#they’re just so gosh darn cute

[jollyfang]

Since I’ve been going through an art block and hate just about everything I’ve tried to draw lately, I figured I might as well post what I’ve got that I actually do like.

I said after I posted Ash that might post my drawings of Ash and Babe together, so here I am delivering on that promise.

I didn’t like just having a blank background so I just messed around with a watercolor brush until I ended up with something I liked. Nothing fancy but it’s something. 🤷

[starsanddragonflies]

WHAT

[littlebirdy0301]

Ayyyy a few weeks ago I matched & chatted with an old childhood friend on bumble & they said we should hang out when I was free, but my schedule was quite busy- so a few days ago I was like “hey I have way more free time coming up if you still wanted to!” & they didn’t respond so I figured That Was All to that story. But!!! They messaged back today inviting me on a beach day hang!!!

[stylesloveclub]

Prose (part 1)

In which y/n's taking way too many units, and Harry's the graduate assistant for her Literature class.

+++

 It’s a gloomy autumn day, the sun nowhere to be found, the sky cloudy and gray. Y/n stands in front of Dr. Richmond’s door, nervously pulling back her hair and righting the state of her sweater.

The wind outside was not forgiving today, blowing harsh and cold and whipping her hair all over like she was caught in the middle of a god damn tornado. She tucks any stray pieces behind her ears and pats her wind-stung cheeks – oh gosh, she probably looks a mess.

She should’ve worn something more professional, she thinks to herself as she tugs her skirt down. Maybe trousers and a blazer– or at least a pair of jeans. Not this stupid little black skirt that keeps riding up, halfway hidden underneath her cream-colored knitted sweater. It keeps riding up, no matter how firmly she keeps tugging it down, and she’s got a horrible inkling that she might’ve accidentally flashed her bum at the workers in the street while she was walking to campus today. 

She looks down at her shoes, a pair of black mary janes, paired with some lacy white socks to decorate her ankles. They looked super cute when she put them on this morning – but now she’s worried that she looks like a kindergartener. Is she too old to be wearing frilly socks? They’re just so darn cute… but she doubts the sixty-something year old professor that’s on the other side of the door would think the same thing. 

Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt, she takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. She lifts her hand up to the door, and nervously brings her knuckles down to knock. 

It took all of her confidence to come to Dr. Richmond’s office today. She’s not a huge fan of talking to professors outside of class – drafting emails to them literally sends her into a spiral of stress, and she always feels like she’s gonna shit her pants when she goes to office hours– but she has no choice but to come and directly talk to Dr. Richmond today. She’d sent him two emails already (both of them had taken her over two hours to send because she actually despises writing emails and is always nervous that she’s gonna make a typo, or call the professor the wrong name, or accidentally attach her sex tape ((even though she doesn’t have a sex tape?)), but he hadn’t responded to either of those emails and she needs a response from him ASAP.

The door opens before her knuckles even make contact with wood, a short stout man walking out of the office with his briefcase in hand. He’s balding, with only a thin circle of gray hair lining the back perimeter of his head, and a pair of classes sit on his large, oily nose. Y/n stumbles, her eyes widening as she embarrassingly lowers her knuckles from the door and takes a startled step backwards. 

“Oh– um, Dr. Richmond?” she stammers nervously, her voice at a much higher pitch than usual. She’d love to stick a pore strip on his nose and unclog all those blackheads.

“That’s me,” he grumbles, sighing heavily, not even looking at her. He’s the head of the English Language and Literature department, a busy man surely. Students probably pester him every hour of every day. Still, she wishes that maybe she could’ve gotten a more… enthusiastic response from him. 

“Hi, sir,” she says, swallowing thickly. “I-I was having some issues with enrolling in your English 270 lecture and– um,” she’s starting to lose confidence as Dr. Richmond blatantly ignores her, rummaging through his briefcase for his keys. “I was… wondering if you had a second to, um, discuss it?” Her voice quietly fades towards the end, not sure if Dr. Richmond was even listening at that point– as he’d taken out his phone and started replying to a text while she had still been talking. 

He takes a solid five seconds to type out and send his text before responding to y/n. “Take it up with Harry,” he mumbles, still not looking at her. “M’done for the day.”

“Harry?” she repeats, her voice confused and eyebrows pinching together. But Dr. Richmond’s already walking away from her, halfway down the hall. “Oh,” she mumbles to herself sadly, lips pouting. All that, for nothing. He literally just walked away from her. 

She sighs heavily, ready to turn on her heel and walk back to her apartment from this failed mission – but then a voice sounds from inside the office. "In here!" it calls out.

She peaks her head inside timidly. 

Behind the desk sits a boy, with chocolate brown curls swirled atop his head. “Hello,” he hums, putting the essay he’d been reading down on the desk and looking at her with all his attention. There’s a soft smile on his pretty pink lips, twisted to the side with a dimple poking at his cheek. His eyes are green and glimmer kindly, framed by a pair of dark tortoise shell glasses.  “How can I help you?”

This man is much more attractive than grumpy old (and oily) Dr. Richmond. 

Y/n struggles to find her voice. “Are you… um, are you Harry?” Her eyes flicker all over this attractive young man’s face, trying to figure out if this is a hallucination or if a boy that pretty actually exists in real life. 

“Indeed I am,” he chirps, his chair squeaking as he leans forward. She briefly remembers seeing the name “Harry E. Styles” listed as the graduate teaching assistant, underneath Dr. Richmond’s name on the course website, and is finally connecting the dots. He’s dressed in a white button up, the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms and an anchor on his wrist. His fingers tap against the desk rhythmically, and she finds her eyes drawn to the glittery rings decorating them. Her mind goes blank. 

It’s clear that he’s a few years older than herself – but not in a bad way. He just looks taller and broader and… smarter than most of the boys her own age. He has just the slightest bit of stubble on his upper lip, and his eyes just shine with wisdom and intellect.

“Did you have a question?” he asks, voice a little teasing as he jolts her out of her little trance. She tucks her hair behind her ear, embarrassed, and quickly averts her eyes from his hands.

“Yeah, um– Dr. Richmond said you’d be able to help me with my enrollment issues?” 

“Sure,” he crosses one leg over the other (y/n definitely notices the way his meaty thighs bulge) and leans back in his seat, hands folded neatly on his knee, “What’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to enroll in English 270, the Romantic Literature and Society lecture–” Harry nods attentively, “ –but the class is restricted to students in the Department of English Literature… which I’m not.” His eyebrows furrow hesitatingly, and she’s quick to defend herself. “I’ve taken all the prerequisites, though! I did well in all of them, and I emailed the department coordinator and they said that it’s fine for me to enroll in this class. It would just be a manual enrollment instead of the standard enrollment but they’ve done it for me for all the other literature classes I’ve taken that were also major restricted. All I need is a permission code and the professor's approval!” She pauses, taking a breath after her big ramble. “Or your approval, I suppose,” she adds as an afterthought. 

He’s silent for a bit, sitting there with furrowed brows and pursed lips, just staring at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, squirming under his intense gaze.

Finally he asks, “What do you study then? If not literature?”

“Um– I’m a psych major.”

“And… why would a psychology major need to take an upper division literature class?” he presses. Not trying to be rude, but just to understand. 

“Oh. I just… really enjoy books,” she says shyly. “It’s not for any credit toward my major. But I promise that I’ll stay on top of the work and participate and all that!”

He leans his forearms on the desk. His eyes are thoughtful, and he takes his time before speaking. “Your name was…?” he trails off.

“Y/n,” she fills in quickly. He nods.

“Miss y/n,” he sits up straighter, and looks her in the eye, “How many other units are you taking this semester?”

“Um…” she counts them off in her head.  “16?”

“So with this class you’d be at 20?” he confirms. 

She nods, nervously chewing on the inside of her cheek. That is a lot of units. The last time she took 20 units she had a mental breakdown so intense that she spent an entire night just crying to her roommate (Iris), incapable of doing any work or studying because she was just so stressed out and overwhelmed. She had to skip classes just to catch up on the work that she’d fallen behind on for her other classes, and found her weekends swamped with essays and studying and missed assignments. She only just barely survived, and as soon as finals week was over, she literally collapsed with exhaustion, her body and brain so burnt out that she was sick for weeks. She’d promised herself that she’d never do it again… and yet here she is not even two semesters later.

She can already imagine how stressful this semester is going to be. 

“You understand, miss y/n, that this is not an easy class?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and somehow it’s attractive. “We have weekly readings and essays and discussions, and the final paper is not a matter to be taken lightly. You truly believe you can manage that on top of all your other classes?” 

She gulps nervously, but timidly nods. He can tell that he’s laid it all on a bit harshly. 

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says softly. “I’m just trying to be… realistic. You seem to be a highly motivated student – and I admire that you’re pursuing topics that truly interest you – but I’d hate to see you burn yourself out.” 

“I think I can handle it,” she says, quiet but confident. “It’s something I enjoy so it’s more like a hobby than a class. And I think it’ll be fun? I saw on the syllabus that we’d be analyzing Frankenstein, which is one of my favorites…” 

His lips twist in a soft, endeared smile. He also loves Frankenstein. 

“Very well then,” he murmurs, his eyes glimmering thoughtfully. “What was it you needed to get enrolled? A permission code? I think if you just give me your student ID number I can get that sorted out…”

+++

The weather today is better. 

It’s still cloudy and gray outside, but the wind is much more forgiving, just a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. Orange and red leaves fall to the ground, crunching underneath y/n’s feet as she walks to class. They match the red sweater that she’s wearing today, soft and knitted with hidden tones of orange and brown woven between the threads. The colors of autumn, her favorite season. 

A pair of wired headphones trail from her back pocket to her ears. She’s listening to her fall playlist, Lana Del Rey’s Season of the Witch setting the tempo of her walk to campus. In one hand she carries her book – The Secret History by Donna Tart – and in the other she carries her iced chai latte. Her fingers are freezing as she holds her iced drink, and a shiver crawls down her spine every time she takes a sip – but she doesn’t regret her drink order at all. She’ll have an iced chai in her hand no matter the weather. 

Wanting to make a good impression on the first day of classes, she got up extra early today to get a head start. She washed her face so that she’d look extra bright and awake, ate a proper breakfast at her dining table instead of her usual banana-on-the-walk-to-class, and put on an outfit that she thought gave… studious. Her autumn sweater, dark blue denim jeans, and white sneakers. She even chose her book to match the academic vibe she was going for today (she was between The Secret History and Happy Place, and Happy Place just felt too summery for such a gloomy day… plus The Secret History has been on her TBR for way too long.).

She arrives at the lecture hall approximately… 20 minutes too early. But it was on purpose! She’s only taken a few classes in the literature building (most of her classes are in the social science buildings) and wanted to have enough time to find the room before class started. How horrible would it be for her to be late on the first day, when she’s desperate to make such a good impression on Harry? And Dr. Richmond, of course– but mostly Harry. 

He was nice. And she wants him to like her. Ballad of a girl who craves academic validation.

The door to the lecture hall is locked, so y/n takes a seat on the floor right next to the door, and cracks her book open. She’s only 15 pages in, but she’s already enthralled. She can’t count how many times this novel has been recommended to her – always in those “best books to read in fall<3” tik toks, or the list of classics recommended by the New York Times – and she gets it. She zones in, her eyes flickering from one page to the next as her headphones softly play Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac. She’s not one to usually listen to music while she reads (she usually finds it to be too distracting), but she’s so engrossed in this world and these characters that she barely remembers that she’s still listening to music. The people walking past her in the hallway fade away, the fluorescent lights transform into the dark library her book characters are currently huddled in, and no sound passes through her wired headphones – not even the heeled boots clicking against the tile floors, getting closer and closer to her. 

She only realizes that she’s not alone when those brown boots stop right in front of her, shining brightly in contrast to her worn out sneakers. She looks up suddenly, yanking her headphones out of her ears. Harry towers over her, key in hand, which he sticks into the lock. A soft smirk twists at his lips, and his green eyes flicker to where she’s looking up at him from the floor. 

“Miss y/n,” he says with a pleasant nod, a hint of amusement in his voice, “You’re here early.”

