#should I craft myself next

[silly-lili-things]

update on crochet dr ratio (featuring my needles as makeshift pins again)

we now have most of his clothing! he has a stupid amount of layers and i hate him for it but it's okay because he's cute

[zynith-mp4]

I just impulse bought unnecessary things...

just a few stuffs to make some artsy crafty stuff...?

who am I?? I have shopping anxiety and I hardly ever do physical art yet I have beads n JEWELRY shit on my wishlist now wtf I'm becoming an old person who stays home and does arts and crafts all day like nobody's business

.

.

.

okay besides the old part- that is kinda me- ;-;

ANYWAYS

I really really don't need another hyperfixation, i have too much shit to do this stuff

but.

If it involves glow in the dark stars, it'll be worth it, right??

right...?

[dandyshucks]

ouhhhh the neighbour doesn't have any supplies of her own for crochet and I'm teaching her and my mother today starting in just over an hour

and i am ... not selfish with my supplies but i am unemployed and living off a very tight budget (cannot purchase any more yarn for projects unless i manage to do some pretty spectacular savings on my groceries for the month which is... not very doable) so I'm a tad worried she's going to be good at crocheting and want to Make Something with the yarn that i do have fjdskl and I would normally be totally fine with that but considering there's basically nowhere in town to buy yarn (i've had to buy online) and shipping is $20+ lately, that's not exactly a great thing for me right now 🧍‍♂️

[thenamessparkplug]

[fiendishartist2]

i havent been into invader zim in years and yet i STILL want to sew a zip-up gir hoodie

[duskrelyk]

hhhhh laundry day

[nomaishuttle]

i forgot my crown even fell off the ohh my kegs r asleep Legs nit kegs im prohibition til i die. didnt mean that sorry, anyways i oh i just realized this post sounds like i a careless prince whos mother the queen is reprimanding him and im defending myself against her. anyways I forgot my crown fell off the other day

[angrythingstarlight]

Malyshka should be happy to accept Bucky’s money when it relates to showing up her nemesis - Keaton. Maybe a PTA fundraiser and Bucky generously donates the most

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

WC: Drabble

CW: Mentions of smut. Bucky being insatiable for you. Hints of a corruption kink.

AN: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Part of the Bumblebee series and follow up to this piece.

"Really?" Bucky stares at you, his brow raising in unabashed shock. "You're going to let me do this for you. No 'its too much Bucky and I'll handle it myself'? I can do things my way?"

He had an entire speech prepared to convince you to do things his way. If that failed, plan B involved bribery and even bringing Bee into the conversation to sway you.

Instead of delving into his finely crafted speech on why you should let him spend an obscene amount of money on your PTA fundraiser, he's speechless. The irony drifts over him before dissipating into a warm, pleased feeling at your next words.

"Yes. You can go all out Bucky. I want to crush her and her smug know-it-all attitude. She's lucky I'm not interested in her position or I'd take it from her. Since she wants to play with me, let's play. Keaton's not going to win another damn thing while I'm around."

If you weren't mid-rant, you'd notice that your mobster is getting harder by the second. You'd definitely notice the fiery, heady glint darkening his blue eyes. The smirk pulling at his lips as he encourages you. "What else do you want Malyshka?"

He loves you like this, passionate and vengeful, it makes him want to do filthy, filthy things to you.

He can't stay away, his long legs eat up the space between you, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he reaches for you.

"I want her to know that she'll never beat me and there's not a damn thing she can do about it. Spend whatever you need to make sure she knows what we're capable of Bucky. And I—"

He doesn't hear the rest of what you're saying, the only thing on his mind is which way is he going to take you first. Eat you out on his desk, fuck you against the wall, bend you over the couch.

Bucky cradles your face in his hands, lips descending on yours and he feels your words taper into a desperate moan. Pushing you against the wall, one large tattooedd hand drops to your thigh and he brings your leg up, pushing his full weight into you—desperately trying to get even closer to your soft, lush curves. An insatiable need to be inside you winds through his veins like a shot of whiskey.

He pulls his mouth away just enough to murmur 'you can have as much as you want Malyshka' before his lips crash into yours and he lifts you off the ground. His hands curving under your thighs, holding in you place as he effortlessly carries you to his desk.

"You can have everything," he groans into the side of your throat, nipping the soft, sensitive skin. As much as you fucking want.

You're not sure if he's talking about the money or him. It doesn't matter. You know Bucky is going to give you both.

[kxsagi]

Omg I ran here as soon as I woke up because I’ve got ideas!!!!

I even left this in my notes app but:

https://youtube.com/shorts/nUb7dVadJYA?si=I2ameWw30paQmV8W

But like this with bllk boys??? Or just a one shot with anyone? This is like a friends to lovers thing 😩😩 gonna combust from this because literally (I know it’s an ad but still eienfiejwkdndj)

Anyways sorry for the rant I missed your inbox 🫶🫶

“𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬… 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬?”

a/n: leaving it in your notes app is true dedication 😭 I LOVE THIS REQUEST

ft. isagi yoichi, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

you’re sitting in his lap. like it’s nothing. like it’s a chair. 

he just taps his knee like “seat’s open” and you go “sweet, thanks” and proceed to text like you’re not in each other’s personal space. 

he literally feeds you from his bowl at restaurants. you just open your mouth without looking. he doesn’t even question it. 

calls you “love” to mess with you but keeps doing it because “haha it’s funny right? unless…?” 

once you yawned and he stretched his arms around you at the same time. didn’t move them. you didn’t move either. you were like “comfy.” 

everyone thinks you’re dating. you guys are like “nooo we’re besties!” but you wear his hoodies and he kisses your forehead when you’re sad. 

shidou ryusei

“you’re literally obsessed with me.” 

“shut up, i am not.” 

proceeds to send him 3 memes, 5 tik toks, and a voice note that ends in giggling. 

has you saved in his phone as “wifey 💍💥” and you never changed it. 

shidou: “lemme see your tits.” 

you: “get me coffee first.” 

shidou: “deal.” 

gets the coffee and completely forgets about the bit. 

he always leans on you, touches your hair, lays his head in your lap. says you give off “emotional support pet” vibes. you’re like “that’s so rude” while playing with his hair. 

once slapped your ass after a game and was like “good job out there, champ 😌” 

you: “thanks babe 😘” 

cue both of you turning pink and pretending it didn’t happen. 

nagi seishiro

you share a bed. literally just knock out next to each other like it’s nothing. 

he grabs your waist when he’s gaming so you won’t move from beside him. sometimes rests his chin on your shoulder. 

one time you changed in front of him and he didn’t even blink. “bro, we’ve been friends since puberty. what haven’t i seen?” 

he calls you “princess” or “pretty thing” when you whine about stuff. it should be illegal how casual he makes it sound. 

nags you to cuddle him. “ugh you’re so annoying,” you say, while spooning him. 

once said “you’d probably make a good girlfriend” while half-asleep. you said “you’d make a horrible boyfriend” and he just chuckled and went “true.” 

kaiser michael

he grabs your face to check your makeup and says “you’re cute today.” you say “just today?” 

he goes “so you do like compliments from me.” 

you both flirt like it’s a sport. your friends have bets on who will fold first. 

you steal his cologne. he wears the bracelet you made at a craft fair. it’s blue. you don’t question it. 

the way he picks lint off your clothes and goes “my standards are higher than this.” you respond by poking your tongue at his cheek. 

has said “if we’re both still single by 30–” 

you: “we’ll be married?” 

kaiser: “no, i’ll cry myself to sleep every night.” 

you: “same.” 

he gets jealous when you flirt with others but masks it with sarcasm. you’re like “jealous much?” and he’s like “you wish. i’m just protective of my property– i mean friend.” 

bachira meguru

you’re always touching in some way. pinkies linked, arms around each other, knees bumping. 

he sends you selfies captioned “for my #1 fan 😘” and you reply “hottt. send more.” 

once made a “fake dating” joke and he was like “you’d like that huh?” and you were like “maybe i would” and then you both went silent for 10 minutes. 

draws hearts next to your name when doodling. you steal his hoodie and he acts like you just confessed. 

people flirt with him and he immediately goes “haha sorry i have a soulmate” and points at you. you do the same. 

one time he accidentally said “i love you” mid-laugh. you blinked. he blinked. 

