆ polycount: 1220

⋆ 153 swatches (3 length options x 3 color options x 17 pride flags)

⋆ compressed, tooltipped, come with morphs

Link, swatch and more info under the cut ♡

Hi people! This is my last gift this Pride month!

When I first saw these incredibly cute shoes, I knew I had to have them for my game. I feel like they might have been the reason I even started making cc at all, along with the Astro Boots I converted a while ago. It's no secret I struggle a lot with clothing meshes, the aforementioned boots being my only successful conversion, so when my friend @socialbunny offered to help and converted the stompers for me, I was so extremely happy and grateful <3 I hope you know how much I appreciate it, Dirk!

It was originally going to be a much bigger project that would include making these shoes available for all genders and more ages, but... you can imagine how much fun it was to create, adjust and repository 153 recolors by hand, and even though I'm glad I did it, I was tired! But still determined to finish the project.

What actually stopped me from realizing my ambitions, though, was my 7-year-old hard drive dying shortly after I made these, and for months I had no idea if they survived and if I would ever get to retrieve them. I don't wanna wait anymore to set them free into the world, even if they might have imperfections and if I never got to finish the project I was originally intending for it to be. I wanted them to become the last pride gift this year, and this is what I'm doing right now. I hope some of you will like them too!

Credits: @dallasgirl79 for the mesh, @the-cautious-simmer for the textures, @socialbunny for the mesh conversion, this source for the graphics in the post

♡ Download ♡

Important: the socks (aka the upper part of the shoes) use repositoried textures, so whatever color/length combination you choose, you will need to have the Rainbow (1) swatch for it in your game! Example: if you want to have the black thigh length asexual shoes (BT7), then you will also need the black thigh length rainbow shoes (BT1).

SFS | Mediafire

♡ Swatch ♡

[nataliesfirefly]

chapter 4 - ‘tis the damn season

a/n: new chapter for you!! a little longer than usual, but i had so much fun writing this one :)) the slow burn is slow burning, but we’re finally getting somewhere! it will pay off, i promise <3

chapter warnings: slight language

wc: 4.7k

series masterlist

The word ‘stress’ does not even begin to describe how you are feeling at the moment. This time of year is always the worst, right before Christmas holiday. All the final exams fall in the same week, right before the end of the term, and not to mention your final project for English; the essay.

Which wasn’t coming along too badly, you realize. You and Farleigh have actually made impressive progress, and not to be too prideful, but this might be the best essay you’ve ever written. But definitely not because of his help. No, you’ve done most of it. He’s just been there for… moral support? And… occassionally adding worthwhile things to the writing. Occasionally.

In fact, you unfortunately have started to grow fond of his presence and his company. He’s not a bad guy, you’ve realized. He’s quite funny, and has a certain way of dragging a giggle out of you or causing a smile to tug at your lips, in contrast to your usual resting bitch face. You’re going to miss those late nights spent in his room, considerably past curfew, meaning you typically had to sneak back to your own dorm as carefully as possible. You can’t seem to figure out why time goes by so fast when you’re with him, whether it’s because you’re trying to finish up a project or because of… other reasons.

Lately, you’ve also been finding yourself to be very nervous whenever he speaks to you. Your voice trembles, you suddenly forget your whole vocabularly, and that stupid blush that always creeps onto your face, feeling like flames on your cheeks.

You only have a bit of editing and revising to do on the essay before it is ready to turn in. Some finishing touches. Which means it will be ready to turn in next Friday, a week from today, the last day of the term before winter holiday.

You throw the covers off of yourself and yawn, climbing out of bed. This weekend will be brutal, since you’ve designated it to studying for exams, which means a few late nights spent at the library. But for some reason, you feel excited to go to class today. English class, specifically. You slip out of your pajamas and fold them neatly into a drawer.

As you step into your skirt and tug on your white button-up, you glance at your calendar posted on the wall. You feel warm just thinking about returning home to see your family in Bath. You picture your mother’s welcoming smile and your father’s comforting embrace, and those evenings you will spend gathered around the fireplace, regaling them with tales from your first term of the school year as you stuff your face with sweets. If you’re lucky, you’ll even get snow. The last time you had a white Christmas was… well, you can’t even seem to remember.