She folds the corner of the page she’s on and stands up, gently shutting her book. “I didn’t want to be late,” she responds, fussing with her stubborn headphones, which refuse to tuck into her back pocket. “I don’t have many classes in this building… didn’t want to get lost or anything on the first day.” 

He opens the door and lets y/n in first, following in closely behind her. “Punctuality is good.” He props the door open. 

She looks around the lecture hall. It’s not nearly as big as the classrooms she usually sits in for her psychology classes – those classes are huge, usually filled with a bunch of freshmen from all sorts of majors trying to fulfill their lower division GE requirements and whatnot. Those lecture halls could fit up to 400 people. This one probably wouldn’t fit more than 60. 

Not a problem though, considering that this class only had about 40 students enrolled (she checked last night). 

She wonders where she should sit. Too far in the back and she’d make the wrong first impression… but too close to the front and she might be the annoying kid that asks too many questions. Third row is her best bet. 

There’s still about 15 minutes before the class is scheduled to start, and she’s still the only one in the lecture hall apart from Harry. She feels a bit awkward, being the person in the sea of seats, but Harry pays no mind to her, shuffling through papers and logging onto the computer at the front podium. Though her book sits opened on her lap, she can’t help but stare at him.

He’s wearing brown trousers, well fitted around his legs and cutting off perfectly at his ankles as if they were custom tailored for him. Cream colored socks adorn his ankles and those shiny, brown leather boots click against the floor with his every step. Very professional, but also casual with the way his white button up is rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the top. He’s missing those cute glasses today, though. 

She watches as he struggles to turn the projector on, his eyebrows furrowed as he presses all the buttons on the panel. The lights in the classroom turn on and off again, and the computer audio mutes and unmutes before he finally figures out how to get the screen to roll down and the projector to flicker on. Despite him being only a few years older, he looks like an old man toggling with the buttons and trying to get technology to work in his favor. She bites back a smile, and quickly looks down to her book when Harry’s eyes briefly flicker to hers. From her peripheral vision, she can see him laughing as well and shaking his head at himself. 

She traces her fingers over the pages of the book, clearly well loved and worn out. She got it from the library just last week, after having been on the waitlist for the book for the past month. She can see why it’s so popular though, already so engrossed by the plot. The pages are old and yellow, the edges folded and ripped with years of use, and it has that old book smell that she just adores. How old is this book? It was published in the 90’s, wasn’t it?

Harry’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Reading something good?” 

She looks up at him with wide eyes. He’s managed to successfully display the course syllabus on the projector screen, and is now walking around the desk with a stack of papers in his hand. He stands in front of the very first row, leaning his weight onto one leg with a hand in his pocket. 

“Oh, um–” she falters, “I actually just started it. I’ve heard it’s supposed to be really good.” She sits up straighter in her seat, “Have you heard of it? The Secret History?”

Harry purses his lips, “Sounds familiar… haven’t read it though. You’ll have to tell me if it’s worth reading, alright?”

She nods, smiling shyly. Call her delusional but… it feels like a bit of an honor for him to trust her with a book recommendation. That takes a lot of trust, doesn’t it? To trust that someone will recommend a good book to you? 

She’s totally making a big deal out of nothing. She does that sometimes. 

“How about you?” she asks, her voice embarrassingly quiet. She’s shy, and nervous, and she’s not that good at small talk, and Harry is looking at her with these intense, green eyes that make her feel like she’s saying the most important thing in the world. She clears her throat, forcing her voice to not come out scared and shaky, “Read anything good lately?”

He grins, and she can tell this is probably his favorite thing to talk about.  “M’reading, like, five books at once,” he admits sheepishly. “Kafka on the Shore, if you’ve heard of it… Notes from Underground, by Dostoevsky for one of m’own classes…” he purses his lips in thought, “Started re-reading Paradise Lost as well. We’re analyzing it in one of the other classes im TA-ing, n’ it’s one of my favorites to teach,” he says with a shrug. His eyes are so thoughtful as he lists off the books that he’s reading, flickering green and gold. He’s just… beautiful.

“I haven’t read any of them,” y/n says regretfully, wishing that she could impress him with some sort of intellectual talk about one of these books. “I’ve had Kafka on the Shore on my list for a while, though.” 

He smiles. “S’a good one.” There’s a dimple in his left cheek that pinches cutely, the glimmer in his eyes a sight to behold. His pretty pink lips purse thoughtfully, his heart shaped cupid's bow twitching as though he has more to say – but then another student walks in. 

Harry’s head whips around. His jawline is sharp, and he nods politely at the new student. “Good morning,” he murmurs to the girl – that same welcoming voice that had made y/n’s heart flutter that first day that she met him. 

He turns back to y/n, and hands her a paper from the stack in his hands. “The syllabus,” he says, his eyes kind and warm.

She swallows thickly as he walks away from her, enamored already. 

+++

“Classes will be Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Dr. Richmond lectures from the front of the class. His voice is croaky and old, so he has a tiny microphone clipped to his shirt pocket to project his voice to the back of the class – despite the small size of the lecture hall. “Thursdays I’ll lead the class,” he drones on, “We’ll analyze the romantic era… how their literature was a reflection of their politics… how they set the foundation of modern day consumerism, capitalism, patriarchy, globalism, imperialism…” he waves his hand passively. “The works.”

 He takes a long sip of water, and his swallow echoes through the class, amplified by his shirt microphone. Y/n cringes at the wet mouth sounds as he smacks his lips together. 

“On Tuesday’s–” his voice booms through the microphone again, “you will come to a class discussion led by Harry. This means that you’ll have the entire weekend to do the readings…” 

Nearly all the eyes in the room flicker to Harry, who’s been standing quietly in the corner with his hands folded behind his back while Dr. Richmond continues to lecture. He gives a small, almost bashful wave to the class at the mention of his name, his eyes scanning the room of unfamiliar faces. Their eyes meet, and his lips twist into a smile. This is the third time she’s caught his eye during the lecture.

He stares at her for a second, eyes glinting as if the two of them have a secret that they’re not sharing with the rest of the class. It makes her heart race in her chest, smiling back at him secretly.

She breaks their eye contact when Dr. Richmond croaks out with the last of his voice, “Any questions?” 

He’s met with silence.

“No? Okay good, class dismissed. See you all on Thursday.” 

The class bustles with life, backpacks zipping and pull out desks squeaking as everyone slowly trickles out of the room. A line forms in front of Dr. Richmond’s podium, with students eagerly introducing themselves and asking questions about the syllabus, only to be redirected to the back of the new line forming in front of Harry’s corner. Harry smiles kindly at every question and speaks with eloquence, strikingly different to Dr. Richmond’s grumbling and groaning. 

It’s glaringly obvious that Harry is going to be a class favorite. 

In the middle of answering a redheaded boy’s question, his gaze wanders over to y/n, watching her as she packs up her things, eyes following her to the door. She tucks her book under her arm and plugs her headphones into her ear, throwing her bag over her shoulder. 

Her drink is finished, just a cup full of melting ice at this point, so she stops at the trash can right at the front of the door. As she throws it away, she manages one final glance back at Harry. He’s already looking at her. He grins when their eyes meet, and gives a small wave goodbye. 

She bites back a smile, then hurries out of the classroom before he gets the chance to see her giddy eyes and heating cheeks. 

+++

Y/n honestly doesn’t love going to office hours. 

It’s hard, because on one hand, she knows that she should go to them and form a relationship with her professors so that they can write her letters of rec in the future… but on the other, they’re so crowded and awkward! Every other student is there for the same reason as her, going into office hours to ask their silly questions and try to butter up the professor. There are usually at least a dozen college students in there, waiting for their one second interaction with the professor before they all get kicked out at the end of the hour. It’s annoying and a waste of her time. Plus, she doubts Dr. Richmond is all that into getting buttered up 

That’s why she chooses to go to TA office hours instead. Usually much more quiet and much more intimate. Not that many people like to go to TA office hours for some reason, which means she usually gets to have one-on-one help. And sometimes (if the TA is really cool) they’ll basically give her the answers to the homework – a good thing, right?

Well… not when the TA is this ridiculously attractive and charming boy with curly brown hair and pretty green eyes that she can’t help but have a teensy little crush on.

 Like… can you blame her? He’s smart and handsome, and so incredibly kind and sweet. His eyes glimmer when he talks about his favorite books and his lips are always curled into a smile that makes her heart bubble. Always so polite and respectful, doing gentlemanly things while his boyish dimples pinch his cheeks. His voice is slow and sultry like smooth honey – and you can just tell that his mind is a beautiful place just from the way he talks. 

He’s just… endearing. Straight out of some romance book– and y/n loves romance!!! She can’t help but have a little bit of a heart flutter when she sees him standing in the corner of the lecture hall, especially when their eyes meet and he smiles at her cutely. 

He’s just being nice – she knows that, and she is well aware that she’s very delusional and that nothing is going to happen… but still, the prospect of going to his office hours and potentially having a one-on-one conversation with him makes her giddy and nervous at the same time. 

She pulls herself together and shakes away all the silly thoughts clouding her brain. Hoisting her bag up her shoulder, she enters the small office, the gold plaque reading Styles, H. shining proudly as she walks through the door. 

Harry doesn’t hear her walk in, his brows furrowed behind his tortoise shell glasses. A red pen is in his hand, brutally attacking a freshman essay. He looks up, a tad bit startled, when she knocks on the door timidly. 

The furrow in his brow immediately softens and turns into that familiar, kind smile. “Miss y/n,” his eyes shine like the nighttime sky filled with stars, “My first student of the day.” 

“Oh,” she checks the time. “I thought office hours started like, thirty minutes ago. Was I wrong? Am I early?” She intentionally wanted to show up a little late, not wanting to seem too eager. 

“No, no – you were right,” he hums, putting his pen down. “Not many students tend to show up to our office hours, is all. Especially not during the first week.”

She bites on the inside of her lip and wonders if she should be embarrassed for being the only one to show up, but Harry is quick to continue,“I wish more people did come, though. Like– if nobody shows up, all I do is sit here and grade for an hour.” His lips purse out cutely, a thoughtful pout, “And I hate grading.” 

“Oh– I’ll probably be here a lot,” y/n says mindlessly. “I always have questions. And Dr. Richmond kinda scares me.”

Harry sputters out a laugh, and y/n’s cheeks heat up. Maybe that was inappropriate to say. But then Harry leans in and whispers, “He scares me too, sometimes.”

It’s these charming little moments that make him so endearing. She tries not to get too distracted by his dimples and how his fingers tap delicately against his thigh, hugged deliciously by another pair of well fitting trousers. 

“Um– if it’s not a bother, I was wondering if I could ask about the first assignment? I was kind of confused about what's expected from us for the free-write thing…”

“M’all yours,” Harry murmurs, gesturing to the seat across from his desk.

+++

Y/n’s fatal flaw is thinking that she can beat a rainstorm.

She actively knew there was an 80% chance of rain today. She saw the rainy streets. She heard the weather forecast. But did she bring an umbrella with herself to campus? 

No.

Somehow she rationalized in her brain that she didn’t need it. It was barely sprinkling when she walked out of her apartment, and the walk to class was only like 15 minutes! She’d make it to campus and then she’d be indoors all day and by the time she needed to go home the rain would probably have died down, and everything would be fine.

Oh how wrong she was. Silly girl. 

The rain is pounding down on her right now. Big fat raindrops soaking through her hoodie and turning her light wash denim jeans into a completely new color. She has many regrets. What had started off as a cute little walk in the rain has turned into her running through a fucking monsoon or something. The slight, gentle drizzle had escalated to pouring rain in a matter of seconds. She had left her apartment with her earbuds playing Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer, romanticizing her little stroll in the rain – but now her wire headphones are barely hanging on as half-speedwalks/ half-runs down the sidewalk with her head down. 

When she gets stuck at a crosswalk on a busy street, she glances frantically to her left and right, trying to find a tree or a building to take shelter under. But the sky is wide and open, no roof or canopy for her to hide under. She stands helplessly, the rain pouring down on her. The only thing she can do is pull her hood up and grip it tightly so that the rain doesn’t get in her face. 