“… cool lol.” 

“lol yeah.” 

itoshi rin

you know him too well. like dangerously well. 

he doesn’t have to say “i’m cold.” you just hand him your jacket. 

he glares at anyone who tries to hit on you and says “they’re not your type.” 

you: “what is my type then?” 

rin: deadpan “me.” 

“you look like shit,” he says. 

“you still like me though,” you reply. 

he doesn’t deny it. 

he lets you touch his hair. his hair. 

you once called him “baby” by accident and he just responded like it was normal. 

he only softens up around you. other people don’t recognize him when he’s being your rin. 

sometimes stares at you a little too long. you catch him. he looks away and mutters “shut up.” 

itoshi sae

you two look like enemies. emotionless stare vs sarcastic sighs. 

but then he wordlessly unties your hoodie strings because “you looked stupid.” 

texts you “.” when he wants attention. if you don’t answer, he sends “?” 

you call him “baby girl” in public just to piss him off. 

he flips you off. still lets you play with his hair later. 

he’ll literally insult your taste in music then send you a playlist titled “stuff you’d like.” 

“you look gross.” 

“thanks. it’s your shirt.” 

he says nothing because it actually is. 

you fell asleep on him once during a flight. he pretended to be annoyed but didn’t move for four hours. 

when you woke up, he just said “you drooled on me.” (but his phone has a picture of it. it’s his lock screen.)

karasu tabito

you flirt like it’s aggressive sparring. 

“you missed me?” 

“like i’d miss a rash.” 

constantly holds your chin when talking to you. it’s his way of annoying you. but your face gets warm every time and he lives for it. 

he’s always like “if we kissed right now, would it ruin the friendship?” 

you: “yeah.” 

him: “... worth it.” 

texts you “u up?” and then sends you a picture of your worst fashion crimes with the caption “jail.” 

you once dared him to kiss you “as a joke.” 

he did. it lasted too long. you were like “... weird.” 

him: “yup. wanna do it again?” 

he gives you a piggyback ride in public and then tells everyone you’re his emotional support gremlin. but no one else is allowed to say that but him. 

ness alexis

you once said “love you” before hanging up. he said “love you more” with no hesitation. 

you choked. he was unbothered. 

compliments you constantly and never acts like it’s weird. “you look gorgeous today.” 

you: “you said that yesterday.” 

him: “because it’s still true?” 

buys you matching things like mugs, necklaces, keychains. tells everyone you’re soulmates. 

when someone asks “are you dating?” he goes “not yet.” 

you laugh. he’s serious. 

always says “good morning beautiful” with a winky face. 

you threaten to block him. then text back “you too 💅” 

once asked you to rate his flirting. 

you: “4/10.” 

ness: “perfect. so you noticed it.” 

gets jealous when you mention other guys. won’t admit it. just messages you “i hope you choke” and then sends a heart. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[writer-logbook]

How to improve your writing style : a 5-steps guide.

Intro : I love the 5-steps format, don’t mind me. Again, this essay is based on my personal experience.

Read in different genres. Ok, I know you’ve probably heard this advice more than you can count but did you ask yourself why it is so important ? You probably wonder ‘‘How reading some historical fiction will help me writing my sci-fi novel ?’’ For that simple reason my friend : they meet different purposes. You don’t know how to describe a castle ? It’s okay, historical fiction got your back. Because it aims at something more realistic and accurate, it would tend to be more specific and detailed when it comes to describing clothes, furniture, places and so on. Why ? Because, most of the time, THEY ACTUALLY EXISTED. Take a closer look at how it is done and draw your inspiration from it (but please avoid plagiarism it’s bad - and illegal)

Take notes and CLASSIFY them. To make reading somehow useful, you have to actually make it concious, which means you have to write things down to remember them. When I come across a description I like, I tend to takes notes of the figures of speech that are used and class them, so when I have to write a similar scene, I have an idea of what have been already used, and weither or not it achieved its goal. I am NOT talking about COPY another author’s style !!!! It’s about finding inspiration and new approaches. I also tend to take notes of the new words I wish to incoporate into my writing. The thesaurus is my new bestie.

Rewrite the same scene from different POVs. First of all, it’s fun. And it’s a really good way to spot quirky formulations. For instance, if you describe a ship, the captain’s POV should be different from that of a simple observer. The first one would be naming each part princisely whereas the other would only be admiring the surface without knowing anything. If the caption is the same for both POVs, maybe you should consider write your passage again (or have a good reason, like a strong amateurism for the mere observer). It’s go hand in hand with coherence - but it would be an essay for another time (maybe).

Read your text aloud. I put major emphasis on that one because it’s as underated as reading books for various genres. You have no idea how much we DON’T speak the way we write. Even dialogues are crafted in our stories - so make sure to give them proper attention. (i even read my email aloud but-). I KNOW how cringey it might be as I am doing it MYSELF but the benefits are worth the 35-minutes shame I endure from my own mess. Before you can shine, you have to polish (shout out to the one who said that first if it’s not me).

Take a step back. I strongly advice you to let some time pass before reading your text again and profreading it. It will cast a new light upon your work and with fresh eyes you’d be more likely able to spot what needs to be erased or rephrased.

That’s all for me today. Since I would be entering my proofreading phase for my writing contest, the next essay would probably about proofreading (with examples from my own novel ?). Unless someone wants me to write on a specific subject first.

Gentle reminder that I’m still French and not a native so please forgive my dubious grammar and outrageous mispellings.

[hivemuthur]

Hii! Could I request a Viktor x reader fic where the reader commissions an elevator be built in the academi/wherever his lab is, so viktor doesn't have to climb so many stairs and than getting stuck in the said elevator with viktor. I'm thinking reader with mild claustrophobia, love confession, whatever you see fit? (Smut/fluff, whatever) Thank youu❤️❤️

~🍒

Dear Anon, thank you for a lovely request! ❤️

Five Things

viktorxgn!reader mature! kissing, or rather making out, reader suffers anxiety attack, fluff!

author’s note: If you help me find an artist of this drawing I will be eternally grateful! Artist found, image description updated! Thank you! Can you tell I am obsessed with his neck?

word count: 2,7K

—

“Can you at least tell me if my current state of restriction leads to something beneficial?” Viktor whined, his hand clasped in yours as you blindfolded him and led him through the academy corridors.

“Trust me, it will be very beneficial,” you said matter-of-factly, not noticing the smirk on his face. The flirt dared to chuckle at that, and you shot him a look, a force of habit. “Maybe not as much as you think, whatever clatters around that head of yours.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know, dear friend,” Viktor mused, squeezing your hand tighter, his thumb ghosting over your index finger and sending goosebumps up your arm. Friend, of course—you were friends, and that was fine.

When you finally got there, mindful of all the plant pots, benches, and other objects cluttering the hallways—apparently, people would lose shoes, books, or once-bitten sandwiches—your face was beetroot red from all the teasing and handholding. You thanked the gods that all Viktor could see was the inside of your scarf.

“Are you ready?” you asked after clearing your throat.

“Depends. I trust you endlessly, so if you have led me to something dangerous, I am very much unready. If—” he accentuated, lifting his finger, picturing what kind of expression was painting itself on your face right now, “it’s in fact something very beneficial, I would like to think myself always ready for that.”

“You talk too much, mister,” you let out a strangled chuckle and began undoing the knot at the nape of his neck. Your fingers brushed the skin at his hairline, and Viktor shivered despite himself. A smile bloomed under your nose, as you tried to steady your breathing. “Here we go.”

You were still standing behind him, peeking over his shoulder, but you couldn’t see his expression. When no comment came for a while, you asked hesitantly, “What do you think?”

