#trickiest corners

[bobluvbot]

late night cravings

pairing: sirius black x afab!reader summary: you sneak off the night for a cheeky midnight snack, hoping sirius won’t notice (spoiler alert: he does, and he’s sulky about it)  wc: 4k cw: pregnancy & baby talk, descriptions of food and eating, brief allusions to sex (not directly stated), no physical traits of reader specified but sirius can hold things out of reader’s reach  a/n: so i had a lengthy angst fic for sirius’s debut on my blog and im halfway done on it but i cant seem to finish it bc it sends me to a depressing spiral each time <33333 so pls enjoy a very self-indulgent domestic excessively fluffy blurb with my beloved <33333 p.s this is not proofread so plz ignore mistakes ty <3

opening the tomato salsa jar turned out to be the hardest part. 

back in bed, you thought the trickiest part of your late night escapade from sirius black was his long limbs wound up tight with yours, even in low light of the small nightlight in the corner, you could still make out the intricate script and designs following the curves and dips of his strong arms, holding you close to his chest. 

you had it committed to memory by now, having explored sirius’s body well enough to memorize the way his skin feels against yours, with heartbeats and breaths falling in sync without much effort. 

judging by the way his breathing gets heavy after every exhale and the little snores that escape in between, you knew he was beyond knackered. it was day five of sirius’s new job as an deputy director at the auror office. the day he learned about the promotion was pure unadulterated happiness. after letting you know through an express owl, you mustered up enough vigor available to your seven months pregnant self to get out of the house and go to the local shops to get party supplies and food to celebrate sirius’s achievement. 

Coming in third out of the list of things he genuinely loved in this life, after you and his luscious locks of course, was his job as an auror. young sirius had never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d work at the ministry, much less actually enjoy it. can’t really blame sixteen year old sirius, starting an underground rock band with the marauders seemed like the perfect thing to do after gruelling hours of studying at hogwarts. 

defense against the dark arts came to him naturally, with some counterspells like second nature to him as being exposed with use of dark magic young gave him no choice but to grow up quickly and defend himself from the excruciating pain or the mind control that was from his own family’s doing. Winning the first wizarding war alongside his friends and found family has solidified sirius’s calling in eradicating the use of dark magic and making sure the next generation can have a safe and normal life without the looming threat of a megalomaniac sorting people with their blood status and taking over the wizarding world. 

that night, sirius walked into a dark and eerily quiet home that had his senses on overdrive. but when the lights turned on and he saw familiar faces of his loved ones all beaming with pride, and there you were in the center, looking ethereal and round and all his, with his favorite red velvet cake on hand and a ridiculously big balloon that says “congratulations” tied to the candle, he could have melted in a syrupy mess of gooey happiness right then and there if he hadn’t caught himself together last minute.

Sirius had thought– that after you agreeing to go on one date with him to hogsmeade, winning the quidditch cup and seeing the proud look on minerva’s face, going home for christmas break and euphemia welcoming him with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, remus teaching at the very same classroom you all were in years back, james and lily’s first kiss at the altar, holding little baby harry in his arms, you walking down the aisle with a bouquet of peonies in the most beautiful dress, and when you held his hand that one night and told him that you were expecting—- that he knew of love. but you do something extraordinary that has him scrambling to add to the endless list of why you’re the love of his life. he was so focused on you that he wasn’t prepared to catch pure muscle of james’s body as he flung himself to tackle his best friend in a hug. luckily, remus with a party hat was aptly standing between a toppling sirius and the living room wall, and he singlehandedly saved the two from creating a huge hole in the drywall. 

this was the life, sirius had thought after many hours of partying celebrating and eating, when he laid beside you in bed, limbs tangled, sated and dizzy and warm as you both came down from your highs. and he gets to spend it with you.

but as fun and exciting sirius’s new job is, it entailed an increased amount of responsibility as he was assisting the head auror. his least favorite part of the job was the boatloads of paperwork he has to deal with. An express owl almost dropped a howler letter into the soup you were making for dinner earlier that day and you opened it up panicking thinking it was an emergency. But no, it was just sirius whining that his hand hurt and is about to fall off and that he needs you to kiss it better. 

You did eventually, and one thing led to another and here you were, tucked in your husband’s warm embrace. you could stay here forever, only separating to drink water and bathroom trips, but the gnawing urge to eat something savory, sweet, tangy, and crunchy has possessed your entire being, the only way to quell it was to get up and go to the kitchen. the baby doesn’t seem to have a semblance of time yet, a fact you both envied and despised, because the clock on your nightstand said it was 3:48am in bold red numbers. A few months ago, you’d never be caught dead awake at this time, taking your precious sleep time seriously. The man himself would poke fun at you and say you’d gladly sleep through an earthquake or a housefire just as long as you get your seven to eight hours of sleep per day, and despite of your assumed role of contradicting and arguing with spontaneous and stubborn sirius, you had to agree.