The rain pierces through her clothes, and the wind feels extra cold against her wet jeans. Thank god she at least wore rainboots today, she thinks to herself as she stares down at the ground. This would suck even more if her socks were getting wet. She had thought far ahead enough to anticipate the possibility of puddles – and yet still didn’t imagine the need for an umbrella. The hems of her pants are soaked and feel horrible against her ankles, and she knows for a fact that she’s gonna have to let her hoodie air dry or something during Dr. Richmond’s lecture. Ugh. She hopes the lecture hall is warmer than it is out here.

She readjusts her headphones, pushing the earbuds further into her ear after they nearly fell out whilst she was running here. She likes this song, and it’s kind of romantic to be listening to it in the rain (it would be even more romantic if she wasn’t SOAKED TO THE CORE). If there’s anything y/n will do, it’s romanticize the shit out of any situation. 

Cars are driving past quickly, but she can’t hear them, her music loud enough to drown out their annoying engines. She stares at a nearby puddle, looking at how it ripples as each drop of rain splatters into it. She wonders if mother nature has a personal vendetta against her – if Earth had personally planned to make it rain super hard the minute that she stepped out of her apartment. Why does she always do this? This isn’t the first time she’s caught herself soaked because she was too lazy to bring an umbrella with herself – and it probably isn’t the last time either. She crosses her arms across her chest and hides her hands in her sleeves, hugging herself tightly as a feeble defense against the biting rain. Why won’t the stupid crosswalk turn on? Her slightly damp hair falls into her eyes as she looks back down at her boots, letting out an annoyed huff. 

The shadow of a new person tickles her peripheral vision. They brought an umbrella. She scolds herself once more. 

 It takes her a second to realize that, although she can still see the rain drizzling around her, splattering against the ground and splashing onto her boots… she actually doesn’t feel the gentle patter of raindrops against the top of her head anymore. She looks up. 

Somehow, she is now under the umbrella. And the person holding said umbrella… is Harry. 

He looks gorgeous as usual, dressed in a dark blue trench coat, black trousers, and some sleek black boots with gold buckles on them. Standing to her left, he holds his umbrella up between them in a way that shields both of them from the rain. He stares forward innocently, pretending like everything is normal – like he hadn't just snuck up next to her and shared his umbrella with her. She can see a slight smile tugging on his lips though, and when she stares at him long enough, he peeks over at her with a glint shimmering in his pupils. His pretty pink lips curl into that sideways smile, and he says nothing. 

Y/n can’t help but give a dumbstruck little laugh. Of course it would be Harry. 

He winks at her, ever so charming and mischievous, then turns back to face the road. The crosswalk switches from Stop to Go, and Harry takes a step forward. Y/n follows in his stride.

They say nothing, and walk to their lecture shoulder to shoulder.

+++

“So,” Harry says with a clap, his voice loud and strong, “I hope you all got the chance to do the first chapter of our reading.” Unlike Dr. Richmond, Harry doesn’t need a microphone to project his voice to the back of the class. All eyes are staring at him, ears listening intently. And all the girls are staring at his pretty pink lips, and how they curl over each word (y/n included). 

“I know life gets in the way, so if y’ever don’t get the chance to finish the assigned reading… tha’s okay,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “M’not gonna be mad. I just ask that you don’t let it turn into a habit, and y’don’t pretend like you read it. M’gonna know if you’re bullshitting me… so just don’t even try.” The entire class laughs, and Harry’s dimple pokes his cheek. 

“So– be honest– how many of you guys read the first chapter?” 

All the students raise their hands, and Harry nods approvingly, “Nice… very nice.” He’s a natural at the front of the classroom, entertaining and intellectual at the same time – confident and eloquent. His words are thoughtful and slow, but not one student seems to be bored by his slow drawl. No – instead everyone hangs onto his every word, dripping soft and thick like golden honey. He answers questions easily and plays off of student responses like a pro, and everyone seems keen on impressing him with fancy literature talk.

“You might have seen on our course page that I posted a series of discussion questions… I’ll try to have these up at least a week in advance so that you can have them in the back of your mind whilst you’re reading. I always find it to be particularly stimulating to be reading a novel with a question in mind… dunno, makes me feel sharper while I read. Does anyone else feel that way?” He talks to the class as if they’re all friends, mildly flirtatious in the natural, charming way that he is. 

The group of undergraduates nod back at him, enthralled by his smile and his wit and just everything about him. God, his smile is just so charming. “Okay... how about we get started with the first one? Wait– actually, before that… I’m just wondering, have any of you already read Frankenstein before?”

Two students out of the forty raise their hands – a boy wearing a Bob Dylan t-shirt, and y/n. 

Harry’s eyes meet y/n’s for the first time since they entered the classroom together. They’d walked across campus together in comfortable silence, past the campus Starbucks and the Social Science buildings, and when they got to the Literature department building Harry had held the door open for her, while shaking off the rain droplets from his umbrella. They walked through the halls side by side as well, Harry’s shiny boots clicking in time with the squeak of y/n’s wet sneakers against the tile floors. All he had said to her during the entirety of their walk was “After you,” when he’d opened the door for her. 

Now he looks at her for the first time in what feels like ages, and gives her an approving nod. He already knew that, from that very first day when she’d come to his office, asking for permission codes and what not. She feels her heart fluttering excitedly, just from that single nod. 

“Interesting… so it’s a first read for most of you. Brilliant! We’ll have a good time reading it together, I promise,” he says, his green eyes gleaming. “I love this book – it’s sometimes called the first science fiction book, written at a time where technology was first being introduced, and it’s regarded as one of the most famous novels of the Romantic era. Mary Shelly, the author, was a prominent Romantic era writer who shared the common Romantic appreciation for the natural world and how art can evoke emotions, which we can clearly see in her novel. We’ll take a few different approaches while analyzing it. Most prominently through a Romantic lens – but we’ll also do a feminist reading and religious reading, as well as a biographical approach… which brings us to the first discussion question – ‘Frankenstein is ultimately a novel about creation– a new and terrifying exploration of bringing life into the world. Based on what you read in the introduction, how can we see Mary Shelly’s personal experiences with life, birth, and death in the themes explored in Frankenstein?’” He looks up from the sheet of paper that he just read the question aloud from with bright eyes, “Anyone want to start us off?” 

The class is silent, the crowd of students suddenly much quieter compared to when they’d been going back and forth with playful banter to Harry’s jokes. Everyone’s a little too nervous to be the first one to say anything, and nobody wants to say the wrong thing. Harry holds his breath, and searches for a hand to save them from this awkward bit of silence. This kind of shyness is normal for the first day of classes – in fact, he’d expected it – but it still doesn’t mean it’s any less awkward. His eyes flicker from one side of the class to the other, from the front row to the back.

He almost misses y/n’s hand, timidly raising from her set spot in the third row. Harry’s eyes light up. “Miss y/n,” he murmurs, “go ahead.”

“Well, in the introduction we learn that Mary Shelly had a few failed pregnancies before writing her novel, and that her own mother had passed during childbirth complications. Shelly goes on to depict the cycle of life as destructive… Frankenstein’s monster is this disfigured creature that the creator is running from, which we see right at the beginning. The introduction implies that this “horrifying” birth and the death of the creator at the hands of what it created, might be symbolic of her own experiences.” 

“Excellent. That’s exactly right,” his smiles meet his eyes, and they twinkle, impressed. “The reason we have this as the first discussion question,” Harry turns back to the rest of the class, “is because I want you guys to keep it in mind while reading. Look for the ways Shelly describes birth –  take note of the strained relationship she creates between the creator and his creation. Also, recall how Shelly herself proclaimed this book to be her “hideous progeny” – to use such intense language whilst also calling it her “progeny” holds a lot of implications of what Shelly’s view on Creation is – whether is biologically or creatively. This is something that we’ll discuss further in depth when we get farther into the novel, so I want you all to start thinking about it now.”

All the students in the room nod intently, writing down what Harry said word for word.

“Furthermore, has anyone noticed that we’ve already seen a lot of references to fire? Pretty obvious symbolism, right?” The class nods. “Does anyone know why she chose fire, specifically?”

It’s silent again. Y/n looks around herself to see if anyone else might have the answer, but everyone stares up at Harry blankly.

“Don’t be shy on me now, guys. Promise m’not mean,” Harry smiles, “Just wanna get the discussion flowing.”

Y/n shyly raises her hand again. “It’s a reference to Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods – she even alternatively calls her story The Modern Prometheus.” 

 His eyes glimmer, a shine behind his irises that doesn’t show up when he looks at his other students – just y/n. As hard as he tries not to pick favorites… he can’t help but harbor a little bit of favoritism towards her. “Very good, Miss y/n,” he praises with a soft smile.

Y/n’s cheeks turn hot and she ducks her head down, unable to stop the reciprocating smile from spreading on her face. 

+++

“Miss y/n,” Harry calls out to her as the students file out of the classroom. “A word, please.” 

Y/n hoists her bag over her shoulder and makes her way to the podium where he stands. He’s packing up his own things, his own beat up copy of Frankenstein being placed delicately in his bag, along with a stack of other papers and things that he has to grade. A few other students have approached him, asking questions that they were too shy to ask during class, but with a sly smile he tells them to ask their questions at his office hours (Thursdays at 5 – but y/n already knew that!). Her fingers twist nervously behind her back as she stands awkwardly by his side as the rest of the students ask their questions and trickle out. 

He waits until all the students have left, and it’s just him and y/n standing by the podium, before he says anything to her.

“You were making some excellent points today in class,” he looks up at her briefly with a smirk, “I appreciate your participation. Class is always more difficult to lead when students don’t participate.” 

“Oh,” she blinks. She’s never been thanked for participating in class. “Erm– yeah. I-I’m happy to participate.” She readjusts her bag, tugging it higher up her shoulders, “S’just kinda like a big book club if y’really think about it.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” he agrees with a quirk of his lips. He zips up his bag, and pulls it over his own shoulder, “How are you planning on getting home?”

A strange follow up question, she thinks to herself. But she responds, nonetheless, “Oh, I was just gonna walk.” Harry peers out of the window, then looks back at y/n, his eyebrows raised. She follows his gaze, and realizes that it is still raining like crazy outside. 

A heavy sigh escapes her lips without her permission. Of course. “I guess I’ll just wait it out,” she shrugs, walking towards the door alongside Harry. 

He locks the door behind them, with her lingering closely by, waiting for him. “Do you live far?” 

“No, not really. Just a 15 minute walk.” They walk towards the building exit, and Harry pulls out his umbrella. “Not too bad, as long as there isn’t a monsoon going on outside,” she finishes with a petulant grumble.

Harry chuckles lowly, his dimples shining brightly. “I was just going to offer… y’know, since it’s still raining and you’re umbrella-less…” his eyes twinkle teasingly, “I could drive you home? Wouldn’t want you to get soaked again when you’ve only just dried off.” 

“Oh!” she bubbles, looking at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?” He nods, but she presses, “Are you sure that wouldn’t be a hassle? I mean– like, really I could just stay here and read until the rain dies down–”

“S’not a hassle,” he reassures. “Y’don’t even know when the rain will be gone– could be all night. It’ll be cold, n’dark… it’d make me feel better knowing you got home safe, yeah?”

“Gosh that’s… that’s really nice of you,” she says, almost pouting. 

He just smiles, pushing the door open and opening his umbrella for the two of them to huddle under. His car is parked in the graduate student parking lot, so it’s not too far of a walk (although they’re doing more of a brisk speedwalk, trying to get out of the rain and wind as fast as possible). The rain patters harshly on top of his umbrella, but they manage to stay dry, shoulders brushing together and their warm bodies radiating heat onto each other.

He unlocks his car and opens the passenger's seat for her, making sure that she’s covered from the rain as she slides into her seat. He then runs over to his own side, quickly shutting his umbrella and throwing it into the backseat. His fingers are numb as he turns the car on, and he immediately blasts the heat for the two of them, putting his frozen fingers in front of the warm air. “God, not even three minutes out there n’ I’m already freezing m’bits off,” he mumbles to himself. He turns to her, and smiles when he sees her copying his actions, “Isn’t this so much better that walking home?”

All she can give is a nod, wriggling her fingers in front of his heaters. Her teeth are chattering as she barely manages to chatter out, “S’freezing.”