You observe yourself in the mirror as you work on tying your tie, suddenly hyper-aware of your appearance. You comb your fingers through your hair, realizing you haven’t brushed it yet. You step over to your chest of drawers and grab your hairbrush, dragging it through your hair quite aggressively. You’ve never cared much about how you look, it’s always been more of a personality thing. How others perceived you was what mattered, but not in a physical aspect.

But who are you trying to impress? You scoff sarcastically at the idea, shaking your head. You throw your brush onto your bed before grabbing a pair of black socks, pulling them up your legs. And finally, your trusty jacket, provided to you by the school. It doesn’t help much with the cold, but at least it looks cool with your uniform. You hurriedly step into your shoes once you’ve buttoned your coat and race back to the mirror, brushing through your hair one last time. Does it look okay? You think. Should I tie it up? Or at least do something with it?

No. You shake your head and bop yourself on the head with the brush. “That’s enough,” You say under your breath, as if to silence your own thoughts. You sling your bag over your shoulder and as you’re walking to the door, your stomach lurches as a sudden realization comes over you.

You’re trying to look good for Farleigh. What the hell are you on?! You slap a hand to your forehead and groan dramatically. Suddenly, you think of Clara and all her random appearances she’s been making, flirting with him and twirling her hair. What does she do differently?

Her skirt. She rolls it up on purpose to make it shorter. You chew on your bottom lip nervously as you return to the mirror once again. You tentatively roll your skirt up at the waistband, making it a bit shorter. You’ve always followed dresscode, the fingertip rule. But if she can get away with it, so can you, right?

You step back and admire your long legs and your thighs. Wait, what on Earth are you doing? Your face burns with humiliation. You’re basically trying to seduce a man. No, not even a man. A boy! An immature, stupid, extremely handsome boy.

You trudge back to your door determinedly, swinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, locking it behind you. You picture Farleigh’s face in your mind as you walk through the corridor and down the stairs. His caramel skin, his eyes that remind you of chocolate, his perfect teeth, his curls… Fuck.

And the weather isn’t helping. You sort of regret adjusting your skirt now, since you’ve just given the freezing air more opportunity to bite at your skin. It seems today you might actually be on time to class, though. You reach the door to the east wing and step inside, seeing a group of students gathered outside Mrs. Chasteen’s door.

You squint harder and realize it’s your class. You curiously walk over and spot Magdalena, so you tap on her shoulder.

She turns around and her face immediately brightens. “Hey! You’re early for once in your life.” She grins and you shove her playfully. “Oh, come off it. Is she not here today?” You point to the door and she quirks an eyebrow. “No, I think she’s here. Sometimes it just takes a while for her to get here, and we show up before her.” She shrugs. “But what would you know? You’re always dashing in at the last second.” Lena tsks and shakes her head, wagging a finger at you.

“Ready for holiday?” You ask. Her eyes brighten at the mention of the upcoming break. “Oh my God. You don’t even know how ready I am.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “But we have to get through those bloody exams first. At least we got our GCSEs done last year.” Lena nudges you softly with her shoulder. “True.” You nod in agreement. You truly believed those blasted tests were going to be the death of you.

At that moment, Lena’s gaze leaves yours and travels slightly upwards, to something in the distance. Or someone, rather.

“There’s your shadow.” She points with a quiet little giggle. “Wha-” You turn to follow her eyes. Shit. You immediately turn back to Lena, your heart racing as panic starts to set in. You start to feel hot, despite the cold air of the corridor.

“What do you mean ‘my shadow’?” You furrow your brows and tilt your head, hoping she elaborates. “I mean, you two are always together. And he follows you around like a lost puppy. I know I’m not the only one who notices it.” She lowers her voice to a hurried whisper.

“Maybe because we’re working on the final project together?!” You whisper back harshly. “Mm. Right.” She nods and crosses her arms, spinning on her heel to go chat with someone else. “Lena! Lena, don’t leave me!” You whisper-scream after her, but she doesn’t turn back for you.

“What was that about?” You already know it’s him before you even register who’s speaking. You spin around, much closer to Farleigh than you thought. You stare up at him awkwardly, pretty much eye-level with his chest. You step back cautiously.

“Uh. You know…” For such a large vocabularly you claim to hold, it seems to be failing you at the moment. “Erm. Girl things?” It comes out like more of a question than you mean it to. You feel that familiar burn scorching up your neck and onto your cheeks. Fuck, it always gives you away.