But this was not about you anymore, or at least not quite yet for a good seventeen years, so you untangle yourself from sirius and your perfectly warm and cool side of the bed and waddle down the carpeted stairs, careful not to set foot on the creaky step that might risk waking sirius up. You need your secrets too, and you’re not in the mood to share food.

Grateful for the heavens that you and sirius stocked up on groceries two days ago, you had a wide selection of random items to munch on. A few days ago, you were introduced to the idea of a fluffernutter sandwich while scrolling through the short videos on your feed. Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff as spreads on their own was something you didn’t mind eating, but both together in a sandwich? You were enthralled, and the only way to quell the curiosity was to make it. So you did. 

You shovel and slather more than enough spread on each slice of bread, though you might have used the same spoon on both jars.. but who’s to tell you off otherwise, your snoozing husband upstairs? pfft. 

Smiling happily as if committing a particularly naughty crime, you place the spoon in your mouth, licking off the gooey mixture as you place the sandwich on a piece of paper towel (yes, you take the no dishwashing tonight seriously) on the table. humming, you mull over what to prepare next.

The baby needs something savory and tangy, but you’re not particularly keen on going through all the effort of heating up the soup from dinner, not to mention the amount of cutlery and dishes you’ll use for that, so you zero in on the tostada shells you chose rather than tortilla chips because its much more crispier. 

Opening the fridge, you see the laughing cow on a round packaging and decide its the one, so you grab two cheese wedges from it. 

Sirius had argued that the next aisle had actual, real blocks of cheese with a variety on display and that there was no point in getting artificially flavored ones. But you’ve gotten really good at giving him the stank face, which inadvertently ends 75 percent of nonsense bickering before it even starts; and since you’ve started showing more and more, sirius has admittedly gone softer on you, not that he was ever more but a pushover your entire relationship. Merely widening of eyes and a jut of your lower lip, even adding a slight tremble or two during times where you did actually fuck up, sirius can’t hold his stance longer than a minute before sighing and taking you in his arms. he might call you out for being a brat at times, but there’s no denying he loves it. And so the artificial wheel of cheese wedges got purchased and bagged home, and you’re meticulously spreading it over the golden shells, leaving little to no gaps of it bare. 

Laying it on another paper towel, your heart gets giddy on your chest knowing you’re in for a treat tonight. But not quite time to start munching, the baby reminds you that you still need something tangy to complete the meal. So comes your big predicament, should you get dill pickles or tomato salsa? 

It took you ten seconds too long of weighing down the pros-and-cons of choosing one and feeling like you made the wrong choice if you end up not liking it. It doesn’t help that the pregnancy hormones make you more anxious and tend to put you always on the verge of tears. So when the not-so-groundbreaking idea of just eating them both hits you, you feel the weight slide off your shoulders as you sigh. Because again, who’s gonna tell you that eating pickles this late at night can give you bad acid reflux, your snoozing husband? Pfft.

Snacking on some, you do manage to pick out the juiciest looking pickle chips and lay them atop of your tostadas. You and the little one are beyond excited to dive in. It’s looking like a mini upside-down pizza with the cheese spread first then the pickle as toppings. Only thing left now was the the tomato salsa slathered on top to seal the deal. 

Opening tight lids wasn’t an issue for you before, in fact, you took pride when friends hand you a jar or bottle to open because you could do it in a breeze. Chances were, the lid wasn’t even screwed on that tight, you were just built different, you’d say with a shrug once you give the items back. So when the tomato jar doesn’t budge after two attempts, you get puzzled.

Maybe your hands were slippery? You wipe them down with a tea towel and try again. No.

You weren’t holding it tight enough? Fingers held taut against the lid, you try three times. Still no.

Determined, you try different positions before letting the jar go, shooting it glares as if it’d get intimidated and just open up for you. You were also getting lightheaded, and passing out on the kitchen floor due to excessive stimulation of your vagal reflex because you were too stubborn to use magic or wake your husband up to open it for you doesn’t seem like the best way to spend the early Tuesday morning hours.

Magic was even out of the option (well, in your brain it was), because your wand’s tucked beside sirius’s on your nightstand, and frankly, you don’t have the patience to drag yourself upstairs just to flick a utility spell to open the wretched thing. So you do the next best option: lose hope. 

The disappointment was mutual between you and your baby. And the acid reflux did start to kick in, making your stomach grumble in both hunger and pain. This was all going so well until it isn’t, tears began to make its way up to your eyes.

“See, this is what you get for being greedy and eating all snacks by yourself,” sirius huffs behind you, deep voice still raspy with sleep. You didn’t even hear him getting out of bed and coming down the stairs, that’s how preoccupied you were with opening the jar.