“Wind would’ve blown you away before you even made it home, I reckon.” He plays with the windshield wipers until they’re on the highest setting, but even then his windshield is blurry from the rain. He makes sure to drive extra slow and cautiously, reversing out at the speed of a snail and turning his high beams on.

It’s only when she’s sitting in the front seat of his car that a somewhat important thought floats to the forefront of her mind – “is this allowed?”

“Is what allowed?” He's half paying attention, half checking both sides of the road before turning left onto the street. 

“Like– I mean you’re sort of my professor, I guess,” she stumbles over her words, “Is it… would you get in trouble? For like… giving me a ride?”

Harry’s eyebrows pinch thoughtfully, “Well, first of all– Dr. Richmond’s your professor, not me. Secondly– I don’t see why it would be against the rules. S’just a car ride,” he shrugs. 

She relaxes in her seat, nodding. She supposes he’s right. It’s just a car ride.

“But– if anything,” he adds on with, turning to her momentarily with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Y/n’s lips curl. “Okay,” she giggles. 

It’ll be their little secret. 

+++

HOPE U GUYS LOVED IT!!!!!! part 2 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (oct 14) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!! more tarry to come!

Prose (part 2) is already posted on patreon! : In which not many students attend Harry's office hours, and y/n's kind of burnt out

Prose Masterlist

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

chaggie visiting Lulu's Land could be such a wonderful disaster tho

Lucifer: “What the- oh no not AGAIN!”

Lucifer: “WHO IS USING LULU’S AMAZING DARK RIDE EXPERIENCE FOR SOME GOSH DARNED HANKY PANKY?!?!?!”

Charlie: “… hi dad.”

Lucifer: “…”

Lucifer: “……ch....Char-Char?”

Vaggie: “Sir.”

Lucifer: “Maggie, what…”

Charlie: “We can explain!"

Lucifer: "P-please dont."

Charlie: "We were sitting down, enjoying the ride-”

Lucifer: “LA LA LA NOT LISTENINGGG-!”

Charlie: “-enjoying the ride ATTRACTION! The amusement part attraction! The, the visuals and stuff!!”

Vaggie: “Right, yes. Visuals.”

Charlie: “So we were just sitting there, toootally innocent, and then we-”

Lucifer: “LALALALAALLALAALLAAAA-”

Charlie: “We FELL, dad! That’s all!”

Vaggie: “Right. Yep.”

Charlie: “You can’t blame us- it was dark! Shit happens, right!?”

Vaggie: “Spooky shit happens on dark rides.”

Charlie: “We were sitting in the dark and we got startled and we… fell.”

Vaggie: “It's a good ride, sir. You’ve made an amazing daughter.”

Charlie: “DARK RIDE.”

Vaggie: “Dark ride I meant dark ride.”

Charlie: “Yes, amazing! Such cool very wow, we would NEVER EVER ignore all your hard work just to um... And we didn’t!”

Vaggie: “Right. Because we fell.”

Charlie: “We fell!”

Vaggie: “While sitting.”

Charlie: “Slipped RIGHT into each other’s laps what are the odds ha ha!”

Vaggie: “And hit each other’s lipstick on the way down.”

Charlie: “EVERY TIME WHAT ARE THE ODDS OF THAT! HA! HA!”

Lucifer: “….”

Charlie: “….”

Vaggie: “…”

Charlie: “Dad please say something.”

Lucifer: “Am I gonna get a grandkid yet, or should The Old Mill ride break down for another ten minutes?”

Charlie: “Are you WHA-”

Vaggie: “Maybe make it fifteen before you restart it, sir. For uh. Safety checks.”

Lucifer: “I’ll check everything three times don’t worry! Just hold tight! Cough cough TO EACH OTHER cough cough!”

Charlie: “Vaggie we probably can’t even HAVE-”

Vaggie: “Who knows. We’ve never tried on a dark ride before.”

Lucifer: “AND GOLLY GOSH IT NEVER HURTS TO TRY!!!”

Charlie: “You’ve ruined the mood, dad!”

Lucifer: "Have fun~!"

Charlie: “Dad!?”

Charlie: “DAD- CHANGING THE THEME WITH MAGIC TO MAKE IT ALL CARTOON DUCKS SNUGGLING LIKE LOVE BIRDS UNDER FLOATING HEARTS DOESN’T HELP!”

Vaggie: “Lucky there’s an attractive woman sitting in the boat to make up for it.”

Charlie: “I can’t even look at you right now.”

Vaggie: “That’s okay. The attractive woman is cute when she pouts.”

Charlie: “…she also has night vision, and can see you blush.”

Vaggie: “Well I can barely see her pout. Real shame.... if only I could feel her lips pouting instead-”

-a few years later-

Chaggie Kid: “Mommies? Where do- where do um, babies come from?”

Vaggie: “Amusement park dark rides, sweetie.”

Charlie: “VAGGIE NO.”

Vaggie: “And cartoon rubber ducks giving hugs under hearts.”

Charlie: “VAGGIE!!”

Chaggie Kid: “Whoa… grandpa Lulu was right…”

Charlie: “No he wasn't- what has he been telling-?"

Vaggie: "The truth."

Charlie: "Vaggie. We are NOT giving our child ideas!”

Vaggie: “You wanna tell a six year old what you actually did in the dark almost seven years ago, babe? Holding up the line? For ninety whole minutes?”

Charlie: “…”

Charlie: “When two mommies love each other VERY VERY MUCH, the rubber duckies of love stop the amusement park ride they’re on THREE TIMES for TOTALLY INNOCENT REASONS and afterwards hand them a slip of paper with a due date on it, and-”

[crimsonhydrangeavn]

I think Camilla and Rita are absolutely beautiful. But I also really like Marcelo. These 3 will be the death of me!!

How would the cast react if MC were a bit of a fashion guru and would knit and sew the things they wear themselves and then would make the LI a custom accessory/item of clothing that would match them?

Btw the VN is really cute and eerily comforting and I really love that.

Oh my gosh, thank you so much for the kind words! It really means a lot to hear that you love Rita, Camilla, and Marcelo! (They’re definitely the healthiest options out of the LI’s LOL ) I also find it really sweet and flattering that you find the VN cute and eerie at the same time, it’s definitely the general vibe I'm going for so It's a huge relief that it’s translating well! <3

Garret would be surprisingly touched if he received something handmade by you. It’s no secret that he came from money, a lot of money. Everything he was ever given was top of the line and brand new. No one had ever bothered to make him anything before. So the fact that you of all people were the first and only person to make something for him? To spend countless hours thinking and working on something for him? It would bring tears to his eyes and he would give you the warmest most grateful hug imaginable as he tried to reign in his emotions and not overwhelm you with them.

Marcelo would be thoroughly impressed with not only your fashion tastes, but your ability to craft something so well made! He’d proudly wear it every day ( if possible) and if anyone commented on it, hell even if they didn’t, he’d brag about how you made it just for him. It goes without saying he’d be happy with the gift and do everything in his power to return the favor and shower you with your favorite foods/ deserts the next few times you visited the bakery. 

Camilla would be stunned by the craftsmanship and just how cute/fashionable it was! She’d try to convince you to open up an online shop and sell it to the public. However if you refused she’d still proudly rock it and give you a shout out ( if you allowed it) in all of her social media posts that somehow included it. ( Lets just say there would be a lot from that moment on.)

Much like Garret, Rita would be incredibly touched by the time and effort it took you to make it for her. She would stare at it for a while, complimenting what she specifically liked about it and how well made it was. Growing up in a traditional household she was taught the basics of sewing, mending, knitting, crocheting, darning socks, etc. So while she doesn’t do it much any more, she can tell when something is well made and has a rough idea on how much work went into creating it. 

Teagan would be over the moon if you made something for them. Since they’ve known you for a while, there’s a good chance that you made something for them previously when you were just starting out / still refining your craft. They would comment on how much you’ve improved and shower you with compliments, refusing to put it down after receiving it. If this was in fact the first time you ever gave them something, they would probably have a more emotional reaction towards it.

[flowersbane]

a scenario with a baker!reader gifting Joshua a little cake… which he happily eats (it’s carrot cake and he has no clue lol)

Idk but I wanted to share my silly little thought because I enjoyed your writing :’3

pls, this idea is so freaking cute!!! i'm so glad i finally got to write it, thank you so much for your request and patience, i hope you enjoy

(=´∀｀)人(´∀｀=)

The Trojan Cake

Joshua Rosfield x Reader

I might write another, shorter version of this where the reader bakes him a carrot cake without knowing about his carrot aversion, but, idk, let me know if anyone wants to see that. It would have to be a bit further in the future because I have some other things I'm working on that you can learn about here.

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Baker!Reader, Finally Getting Joshua To Eat Some Gosh Darn Vegetables, Fluff, Teasing, Unedited, Lots Of Appearances From Other Characters, Fun, Cutesy, Joshua Is Just A Big Golden Retriever

A new shipment of baking supplies was due to arrive today. You sway on your feet as you wait. Water laps at the wood beneath you, but you pay it no mind. Cursebreakers and laborers work on moving boxes off the ship and onto the Hideaway’s Pier.

“Carrots? Again?” Gav’s voice sounds from nearby. “And what are we supposed to do with all of these? We still haven’t gotten through the last shipment of them. There’s only so much carrot bisque a man can stomach. Soon enough, half the Hideaway’ll have orange hair and orange skin.”

Otto sighs. “Food’s food, Gav. We’ll find some use for them.”

Gav’s disgruntled expression doesn’t fade. “Unbelievable.”

Your attention is caught by someone calling your name. Mid waves you over from the ship’s deck. “You’ve got to come and see this! You’ll be grinning from ear to ear when you see how much stuff they’ve sent for you!”

You’re already grinning from ear to ear by the time you reach her side. Crates of flour, sugar, and yeast are tied down to the deck with sturdy rope. “And this is all for me?” you ask.

“You’re the one best suited for it,” Mid points out. “Now, I don’t mean to rush you but I’m pretty sure everyone at the Hideaway can already smell all the fresh baked sweets!”

“Oh, certainly,” Cole agrees as he and a handful of other Cursebreakers approach. “We’ll get these supplies to the Ale Hall,” he assures you.

“What are you going to make?” asks Mid.

You miss a beat before answering, “it’s a surprise.” In truth, you have no idea. You know the people of the Hideaway would be happy with anything you baked, but you didn’t want to fall into a boring routine. You wanted to try something new, even if you didn’t need to.

Mid only makes an excited sound from behind sealed lips. “The suspense is killing me!”

You laugh, but you know how she feels. The frustration of not knowing what you’ll bake weighs on you as well. “Well, best get to it.”

You descend from the boat and make your way back up to the main floor of the Hideaway. There are plenty of boxes that still need to be moved, so the lift is somewhat crowded. You wait for a path to be cleared before darting out.

“Have you tried chopping them up and hiding them in a stew?” Tarja’s voice catches your ear. She and Jote are crossing the Boarding Deck, clearly on their way to the Infirmary.

“If he sees them, he’ll claim he’s not hungry and refuse to eat,” Jote replies. “Not to mention, I can’t say I feel very comfortable trying to deceive His Grace.”

“They’re just carrots, Jote. I’m sure your decree says nothing against ensuring the Phoenix eats well.”

“If it were up to His Grace, I’m sure there would be.”

You continue your way into the main hall. It’s not uncommon to hear Tarja complaining about Joshua’s bad habits. You suppose this time it’s his aversion to vegetables. Especially carrots. Unfortunate, given that seems to be what the Hideaway has most of these days.

You’re halfway across the Main Deck when someone else calls your name, their voice sounding from your left. Speak of the devil. Joshua approaches with an easy skip to his step. The smile on his face tells you that he’s heard about your new arrival of supplies, but not that of the carrots’ reinforcements. Well, he might’ve and is simply choosing to ignore it. In fact, that is more likely to be the reality of things.

“I heard about the shipment of goods. Will you get to baking soon?”

If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging uncontrollably despite his cool disposition. You nod, your own smile creeping onto your face as an idea begins to form. “And you’ll be the first to get a taste.”

“Really? I will?”

You nod again. He’s always terribly eager to sample your new recipes.