“You did this?” he mumbled quietly. His hand travelled to his back to find yours and lead you next to him. “How?”

“I didn’t do this exactly,” you said humbly, lowering your eyes to stare at your shoes. “But I might have bullied some people, who bullied other people, who commissioned other people to make it. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it? I… have no words.” The squeeze of his hand strengthened again as he walked up closer to study the ornamentations.

The elevator was not only functional but also beautiful. The outside frame was made of mixed metals, resembling both the design of the academy’s historical rooms and the specific curls and bends of hextech equipment. The inside was carefully crafted from deep, warm varnished wood.

You let out a breath you had been holding for far too long and laughed. “Well, I have to thank Janna for that miracle later,” you teased him.

Viktor’s mouth didn’t move an inch as he turned to face you and pulled you into an unexpected embrace. His cheeks were faintly pink when his arms cradled you, and you could feel the press of his cane’s handle against your shoulder blade. Letting out another breath you’d been holding, you relaxed into it and wrapped your arms around his waist, breathing in the scent of parchment and oil that clung to him.

“Should we… test it?” he offered playfully, his amber eyes sparkling with excitement.

You hesitated, but the way his hand remained clasped around yours melted your resolve. “Alright, but only if you don’t start analysing every bolt and rivet,” you teased, trying to keep your voice steady.

As you stepped into the elevator together, your heart began to beat faster. The space, while beautifully crafted, felt far too confined. The warm varnished wood and intricate metal details seemed to close in around you the moment Viktor gently pulled the handle to close the door. It slid with a deep metallic groan, settling into place with an audible clunk.

Your breathing hitched slightly, but you kept a smile plastered on your face, still holding his hand as if it were a lifeline.

Viktor, utterly delighted, hummed appreciatively as the mechanism engaged. “Remarkable. The craftsmanship is truly exceptional—the balance of form and function. And these gears, see the way they interlock? It’s as though—” He paused mid-sentence, glancing down at you. “Are you alright? You’re gripping my hand rather tightly. Not that I am complaining of course.”

You blinked up at him, your chest tightening as you struggled to keep calm. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Viktor’s brow furrowed in concern, but before he could press further, the elevator lurched and trembled under your feet. A hollow metallic thud reverberated through the space, and then… nothing. The lift shuddered and stopped.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath, your hand darting to the handle. You tugged on it once, then again, harder this time, but it wouldn’t budge. The handle jammed in place, as immovable as the walls surrounding you.

“Wait, hold on,” Viktor said, his voice calm but curious as he leaned forward to inspect the mechanism. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s stuck,” you replied quickly, trying not to sound panicked. Your hand dropped from the handle as your fingers fidgeted at your side, searching for something to grasp. “It’s not moving. It’s… oh gods.”

You started breathing faster, each inhale sharper than the last.

“Hey,” Viktor said softly, his tone gentle now, his attention fully on you. “What’s going on?”

“I—” you hesitated, your voice catching as you looked at him. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, but there was no hiding it now. “I might not be… the best in small spaces.”

His face softened instantly, the corners of his mouth dipping into a sympathetic frown. “You’re claustrophobic?”

“Maybe a little. And this…” You gestured vaguely at the enclosed space, the walls that felt closer with each passing second. “I don’t know. It’s just—”

“Alright, alright,” Viktor interrupted gently, turning fully to face you, his hand squeezing yours where it rested against his chest. His voice was soft but firm, grounding. “Breathe with me. Slowly, pomalý,” he murmured, his tone warm, almost coaxing. “I need you to try and name five things you can see.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, frustration flickering in your chest as you stared at him, willing him to drop the exercise. But his steady gaze told you he wouldn’t budge. Reluctantly, you glanced around.

“Um… a broken handle,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, though your voice betrayed your unease. “Uh… my shoes,” you added, but the words wavered, cracking like brittle glass.

Viktor’s hand shifted to pull you closer, his forehead gently pressing against yours. His breath, soft and warm, fanned across your face, calming one part of you, while unnerving the other. “Very good,” he said quietly. “Three more things. Anything you can see,” he encouraged, a faint smile lighting his features, his amber eyes bright with reassurance.

A strange lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down and tried again. “Your buttons… your hands… your freckles,” you blurted out quickly, the words tumbling over each other before you could stop them. It wasn’t until the words were out that you realised everything you’d named had been Viktor.

He let out a quiet sweet laugh, his chest moving against your hand. “Very good,” he said again, his voice laced with amusement. “Now—four things you can touch.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, making your heart stutter.

You inhaled shakily, closing your eyes to concentrate. “Wood… uh, the metal,” you began, though your throat tightened as you spoke.

“Good,” Viktor said soothingly. “Two more. Don’t overthink it—anything you can touch, no matter how small.”

You hesitated for a moment, then exhaled a resigned sigh. “Your hair… and your hand,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Heat crept up your cheeks, and you silently prayed you could blame it on the anxiety instead of… well, him.

Viktor’s smile softened, a hint of understanding dancing in his expression. “Very good,” he said simply, his hand steady in yours.

“Now—three things you can hear. Take your time,” he added, lowering his voice, the soft click of his tongue echoing faintly in the confined space.

You glanced up, meeting his gaze, and felt your chest tighten for a different reason entirely. “The metal cracking,” you said after a moment, your voice strained as you took a shallow breath. “My heavy breathing… and your voice.”

“You’re doing so well,” Viktor murmured, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles along your skin. “Two things you can smell,” he continued, his voice dipping lower as he shifted ever so slightly closer, the space between you shrinking. His nose nearly brushed yours, and you felt your lungs hitch, though now it had little to do with the cramped elevator.

“Oil… and parchment,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyes fluttered shut.

There was a faint noise from Viktor—a soft clearing of his throat—and you felt warmth bloom across his cheeks, his flustered reaction oddly comforting. At least you weren’t the only one affected by the closeness.

He leaned in just a fraction more, his cheek brushing against yours, the soft skin of his jaw teasing under your ear. His heartbeat was rapid under your intertwined hands, the rhythm betraying his otherwise steady demeanour. “Last one,” he murmured, his breath brushing your earlobe. “One thing you can taste?”

Your eyelids cracked open, your gaze falling on the column of his neck, mere inches away. For a heartbeat, time froze. Before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed your lips to his skin and whispered, “You.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, the sound trembling as it escaped. Without breaking position, he propped his cane against the wall and brought his hand to your cheek, his touch warm and grounding. You leaned into his palm, a quiet hum slipping from your lips.

His face hovered close to yours, his breath mingling with your own as he murmured, “Now I find myself in need of calming some anxiety.”

“Well, why don’t you name five things you can see, then?” Your voice slipped back into a teasing lilt; the tiny space of the elevator forgotten, replaced by the infinitely smaller space shared between the two of you.

“Hmm,” he mused, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Your ear,” he murmured before placing a soft, lingering kiss on your earlobe. “Your neck,” he added, brushing his lips gently against it. “Your eyes,” came next, accompanied by a featherlight peck on your brow. “Your nose,” he whispered, dropping another kiss just above its bridge. His tone deepened as he concluded, “And your chin.” He placed the final kiss there, smiling as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Very well,” you breathed, the places his lips had touched burning and tingling with an intensity that left you dizzy. “Now, four things you can touch, was it?”

“Your skin,” he replied immediately, taking a deep breath as his hands framed your cheeks, his thumbs brushing your jaw. “Your neck,” he chuckled softly, letting his palms glide down the sides of your throat, the light pressure sending a shiver down your spine. “Your collarbones,” he added, his thumbs pressing firmly against the delicate ridge, “and your shoulders.” His hands lingered there, warm and steady.

“You’re doing so well, Viktor,” you teased lightly, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused on his touch. “Next, three things you can hear.”

“Your voice,” he said, his thumb brushing against your lower lip, the faint scrape of his nail sending a ripple of heat through you. “Your breath,” he added, his gaze locking with yours, quiet intensity simmering in his amber eyes. After a brief hesitation, his hand moved to rest over your sternum. “And your heart. A very loud little thing,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower.