He grabs the container away from you to open it, but not without throwing a scowl at your direction, handsome face contorted with furrowed eyebrows and downturned mouth, enough to express that he felt betrayed by this whole ordeal. If you were in a better mood, you’d poke his sides and tackle him playfully, teasing him for being sulky. But for now, you need the jar opened so you could eat in peace. You’ll deal with the sharing food issue later.

“t wasn’t supposed to take long,” you mumble, caught off guard and refusing to make eye contact, pretending the fridge magnets beside sirius’s head is ten times more interesting than his face. You don’t miss his raised eyebrow and snort at your response. 

The second attempt comes and he opens it with a satisfying pop. your mouth falls agape, eyeing the *now accessible* tomato salsa dip in disbelief. What the hell? 

And you couldn’t even take the smug grin spreading across sirius’s face by the millisecond. Refuse to. You try to snatch the open container away from him but he holds it higher and out of reach, making a show of puffing his chest, flexing his biceps, even giving it a kiss. This is all James’s doing, you need to have a talk with Lily soon about keeping these two separated.

“Sirius!” you try to plead your way out. the trademark innocent, pouty expression settles on your face like a second mask, hoping he’d go down this easy. 

It doesn’t work. He just chuckles, mocking your pleas and face while his free hand sneaks up and pinches your unsuspecting cheek to tease you further.

You yelp in mock outrage and swat his hand away, trying your best to keep your displeasure firm on your face, but you feel the giggles coming up. “This is why I sneak out alone to eat, you’re such a bully,” you huff, but take a seat in front of your makeshift spread. 

Sirius places the jar near you, but not without poking your exposed sides, armed with the knowledge that the easiest way to get you laughing (and eventually conceding in an argument) is knowing where your tickle zones are. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, plopping himself beside you. “That’s also why you’re the only one waking up with an upset stomach, stinking up our bathroom so early in the morning.”

Now this one got you appalled, embarrassed, disturbed, basically hit with all the feelings. You’ve been living together long before you got married, and he never brought up this issue until today. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” He makes a move to snatch the sandwich away but the embarrassment on your cheeks made you more agile, swatting his hand away and shielding the sandwich with your hands. “After I finish my meal,” you continue, shooting him a glare.

But see, one of the things that drove you nuts even way back at Hogwarts, was how Sirius Black mostly managed to outsmart you or be one step ahead of you in everything. After you turned him down without much thought whatsoever despite his grand declaration of interest, Sirius took it upon himself to show you (1) that you made a mistake for rejecting him, (2) that his ego won’t let you embarrass him like that again, (3) and that you won’t get rid of him that easily. Once he set his eyes on you, you were face to face with him in everything: grades, OWLs/NEWTs scores, Quidditch plays and bets, wins at the duelling club, even with the fucking gobstones tournament. He never let you catch a break.

Things were surely different now, since you vowed to be with him in sickness and health and untill death parts you both– hell, you’re carrying his child. So you figured maybe, maybe, he’ll let you catch a break this time. Let you eat in peace as you mull over his bathroom comment and how you’re going to get him back. 

But again, no. Unlike you, Sirius remembered to grab his wand from the nightstand. Not even batting an eye, he says nonchalantly, “Accio sandwich.” And the fluffernutter you protected with all your physical might managed to escape your watch, and land gracefully on his waiting palm. 

What irritated you more from this whole ordeal? The prodigal auror that climbed his way up the ranks and became the youngest deputy director, fully capable of complex spells and wielding different kinds of magic, felt the need to do a verbal Accio spell just to make a point to you.

Out of words, you just stare at him blankly. Too stunned to even cry in frustration because you knew you made a conscious, willing choice to be with this man. 

Maybe your best guilt-tripping expression comes best when you’re not trying. Color drains from his face when you remained silent and he scrambles to take a bite off the sandwich before handing it back to you, or rather placing it on your limp hand as you refuse to acknowledge it, still too hurt to budge. “‘m sorry, baby. Just wanted to eat with you since we didn’t get to earlier.”

He did arrive later than usual, deciding to finish the stack of case files and paperwork so he won’t have to sift through them again the next day. There were plans to wait for him before eating, but when the jitteriness and slightly nausea started to kick in, you had no choice in the matter. Sirius had been sulky and clingy the moment he got home, and as compromise, you stayed to watch him eat; listening and reacting animatedly as he ranted about his stressful day.

So you cut him off some slack, also exhausted from all the emotional stimulation sirius brought since he woke up. As a silent peace offering (also because you’re not ready to say sorry to his face), you slide the tostadas within his reach and finally take your bite of the goddamn sandwich. It was good, tasted as expected, sweet peanut butter. You’d probably have it again as a drunk at 3am meal.