He’ll have no idea. “Ah, my love, you’re brilliant.” He places a hand on either side of your head and plants a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“You should.” You certainly are.

As he disappears on to the Boarding Deck, you dart over to the bar. 

“Psst. Cole.” You wave the cursebreaker over.

“What is it?”

“Could you acquire me a crate of those carrots that just arrived? I have plans for them. Oh, but don’t let Joshua know. Keep this between us.”

He gives you a curious look, but does as you ask without question. You ask another of the cursebreakers to keep Joshua distracted for the time being. Your plans would be ruined if he were to walk in midway through.

“What, exactly, are you planning?” someone asks from behind you.

Jill runs her finger over the wooden boxes on the counter. You can’t help the little, proud gleam in your eye. “I’m going to get Joshua to eat carrots and like them,” you declare.

“Oh?”

“A carrot cake! He won’t even know they’re there.”

“I’m not sure if eating carrots in a cake counts as Joshua getting a proper intake of vegetables,” she points out.

You shrug. “Gotta start somewhere.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Lots.” 

You, Jill, and a handful of other helpers get to work immediately. With no time to waste, the work is made lighter with more hands to share in its labor. The only thing you can’t speed up is the time of actual baking.

“Do you truly believe this will work?” Jill asks.

“I do. Although, it would be a little funny if he could tell anyway. Like some sort of carrot-sniffing bloodhound. A carrot-hound.”

“Who’s a carrot-hound?” Clive stops at Jill’s side.

“Depending on the results of this experiment, Joshua.”

Clive gives you an almost pained look. “Please do not tell me you’re planning on experimenting on my brother.”

“I promise it won’t become a regular occurrence. Probably. Most likely.”

Clive only sighs and shakes his head.

The cakes finish baking and the air is filled with the scent of freshly baked sweets. You and your assistants–now including Clive–are just finishing spreading the frosting when Joshua arrives, eyes alight with excitement. He says your name with a boyish eagerness that makes your heart squeeze. He truly has no idea. “I hope no one has prevented you from keeping your promise to me.”

You do your best not to roll your eyes. He can still be so childish at times, despite himself. “No, of course not. In fact, you’re just on time. I was about to cut the first slice.”

He smiles. “Excellent.”

He doesn’t even seem to notice how everyone pauses to watch as he takes the first bite. He closes his eyes to savor it. You press your lips together to keep your mischief from showing. “This is delicious, my love, as always.” Your heart soars. You’ve done it. And he’s none the wiser.

You exchange a knowing glance with Jill and Clive. Jill looks mildly impressed while Clive simply seems to be marveling at his brother’s obliviousness. “Alright, everyone,” you announce, “you’re all free to dig in!”

- 

Gav arrives about a half an hour after everyone has already begun eating. He and Otto approach, standing on the other side of Clive, who has taken a seat at the bar beside Joshua.

Gav takes note of the remaining cakes. “Ooo, carrot cake, one of Otto’s favorites.”

You, Clive, and Jill freeze, eyes darting to Joshua. You practically see the life drain from his face. He turns a betrayed expression on you, like a pup who’s found his medicine at the center of his treat. By now, he’s already finished two large slices and is halfway through his third. You can’t help, you begin your apologies but the laughter in your voice steals any sincerity from them.

He practically whines your name, saying, “how could you?”

“But you liked it, didn’t you? Before you knew what it was?”

You can practically see his invisible tail and ears drooping. You’ve never seen him look so unlike the Phoenix before. It only makes you giggle more.

“I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know how I’ll recover from this.”

“Alright, my love, no need to be so overdramatic.”

He pouts. He actually pouts. “You’ll have to find a way to make this up to me.”

“Up to you? I did all of this for you.”

“You did all of this for yourself. I hope you’ve had your fun.”

You lean over the counter, smug as one could be. “Oh, I have.”

“Mhm.” He leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. You can still taste the frosting. “You better have. Otherwise, I will have eaten this for nothing.”

“You would have, at the very least, learned that you can stomach carrots. Isn’t that something?”

He laughs. “No, absolutely not. Just promise you won’t do something like this again.”

“I promise,” you draw out the word, “that it won’t become a regular occurrence.”

He rolls his eyes, but a smile toys at the corners of his mouth. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“Something really good, I imagine.”

His smile grows. “Must have been.”

[writingoneout]

Untilted Katamari Reflections

Preamble:

Content considerations for the following include:

Parental abuse

Bigotry

Worldly anxiety

You're welcome back another day if that's too much right now.

I.

It’s fall of 2015.

You and your virgin college friends drink shitty cocktails called the “Slutty Will Rodgers.” They’re just Pepsi rawdogged with indeterminate amounts of grenadine and Captain Morgan. When you bought the mixers a Wal-Mart stocker yodeled “OOOOoOoooOH, maKIN sOMe DRINKS?!?!” and you knew it was time to leave.

We Love Katamari is on the Telly. It’s a sweet, trippy game you first bought to cope with high school. On Dark Fridays at 1am, when your inbox was barren and your balls were full, you’d drive to the empty gym downtown and sprint six miles. Then you’d come home and replay the firefly level until you fell asleep with your pug.

Your college friends are bad at the game, so they pass the controller. You’re playing the underwater stage. A spaceman falls in the pond of people gunk and stacked crabs. It’s going really well if you’re honest. You point to the screen and say “this’ll be Florida if Trump wins.” See Fig. 1.

Figure 1: Rick Desantis has big plans for Disney.

Your friends don’t reply because they soon won’t be virgins and their tongues battle each other’s. It’s a different game they play, one with fuzzier rules, but greater industry respect. You wish the campus gym was open 24/7.

. . .

Your skills as the prince are not inherent. You first meet him in 2005, when your dyspraxic hands can barely tie a shoe. Your parents catch you lose shit for the Toonami review of Me and My Katamari. They buy it for Christmas, hoping to steady your nerves while your father’s in therapy.

Dr. Flam is a Neo-Freudian hitched to your mom’s guy, Dr. Flim. She’s deep in your dad’s dream journal and makes him watch movies like Cool Hand Luke to really reign in his ego. He gets the DVDs from the Netflix site, then through the mail. As a family you watch your dad’s therapy films and reruns of Inyuasha.

In the waiting room you barely navigate the sticky ball through Namco Bandai’s Satoshi Kon parade. See Fig. 2. You’ve only seen adults express anger verbally, so when you mess up you grunt a lot and let out those Leopold Butters Stotch swears like “crap,” “shoot,” and “gosh darn.” You’re not particularly self-aware, so you probably just say “god fucking damn it” a few times and don’t remember. Years later you realize there was probably a secretary behind the glass watching you do all this.

Figure 2: Bwahbwahwabhbawahbwaaaaah.

Sometimes there’s a girl in the room with you, just around your age. She’s stuck while Dr. Flim teaches her mom about what dream snakes mean for her fear of male puberty. That's what he did for your mom, anyway.

You think the waiting-room stranger is cute, but you won’t admit you like girls yet, especially not to yourself. To cope with the cognitive dissonance, you do your weird shit louder while refusing to make eye contact with her. If you get real stressed you crank up the main menu track and yell “ahhhhh that’s so relaxing” while the “nah nah nah nahs” play through your headphones.

At one point the girl stands against a wall and stares at you with her arms crossed. You bet she thinks you’re cool, but she’s probably just annoyed and hopes you’ll notice, or maybe just ask if she’s OK. It’s probably good you don’t talk with her. You might ask something stupid, like if she's seen the roach corpse in the stairwell. It’s been there for a year straight, isn’t that crazy?

For better and worse, you power through your little game alone. Every time you lose the King of All Cosmos beats, shoots, and belittles you. See Fig. 3. It reminds you of when your own dad shattered your Harry Potter wand over the kitchen counter because you dropped a mini pizza.

Figure 3: The King of All Cosmos offers little constructive advice, all things considered.

You fail quite frequently. Eventually you drop the game because it’s getting stressful and you have the power to relieve yourself of the situation—not the Freudian lobby, just your fake dad.

II.

It’s 2012. PlayStation Network uploads The Prince’s primeval outing: Katamari Damacy. Within, Padre Cosmotic flaps his gums over too much hooch then slams his dump truck ass through the better part of our solar system. He dislodges every recognized constellation and even the moon itself.

Cosmos sends Prince to Earth—the last brick left in the shitstorm—to make slop of our planet and bodies. With the slop space itself will be made anew. The Good Son does as he's told, and every living entity experiences euphoric ego death within the bulbous heaven of the Katamari.

As a Real Gamer Teen you lose a lot less in this one. You really go in and fix Fake Dad’s mistakes, no problem at all. This is why a year ago you hailed “gaming journalism” as your calling. You write clean and play tight; should keep the lights on. It’s the most concrete idea you’ve had since 7th grade when you outlined a YA novel called Tooth Pocket. Even you didn’t think Scholastic would buy that one, though. It was just too hot for the book fair.

One day you’re cranking through FFVI and your real dad swings by, mad you're young. He grills your ass and says “I bet you can’t even tell me the biggest thing happening right now.” It’s some real “What’s a gallon of milk cost?” shit, he could mean anything.

 Surprisingly, you can’t think of a good answer. You and your friends are actually pretty informed because John Stewart is still at the desk and y’all chime in every day. See Fig. 4. You also spend hours each week tearing through MSN slideshows in your Graphic Design class because the Photoshop takes five minutes. You’ve seen a staggering amount of the Syrian civil war.

Figure 4: Sometimes in Snapchat you draw glasses on your cat to make him look like Mitch McConnel. You wouldn't do that without this guy.

Still, you’re a little stumped. It’s the middle of a phenomenon native to moralist presidencies known as "a slow news week.” You actually ran out of war shit the other day and clicked through some slides about Pakistani wrestlers. The seniors who offered you Jack Daniels in the Whataburger lot saw it and laughed. They thought you were peeping dong in class. You really weren’t, but they didn’t believe you. They graduate certain you were bricked up in the Dell Lab over big guys in spandex.

“I don’t know,” you tell your dad.

He throws his hands behind his head, hard, like an orangutan chucking logs at a poacher.

“It’s the fucking carbon tax,” he yells. This comes as a surprise, you think, because that shit is last month’s news. It really didn’t go anywhere.

“Do you not pay attention because you don’t give a shit, or are you just a nihilist and think you can’t do anything?” You can tell in his eyes he thinks there’s a real answer. “Seriously, which is it?

You don’t remember what you said. You probably just stammered until he walked off.

A month later he picks you up from marching band. Your phone is dead, so he had to wait twenty minutes longer than anticipated while you found his car. He punches the rearview mirror until the windshield cracks then screams of how your birth kept him from New England.

III.

It’s 2016. A rockin’ MILF in the Psych department gets you really into Hamilton. See Fig. 5. Every day you wake up on the grind and blast “You Aaron Burr, sir?” through your shitty 7-11 cans. While cramming foreign language Quizlets and McGraw Hill Online you do this thing called “Hafilton.” It’s where rock up to “Nonstop” and quit listening just before Hamilton decides what he will stop is being a good husband.

Figure 5: Like Kojima, you know "MILF" is a mindset, not a factual inquiry.

It’s 2018. Your grades are notably better and you’ve snuck into the honors program. Like Hamilton himself, you really flourished at 19 and thought about running for office. You immediately abandoned this idea after remembering your allergy to recordings of your image or voice.

You cohabit with the Psych MILF, and she offers some advice: she’s really had her boots on the ground with this whole “clinical psych thing” and honestly, respectfully, she loves you, but dear God it might not be your scene. It’s taken a real toll on her and the friends, and she can’t imagine you going through that shit.

At 1am in your living room you boot up DOOM (2016) and listen through some Hamilton. Angelica is thirsty on main when you remember that you, yourself, could be a lawyer. You don’t have to run for Congress to fight the establishment. There’s just the common law, and it’s right there. You can just get your grubby little hands in that shit and work your magic.

. . .

It’s the last semester of undergrad. Your Western Thought professor says Hamilton wasn’t really a huge deal and really James Madison shat out the big parts of our faction-proof empire. Yes, there was, in fact, a civil war, but the caplock rifle worked it out. After the Federalist papers he has you read the Bill of Rights but no Supreme Court cases. There’s a lot of talk on negative liberties.