“We’re almost done,” you whispered, your breath hitching as he pulled you closer, his hands firm at your waist. “Two things you can smell.”

Viktor’s arms caged you in as he leaned in, his face burying in the crook of your neck. His voice rasped, “Your hair… and your skin. My favourite smells.” He inhaled deeply, his breath ghosting across your neck, his lips brushing faintly against your tendon. You felt his nose press against your skin as he trailed his open mouth along your neck, leaving a path of heat in its wake.

You swallowed hard, your body bracing for the last part. “A thing you can taste?” Your voice was quiet, barely audible.

“You, hopefully,” Viktor murmured, cupping your face gently as his lips brushed yours, tentative at first. His mouth was warm, tasting faintly of green tea, and when you glanced up, you noticed his ears were flushed red, his cheeks dusted a deep pink.

One of your hands found its way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair, while the other settled on his hip, where his vest shifted to reveal a sliver of skin beneath. At your touch, Viktor groaned softly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips as he tilted his head and let his tongue glide across your upper lip.

Your brows furrowed briefly, your eyes fluttering closed as you parted your lips to let him deepen the kiss. His hands slid from your cheeks to cradle your waist, one slipping up your back to press against your shoulder blades, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

His weight leaned into you, his breath filling your lungs with warmth, and a soft moan escaped your lips. Viktor echoed the sound, his chest vibrating with it, and the sensation rippled through you, your heart fluttering wildly against his. Your lips felt swollen under his, your fingers tugging at his hair to keep him anchored against you.

He obliged, pressing into you further as he guided you back a step until your back met the cold wood of the elevator wall. His lips left yours to travel down your neck, the heat of his mouth searing into your skin as he pressed soft, insistent kisses. He sucked gently at the base of your neck, pulling a startled giggle from you, and when he seemed satisfied with the mark he left, he dragged his tongue flat against the spot before returning to your mouth.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, his lips moving with an intensity that left you dizzy. Yet, even in his eagerness, Viktor’s touch remained steady, his hold on you firm but reverent, as though you were something precious to him. When you finally felt yourself running out of breath, Viktor pulled back just enough, a translucent string of saliva still connecting your mouths.

“So… um…” you whispered, your breath shallow and quick. “I take it you like your present?”

Viktor brushed his nose gently against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he nodded eagerly. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice low and hushed, “yes, very beneficial... very good gift. Possibly the best one anyone's ever given me.”

You hummed contentedly, settling yourself more comfortably in Viktor's arms, your head resting against his chest. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart, was enough to make you forget the rest of the world. But as the seconds passed and the kiss-induced haze begun to clear, reality seeped back in. You tilted your head up, suddenly aware of your position—still trapped in the elevator.

"So... how long do you think we're going to be stuck here?" you asked, the playful hint still lingering in your voice.

Viktor's lips twitch into a small smile, his hands gently stroking your back as he leaned closer. "Well, how long would you like to be stuck here?" he teased, his eyes glinting mischievously.

You blinked, confused for a moment. "What do you mean? You know how to fix it?"

His smile widened, and there was a slight glint of guilt in his eyes. "Well, I'm an engineer after all," he said, his tone almost sheepish. "I knew the minute it broke."

"Viktor!" you exclaimed in mock offense, lightly batting his chest with your hand. "You knew the whole time?" He chuckled softly, his gaze softening as he looked down at you, clearly amused. "What can I say? I like a little... suspense."

[nino-rox]

PETER PARKER | BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS | M | GENDER NEUTRAL READER

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Mature/Explicit, Gender Neutral Reader, Tom Holland As Spider-Man, Not Proof Read

DISCLAIMER: Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

(Author’s Note: Requested by Anonymous user. My first time writing headcanons, I’ve barely even read any so I’m sorry if it’s not great ! Please request for more ! )

~What dating Parker feels like on a day to day basis

THE SKYLIGHT CATASTROPHE

One night, there’s a thud loud enough to rattle the walls, followed by an ominous silence. You know exactly what’s happened even before Peter pokes his head through the window, windswept and grinning sheepishly.“So, uh… surprise! You have a new skylight!”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “You broke my roof again?”“Okay, technically, it was already fragile. I just… sped up the process.”

The next morning, you find him on the roof, duct tape and webs in hand, muttering to himself like he’s crafting a masterpiece.“Peter, you’re going to fall.”He waves you off without even looking up. “Relax! You’re being ridiculous. I’m Spider-Man—I won’t fall. Skylights are all the rage anyway. Just think of it as me upgrading your house for free!”

Right as he says it, his foot slips, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself with a web against the gutter.“SEE? I caught myself!” he says triumphantly, cheeks flushed as he steadies himself.

You stare at him, appalled. “Peter, I’m not worried about you, you blithering idiot. I’m worried about my house! Fall on the road and break your head if you want, but I swear to god, if you break my house again—”

“Noted. No more house-breaking. Promise. Bob the Builder’s retired anyway,” he grins.

WEBBED LAUNDRY

You pull a ruined hoodie out of the wash—bright red, stretched beyond recognition, and sticky with web fluid. Marching into the living room, you hold it up like evidence.“Peter! Why is my hoodie fused with web glue?”

Peter looks up from the couch, cereal bowl in hand, his eyes widening. “Ohhh… yeah, about that…”

You glare, waiting.

“I, uh, might’ve had to yank my suit off super quickly after patrol last night—it was covered in webs—and I didn’t realize it stuck to your hoodie in the laundry pile.”

You narrow your eyes. “You didn’t realize?”

Peter sets the bowl down, flashing a nervous grin. “Look, web fluid is mostly water-soluble! If we wait a day, it’ll dissolve!”

You groan, holding up the ruined fabric. “It better dissolve. Or you’re buying me a new hoodie.”

Peter slides an arm around your waist, grinning. “Or… we could share this one? Exclusive Spider-Merch for my favorite person.”

THE GREAT SPIDER-MAN’S HANDYMAN FAILS

You and Peter finally move in together, which should have been exciting—except unpacking with Spider-Man is a nightmare.“Peter, where’s the box with the kitchen stuff?” you ask, arms crossed.

Peter scratches the back of his head, sheepishly pointing to a corner. “Uh… it’s webbed to the ceiling. I thought it’d save space?”

You sigh. “Okay, fine. But why is there a Spider-Tracer in the toaster?”

He grins nervously. “Security measure?”

Later, you catch him trying to web a shelf together instead of using screws.“PETER!”“What? This is structurally sound!”

THE HOODIE INCIDENT

Peter freezes when he sees you curled up in his hoodie, sleeves hanging past your hands.“You stole it again?”“Finders keepers.”

He steps closer, voice low and teasing. “Looks better on you anyway.”

Before you can respond, he tackles you onto the couch, hovering over you with a grin.“You’re not keeping it.”“Make me.”

MORNING HEATWAVE SNUGGLES

You wake up tangled in Peter’s limbs, his face buried in the crook of your neck. It’s cozy—until you realize he’s a human heater.“Peter. Let me go. I have stuff to do.”

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs, pulling you closer with ridiculous Spider-strength. “Spider-Boyfriend privilege.”

“You smell like sweat and bad decisions.”

Peter chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “Want me to make another bad decision?” His lips brush your jaw as his voice drops, teasing. “I can make you sweaty too.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you manage to mutter, “You’re impossible.”

His smirk is pure trouble as he rolls you onto your back. “And you love it.”

SWINGING FOR BEGINNERS

The first time Peter suggests swinging with you, you laugh nervously. “No way. I like my life.”“It’s safe! You’ll love it—I promise.”

The moment he scoops you into his arms and leaps off the edge, you scream loud enough to wake half of Queens.“PETER, I SWEAR—”

“You’re fine!” he calls out, laughing as the wind whips past. “Just enjoy the ride!”