Sirius also went and got snacks of his own: microwaved popcorn, pickles, toasted bread slathered with butter, and grapes. Together, you munched on the little spread of random food you could find in your kitchen at 4am in comfortable silence, which is surprising after the earlier bickering. No matter how cheesy it sounded in your head, sirius was the only person that can drive you to the brink of insanity and right back. You were in for a hell of a ride for the foreseeable future; and while there’s a lot of uncertainty right now and changes to be made when the little one gets here, you’re beyond happy that you get to do all this with him. 

Sleep was beginning to creep up on you. Of course he notices this right when you do, so a warm arm wrapped across your back urges you to settle on his lap, bodies melding into the familiar crevices like puzzle pieces, though you both had to adjust certain angles to accommodate your growing belly. You sit like this for a while; your head tucked securely in the crook of his neck, steady breaths lulling you to sleep, while sirius’s hands instinctively finds its way under your sleep shirt and on the natural curve of your belly, lithe fingers stroking and drawing soothing circles anywhere he could reach. 

you wish you could stay like this forever– cozy and soft and safe– but alas, you were carrying sirius black’s offspring. the baby decides to reward you with a round of kicks, probably giddy after feeling their father’s touch. Sirius chuckles and coos at your bump, while a muffled groan leaves your lips from the sudden onslaught of movement, but still refusing to move from this comfortable position.

Smooth cold lips touch the side of your forehead and you relish in the feeling. “Does it ever hurt, love? All that kicking and wiggling?” 

“Not really,” a content sigh leaves your lips. “Feels strange at times, seeing your belly move on its own.” 

To prove your point, two tiny bulges make a split second appearance just above where Sirius’s hand lay. His thumb soothes the area lovingly.

“Definitely getting stronger though; Lily told me during the later months, harry for some reason loved to kick downwards, making bathroom trips more frequent than it already is. Not excited for that.”

He presses kisses on your forehead, temple, hairline, anywhere he could reach without moving too much. “Things that you do and endure for this ‘lil troublemaker,” sirius murmurs. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, you could feel his body reverberating with awe and fondness. You try to bask in it for as long as you could, but a passing thought makes its presence known to you again.

“Do i really make the bathroom stink?” it comes out whinier than you intended it to be but you just had to know for peace of mind. 

Sirius’s whole frame vibrates as he tries to stifle his laughter, taking you with him. He’s laughing at your expense but you feel your own giggles brewing in your belly. You try to hold it in for longer, preserving some self respect. “A little bit,” he says solemnly. You groan, earlier mortified feeling returning in full swing. It triggers another round of chuckles.

“But dove, it’s nothing that my deep love and adoration for my lovely strong hot and sexy wife can’t handle.” He says assuredly, and you curse yourself for being so down bad for this man as blood rushes to your cheeks from his words. Good thing it’s dim and your face is still tucked in the crook of his neck. 

You do pinch his arm in response, and both your laughters compliment the comfortable silence. 

“Although,” he says after a while. “The betrayal of you eating without me still hurts.” 

“Siri.. i’m sorry,” you mumble. “‘y looked so tired, Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

He tuts and doesn’t say much after that. In sirius dictionary, this means he just wants some affection from you— for you to dote on him and coax out his forgiveness, even if you both know he’s not really mad; judging by his arms still wrapped securely around your frame and steady breaths that tickle and fan on your bare skin. 

So you mimic his actions from earlier, planting tiny kisses on his neck, collarbones, jawline, anywhere your lips could reach. Kissing his cheek seem to do the trick, his fake scowl quickly coming undone as a bashful smile breaks through the frown, and his tiny dimple you love so much making an appearance. The muggle maternity books did say dimples are genetic, so an image of a little Sirius running around and smiling up at you with those dimpled cheeks is a warming thought. 

“I am charming all the lids to be stuck at night as soon as i wake up tomorrow for work.” You poke a sensitive spot on his side, making him jolt, but you couldn’t resist laughter as it bubbles out of the surface. “You’re insufferable, I can’t believe I married a psychopath.”

“And you let him knock you up too. I’d say it takes one to know one, hm?” 

[trashytoastboi]

Can I request headcanons of Luffy, Zoro, Sanji and Ace with a sleepy head S/O? They just love sleeping and taking naps.

Hiya! Sure thing! My apologies for the long wait on your request and hope you enjoy ~

Headcanons: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace with Sleepy head S/O – They just love sleeping and taking naps

> (Gender Neutral) <

Monkey D. Luffy

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🍖 Luffy could always find {Name} in their favorite nap spot. They had developed little napping corners, all throughout various places on the ship. Some were cozy, others unusual. Luffy initially found it to be entertaining like a game every time he had to seek out another new place that {Name} dubbed as their sleeping spot. He had even adopted some to be his own sleeping corners that he would share a refreshing nap or two with {Name} especially after a big meal. He didn't understand how one could sleep so often but nevertheless, {Name} had their moments of energy. Although everyone could agree it was an unusual match up considering how low energy {Name} is compared to the ever energetic Luffy. 