Just before finals, the learned doctor says your generation only has two things to worry about: the climate and the poverty. Yeah they’re big, he says, but they’re just two things. You’re crafty kids, smart as the framers, even.

. . .

The state decides law school is your jam and lets you come inside.

There’s the negative liberties but you actually read Supreme Court opinions when the big boys aren’t shaking fists for Valley Forge. They have you listen to Hamilton for context. You feel dirty. An LRW professor puts on the “I’m Just a Bill” video and your sectionmate with Ivy degrees gets really, really mad.

. . .

The Federalist Society has a comfy presence at your law school. Along with Big Oil they sling out free pizza to every Little Scalia with a rumbly tum tum.

On your way to class you hear what the pizza boys feel. They hate Europeans, those social democrats with the rotten armories and clumpy cash. The Euros, they think, give too much wiggle room for the mentally ill, and by that they mean they mean gay people and probably just women overall.

There are more than two things to fix, you think.

. . .

The pandemic hits. You and some pals start a Google Doc to stay afloat. It barely works. In the Zoom review for the property final your professor catches multiple people crying. "You don't have to be here," he tells them, “there are other jobs.”

. . .

A year passes. You’re in a niche public interest class you do all right with. The professor looks you and thirty-five others dead in the eye and says how sorry he is that law school is traumatic. You shed a single tear in your little window. You're pretty in the shit and haven’t worn pants to class in months.

Then public interest prof takes a big, big drag from his long, fat spliff. He spins his desk chair and baseball cap at the same time, never letting go of the joint.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s not your fault, really, but the world is fucked. It’s time to fix what your parents did.”

The next week he gives a practice exam where the best solution is to sell an old lady’s house to Nestlé.

IV.

It’s 2022. After throwing your whole gooch at it, you fail the bar exam.

You fall back hard into exercise. When you’re not slamming Barbri you’re at the gym binging curls and cranking the Chainsaw Man soundtrack. One night on the way to squats you finally hear “Black Parade.” Just like you, Mr. Gerry Wayland is stuck between global disrepair and the desire to write Funny Little Books.

You just started an FLB yourself, actually. It’s spin on a Story Break episode you love. In your version there’s a fucked up civil war horse that moves like a spider and is covered in bugs. Rich people kill the planet then the horse gets lost in space. It’s compelling, you promise. There’s body horror and pirates dressed like Gorton’s Fisherman. See Fig. 6 It’s about the horrors of the contemporary world state. It’ll be fun.

Figure 6: An untapped horror icon. Imagine blood contrasting that yellow.

Big problem, though: you remember rich people love hiking. There’s no grass on Mars, not that good shit anyway. Would they really fuck all of it?

You edit. In the last few years, the real breathless ones, the oligarchs cash their tab. A cartel, they think, could really muscle those stragglers, the tragically common. There’s one city left with both breathable air and refugees. They level it. The few survivors are spread amongst the stars, so their loves and languages may die.

. . .

It’s the middle of Bar Prep Round 2. You and the patient MILF see Hadestown in the Big City.

There’s a juke joint on stage flanked by devil trombones. A sad little guy slinks in from the janitor’s closet. His name is Orpheus and, just like you, he’s a sad, short writer who likes a lady so much it comes out weird. He has a vision, he says, for a little ditty. It’s compelling, he promises, and shit’s gonna change. His love is functional and realized, worth the investment of a hardened woman displaced by capital’s torture. She believes him.

You cry because you know where this goes.

It’s just a single tear.

Don’t worry.

Nobody sees.

. . .

There’s this game you like, by some corporate anarchists who hate themselves. They’re Scandinavian, from the spot in Tallin where you stopped for a cruise. Every gift shop there had swastikas and gas masks leftover from the bloody years.

In the game is a liberal yacht MILF. She thinks you’re stupid but someone’s helping with your gun, so you’ve got that on her. And yet, she pins you, re your whole writing thing. See Fig. 7.

Figure 7: She sucked, but it still hurt when she left.

Your favorite Supreme Court podcast says the ocean’s last hope is other countries. But those countries’ people cry to the Disco game, and their ministers also bought The End of History. You meet them on the subreddit. You're all geeked out, waiting for the tide.

. . .

It’s the era of desert cradles. God thinks you’re disgusting, so he sends his better kids with a memo: the flood was too much work on his end, it’s time for something different.

“Just keep walking,” he says.

Your skin bares his figure. So do the corpses. You little birds among billions, gassed out and screaming, move to clean.

V.

It’s 2023.

We Love Katamari is up on the PlayStation store. You sit with the cats and mow down some crabs. You don’t need it so much these days, but it’s nice.

There’s a Bar card in your wallet, just below your gym tag. There are two interviews in your Google Calendar. Good stuff might happen, hopefully soon. You crawl into bed and wrap an arm around your wife’s rib cage.

Everything matters and nothing is safe.

You are loved enough to sleep.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: I don't know that I've ever written anything so quickly. I have a cavity from how gosh darn sweet this is.

C/W ::: Aged up Kirishima (20's dating 27 yr old, single mom, plus size reader), FLUFFYYYY, romantic, unprotected P->V (twice), lovey dovey schmuvvy. Sorry not sorry.

WC ::: Under 950

Thinkin' about Kirishima in his early 20's, in college to become a child psychologist. He gets paired up with you, a 27 year old, cute and kinda chubby, single mom of one. You’re going for your PhD in addiction studies. You’re both in the same basic intro to psych, 3 times a week.

You've been working together on the project for a couple of weeks now and the sexual tension between you is so palpable you could strangle someone with the invisible string that spans the distance between your bodies.

You take your daughter to your mom's house and leave her there for the night. Kirishima is supposed to come over tonight, and you’re going to do the finishing touches on editing the paper and putting the report together.

You cook up something that he mentioned in passing that he loved eating and casually set the coffee table. Nothing fancy, a votive candle that smells like vanilla and some thrift store placemats. When it gets closer to the time he’s supposed to be there, you turn on the fireplace channel on YouTube and put on some music that you know he likes. One day, he dropped his earbuds, and you picked it up to see what he was listening to before returning it to him. He thought it was so cute how your face lit up when you recognized the song (The Beach, The Neighbourhood).

He comes over about 5 minutes to 5 with a small bouquet of mixed wildflowers in a pink crystal vase (he thinks - it's really just cheap glass. But you love it because it's just so damn cute how he thinks it's crystal).

Dinner is full of emphatic conversations about your childhoods. About your best friends. Your bad decisions. Your best decisions. How can you not have good conversation with Kirishima around. C'mon.

He helps you clear the table of the few dishes you used. Offering to help you wash and dry them, but you tell him just to sit them in the sink, you'll get to them tomorrow.

You both stand at the front door, averting your gaze from one another because the night is obviously coming to a close. And neither of you know how to say that you aren't ready to do the old 'See you in class Monday'. You both wanted to sit on the couch for hours just learning everything you can about the other. No matter if it took all night or not.

That awkward moment when you both start to say something at the same time happens. Neither of you know what the other said, neither of you are terribly interested in hearing it repeated.

"Well," he rubs his forearm with his gigantic hand, squeezing it a couple of times, like he was trying to ground himself. "I had a lo- hmph!!!"

You pull him down for a kiss because standing there, listening to his sweet, happy voice and watching him move his mouth - you absolutely cannot stand another second of not pressing yours against it.

"M-me too. Thank you for the flowers, Kirishima. They're beau- mmm!!!"

This time, he pulls you into him and kisses you back with such force and passion that you feel your lungs empty and your legs go weak. He lifts you up and carries you over to the couch, gently perching you on his massive lap. He brushes the loose strands of hair from your neck and starts kissing you so deeply and slowly that you're sure you're going to die before the sun comes up.

"Kuh-eer-ee", you force what little oxygen is left in your body out to say those 3 syllables. You settle yourself over him, knees bent, sitting on your legs. You know they’re going to go numb if you keep sitting like this. But it’s just not as important as being in his arms.

Tangling your hands in his hair, you pull it loose from the bun it's in tonight. His hands explore your body, starting at your love handles. He's squeezing and pushing your hips around, caressing your sides and running his nails up and down your back.

The two of you make love on the couch, and then again in the bedroom. You both fall asleep in each other's arms, too exhausted to even move.

In the morning, Kirishima makes breakfast and does ALL of the dishes. He asks you questions about your daughter (what's she like, what's her favorite toy/color/animal/flower/ice cream/band/Disney character/Disney princess/has she been to Disneyland?/favorite kind of pizza/favorite & least favorite vegetable and fruit/does she like to drink water/all the right questions). You both get dressed, and you fix your hair for the day. He tells you to keep his t-shirt because it looks better on you right now than it ever did on him. Eventually, you said goodbye to each other. 

He leaves you with a long kiss on the cheek and a promise to meet you at the library - or your place?? - later that afternoon to work on the project (because oops, nothing got done last night. Maybe the library is best?).

You look out the window as he tosses his backpack over his beautiful, hoodie-clad, broad ass shoulder, and blows a kiss to you with one hand and waves with the other. You can't help but smile because you know that stuff like that takes coordination and you've seen him trip around campus a lot.

You're absolutely sure that you're going to fall in love with him, if you haven't already.

Taglist ::: @thenamesmiz @darkstarlight82 @millennialmagicalgirl @arlerts-angel

[so-very-small]

i’m still thinking of the ‘oblivious giant who sees the tiny as so cute and harmless’ and ‘deadass serious and dangerous tiny who’s over it’ but i pushed it to the far extreme and now i’m imagining a pleasant suburban middle aged woman who occasionally sees tiny people in her house and, aren’t they the most gosh darn cutest things. just adorable!! she pats their heads and send them on their way with a cookie. the borrowers are all part of an active cult trying to resurrect an unfathomable ancient evil. they’re like, building altars and summoning circles on her coffee table and she’s just like “oh!!!! very creative :) i love the red !!!! oh, its “blood”? *winks* sure it is ! thats so fun, honey! good job!”

[thegreatestheaver]

Am back :)

Okay okay, crazy idea hear me out on this: giggle bugs, the key bug’s fluffier cousin!

They’re actually not called giggle bugs from the humans tho, rather the workers have them that name bc of how gosh darn tickly they are X3

The giggle bugs are actually called Cleaner bots, they act like cleaning shrimp and would ofc get the workers and other machinery clean after a shift in mere minutes (the only thing they eat is dirt, grim, and dead skin cells from humans and workers, but mostly workers)

But since the collapse, the cleaner bots had evolved to make nests and group together as a colony on their own.

And to attract “victims”, one of the members would distract them long enough for the others to get em >:3

Also this is what they look like :3

Colored ver.

Oh and fun fact Tessa was the first to make these lil guys but her mom stole the idea and gave it to Jcjenson😒

OH. EM. GOODNESS. I AM HEARING YOU OUT. MY EARS ARE OPEN. IMALL EARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TEHRYEYER SO CUTE IIM GOING TO CRY. THEIT FUCKING HADNS. THIER PAWS. REAL TEARS ARE IN MY EYES., THEYRER SO FUCKING CUTE OH MNY OSDGPIBJKB;HIOSDA;TGDD[U09CEGW CEWQHIOGHUIOQRWPIUHET444T39Y83T4YT34CIUYCETWQHIU3CEIOTWFHUTIEOJCWGHNURP3JOCEGW8IUNTRCP4J9GEW8NIUTBWHGRFWOQREG8BINUGGFWEQORGINUBDR STARSTST HYOERCENTUTSALJIINGGN. god. have you seen what daddy long leg hoards look like? it loooks like. a huge ball of hair on a wall. and theyre completely harmless so. people someites just grab them. when thinking of these guys in a colony i think theyd be like that but more fluffy. and if u dare grab them u will be tickled until u lose ur voice giggling. grin! do they.... do they come in different colors ??? like fluff/eye colors? i imagine the body would prolly stay teh same.. but maybe not ???!?!?!? im very curious :3

[starlightrosa]

Hey! I got one for digital circus! If you’re not wanting to do it thats totally cool!