“Girl things?” He repeats, raising his eyebrows. “Yep. Like, periods and stuff.” You freeze, your brain registering what just came out of your mouth. Oh, good Lord. Your eyes shoot down to the ground as you suddenly become interested in the stonework.

“Oh. That’s… cool. I guess.” He replies just as awkwardly, and for a minute you think that maybe he’s nervous too. No, he’s not. How else would you reply to a girl who’s just randomly brought up periods? There’s not much you can really say to that.

“Not really.” You shake your head and shift your weight onto your other leg, glancing back up at him. You really need to work on keeping your mouth shut during awkward moments.

And then, for one sliver of a second, you see his eyes trail down to your legs, and then quickly back up to your gaze. He clears his throat. “Our teacher seems to be late today,” He remarks.

You nod quickly, grateful for the change of subject. “Yeah. Maybe she’s just as sick of this as we all are.” You gesture to your fellow peers. You look back up to him, meeting his eyes once again. You swear, if you could just swim in them you would. You would make them your home and never leave their warmth. He stares back at you, his gaze unrelenting. You feel yourself growing hot once again, like you need to go back out into that chilling wind.

And then, your favorite person comes along, cheerfully skipping through the corridor, her steps echoing off the tall walls. She pauses mid-step, turning to you and Farleigh.

“Oh! Hi, guys!” Clara grins, showing off her blinding white smile.

“Hello, Clara.” You mutter reluctantly. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “Hey,” Farleigh replies. She steps oddly close to him, staring up at him with her baby blue eyes. Those must be her secret weapon, you think. She traces a finger down his chest and giggles. What the fuck is she doing? Farleigh’s face reddens and he looks down at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “What was that for?” He mutters. “No reason,” She shrugs with another giggle.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt jealousy this strong. It’s a feeling that bubbles up in your stomach, clawing its way up into your chest, burning through your veins like a fire. It’s an unpleasant feeling, you realize, as you look at Clara and try to hide your distaste. How can he be enjoying this? Does he really like her? Your mind spins.

She steps back from him and flips her hair. “I really should be getting to class right now…” She says, looking around the hall. “You’d better get going, then,” You murmur under your breath before clearing your throat. The words kind of just slipped out before you could think about them. Clara glances over to you so quickly you swear she almost snaps her neck.

“What was that?” She asks with that saccharine smile playing on her lips. “I said you’d better get going, that’s all.” You smile right back at her. She looks like she’s biting back some snippy remark, before she flips the switch and smiles again. “You’re right. Don’t want to be late!” She winks at Farleigh before skipping off again.

You look down at your shoes for a moment, pondering what to say next before looking back up at him. To your surprise, he’s staring down at you, a look on his face that you can’t quite figure out.

“What was that about?” You ask, snickering nervously as if it’s humorous, when really the whole interaction made you want to die. He opens his mouth to speak, but then is interrupted by greetings from your classmates to Mrs. Chasteen. You turn around to see her turning the key to her classroom, fiddling with the doorknob before opening it. You decide it’s better to not talk about the Clara situation right now.

“So, you think we can get the essay done today?” Farleigh asks as you both walk to your usual table. “Possibly. If Mrs. Chasteen even allows us to work on it,” You reply, setting your things down and sitting. You tug at your skirt, which to your annoyance, continues to ride up your thighs. Fuck Clara and her stupid skirts.

“Look at her. She looks exhausted. Do you really think she wants to teach right now?” He subtly nods in your teacher’s direction. She’s sitting at her desk and sipping a mug of steaming tea, or perhaps coffee, you can’t tell which. She usually has bags under her eyes but today they seem more pronounced.

“She’s probably been grading a lot,” You mutter to him. He shrugs. “Or maybe she had a thrilling Thursday night out on the town,” He whispers, nudging you playfully with his arm. The heat of the proximity has you burning up, inside and out. It makes you want to snuggle up next to him and chase his heat, especially on this cold winter’s day. You remind yourself to laugh at his comment.

“Mrs. Chasteen? Going out? Yeah, when pig’s fly.” You giggle genuinely at the thought. “I’m serious! We should do a stake out,” A boyish grin spreads across his face, lazy and lovely and truly beautiful. You drink in the sight, taking in his features and wishing you could screenshot this moment with your brain and keep it tucked away for later.