You bury your face in his shoulder, heart pounding. “I’m never letting go. Ever.”

Peter grins, holding you tighter. “Good. I wasn’t planning to let you go anyway.”

ROOFTOP MIDNIGHT ESCAPES

Peter swings into your room after patrol, his suit half-off, hair wild from the wind. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere.”

Before you can finish protesting, he sweeps you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.“Peter!” you yelp, clutching his shoulders as he shoots a web and leaps into the night.“Trust me, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his grin softening.

The wind whips past, adrenaline rushing through your veins as he swings effortlessly between buildings. When you finally land on a rooftop, he pulls you close, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not scared, are you?”“Not anymore,” you whisper, and his smirk grows as his lips meet yours, slow and steady, grounding you after the thrill.

POST SWING MOMENTS

After a particularly daring swing where Peter narrowly dodges a billboard, he sets you down on a rooftop, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist.“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice low as his thumb brushes your cheek.“I’m fine, Peter. You can let go now.”

He doesn’t. His grip tightens, and his voice drops to a husky whisper. “You have no idea how hard it is to let you go.”

Your breath catches as his lips brush yours softly at first, then with increasing intensity. His hands slide to your lower back, pulling you closer until the world disappears around you.

“SHH, I’LL MAKE IT WORTH IT.”

Peter returns from patrol late at night, finding you half-asleep on the couch. He crouches down, brushing a kiss to your temple.“You awake?” he whispers.

You mumble something incoherent, only stirring when his lips brush yours again, this time slower, more deliberate.“Shh,” he murmurs, pinning your wrists gently above your head. His grin turns playful as he leans closer. “I’ll make it worth keeping you awake.”

Your heart races as his kisses deepen, trailing down the side of your neck. “You’re impossible,” you manage to say, though the way your breath hitches betrays you.

“And you love it,” he murmurs, his lips pressing firmly against your pulse, his smirk growing when you shiver under his touch.

SHOWER?

Peter comes home sweaty and grimy after patrol, and you shove him toward the shower. Minutes later, his head pokes out, water dripping over his shoulders as he leans lazily against the doorway.“You know… showers are more efficient with two people,” he says, his grin pure trouble.

You roll your eyes, turning back to your book. “Peter, no.”

He steps closer, letting water drip from his still-damp hair onto your shoulder as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “You sure? I could scrub your back… or hold you against the tiles.”

Your cheeks burn, and you push him away half-heartedly, glaring. “Peter—”

He catches your wrist, pulling you to stand, his eyes locked on yours. “What?” he murmurs, tilting his head, his smirk teasing but his touch firm. “You’d look cute all wet.”

“Stop!” you squeak, swatting his chest, but he’s already laughing, pressing a kiss to your temple before finally retreating back to the bathroom.“I’ll leave the door unlocked, just in case,” he teases before disappearing behind the steam.

DATE

Peter had promised to meet you at the café after your shift. You’d been looking forward to it all day—just a simple hour with him, no superheroes, no chaos. But an emergency call from Ned about some escaped tech left you waiting alone, watching the minutes tick by.

When Peter finally arrived, his hair disheveled and guilt written all over his face, you didn’t even need to ask.“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. “There was this thing—Ned needed help—and I couldn’t just leave it—”

“It’s fine,” you said sharply, though your tone betrayed your disappointment. “I get it. You have other responsibilities.”

His shoulders slumped. “No, it’s not fine,” he muttered. “I messed up. And I know it’s not the first time.”

You sighed, softening as you saw the guilt etched across his face. “Peter…”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, almost pleading. “Just… give me a chance.”

Later that night, he showed up at your window with a bouquet of daisies that looked like they’d survived a tornado and a homemade playlist.“I know it’s not much,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “But these reminded me of you—bright and sweet. And I put all your favorite songs on here, so… I hope it makes up for me being a total idiot.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you took the flowers, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

“Lucky you think I’m cute,” he teased, kissing your temple. “I’ll do better next time. Promise.”

TRIVIA NIGHT

Ned had invited you both to trivia night, but no one warned you how competitive Peter could get. It started innocently enough, with Peter rattling off science and history facts like a human encyclopedia. But when the questions shifted to pop culture, his confidence started to falter.

“You’ve never seen Mean Girls?” you asked, incredulous.“Uh, no?” he replied, looking genuinely confused.MJ rolled her eyes. “Peter, how do you even function as a person?”“I fight bad guys!” he defended, flustered. “I don’t have time for… whatever this is!”

As the final round approached, you noticed the way Peter’s brows furrowed, his shoulders tensing like he was about to swing into battle. Leaning over, you cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet your gaze.“Peter,” you said, your voice teasing but warm, “you’re cute when you’re losing.”

His jaw dropped, and before he could protest, you kissed him in front of everyone.

Ned let out a dramatic gasp. “In public? With witnesses?!”MJ snorted. “That’s disgusting. I’m rooting for you two.”

When you pulled back, Peter’s face was a brilliant shade of red, but the grin he gave you was dazzling.“I don’t even care if I lose now,” he whispered, leaning in for another kiss. “This is so worth it.”

HANDMADE

Peter had been acting strange all week—fidgety, distracted, and overly secretive. You were starting to wonder if something was wrong when he showed up at your door with a small, carefully wrapped box and a sheepish grin.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he practically shoved it into your hands.“Just… open it,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Inside was a sleek black flashlight, surprisingly lightweight, with a small engraved spider emblem on the side. You turned it over in your hands, curious.

“It’s not just a flashlight,” Peter said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh, noticed you sometimes leave the light on at night, and I thought… maybe this would help.”

Your chest tightened. He’d picked up on your fear of the dark without you ever telling him outright.

“It’s also kind of… Spider-Man-approved,” he added, gesturing nervously. “There’s a tracker inside, so I’ll always know where you are. And if you press the button three times really fast, it sends an SOS directly to me.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it all. “Peter…”“I just want you to feel safe,” he said softly, his brown eyes earnest. “Even when I’m not around. You’re my world, and I want you to have something to remind you that I’m always here for you.”

Your throat felt tight as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. “I don’t even know what to say,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“‘Thank you’ works,” he joked, though his voice was thick with emotion.

Pulling back, you met his gaze and smiled. “Thank you, Peter. I love it. And I love you.”

His face lit up, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you close. “I love you too. Always.”

SPILLING

Peter had always admired how hard you worked. While he juggled Spider-Man and school, you balanced late-night shifts, studying at your rundown public school, and still somehow found time to make him feel like the center of your world. But admiration wasn’t the only thing he felt—sometimes, he felt inadequate.

On the other hand, you often wondered how you ended up with someone like Peter Parker. He was a literal superhero, acing advanced physics while you struggled with Algebra II. You worked part-time jobs just to help keep the lights on at home, and there were days when you felt like you’d drown under the weight of it all.

That tension finally bubbled over one evening. Peter swung by your place unannounced, but his usual warmth was absent. He dropped onto your couch with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

“You okay?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He shook his head, staring at his hands. “How do you do it?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“Everything,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “You don’t have superpowers, or Stark tech, or a fancy school helping you out. And you’re still… incredible. You’re better at life than I am, and I’ve got every advantage.”

The words stung—not because of what he said, but because they mirrored your own insecurities.

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, your voice cracking as you braced yourself for what felt inevitable.

Peter hesitated, his jaw working as he tried to find the right words. “You deserve someone who can keep up with you. And I’m not sure I’m enough.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop them, tears began streaming down your cheeks. “Wait, are you saying this is over?”

“What? No!” Peter sat up straight, his hands shooting out to reach for yours. “That’s not what I meant! I’m talking about me, not you! I’m the one who’s not enough!”