With Caine being AI and not having a previous life outside the circus, I think he would be rather confused and intrigued by tickles once he found out about it. And knowing Caine, he’d probably wanna test it out on all the circus members just cause their reactions would be amusing to him and fluffyness would ensue!

That is all, have a wonderful day Lovley!

Smile For Me

Summary: Caine's a bit fed up at the fact that his circus crew just will not smile. So he takes it upon himself to make them smile, and along the way, he finds out some very useful information about each of them.

Word Count: 2.2k words

Warnings: censored swearing, Caine is a teasy AI, cute alert.

A/N: ahhhhh nonnie i'm so sorry this is late! I've been so busy, and then I got sick which took me out for a while :( thankfully i'm no longer bedbound and managed to complete it this morning <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caine was a bit fed up today. Everything just seemed so dull. His circus cast weren’t having fun at all. His adventures weren’t being well-received, and everyone just seemed so gosh darn grumpy! Caine tried to get everyone used to the circus when they first arrived. He assumed wacky fun was how to make anyone laugh or even a smile to appear on their faces. But Caine didn’t hear a single giggle from anyone, nor see a grin. And it was starting to frustrate him.

Sure, he might only be some lines of coding and a program within a game, but why was it so hard to bring smiles to these kinds of people?! Something had to give, and Caine pondered this even as he worked on his top secret project in the Void, his Wacky Watch beeping occasionally to track the crew’s movements, ensuring they were staying in the bounds of the circus. And luckily, they all were.

Maybe it was the project annoying Caine, but his fingers twitched as the AI pulsated with extra energy. This sometimes happened, but it felt worse this time. He needed a way to get out this jumpy energy, so out of impulse, he left the project alone and teleported into the tent. Right near Ragatha, who was walking by.

“RAGATHA!”

The doll screamed and hit the floor pretty hard, landing with quite an audible ‘OOF!’ noise. Caine gasped and flew to her side, the AI checking if she had been hurt.

“Gracious, my dear! I’m so sorry if I startled you! Are you hurt? Oh, what am I saying? You hit that floor most hard indeed!” Caine rambled, his gloved hands softly checking for sore spots.

“I’m fine Caine, plehease just- AHAHAHA!” Ragatha squealed, as she felt Caine poke into her side, right above her hip. Caine retracted his hands.

“Is that a sore spot? Oh dear, Ragatha! I’m so very sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“No, no. You didn’t hurt me, Caine.” Ragatha assured, biting her tongue against further giggles.

“Well, then… what was that noise that left your mouth, if not a pained noise?” the ringleader asked.

“Oh, I’m just kind of ticklish there, Caine. You got me by surprise.” Ragatha explained. Caine blinked, taken aback. A question mark appeared out of the top of his head to further display his utter confusion. That was a word he didn’t know.

“Tick-lish? Tick-uh-lish? What is… what is tick-lish, Ragatha?” Caine asked, sounding the word out slowly, to try and get a deeper meaning of it.

Ragatha sighed, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “Okay, so the plural is called tickling. Basically, you touch someone and if it makes them laugh, it means that they’re ticklish. And when it comes to tickling someone, you can try mostly anywhere. There’s different tickle spots for any person, if they are ticklish. Like a person’s sides, hips, ribs. Anything, really. It just kind of differs between different people.”

Caine could feel his digital fingers wiggling on instinct the more that Ragatha explained to him. It sounded fun, plus it sounded like a surefire way to make someone laugh! Which was exactly what Caine was after when it came to his circus crew.

“Might I tickle you, Ragatha?” Caine asked, his voice very blunt and to the point. Ragatha’s smile turned wobbly as she softly held her hands up in front of her.

“Caine, don’t be silly. I-I’m not ticklish.” she lied. Caine didn’t believe her at all.

“My dear, you just told me you were. I don’t think lying to me is going to get you very far.” he said, even as he snapped his fingers. His ringleader outfit changed to a cowboy outfit, complete with a digital rope appearing in his hands. He lassoed Ragatha like a cowboy and pulled her into his arms, the ringleader holding Ragatha in a soft hug, her back pressed against his hip as his gloved hands snuck along her back.

“Yee-haw! I got me a ticklish dollie in my hands! Whooooo, boy!” Caine cheered, his AI voice switching to a Texan accent very briefly. Ragatha pursed her lips hard against the laughter bubbling in her throat.

“Y-You sound rihidihiculous, Cahahaine!” Ragatha teased, wriggling softly in the ringleader’s grasp. Caine gasped in mock offence.

“Oh, how very rude! Why, such rudeness is not permitted in my circus!” Caine declared, as his hand that was not holding the doll squeezed into her left side. “Is it ticklish here?”

Ragatha gasped and clamped her hands over her mouth, muffled giggles going into her hands as she closed her real eye, the button one remaining stubbornly open. Her shoulders bounced softly as she fought to keep her laughter quiet. Caine’s eyes shone a little. There was some laughter, that he coaxed out of the ticklish ragdoll. Good gracious, finally!

“Why, your laughter is sweeter than angel food cake!” Caine stated. Ragatha couldn’t exactly blush, but she felt her face grow warm all the same.

“Hahaha, Cahahahaine! Lehehehet gohoho of mehehe!”

“If you say so.” Caine said, letting her go as requested. Ragatha sighed as she dusted her dress off. She really had not expected that to work. She thought for sure that Caine was just going to ignore her and keep tickling.

“This is most intriguing. I must go test this on the others!” Caine said, his AI mind buzzing with theories as to the other members’ tickle spots.

“Go do that. But leave Pomni alone. She hates being touched. Like, she really hates it.” Ragatha murmured softly.

Caine could see she wasn’t joking and he nodded. “Alright. I shan’t touch Pomni. But the others are fair game, right?”

Ragatha nodded, and Caine’s eyes shone with mischief. “Lovely. Bye now, Ragatha.” he said, flying through the circus, on the hunt for another circus member to tickle silly. And then he saw a purple ear disappear around a corner, and he chased after it.

“Hey, Jax!”

The purple rabbit turned around. Upon seeing Caine, he looked very irritated. “What do you want, Caine?”

“I want to ask you something, Jax!” Caine said, adjusting his gloves a small bit as he looked upon the taller one.

“Which is? Make it snappy, I’m a busy guy.” Jax responded.

“Are you ticklish, Jax?” Caine asked, his mismatched eyes focused entirely on Jax’s face. Of all the things Jax was expecting Caine to ask, that most certainly was not one of them.

“Uh-“

“I take it that’s a yes!” Caine said. “So now I’m gonna tickle you.”

“Oh, no the (SPROING!) you’re not!” Jax called back, running off. Caine flew after him, the ringleader chuckling mischievously.

“Running was a bad idea, my friend! If you just stayed still, this would have been so much easier~”

“(HONK!) YOU!” Jax shot back even as he turned a corner, panting softly as he turned his head, rapidly looking for somewhere to hide. But to his dismay, when his head turned back around, Caine flew towards him and trapped the rabbit in a tight backwards hug.

“Gotcha, Jax!” Caine declared, his fingers immediately going to work, spidering up and down Jax’s sides. Jax spluttered out a string of incoherent curses before the bunny fell into laughter, squirming desperately in Caine’s arms.

“CAHAHAHAINE, STAHAHAP!” Jax cried out, hiding his smile. Caine saw him doing this and tutted, the AI chuckling to himself.

“Let me see you smile.”

“CAHAHAHAINE, YOU LITTLE (SPLAT!)” Jax cursed. Caine sighed. How rude.

“Now, is that any way to talk to me? Where’s your manners, Jax?” Caine asked, one hand grabbing Jax’s hands and pulling them away from his mouth.

“CAHAHAHAINE!”

“Your laughter is oddly endearing. I think I may just have to tickle you forever.” Caine stated clearly. Jax spluttered in protest.

“FOR (DOING!) SAHAHAHAKE, STAHAHAP!” Jax pleaded. Caine chuckled and let go of the rabbit immediately. Two down, two to go. He wasn’t going to touch Zooble or Pomni, so that only left Gangle and Kinger.

“Where’s Gangle and Kinger, Jax?” Caine asked, still feeling that ticklish itch in his fingers. Jax scratched his head a bit as he calmed down from the giggle fit that Caine had unceremoniously shoved him into.

“And why the (SPLAT!) should I tell you?” Jax asked defiantly. Caine just shrugged.

“If you like, I can just tickle you again, since you seemed to enjoy it~”

“Uh, I think I last saw ‘em chatting to each other at the main stage.” Jax said, immediately spilling to avoid a round two from Caine. Caine was a good tickler, and Jax didn’t exactly want to get on the wrong side of that again.

“Good. Alright, bye.” Caine chirped, twirling his cane as he went to go find the last two at the main stage.

Kinger and Gangle were engaging in a conversation about bugs it seemed. Gangle had on her tragedy mask again, and Kinger was talking about butterflies.

“-See, Gangle, there are about 17,500 species of butterflies known to us, 750 of those species in the United States alone. This one is a tiger swallowtail, or known to us as Papilio glaucus, native to eastern Northern America. You can recognise them by the black and yellow marking on their wings!” Kinger rambled, getting a bit lost in his insect hyperfixation while Gangle let him carry on.

Caine came up and waved to them. “Hello, you two!” he greeted. Gangle squeaked and her hands instinctually came up to cover her face, while Kinger turned around.

“EEK! Oh, h-hi Caine…” Gangle murmured.

“Hi, Caine.” Kinger greeted. Caine flew down to meet them.

“What are you two doing on this fine day?” Caine asked.

“Oh, I was showing Gangle my butterfly collection! I have tiger swallowtails, skippers, metalmarks, monarchs. You name ‘em!” Kinger chirped happily. “Anyway! How can we help you?”

“Are either of you two ticklish?” Caine enquired.

Gangle squeaked and hid her face deeper in her ribbony hands. Kinger hummed and then nodded, not seeming to catch the teasy tone in Caine’s voice.

“Well, we both are, yes. Gangle more so than me. But why do you ask?”

That was all the answers Caine needed. He grabbed one of Gangle’s hands and one of Kinger’s hands, gathering them in the same hand to hold them each tightly. Preparing to go for Gangle first, he chuckled as he softly began to spider along her ribbony stomach. But to their shock, Gangle squealed and wrapped herself tight around Kinger’s abdomen, already squirming a little with anticipation. But then Kinger started to softly laugh.

“Hahaha! G-Gahahangle, stohohop! Thahat tihihickles!” Kinger pleaded softly. Caine begun to have an idea. If he could play his cards right… he could tickle them both at the same time.

Kinger or Gangle? Kinger… or Gangle? Hard choice. But considering Gangle was right there… yeah, she would work.

Caine chuckled mischievously as he switched his focus to Gangle, walking his gloved fingers along her ribboned hands. The red ribbons she was made of felt soft on his hands, and the giggles he heard from her indicated that Gangle was feeling all of this as well.

“C-Cahahaine! It tickles, it tickles!” Gangle squealed out. Caine laughed along with her as he kept up the tickles. Kinger was getting tickled too from Gangle’s wriggling, which ended up tickling him.

“Who knew you two were so ticklish?” Caine teased, smirking. He didn’t even have to tickle Kinger, Gangle was doing that for him!

“GAHAHANGLE, STAHAHAP!” Kinger cackled, the two falling back onto the floor. Caine followed them down and kept tickling Gangle, which caused the poor ribboned miss to laugh harder. Which in turn meant more squirming. And THAT meant more tickles for Kinger.

“I CAHAHAN’T!” Gangle argued. “AHAHAHA! CAHAHAINE!” she screeched. “NOHOHOT THEHEHEHERE!”

“Oh, not here? Not on your ticklish little ribbon legs? Why ever not?” Caine asked, where he was tickling the backs of Gangle’s ribbony knees. “They feel so soft here! I could tickle them forever.”

“PLEHEHEHEASE NOHOHO!” Gangle shrieked, squirming for all she was worth. Her high pitch laughter intermingled with Kinger’s deep chuckles, creating a melody of laughter that Caine adored.

“Hah! Okay, okay. I’ll stop.” Caine said, gently letting go and helping Gangle unravel herself from Kinger. Caine felt happier seeing his circus crew smile, if only for a fleeting moment.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Caine grinned, that ticklish energy in his hands finally dissipating, with the ringleader making to leave. Only to be caught by Kinger’s hold.