“She’s married, you idiot.” You swat him on the arm and his stupidly charming grin only intensifies. “Well, you’d be surprised.” He leans back in his chair and spreads his long legs. God, you usually hate when men do that. But…

Your eyes betray you. Fuck, he’s so handsome. And tempting. You’ve never had such scandalized thoughts about someone before. You start to wonder what he would look like with his shirt collar loosened, or with the buttons undone. Or maybe with just his tie on.

You hear your name suddenly, interrupting your diabolical thoughts. “Are you okay?” Farleigh asks. Shit. You’ve spent too much time analyzing his appearance and imagining him with less clothes.

You already know your face is giving you away with the pure heat that warms your cheeks. “Oh.” You say stupidly. What the fuck?! You curse yourself internally.

“Yeah. I’m great. Sorry, I was just… thinking about–” Think. Think of something. An excuse. Anything.

“The essay. Mhm.” You nod aggressively almost to convince yourself rather than him. “What about it?” He asks, raising an eyebrow with intrigue.

“I think it’s gonna be… so good,” You lose your train of thought once again as your eyes focus between his legs this time. Did he choose tighter pants today on purpose, or is your mind playing tricks on you? Your tongue darts out to lick your lips before you glance back up at him.

His eyes widen. You freeze and immediately turn to face the front of the classroom with a loud swallow. Thank God for Mrs. Chasteen.

She clears her throat. “I’m not feeling too well today, hence my late arrival. Feel free to work on your essay. Or whatever it is that you want to do…” She waves her hand dismissively and then continues organizing things at her desk. The chatter in the classroom resumes.

“Told ya,” Farleigh says, clearly happy with himself and his prediction. Normally, you would make some quippy remark about how this is the one time he’s right and he’d better enjoy it while it lasts. But instead you remain silent, pulling out your laptop.

It’s your last night to study and cram all possible information into your mind before finals week. You’re not even sure your brain has anymore room to store said information. Nevertheless, you feel slightly more confident about your tests than you did before your first night at the library on Friday. And, you and Farleigh finished the essay and turned it in.

You yawn and check the time in the bottom right corner of your laptop’s screen. Sunday, 10:03 PM. Your tired eyes widen and glance around. To your surprise, many students are still gathered here, almost every desk full. Lucky for you (and everyone else), the library has extended hours during the week before end of term exams. You believe it closes at three AM, since keeping it open any later would encourage students to pull an all nighter. Which they probably do anyways when they get back to their dorm.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and you spin around. “Hey.” Farleigh smiles down at you. Your heart almost leaps out of your chest at the sight of him. “Hi,” You respond, your voice coming out at a higher pitch than you expected. You cringe internally.

“You look like hell,” He says. His voice carries a teasing lilt, so you play along and poke him. “Let me guess, you’ve been here since… six?” He tilts his head in a way that reminds you of a puppy.

“Six thirty, to be precise,” You reply with a sarcastic eye roll. “Jesus. What a tryhard,” He shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Shut up. Showing up to study at ten PM is arguably worse. Do you always wait until the last possible minute?” You scoff but it turns into more of a giggle than you intended. He sits down next to you.

“I’m smart enough to where I can wait ‘til the last minute.” He flashes a grin at you before twisting in his seat to pull out some books from his bag. “Well, we’ll see once we get exam scores back.” You sigh.

“Oh, really? You wanna make a bet?” Farleigh questions in an oddly flirtatious tone. “Mhm,” Once you realize he’s staring at you, you feel a tingle shoot down your spine as you slowly turn to meet his eyes. His gaze is hot and heavy and it almost melts you on the spot. You inhale a shaky, quiet breath.

“What will you give me if I make a better grade than you?” He asks, his voice lower and seemingly quieter than before. An unfamiliar warmth spreads throughout you while an unwelcome swarm of butterflies makes their home in your stomach.

You cough loudly into your arm to interrupt the moment, mainly because you’re scared of how you would respond to such a flirtatious question. You don’t trust your mouth right now. Farleigh just laughs and returns to his textbooks, flipping through them.

Why does he say stuff like that? It only gets your hopes up that he might return your feelings. Which, of course, he never will. Why did you get cursed with this obsession? Well, you wouldn’t call it an obsession. Just a… crush. No, that sounds too childish. You just like him.