“You are enough!” The words burst out of you, but the crack in your voice betrayed how deeply his statement had shaken you. “I’m the one who’s not enough, Peter. Look at you! You’re saving lives while I’m just trying to keep the lights on at home.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, guilt flooding his features. “What? No—no, don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” you whispered, pulling your hands free and wrapping your arms around yourself. “I can barely make it through my shifts without wondering if I’m going to mess something up. And then I see you—perfect Peter Parker, superhero and genius—and I just… I feel so small.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. Then Peter moved closer, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders. “You’re not small,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping your eyes. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Peter insisted, gently tilting your chin up so you’d look at him. “You don’t have powers, but you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You care about people. You care about me. And I…” He trailed off, his voice breaking. “I don’t always feel like I deserve that.”

Your breath caught at the raw vulnerability in his words. “You don’t have to be perfect, Peter. You don’t have to save me, or prove anything. I just want you.”

He stared at you, his eyes glistening. “I want you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I just… I don’t always know how to keep up with someone like you.”

“We’re both trying to keep up,” you said quietly, leaning forward until your foreheads touched. “And that’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

Peter nodded, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you into his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Together.”

The two of you sat like that for a long time, the weight of your shared insecurities fading, replaced by something stronger—a quiet, unshakable love.

SERIOUS

Peter comes home late—bruised, bleeding, and far too casual about it. You snap.“Do you like scaring me to death?”“It’s just a scratch!” he argues, dropping his mask on the couch.“Peter, you’re not invincible. What happens if one day you don’t come back?”

He pauses, guilt flickering across his face. “I can’t stop being Spider-Man.”“And I can’t stop worrying about you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

He looks away, fiddling with his web-shooter. “I don’t want to scare you. I’m sorry.”

MAYBE NOT SO SERIOUS?

Later that night, Peter finds you sitting on the fire escape, staring out at the skyline. He hesitates before sitting beside you.“I hate fighting with you,” he says quietly. “You’re the only person who makes all of this feel worth it.”

You exhale slowly, leaning into him. “Then don’t make me feel like I’m losing you.”His arm wraps around you, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll do everything I can to come home to you. That’s a promise.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and when his lips brush yours, it’s soft and full of unspoken apologies.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! PLEASE SEND KINKMAS REQUESTS AND PROMPTS! <3 Please Request if you’d like me to expand the headcanon into SMUT <3

[the-joy-of-knowledge]

Becoming an Intelligent Woman

My Dears,

There is no greater goal than being a fine woman who is intelligent, kind, and elegant. As much as we all want to be described with these adjectives, it takes a great amount of discipline to get there. It is very doable only if you are ready to put in the work.

Here are steps you can add to your routine in the next 4 weeks that will make you 1% more intelligent than you were before. This is a process that should become a habit not a goal. It is long term, however, I want you to devote just 4 weeks into doing these steps first and recognize the changes that follow.

Watch documentaries: This is the easiest step, we all have access to Youtube. Youtube has a great number of content on art, history, technology, food, science etc that will increase your knowledge and pique your curiosity. I really did not know much about world history especially from the perspective of World war 1 & 2, the roaring 20s, Age of Enlightenment, Jazz era, monarchies etc but with several channels dedicated to breaking down history into easily digestible forms. I have in the last 4 weeks immersed myself into these documentaries. Here are a few I watched:

The fall of monarchies

The Entire History of United Kingdom

The Eight Ages of Greece

World War 1

World War 2

The Roaring '20s

The Cuisine of the Enlightenment

2. Read Classics: I recommend starting with short classics so that you do not get easily discouraged. Try to make reading easy and interesting especially if you struggle with finishing a book. Why classics? You see, if you never went to an exclusive private school in Europe or America with well crafted syllabus that emphasized philosophy, history, art, and literary classics, you might want to know what is felt like and for me this was a strong reason. Asides that, there is so much wisdom and knowledge available in these books. In these books, you gain insights to the authors mind, the historical context of the era, the ingenuity of the author, the hidden messages, and the cultural impact of these books. Most importantly, you develop your personal philosophy from the stories and lessons you have accumulated from the lives of the characters in the books you read. Here are classics to get you started:

Animal Farm by George Orwell

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald

Candide by Voltaire

Paradise lost by John Milton

3. Study the lives of people who inspire you: I dedicate one month to each person that fascinates me. I read their biography (date of birth, background, death, influences, work, style, education, personal life) For this month, I decided to study Frank Lloyd Wright because I was fascinated by the Guggenheim Museum in New York. I began to read about his influence in American Architecture (Organic architecture, Prairie School, Usonian style), his tumultuous personal life, his difficult relationship with his mentor (Louis Sullivan), his most iconic works etc. By the end of the year I would have learned the ins and outs of people I am inspired by through books and documentaries. Here are other people I plan to learn more about:

Winston Churchill

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

Ada Lovelace

Benjamin Franklin

Helen Keller

John Nash

Isabella Stewart Gardner

Caroline Herrera

Ernest Hemingway

Catherine the Great

Ann Lowe

My dears, I hope you enjoyed this read. I cannot wait to write more on my journey to becoming a fine woman. I urge you to do this for four weeks and see what changes you notice. Make sure to write as well, it is important to document your progress.

Cheers to a very prosperous 2024!

[moonstruckme]

Mae!!! I am so happy to see you opening up requests for Thawing Out because I am genuinely OBSESSED and I haven’t stopped thinking about it 💖💖💖 So, what if during practice, Remus (unknowingly, obviously) said something to r, like making a correction or something, and it’s something Peter had said. And Sirius recognizes it too!! And you can decide what happens 🥰 Love you! 💖

Thank you for requesting lovely <33

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, Peter mention

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2k words

You’re an angel on the ice. Gliding and sweeping, your movements so ethereal Sirius half expects to look down and find that your skates are floating above the surface of the ice, or that you’ve etched the next great work of art into the canvas beneath your feet. But he doesn’t, because it’s clear as day that the true art is in the creation, and it’s got its fingers clasped around his. Sirius feels lucky to bear witness. 

You have the look of someone who’s given themselves over to their craft, your expression poised but eyes sparkling as you transition neatly from one move to the next until you’re coasting alongside Sirius. You’re wearing leg warmers today, far from unconventional in your sport but it’s humiliating how adorable he finds it on you. Your nails are short and neat, fingers surprisingly warm in his own, eyelashes fluttering as you tilt your head back. 

You make it look easy. The way you arch your back until you’re nearly parallel to the ice, skating on only the edge of one skate while Sirius draws you in a circle around him. He starts to lower himself, finding the position you’d practiced off ice. Your grip on his hand is strong, your head tilting until the hairs escaping from your bun are whipping just above the ice, until Sirius is sure you can feel its chill on the back of your neck, and he can’t do it. 

He keeps you a few inches above where he knows you’re supposed to be, holds you there with the momentum of his spin, and then hoists you up and into your spin. 

You look at him bemusedly as you land on your other skate, a questioning flicker of eye contact Sirius pretends not to notice. You finish out the rest of your routine perfectly. 

“That was great,” Remus says from the entryway. Sirius has noticed that he’s taken to watching you from there rather than from the bleachers on days when his hip isn’t giving him as much trouble. He wonders if Remus is almost tantalizing himself, standing on the edge of the ice but knowing he can’t go further. “Y/n, you had a lovely arch going into the spiral, but I want to see you stay more on that outside edge during the lutz-loop combination. Just play it safe on that one, alright?” 

“Yeah.” You nod, looking encouraged. “Sorry, I felt myself slip a bit there.” 

“You managed it just fine,” Remus reassures you. He gives you a gentle smile, and Sirius stomach does something fluttery and unsanctioned. “It’s good that you noticed, we only want to keep an eye on it, yeah?” 

You smile in reply. The commotion in Sirius’ stomach worsens. 

“And Sirius,” Remus turns to him, “we still have to get a bit lower on the spiral. Her head should be below her knee.” 

Sirius frowns. “I know.” 

It’s a non-answer and Remus knows it, but he doesn’t snipe back at him. His brows twitch together thoughtfully. “We’ve still got a few days. Do you need more time to practice off ice?” 