🍖 Luffy loves that {Name} is so trusting of him that he could move them around in their sleep and instinctively they’ll know it's him and won't wake nor stir. Simply entrust themselves to him. That trust is a precious thing to Luffy, and he would never seek to betray it. Out of curiosity they had tested if it worked with anyone else on the crew and with the exception of Chopper, no one else was able to even touch {Name} without waking them up. Knowing that they don’t stir or get disturbed Luffy is still always careful when handling them while sleeping. 

🍖 It goes without saying that naps are a daily occurrence, {Name} enjoys napping with Luffy. It’s a two in one, they get to sleep and spend time with their beloved. How could they possibly pass that up? Especially after a delicious meal served by Sanji, a satisfied stomach makes the eyes heavy. {Name} already heads to their spot of the day and Luffy follows. I mean nothing beats a post meal nap, and it’s only got all the upsides. He does find it surprising that {Name} can easily sleep more than Zoro but when you’re tired, you're tired. He’s understanding of that given the amount of times he would see Ace just fall asleep in the middle of things. He wouldn't even wait until after the meal until he was passing out.

🍖 Luffy has tested how deeply they sleep. He’s poked, prodded, tickled, raised a ruckus and yet they slept through it all. Honestly you’d need that kind of deep sleep to survive the craziness of the Straw-Hat crew. He also finds it adorable how they koala to him. If they sense that Luffy is near they’ll stretch, shuffle and pull him into a surprise snuggle. Which 99% of the time also results in Luffy deciding to take a nap too. 

🍖 Luffy can tolerate a lot, but there are some sleep habits that just don’t fly with him. He can tolerate the blanket stealing, snoring and cold feet. But the sleep talking- specifically sleep talking about food is just one of the worst habits {Name} has. It makes Luffy so unbearably hungry that he has to go and find food as soon as possible, even if it means getting through Sanji and the padlocked fridge. 

🍖 {Name’s} sleeping habits, believe it or not have actually gotten a lot better. One of the trickiest things to deal with, was {Name} falling asleep in the middle of fights. One second they’re dominating, next someone is yelling to rescue them before they’re injured because they decided to stop, drop and nap right on the spot. The only saving grace was that their adversary was so stunned that they just stopped fighting momentarily, which gave Luffy an opportunity to save his partner and take them to safety. Which usually entailed tossing them as gently as he could to some random corner. 

Roronoa Zoro

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⚔️ Zoro never thought he’d meet someone who shares his need to nap. If not more so, he appreciates that they understand. Who can refuse the true beauty of a good solid nap, you wake refreshed and energized, sometimes a little hungry but right as rain. Sleep was the magic cure all, and {Name} embodied that. When awake they were sleepy, yawning and dazed as if they were constantly on the verge of going to bed. Zoro finds it charming in his way, and {Name’s} constant bedhead is something he also finds quite adorable. He’s even gotten to the point of being able to rate the quality of their naps based on their bed hair. A neat little party trick. Not that he could say he’s met someone that sleeps that match, so he likens his partner to a cat because that’s the only creature that comes to his mind that naps as much as {Name}

⚔️ All of Zoro’s napping spots became {Name’s} napping spot and underwent a metamorphosis, to become extra comfortable. A whole upgrade, things were far more comfortable than Zoro thought possible. {Name} had the magic touch, Zoro swears that he had never in his life ever slept that comfortably. His partner was genuinely happy that they could make his naps, along with theirs a little more peaceful and accommodating. Hell, even Franky swore left and right that they must use sorcery because he couldn’t see HOW it made any sense. {Name} has often said that to understand the art of sleep, one must sleep a lot. 

⚔️ Zoro wasn’t much of a cuddler, not at first at least. He would fall asleep his usual way, on his back with his hands behind his head. Sometimes he’d be holding his swords and other times he’d just lay on his side on the deck. {Name} would scoot, shuffle and shift until they were snug against him, comfortably and using Zoro’s chest as their pillow. They said it was the best pillow and it was hard to nap without. Eventually Zoro got so used to them, that he just always fell asleep expecting {Name} to eventually join him. Oddly enough Zoro discovered he was quite the big fan of snuggling. Having them in his arms, and feeling the warmth of another person was so comforting. Unless there was a heatwave, being the only exception when {Name} didn’t cuddle up with him. 

⚔️ Zoro never knew whether to be impressed, entertained or creeped out by the fact that {Name} could hold full conversations in their sleep. They’d said it’s all basic and autopilot answers. There were plenty of times when they weren’t supposed to be sleeping and at least being able to answer questions and speak saved them a lot. If someone tried to wake them they would simply reply “I’m not sleeping, just resting my eyes.” The most common excuse in the book is that someone would ask a second question and [Name} would respond, even going as far as being able to make small talk. All for the preservation of a good nap.. 