You spend the next two hours studying with Farleigh. You write each other calculus problems for the other to solve, or you quiz each other on vocabulary for English, or dates for medieval history. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re having fun. It’s almost as if time speeds up while you’re in his presence. However, your eyes are burning and you’re struggling to keep them open.

“Are you okay?” Your eyes snap open at Farleigh’s words. You had begun to drift off into slumber, slumped over in your chair. You sit up efficiently and nod. “Yeah.. sorry.” You let out a long sigh and attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes with your fingers.

“You probably need to get some sleep,” He suggests, his voice soft as silk. Your eyelashes flutter as you fight to stay awake. “I’m okay, really.” Your last word is interrupted with a big yawn. You cover your mouth with embarrassment as he lets out a snort.

“It’s midnight. You need to get to bed.” He tells you more sternly this time. “Well what about you?” You question.

“Don’t worry about me.” He shakes his head and reaches his hand out, placing it on your shoulder. “I guess I’ve studied enough,” You yawn again and close your eyes. Just for a moment, if only to rest them. You think.

About ten minutes later you awake to the sound of Farleigh’s voice again. “Do I need to take you to your dorm myself?” Your gaze slides over to him as he packs up his things. You let out a sleepy hum of disagreement. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. C’mon.” He stands up and pats you on the back.

You groan and grip the side of the table to support you as you stand up. You just stand there and watch as he packs up your own things, depositing them into your bag. “Can you carry it?” He asks, his eyes full of concern. You nod. “Alright. Let’s go,”

You both walk back to the dorms, with your occasional stumble, along with his occasional hand on your shoulder. You walk up the stairs, sleepiness weakening your legs. You eventually make it to your door and glance up towards Farleigh while blinking rapidly to make sure you’re not dreaming.

“I don’t think I studied enough–”

He holds up a hand to silence you.

“No. We studied more than enough. Sleep is what you need right now. Our English exam is at nine tomorrow morning. Or, today, actually.”

You’ve never seen him act with such kindness and care. Why is he doing all of this for you? And why is he being so nice? It’s suspicious, you think. But you push the thought aside as you unlock your room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You smile in an attempt to convey your gratefulness. You’re a little too prideful to say thank you right now. “Goodnight.” He pauses for a moment, just like he did the first time you were at his dorm, like he wants to say or do something else. You stare into his dark eyes, willing him to do something. Suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy.

But he just turns and walks away, probably back to his own dorm. Damn it! You feel stupid for being so hopeful. You step into your room and close the door angrily. He’s never going to admit anything, even if he also has feelings for you. Which you extremely doubt. And you’re never going to admit it either.

By the end of the week, you’re more exhausted than ever, but very relieved. Exams went smoother than you expected, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of a table waiting to get all of your results.

“Last name?” The random teacher whom you’ve never had asks, glancing up at you. You tell her your last name, and she fishes through a folder divided alphabetically by last name.

“Ah. Here you are.” She pulls out a packet and inspects it first before handing it to you. Your hands suddenly feel clammy compared to the smooth surface of the paper. Your heart pounds.

“Thank you,” You smile gratefully before turning around and quickly walking to the nearest bench to sit down and flip through the pages. A wave of relief crashes over you as you see your near perfect grades. Your lowest was a 96% on calculus, which you consider a pretty amazing achievement. You sigh with relief and close your eyes, leaning against the wall. You finished the fall term well.

You shove the packet into your backpack and put on your big coat and your beanie, preparing to venture out into the cold to pack up the last of your things to head home. Last night a huge snowstorm passed through London, so you delightfully woke up this morning to what looked like powdered sugar dusted upon the roof outside your window. It felt almost like the universe’s way of wishing you good luck on everything.

You walk outside on the cleared path with shoveled piles of snow hugging the sides. Breathing in the crisp yet calm air, you look around and take in your surroundings. The bustling groups of fellow students chatting excitedly about their scores, red cardinals hopping from tree to tree, snowflakes peacefully falling from the sky and joining the glittering snow upon the ground.

Suddenly, you hear your name being called from a distance, and then footsteps. You turn around to see Farleigh jogging toward you.

“Farleigh!” Unfortunately, you cannot hide your adoration whenever you see him and your content smile breaks into a foolish grin.