“No,” Sirius replies. He wishes the other boy would get angry with him, give him something to shoot back at, something other than kindness and temperance and this lame, irksome understanding. He almost wants to roll his eyes as he adds, “I’ll work on it.” 

Remus seems (frustratingly) appeased with that. “Alright, just be careful on your left pick when you get down there.” His voice takes on a teasing lilt. “We don’t need any more accidents this close to competition, Pads.” 

Sirius waits for the flash of irritation. But your laughter rings out brilliant and lovely, and Remus is smiling at the both of you with something like fondness, and he can’t seem to find it. 

Fucking James. Sirius ought to know better than to automatically trust anyone his best friend likes—you’ve both suffered the consequences from that once already—but it’s difficult to summon his usual disdain for Remus after watching the two of them chinwag and snicker like old friends at practice the other day. It was odd seeing James so familiar with someone else, but Sirius found he couldn’t muster any jealousy. As much as he loathes to think of it, you were right—learning James and Remus were old friends did make him think. In ways that remind Sirius why thinking is one of his least favorite activities. 

He shoots Remus the bird over his shoulder. Unfortunately, in doing so, he fails to notice a blemish in the ice which catches his skate, causing him to pitch forward before righting himself. 

Remus’ lips twitch, but Sirius holds up a hand. “You can keep your quips to yourself.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Then you can keep your looks to yourself.” 

You implement Remus’ alteration to your lutz-loop combination flawlessly. It’s something you’ve always been good at, confident enough to take feedback and skilled enough to make the changes stick. It’s part of why you’re as good as you are, the amalgamation of every scrap of advice you’ve ever received and a fierce determination that's all your own. You jump and spin and twist your way through the routine beautifully. 

Sirius, on the other hand, is not so great with critiques. The death spiral stays exactly the way it is, with your head safely above the ice and neither of you low enough to get full points. And that’s likely how it will stay. 

He can tell you and Remus are both getting more frustrated, more disappointed, every time he fails to take it all the way, but Sirius can’t bring himself to go any further. His heart won’t let him. 

“We’ll do some more off ice tomorrow,” Remus decides for him as you both take off your skates. “We’ve got the time, everything else is looking beautiful. Sirius, maybe work on getting low on your own today, so we’ve less to cover tomorrow.” Sirius nods down towards his skates. He doesn’t feel like looking at either one of you. “And y/n, the only thing I’m still noticing from you is that landing on your triple axle. You’re a bit wobbly. I want you to focus on controlling your descent and really sticking it. It looks nearly perfect, you’re just making me a little nervous—this would be a shit time to have to go into an early retirement, wouldn’t it?” 

It’s said lightly, a hint of a smile at the tail end, but your face twinges like he’s snapped at you. Remus’ brow furrows in mild confusion, and Sirius feels a hard fist clench in his chest. He wouldn’t know what had made you react like that either, if you hadn’t repeated Peter’s words to him yourself. 

He told the other coach that I was one bad jump away from injuring myself into an early retirement.

“I’m not actually worried about that—you’re too skilled for an injury that severe to be very likely, I just,” Remus is watching you carefully, clearly trying to reason out where he went wrong, “thought I should bring it to your attention. Only as a precaution.” 

You nod several times, quicker and harder than necessary. “Yeah.” Your lips press into a smile. “I’ll be careful, thanks.” 

Sirius sets his hand on top of yours, shit at comfort but meaning to try anyway, but your hand slips away as you get up and sling your bag over your shoulder. 

“I have to get home,” you say, squeezing Sirius’ shoulder as if in apology. Your expression is tight. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay,” Remus echoes. He watches you go with a half-remorseful look on his face, like he doesn’t know what he’s done but he feels bad for it anyway. 

Seeing as you haven’t waited for him, Sirius supposes he’ll be walking home on his own today. He sets his skates in his bag, beginning to tug on his shoes. 

Remus broaches the silence almost tentatively. “Did she seem alright to you?” Sirius doesn’t know how to respond to that, but the other boy goes on before he has to. “Did…do you know if I said something to upset her?” 

Sirius shrugs. “Nope.” 

Remus can probably smell the lie—he’s not gone to any great lengths to conceal it—but Sirius doesn’t care. The look of hurt on your face has set a familiar protective ire buzzing beneath his skin, and Remus is the one who caused it. Neither of you owe him any explanation. 

Remus falls quiet again, but he waits while Sirius finishes packing up, walks with him towards the exit. 

“How long have you and James been friends?” he asks. 

“A long time,” Sirius answers shortly. “I moved in with him and his parents when I was sixteen.” 

“Oh.” Remus turns to look at him. Sirius feels his gaze, wide and curious, on the side of his face. “Yeah, a long time, then. It was nice to talk to him again. We used to run into each other so often, but I hadn’t seen him since…well, since I left, I suppose.” 

There’s a melancholy that lays itself down over those last few words, the nostalgia in Remus’ voice smothered underneath. Maybe it’s that quiet tone, maybe it’s the image of James and Remus together, laughing and talking about their futures on the ice during early mornings at the rink, but Sirius feels himself softening. 

“He mentioned something,” Remus says tentatively, “about your last coach. It didn’t sound like things ended well.” 

Sirius pushes out a breath. “They didn’t.” 

“Was he not very good?” 

“No,” he can hear the frustration seeping into his voice. He wishes Peter were worse at his job. That he’d been an idiot, didn’t understand your styles, and none of you had ever managed to get along. It would have made everything so much easier. “He was good.” 

“I’m not trying to pry,” says Remus, “but if what happened with him is going to affect how you two are with me—if it has anything to do with how I upset y/n today—I would appreciate if you told me.” 

So Sirius does. He’s not sparing with the details, and Remus doesn’t begrudge him the anger that grips him as he talks about Peter’s betrayal, where it left the two of you, how it’s still coming back to hurt you even now. It makes him furious, but where he’d expected Remus to take it all in calmly, Sirius is surprised when the other boy’s jaw gets tight as he listens. He has questions: How long had you worked with Peter? Did either of you have to get involved with the case, or did his emails speak for themselves? Does Sirius know how long Peter was playing double-agent? 

By the time they’re on Sirius’ block, Remus has begun alternating between shaking his head and huffy, revolted exhalations. 

“I can’t believe he said that to her.” He shakes his head, guilt digging into the space between his brows. “I can’t believe I said it, either, but I was only trying to make a joke about myself, not…she’s far too skilled to have a fall like that—well, anyone could, but she’s only as likely as anyone else at her level. Which isn’t very many people.” 

“That’s what I told her,” Sirius agrees. “I think she was mostly over it, but…” 

“I reminded her.” Remus sighs. “I’ll have to make it up to her.” 

“She’ll be alright,” he says honestly. “I think it just surprised her.” 

“She’s really good.” 

“I know.” 

“She has to know that.” 

“She…” Sirius hesitates. “Do we ever really know it, about ourselves?” 

“Oh, come off it.” Remus gives Sirius a knowing look. His mouth tugs up on one side. “You clearly know how good you are.” 

Sirius feels a pleased tingle of warmth in his face. He walks backwards up the stairs to his flat, leveling Remus with a cocky grin. “Am I?” 

“Don’t. You maintain your own ego well enough without my help.” 

“Oh, but it never hurts to have disciples.” He fishes out his key, unlocking the door. “You could remind me from time to time, just for fun.” 

When he turns, Remus is watching him from the sidewalk with a gleam of something like amusement in his eye. “Nail the spiral,” he says, “and we’ll see.”

[chdarling]

ok so, I can't, like, set a precedent for every time there is a catastrophic event in my country I post a TLE spoiler because let's be real, that's gonna be every day for the next four years at least and I only have so many non-major-spoilery TLE bits to share. But I'm making my way through an emergency bottle of prosecco and texting my friends about how in the face of the endless onslaught of late stage capitalism, fanfic -- a community built purely around love and joy and not a single drop of money being exchanged -- is in a small way something radical and precious and dare I say holy (did I mention I was drunk) and that should be honored on today of all fucking days, and ALSO we should all spend less time staring at gifs of that evil-ass motherfucker doing nazi salutes and more time crafting joy and creating community with each other so

here is a lil snippet from TLE3

as with all my spoiler snippets, I reserve the right to completely rewrite this before the final draft because honestly this was mostly an exercise in me learning how to craft sentences again mid-burnout, but!!!! here, have a lil moment of joy, maybe. i love you.