⚔️ Constricting. Zoro absolutely detested this strange sleep habit of his partners. For literally no reason, their cuddles would turn into crushing death grip, strangle holds and gentle arms turned into constricting snakes that would have Zoro being crushed. He thought it was related to dreams, nope. Come hell or high water, good dreams or bad. {Name} would get these random moments when they would just tighten their grip and send Zoro into mild panic until he wakes them up or slips out of their hold. Now it’s just a thing that happens and he handles it easily, the first few times however were nothing short of terrifying.

⚔️ Well Zoro has had his fair share of badly timed naps, during a crisis when he’s napping so soundly. But one thing he wishes {Name} would work on, is having no sense of crisis. Mid fight and they’re eepy? Sleep. The amount of fights he’s had to undertake with {Name} slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. If not that, then falling asleep in the bath and literally fearing for his partner drowning because they decided to take a quick nap in the bathtub. 

Sanji

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🍽 Cute, so cute, adorable- precious. Sanji has many adjectives to explain his partner, not that they ever do any justice because {Name} exceeds them. He thinks their sleepiness is adorable. Sounds odd, but seeing how they yawn, eyes barely open and they waddle towards Sanji to hug him and wish him a good morning, nuzzling into his chest as the warmth lulls them back to sleep. Sanji is literally trembling from how cute that is. “{Name-chan} You should go back to bed.” He helps them back to bed, and even prepares the usual. {Name} gets an exemption from the dining table to enjoy a leisurely breakfast in bed, benefits when one’s boyfriend is the chef. 

🍽Absolutely adores what a snuggle bug they are. Sanji loves it. If he’s cooking they’ll usually hug him, leaning into him while he’s busy. They’re half asleep mumbling half asleep answers, occasionally being fed bites to taste test while Sanji deciphers and translates based on their hums and mumbles. If he’s sitting down, they want to use his lap as a pillow, if in bed, they’re snuggling him. Sometimes they intentionally seek Sanji out, pouting until he agrees to join them in a nap just so they can cuddle him. He loves the affection. 

🍽 {Name} has gotten Sanji into the habit of taking naps too, in the small time gap after lunch and before dinner. Sanji originally didn’t see the appeal, only if he had a poor night's sleep, then he’d do it for a boost of energy. Ever since {Name}, naps were his daily ritual. His little bit of me time, and thankfully he convinced {Name} to sleep in relatively normal places. Some of their previous places were questionable if not downright dangerous. One long lecture later, they shuffled around until napping spots got Sanji approved. 

🍽 Sanji discovered the greatest joy he has. {Name} who is always extra ravenous after waking up from a nap. They say food always tastes better after a nap and eat whatever Sanji serves up with such enthusiasm that it genuinely touches his heart. He loves being able to cook and prepare light meals, snacks, anything they crave really after a particularly good nap. Even with their sleepy and low energy selves they express such clear excitement for whatever Sanji cooks up. 

🍽 Sanji has very little to complain about when sharing a bed with them at night, the only thing he’ll probably say was tricky to get used to was how much {Name] moves around in their sleep. They change sleeping positions every so often, occasionally banishing the pillow from the bed unintentionally or throwing the blanket off, Sanji always wakes up to return their pillow and cover them again. This happens a few times a night, even if they’re cuddling sometimes {Name} will very abruptly change their sleeping position and smack Sanji in the face, giving him a nosebleed. (Oh the irony) 

🍽 Sanji was wholly curious about what would happen should {Name} not sleep as much for a day. Satisfying his curiosity they didn’t nap and it was hard. They were so groggy and tired it made them sluggish. They grew irritable beyond belief, and grumpy. They would hug Sanji everytime they walked past but instead of enjoying it, they would leave almost immediately saying it would make them sleepy. Sanji knew that naps were like snickers to his partner. Because {Name} wasn’t themselves without having a nap. 

Portgas D. Ace

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🔥 Ace is very high energy, he is always in go mode. Ironically until he has those sudden naps that recharge him for his next bout. {Name} found that relatable and cute on Ace’s behalf. Meeting while he napped in his soup probably wouldn’t make the best first impression to most. {Name} reassured him it's quite alright. It happens to them often too. Ace took it as a joke, not exactly knowing that it was almost the truth. {Name} is so sleepy all the time, that a couple of instances of falling asleep in their food was actually pretty commonplace. Ace thinks it’s cute though.