“So? How’d you do?” He asks with excitement. Oh, how the tables have turned. Usually he would start by bragging about his own results, and now he starts by asking you about yours. You quite enjoy how this friendship has grown.

“I did really good. My lowest was a 96!” You tell him. He beams, and then his eyes narrow. “On – let me guess – calculus?” He asks with suspicion. “Shut up!” You exclaim, punching him rather hard before turning serious. “Yes.”

He snickers and rubs his arm. “You pack a good punch,” He smiles, and you swear you can even see it in his chocolate brown eyes. You’re going to miss him over the holiday.

“So, what about you?” You ask while he falls into step next to you as you continue your walk. “Lowest was a 97. On history.” He cringes and you allow a satisfied smirk to break through.

“History?!” You giggle. “Shut up. My strengths are science and math, obviously.” He rolls his eyes. You’re beginning to love his sarcastic eyerolls. But then again, you think you always have.

“Hm. I thought you didn’t have any weaknesses. Academically, I mean.” You nudge him.

Farleigh shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t call them weaknesses. I’m just better at some subjects.”

Without warning, he takes your hand and pulls you off the sidewalk and onto the snow. A squeal escapes you as he lets go, and then you look up to see him reaching down to pick up some snow. After he gathers a sufficient amount, he starts to pack it into a sphere. Oh no.

“Farleigh, no! Wait!” You scream, but it’s not really a terrified scream, more like a giggly one. But it’s too late. The snowball hurdles toward you and eventually crumbles once it meets your coat. An uncontrollable fit of giggles comes over you as you crouch down, packing snow into your hands.

You launch the snowball at him and he gasps with betrayal. “How dare you!” He shouts playfully. You’re so weak with laughter that you fall down into the snow. You look up to see a few other people joining in, throwing snowballs and running around. You can’t remember a time in the last few months when you have been happier.

Eventually, Farleigh sits next to you on the ground. You look up to see bits of snow adorably sprinkled throughout his hair. Something gives you the nerve to lean your head on his shoulder. He stiffens, only slightly, before relaxing and letting out a short sigh.

“Farleigh Start, I think I’m going to miss you,” You admit sheepishly. You can feel him turn his head a bit towards you, his breath grazing your hair.

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s only three weeks.” You recognize the tease in his voice. “But I tend to have that effect on people.” You can also hear the grin in his voice. You smile and make patterns in the snow as you both sit in comfortable silence.

[petrichoriansys]

Sherlock & co. headcanons

Long post, sorry :,) I think about these idiots a lot. Lots of projection onto Sherlock, I apologize in advance.

I’m gonna avoid adding any ship headcanons because I want to focus on their characters and how they help each other, not the possibility of romance.

- Sherlock is an amazing artist. And I mean like, AMAZING. But he hates showing people his sketchbook. John is always baffled when he manages to catch a glimpse.

^ Idk if they’ll include Mycroft since he’s only in like two of the books but if they do include Mycroft, it’s absolutely his fault that Sherlock is insecure about showing his art to others.

- Sherlock’s ear defenders have stickers on them. Mariana gave him a pride flag sticker to put on them, he loves it.

- John shaved all his facial hair off once. Sherlock refused to look at him till it grew back, unless he put a mask on. Mariana laughed constantly during that time.

- John sleeps with his socks on. Thank you, fanartists.

- Sherlock will sometimes randomly decide to plop into John’s bed in the middle of the night. John secretly loves it.

- Sherlock’s hands are always freezing. Sometimes he’ll put a hand on the back of John’s neck because John hates it and it makes Mariana laugh, then John can’t stop himself from laughing. Sherlock loves when they laugh.

- John and Mariana have movie nights in 221B. Sometimes Sherlock will join but he doesn’t really enjoy movies, so he’ll just be on his phone. They do it in 221B anyway because they want Sherlock to feel included even though they know he won’t watch the movie regardless.

- CANE USER JOHN.

- As a followup to the previous hc, John hates using his cane in public. He always gets weird looks and he’s insecure about it. He often has to use it in the flat because he refuses to use it out in public, and Sherlock and Mariana never mention it. He’s gotten a bit more comfortable with it because of that.

- John has A Chair that no one touches. If a guest sits in his chair, Sherlock will tell them to move. John needs to always have an open, easily accessible spot to sit down due to his leg.