Excerpt from The Last Enemy: Marauders’ End

“So, what do you think?”

Sirius turned expectantly to his best mate, who stood beside him as the boys peered through the doorway of Sirius’s second bedroom. The room had been unoccupied at the time of Sirius moving into this flat a few weeks ago. Now…it decidedly was not.

“Er…” said James, who did not quite seem to know how to answer the question.

“Her name is Lola,” Sirius added in a reverent tone.

“She has a name, does she?”

“Of course she has a name, you pig.”

“Right,” said James. “Well, then frankly, I’m a bit hurt you moved out and left me for Lola.”

Sirius knocked his shoulder against James’s. “Come on. I didn’t leave you. We’ve been over this. I’m of age, I was going to have to get my own place eventually.”

“Yeah, okay, sure, but you barely made it a month before you shacked up with your new flatmate, Lola.”

Sirius grinned. “She’s sexy, isn’t she?”

“She’s…very shiny.”

“She’s the goddamn love of my life.”

“Okay, ‘she’ is a motorbike, mate. You’ve gone completely batty.”

Sirius laughed and strode further into the room where indeed the Muggle motorbike had been set up, dominating the space. It was a thing of beauty, all sleek lines and silver glint. The floor around the motorbike was haloed with the detritus of Sirius’s last few delicious days: all sorts of mechanical bits and bobs, empty beer bottles, an ashtray, a crumpled up bag of crisps, a few oily rags, and a confusion of Muggle tools, the names of which Sirius kept mixing up — a socket wrench, he thought that one was called. The spare bed that had once been the primary feature of this room — a springy mattress James had transfigured for the nights he was too pissed to apparate home (“Mum won’t mind, she put the security spells on your flat herself.”) — had been shoved into the corner to make room for this new sacred altar.

James did not seem as impressed with Sirius’s new acquisition as he felt his friend ought to be. “You’re just jealous,” Sirius told him, “that you’ve never known a love so true.”

“Ha. Touché.”

Sirius pulled a rag from his back pocket and began to lovingly polish a spot on the seat of the motorbike.

“You know,” said James, still observing from his post at the doorway, “I’m not sure it’s healthy, you spending so much time by yourself.”

“What time by myself?” laughed Sirius. “You’re here almost every day.”

This was true. Hardly a day had passed so far this summer that James hadn’t found a reason to come by. Not that Sirius minded. Though he’d never admit it, he liked living on his own rather less than he’d expected.

“Yeah, well…” James strode closer to inspect the motorbike. “Someone has to make sure you don’t go completely bonkers, all on your own here. Lola, I ask you. You know, if you start talking to the bike, mate, I’m hauling you off to St. Mungo’s too.”

Sirius leaned down and whispered to the handlebars: “Don’t listen to the mean man, Lola. I’d never leave you.”

James sat down on the spare bed with a mournful creak. “Besides,” he said, “Potter House is too quiet now, with you gone and dad all…entombed. Some days I think if I don’t get out, I’m the one who will go bonkers.”

Sirius turned back to his friend, suddenly somber. “Hey, you know I’m just joking, right? You’re always welcome over here. I love having you here.”

“Yeah,” said James, though the faintest tint of melancholy compromised his credulity. Sirius watched as James plucked an oil-stained rag from the bed, sniffed it, then tossed it aside with a wrinkled nose.

“How are things…?” Sirius ventured. “With your dad?” Fleamont Potter’s health had been in steady decline for years, but last Christmas things had taken a turn for the worse. The diagnosis seemed to be simply that he was old…though Sirius had a hard time wrapping his head around that. “Have things gotten any better?”

“No,” said James shortly. “And they’re not going to. It is what it is.” He glared at the wall for a brief moment, then sighed — a deep, intentional sigh, as though exhaling all his miseries in order to transform himself back to Sirius’s good-natured friend. “So…does she work?”

“The fuck d’you mean, ‘does she work?’”

“Well,” said James, “it hasn’t escaped my notice that the bike is in your spare bedroom, rather than, say, on the street. So either you and Lola have a far kinkier relationship than I care to know about…or she doesn’t work.”

A pause.

“She’s a work in progress, okay?”

“Knew it,” grinned James.

“Hey, have some respect,” said Sirius. “I’m fixing her up myself. It’s far cooler than just buying some shiny toy from a shop. This is my bike. Mine. I’ll make her fly, just you wait.” He stroked the bike handle. “Isn’t that right, Lola?”

“Yep,” sighed James. “Completely bonkers.”

[angelwxnny]

⋆˚ 𝜗 it is the end, the end. 𝜚˚⋆

" I am tired of always trying to convince myself that I have this because I factually do not !! "

" why is the 3D never conforming to my desires ?? I listen to subliminals a lot, it's not even fair. "

" no, I'm not happy. I AM (negative state of being) because I (negative assumption affirmation) since (these circumstances) proved by (3D things) "

girl, you gotta relax.

>> living in the end is the biggest factor to manifestation; manifestation should literally just be explained through bullet points because it is too simple. the reason why you or have to prioritize this is not just so that you can recode your whole thought process and belief system to feel better, but also so that you can recode your behavioral patterns to influence yourself to live better.

>> cuz what if you woke up one day and had your ultimate dream appearance?? and when you rub your eyes open, what if you were just suddenly in your dream bedroom in your dream house that you wouldn't be able to afford unless you had your dream career and bank account?? and if you had that financial freedom, that means you may have your dream closet, self-care products and the makeup you've always been eyeing on. how would you live life??

live in the end.

>> of course, you would hop out of bed, run to the bathroom to hygienically pamper yourself before running to your closet to stylishly pamper yourself some more, then you'd run to your desired vanity mirror and stare at your beauty and affirm "omg I have my dream appearance, I look so beautiful I am so blah blah blah" while using your dream makeup set and using heatless curls for the first time.

>> then you'd run downstairs, walk to your dream school or workplace and awe at the beauty of your dream city in your dream country then get surprised and overjoyed that people are now complimenting on your hair, clothes, overall appearance AND personality. and then surprise, your SP kisses you on the cheek and after that, a big and hyper group of girls laugh contagiously and then suddenly call you their best friend. oh my gosh !! you have your dream friend group !!

>> just observe what it would be like to experience that. you would notice that you feel utmost grateful and happy for everything, even the simplest things in life because YOU get to have it. nobody cares about that random tree in the middle of the grass field located somewhere in belgium, but YOU do because YOU manifested being in your dream country. if an unfortunate child who would worry where she'll sleep every night and the food she won't have for the next morning shifted in your ordinary life, she'd feel euphoria. right?

>> other than powerful freaking gratitude, you won't worry about everything. you won't complain about anything. literally, one person could say something bad about you then your whole day is ruined. If you had a 10,000 dollars and a person stole 5 bucks from you, will you throw away your remaining 9,995 ? no. who cares if you tripped over a banana peel in front of 20 people passing by; you are in france for goodness sake.

>> now, 3D is showing you in your current house in your current environment. but so what?? wake up and run to the daylight before going on tiktok. read a book instead of going chronically online first thing in the morning. you don't have your dream closet, so what? craft your own, and convincingly ask your dad for a trip to the mall because in 4D, you are used to being the youngest daughter of a rich father and an easy-going mother. also, socialize. idiot.

>> it's not delulu. I have constant daily compliment bombs because I positioned myself to my manifestations. I aligned with my self-concept and amplified the feeling of enjoyment in socializing people, because I am genuinely an extrovert and a big big big empath. so, I'm out here with multiple friend groups that boost my confidence only and treat me righttt.