🔥 {Name} loves sleeping with Ace, he’s always warm and loves cuddling as much as they do. Ace enjoys seeing them so peaceful and undisturbed, he strokes their head to calm them and it works. It soothes {Name}, anytime they’re with Ace and he starts doing that, it’s guaranteed that they will fall asleep. He knows it too, he doesn’t mind if they fall asleep though. Ace takes it as a sign of their trust in him, enough to fall asleep near him and entrust them with their safety. That trust is something precious to Ace even if it stems from something like sleeping near him, he still values it. 

🔥 {Name} will occasionally ‘kidnap’ Ace to join in their afternoon naps. One minute he’s socializing with the crew, the next {Name} is sprouting up out of nowhere trying to drag him to their favorite napping spot, which of course is decided at the time. In consideration of a few key factors, such as the weather, the sun, the wind, comfort factor, and {Name’s} mood of the day. Do they want an indoor nap? Outdoor? Is it cold or hot? 

🔥 One of the most entertaining things for the crew to witness is Ace trying to escape from {Name} after they’ve fallen asleep. Him trying to stealthily slip out of their grasp and every time they stir, threatening to wake up he freezes. Holds his breath in this game of red light, green light until he’s finally free. Eventually he shuffles a pillow closer to act as his body double as {Name} snuggles into it and goes on sleeping without a care in the world. 

🔥 An annoying sleep habit that {Name} has is ‘mood swings’ in a sense, one minute they want cuddles, snuggles and fine, the next, they want their own space and roll away from Ace or violently boot him out of bed (All unintentionally), Ace never knows when the mood will shift. One moment he snuggles, the next he dodges an elbow, a knee, a foot and resorts to sleeping on the cold side of the bed, banished to the forsaken realms until [Name} is rolling back towards him.

🔥 Ace learned to deal with his adorable partner who just curls up and sleeps on any comfy surface, even if it’s an inappropriate place that could potentially be dangerous. The amount of times he believed his heart would give out when he saw half of the strange and perilous places his partner fell asleep in. Ace had the tendency to worry about them and made {Name} promise that even if they’re tired they have to hold on endure until they get to a comfortable and safe location above all. 

[mythrilthread]

🕯️ This is my first binding of a public domain work! It’s based on the first edition of Marina Tsvetaeva’s first collection, The Evening Album.

🕯️ The binding is an A6 Bradel, with linen spine and corners, and Pepin Press William Morris paper on the cover.

🕯️ The trickiest part was typesetting a collection using pre-Revolution Russian orthography as, while there are fonts with the necessary glyphs, most aren’t coded properly, so every ѣ is pasted on by hand.

[maikissed]

and the day after that, and day after that part 3

jude bellingham x reader in honor of this a-hole for scoring tonight and winning la liga (scandalous, cuz i'm a barca fan, don't jump at me) i'm turning sloppy with these continuations, not a fan of this one tbh. but i hope you'd like it a bit sorry for typos

! sexy times here

Blissful, sharply clutching at your heart but making you light in your limbs, almost tingling at the skin of your neck and your chest as you focused on it. But when you lingered there, trying to catch it to correctly define it, it stumbled you over, crushed everything in it’s path, like a sudden wave sinking you down, with the great power to swallow you whole. Something so gentle and delicate turning into a potent and striking feeling of absolute infirmity. The funniest and trickiest thing about these sensations was that they turned, switching places, changing their courses, making you fall and fall all over again. Like at the end of it, at the moment when the sweet feeling was supposed to end for the other, the more prominent one, to take place, you took a minuscule step and stumble. Fell into it. An elation. That how you’d call it, you realised, as you noticed your chest rising sharply under your sight. Your eyes on him this whole time, innocently observing him making a simple conversation with his friends just few meters away. He smiled at something and it took you a short moment to realise that the corner of your mouth rose a little too at the sight. That’s when he looked back at you, his bright smile turning into a more tender one when he caught your eyes. And those mad stirs fumbling inside of you turned violent so unexpectedly, tickling, no, hitting you in your gut, making you almost stop breathing.

He winked at you then. And your smiled turned bigger. You reached for your phone.

still can’t wink, mate

You watched his expression change as he read your message. A smirk slowly appearing on his face.

Yeah? Can see you blush from here

You chuckled to yourself, biting your lip as you typed a response. Placing your phone back on your thigh you waited.

take me home?

It didn’t take him long to approach you, of course. His hand extended to you to help you stand.

There were boundaries set at the very beginning of the new course you decided to take your relationship on. You had been indisputably terrified of many repercussions that might came if you made a mistake. Still not many knew, it was just Mia, really, but your trip to Madrid has already spoke volumes. At least you suspected it has. Wanting to take it as slow as you can you put the boy in a constant state of suffering, denying him too much physical contact in these last few months. You perceived it wise, he considered you cruel.

“Want something to drink?” Jude asked as you entered the saloon.