“Uh-uh. What about you, Caine? Are you perhaps ticklish?”

“Preposterous, Kinger. I am just AI. Lines of coding. Impossible for code to be ticklish.” Caine declared, trying to put on a bravado. In truth, he didn’t know. But by the look on Kinger’s face, he was going to find out one way or another.

“You sure about that, dentures?” came a voice from behind him. Caine was filled with a sense of anticipatory dread as he saw Jax and Ragatha slowly approaching, their hands outstretched and wiggling. Kinger grabbed him and hoisted Caine in the air, as the circus crew took their places around him, ready to all rally against the ringleader. He gave them laughter, so they were gonna dish it right back.

“Now, let’s be reheheasonable here! P-please! PLEHEHEHEASE! WAHAHAIT! JAHAHAX! RAHAHAGATHA! KIHIHIHINGER, GAHAHANGLE STOHOHOP! NO NO NO NOHOHOHO!”

[miguelswifey04]

spider noir as a dad

headcanons i cooked up on the spot

definitely would show you a few tricks up his sleeve. could be quite literally anything he would always want you to be 2 steps ahead of people.

as a dad he would show you how to protect yourself. he showed you self-defense and while you and noir were practicing some moves…a punch connected. 💀 you literally punched him in the stomach at full force. he literally groaned and grunted as he fell back LMAO “gosh darn..” he would say as he rolled on his side and clutch his stomach.

such a silly dad oh em gee, he is a sucker for dad jokes. he’d purposely say random dad jokes throughout the day just to annoy you. and would probably say some more dad jokes if you were around hanging with friends…he loves to embarrass you in a good way of course!

he’s very overprotective of you. istg if someone bullies you, he won’t hesitate to defend you and fight them little kids himself. he doesn’t care if they’re kids or adults!!! he’s gonna protect and defend you at the end of the day since you’re his kid!

favorite endearments to call you would probably be “kiddo, kid, sunshine”

he loves to give you piggy bank rides all the time, very cute!

“you wanna go for a swing kid?” you and your dad, noir, both swinging through the city of NYC is such a fun time for y’all. family bonding at its finest.

always bringing you to hangout with the gang which consists of miles morales, gwen stacy, peter b. parker, peni parker, and peter porker! you are all like one big family and everyone treats as the “baby” of the family.

you would think your own dad would be the one to give terrible advice because of his own nature but nope, he actually gives pretty good advice. may be the hard truth but he would never lie to you or give you “false” hope.

he loves and appreciates so much when you color code anything in purple. whether it be in drawings or pretty much gifting him items in purple 💜

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner

[starxluv]

||Kaede and Korekiyo with a Obsessive/Stalker G/N Reader

i guess you could take this in a yandere sense if you want to 🤷‍♀️

oh yeah, and I’m making this take place in the killing game

Kaede Akamatsu 🎹💗

On the first day that you guys met, you were a bit too ‘clingy’.

It was odd, but she just assumed that you were just being overly friendly and acted like that with everyone.

Well, she didn’t exactly see you interact with anyone else but her.

In the morning, you were always standing at the door of her dorm room.

“Good morning Kaede! I see you’re ready to head to the dining hall, we should go there together!”

“Er…How long have you been standing here?”

“About 30 minutes.”

The odd thing about it is that you seemed to not notice anything wrong with the way you acted.

“You don’t see anything weird about that?”

Kaede asked you, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

“Nope!” You exclaimed as you grabbed her hand and started walking towards the school.

She was definitely feeling fear rise in her stomach, what was stopping you from killing her on the spot?

“You look so cute today! Did you do something new with your hair?”

Kaede was surprised, she did infact do a new thing with her hair. But, it was very hard to see.

“Wow, you really pay attention to me that much? I’m flattered, Y/N.”

“Of course I do! I watch you every single day.”

That’s when Kaede stopped walking, all of the alarms went off in her head.

“W-watch me? What do you mean ‘you watch me daily’?”

“Well, I watch you play piano, talk to Shuichi, sleep-“

“SLEEP?” Kaede cut you off once she heard that you watch her sleep.

“Not only are those things you just mentioned you weren’t there for. But, sleep?! What the fuck…?”

“Of course I watch you sleep, doesn’t everyone watch people rest?”

“NO. No, no, no! Only creeps do that.”

“Oh. Good thing I’m not a creep.”

She looked up at you, stepping away slowly.

“Sorry about this, but I think it’s best if I walk to the dining hall…alone…”

“Aww, why?”

You asked as she sprinted away from you.

Little did she know, this wasn’t the last she’d see you at her front door.

Korekiyo Shinguji📚

He thought you were very ‘interesting’.

That’s his replacement word for weird af.

Nobody really paid any attention to him, but you did.

He was very observant of his surroundings, and well, you weren’t the best at hiding.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

He looked at you dead in the eye as you were trying to hide in a bush.

“……just living life….”

He feels flattered that you’re so interested in him, It’s very unusual for him.

(i’m trying so goddamn hard not to make this NSFW 😩)

He didn’t even introduce himself to you, yet you were already all over him.

“Kukuku, your rather ‘special’ nature makes you all the more beautiful.”

Though, he does get annoyed by it sometimes. Especially when he’s trying to do something in private.

—————————————————————————-

Korekiyo was planning his infamous ‘seesaw attack’ as he messed with the floorboards.

“Hey Kiyo!”

He turned around as he saw you standing right behind him with a big grin on your face.

“W-what the-? How did you get in?! I locked the door!”

“I couldn’t get in so I took off the door, duh!”

Kiyo looked behind you to see that you quite literally used a screwdriver to unscrew the door off.

“Anyways, what are you doing?”

He knew he couldn’t actually tell you what he was doing, that would fuck up his entire plan.

But, he was very aware of your obsession with him, so perhaps you could help him.

“Hm, well Y/N, I’m working on an ‘experiment’ with these floorboards. I’m trying to see if they’re are capable of harming a human being.”

“Of course they’re capable of harming people, Kiyo. I’m not stupid. Tell me the truth.

Gosh darn it, he really did think that excuse would work with you.

It felt like his only option was to tell you the truth, if you didn’t want to help afterwards, he could just kill you.

“If you insist, I shall give you the truth, I’m setting up a murder trap.”

You stared at him, thinking to yourself if you should, run or stay.

It wasn’t completely morally correct to stay and help, but you stalking him proved that you barely have morals.

“Can I help?”

“Of course, Y/N.”

Korekiyo proceeded to win the killing game and live a good life. You died with all the others.

[tinkersclankandbobble]

Let’s talk about Bobble’s strength for a moment

Taking a look at Bobble, one might assume he is just a scrawny geek who could be knocked over with a slight breeze.

Ok… maybe he could be knocked over with a slight breeze… he is a fairy… But all joking aside, I believe Bobble is likely a lot stronger than he looks. We’ve seen a few moments where the animators have made little jokes about Bobble trying to lift heavy things and not being very successful at it. For example, in the first movie, we see him and Clank carrying the music box during liftoff toward the Mainland.

And yes, Bobble is clearly struggling t o lift the base of the music box, while Clank is having no trouble carrying it by the hand of the dancer. But we already know Clank is strong. And of course Clarion throws extra Dust Bobble’s way to help him carry the music box, leaving a bright glow on his body.

Cute moment, for sure. Very silly and definitely plays at the dynamic of Clank being the stronger of the pair while Bobble tries to be strong too.

But take a look at how Bobble is holding the music box in those two pictures. He doesn’t have a good grip on the base at all, meaning it could easily fall from his grasp. In fact, lets have a look at a moment just after this when everyone is flying to the mainland.

Ok, so in both instances where we see this, the boys are right at the bottom edge of the shot so we can’t really see it well, Tink being the real focus and all, but see how the two of them are holding the base together now? Bobble is no longer struggling to hold the music box. Also he’s no longer glowing from the extra dust, so I’d assume it’s no longer in effect.

“But RK! Couldn’t it be that Clank is supporting more of the weight than Bobble is?”

I suppose that could be the case, so let’s look at another moment from The Great Fairy Rescue.

I’ve always found this moment hilarious. Why the heck does Bobble think he can lift Clank up to see over the rocks? He’s so skinny and Clank is so big!!!

Well, it probably didn’t occur to him that he’d struggle with it. It’s raining, the rocks are slippery, he kind of got under Clank to boost him up too quickly. All in all, not good technique for lifting someone larger than yourself. But the fact remains that Bobble WAS able to boost Clank up, though with great difficulty, and ultimately ended up slipping out from under him as referenced by the sound bits and him shouting “I can’t feel my legs!”

Again, this is likely played up for humor, but doesn’t accurately show how strong Bobble really is, because once again something happens later that paints a different picture.

All seven of these fairies stacked up together to open the door. Clank is of course on the bottom because he is in fact the strongest of the bunch (and largest) but who is second from the bottom? Bobble! And though we don’t really get a closeup of him here, we can see that he has his whole body straightened out and his arms completely extended over his head unlike when he was trying to lift Clank.

“But they’re not as heavy as Clank is, RK!”

I doubt that. I cannot possibly believe that the combined weights of Rosetta, Vidia, Fawn Silvermist AND Iridessa could possibly be less than the weight of Clank on his own. No way.

(Side note: I find it hilarious that Iridessa is on the top of the stack. She’s a light fairy. So she’s light.)

What I see here is that this group was able to take more time to stack themselves up more steadily to reach the door, possibly use the door itself for balance as they stacked up. And balance is just as important as weight, if not more important, when it comes to lifting an object. So in all likelihood, Bobble is actually pretty dang strong, and just lacks technique to lift things properly.

Plus one other thing…. He’s a gosh darn Tinker! Tinkers are heckin’ strong! Fairy Mary even stated to Tink that they’d build up her “Tinker Muscles” in no time! And Bobble’s been around longer than Tink, so it’s a safe assumption that he has built up muscle from tinkering over the years. So even though Bobble may not be as strong as Clank or Fairy Mary, he is by no means weak.

[nocandnc]

Hello!

I just wanted to say thank you so so so much for being in the WaruYama tag.

I've been with the manga for a long time, and have been shipping the General with Yamano since the first Volume.

I know Pink's probably more likely to be a romantic partner, but gosh darn it, Yamano knows him better than a lot of people do, and he respects her opinions, at least on foods and wants to save the place she works for last in the destruction of the world.

I literally thought I wouldn't find anything on them when I looked it up today- finally breaking to the pressure of loving the ship so much- and I found you!

Thank you so much for having anything on them at all!

I love them and your cute little post-it note drawings were cute too, thank you! ❤️💓💕💝💘💖

Hi there~

Thank you so much for your kind words!! I still think about these two a lot even though the anime’s ended, it’s great to see other fans of this ship are doing the same ^///^

(Although Pink clearly likes him, I really can’t see that going anywhere as it’s purely one-sided… just a bittersweet first love for the would-be magical girl. If anything I find her and Blue more likely? Wouldn’t be the first time someone says “they’re like a sister to me” only to realize it was romantic later on lol)

But let’s keep this about WaruYama!!

I really love how he and Yamano just vibe together so well!! From the start she was able to read him, knowing he was disappointed that his favourite snack was out of stock or feeling the same reluctance about eating the Panda buns… the contrast between his ‘tall dark and stoic’ appearance and her sweet sunshine personality is also just to die for >///<

I also really love that she works at HopeMart, like… that’s where hope for coexistence begins and ends!! It’s the place he’ll spare till the very end, and so of course, Yamano as well…! Feels poetic lol

Although it’s a bit cheesy, I’ve been quietly headcanoning Yamano’s given name to be Nozomi (wish, desire, hope etc.) since she hasn’t been given one far as I know ^^;;;

Yamano Nozomi~!! I think it has a nice ring to it.

If it turns out she does have a first name, then I’d make Nozomi their child’s name instead~ (Nozomu if it’s a boy!)

I’m glad you liked my silly sticky note doodles!! I should really draw proper fanart of them sometime, but until then, here’s another one—

I like the idea of Yamano being allergic to cats, making the General’s robo kitty the perfect playmate for her ^^

Thank you so much for the Ask, feel free to pop in again anytime!!