- Sherlock often goes nonverbal, especially after cases. John and Mariana have learned sign language for him. Partially to communicate with him while he’s nonverbal, partially to cut down on noise when he’s overwhelmed.

- Since it’s said in the beginning of the show that Sherlock has DID and I personally have DID, here’s a hc specific to that (which totally isn’t projection at all……). Sherlock has a child alter, as do many with DID. While John and Mariana aren’t very experienced with this stuff, they’ve taken time to learn and always make sure to keep the environment safe for said alter. They also will wait for Sherlock to tell them who’s fronting, because he often gets frustrated when they ask.

- Sorta related to the last one but also just general, Sherlock hates when people ask him things (unless it’s related to his interests). Stop asking him how his day was, stop asking him how he’s doing. If he wanted you to know, he would tell you.

- Sherlock loves John’s mum. She sees him as her son.

- John is oblivious. He’s had many people (mainly women) ask him out and didn’t understand he was being asked out on a date. He once had a friend who thought they were dating because she didn’t explicitly tell him and he just kept hanging out with her, thinking she just wanted to be friends. No malicious intentions whatsoever, he literally is just oblivious as fuck.

- On that note, John is bi, Sherlock is gay, and Mariana is lesbian.

- John’s insecure. Just in general. About his body, about his scars, about his voice, everything. He’s especially insecure about how much he yaps. It just happens and he gets frustrated with himself. Sherlock secretly loves it.

^ One time, John got so annoyed with himself that he decided he wouldn’t talk unless necessary. Sherlock told him he loves the yapping and reminded him that the podcast listeners love his rambles. John instantly went back to being his normal, yappy self.

- Possibly he/they Sherlock?

- The trio have all helped each other with insecurities. John’s and how they’ve helped him I’ve mentioned previously in this post. Mariana often feels out of place since she has no family in Britain and her accent stands out, but John always reminds her that him and Sherlock are her family too. Sherlock secretly loves her accent. Sherlock’s got a ton of mental issues (as stated in episode 1), and often gets frustrated because he has a hard time expressing his needs. John and Mariana do their best to accommodate. I’ve stated some ways I hc they do that previously.

I’m gonna stop now, but I could go on for hours.

I’ve actually been writing this on and off for several hours, oops.

Goodbye, enjoy some silly hcs. Feel free to add on to some of them in replies/reblogs, I’d love to see your hcs and I’d def love to hear (read ig) opinions on these.

[tipsy-simbler]

Pride Thigh High Socks

I finally decided to do some pride CC this year!! I started a bit late and had some technical issues so please forgive the late upload, but I’m pretty excited to finally post something for pride! This is the biggest CC project I’ve done thus far and I would love to do more in the years to come! this was mostly a warmup to see if I’ve learned enough to make more CC for the public and I’m very pleased with myself!

BGC [this is my first time making a pack item bgc so please let me know if theres any issues!]

Teen to Elder, disabled for random, available for all frames/genders [they are just socks sjksjkskjs]

Please do not claim anything as your own, If you use any of these I would love to see so please please tag me!!!

I made sure at the very least the first word of every flag is visible over the swatch bar! I have very poor memory so I figured it’d be useful.

I will note some flags [specifically the unlabeled flags] are a bit hard to see, I decided to leave them as is since I don’t feel comfortable altering the colors of the original flags, I’m sorry about that. There are also a few with very compressed symbols, I tried fixing it but I couldn’t figure it out. Hopefully it isn’t too bad :\

I have to give a gigantic shoutout to my partner @yeehaww-sims for not only the insane amount of resources they shared with me to be able to do this, but their incredible help and advice along the way! If it weren’t for them this wouldn’t have happened.

All flags used were provided by @yeehaww-sims and they have linked the sources in their original pride flag post [here]

I may do requests for these after pride ends, this was a massive undertaking and my first time making something this big. I would like a break until after pride, but please feel free to drop an ask! If I get enough I may do a huge request dump in the future.

My CC is not made for T[SW]ERFS/Bigots/Racists/Queerphobes/any other lower life form, if you’re gonna be annoying and edgy please take it up with someone who actually cares.

If you’re normal and chill and just wanna remove flags you don’t want/need I will link a tutorial on how to remove swatches [here]

[ @maxismatchccworld @ts4pride @emilyccfinds @mmfinds @sssvitlanz ]

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