“I’d love some lemon water” you answered softly, taking your shoes off “Iced, if you please”

“Yes ma’am”

You sent him a playful smile, heading to the balcony. Of course one fell quickly in love with the pleasant weather in this country. Though the midday heat was a lot for you, you enjoyed the still lukewarm, now almost refreshing breeze coating you after the sunset. You hummed at the contact of your bare feet with the still warm tiles, resting on one of the chairs.

“Don’t rock on your chair” you could hear Jude’s voice when he joined you, your head thrown back as you succumbed to a peaceful night coating you soothingly.

You smiled at his reprimand. Then you heard him placing your glasses on the table, and then you loosed your balance. A sharp yelp left your throat at the feeling of falling, but when you opened your eyes you spotted Jude’s wide, playful smile centimetres from your face, his hand at the back of your chair. You gasped quickly realising he tricked you, pulling the chair further back. And of course it wasn’t the first time you let him fool yourself like that.

“You prat!” you swat at his hand and he just laughed at your reaction.

“Oh is it so funny?” you jumped from your sit to throw more punches his way.

“Yeah, your little squeak was ridiculous” your eyes widened at his comment.

You swung your hand with intention to hit his bicep once again but he blocked it before you could reach it, grasping your wrist in is grip. Being stupid enough you brought your other hand to action but he captured it too, stopping your attack altogether. When your heart slowed down a little you just huffed, feeling laughter filling your lungs as well. This time you didn’t stop to consider, simply leaning in to kiss him on the lips sweetly, your hands still in his hold, close to your head. But you had no intention to continue, pulling away from him when he begun to chase you.

“What?” he laughed and you beamed at the joyful glint in his eyes “You consider this a payback?”

“Yes, I always win, Bellingham”

“Oh, we’ll see about that” he lowered your hands but still kept his fingers wrapped around your wrists.

With a gentle push he forced you to step back and a chuckle left your lips uncontrollably when your back collided with the railing behind you.

“What are you doing? You’re not getting a kiss this way or another” you said feeling him stepping into you, the closeness fogging your brain just a tad.

“I’ll take it different way then” he bit back with a smirk and you hummed with a sneer.

You flinched and giggled when he started peppering barely there kisses on the skin of your neck. And when you curled your neck to make this task difficult for him, and because of the reason that his nose quickly following the trace of his lips on your skin made you incredibly ticklish, he let go of your left hand, using his fingers to remove one of the straps of the dress you were wearing. So when he reached your collarbone he slowed down, using his tongue at the swell of your breast that appeared after the top of your clothing slipped lower. He took his time, you realised with a deep breath, moving to the other side. The feeling of a scrape of his teeth on your shoulder surprised you, so you looked down to spot him biting on the material of the other strap of your dress, slowly dragging it down your arm. You giggled.

“I’m happy to keep you entertained” he murmured between kisses he caressed your skin with on his way up.

“Oh, I love watching your attempts” you bickered.

A bright blink in his even darker eyes made you shiver and you were mesmerized. Your eyes glued to his beautiful face, full lips just slightly parted, all his attention on you.

“Oh yeah?” he smirked “You look a little breathless, love”

Something in your chest squished at the way he accented the sweet little name he called you and you swore to hell you blushed right now. You could feel your cheeks heating up. What were you? Twelve? Maddening, at this point.

And any words you wanted to voice out, you didn’t even remember them, died at your tongue as you realised his hands were lower now, slowly grabbing another fold of your long summer dress to reach your skin underneath. You anticipated, focusing on the sensation of light air kissing another part of your legs as the material rose up with another grasp of his hands. You blinked, keeping your eyes keen and hard in contact with his when his fingers reached the delicate skin on your thighs. He hummed, content with the feeling, bringing his attention back to your neck and chest.

“Suddenly so quiet now” he muttered into your skin.

“’m waiting for something interesting” breathless, indeed.

That’s when his hands glided up to sharply grab your bum, pressing you tight against him, the feeling of his hard on prominent on your stomach. And the movement met with the lick of his tongue in the valley between the top of your breast. You moaned grabbing the railing behind you with one hand, the other placed on the crook of his neck. So when he kissed your throat you opened your mouth for him, ready, wanton for him to kiss you now. He did, and it was rough and forceful and you loved it. With a quick grip on your thigh he hiked up your leg to rest highly on his hip, the skin uncovered now. You rose slightly on your left feet, searching for him, yearning for the right contact. He groaned into your mouth when you pressed against him, using your pelvis and your right leg now, almost wrapped around him. You worried for a moment that someone could see you this unveiled since you were out in the open. The property was well separated, but there still were neighbours in some distance and even worse, Denise on the other side of he villa.

“Ah, fuck” he sighted against your lips “Aren’t you a delight?”

You would answer to that, but he didn’t let you, using his hand placed on your lower back to press on you harder, grinding against you, and you whined pitifully, closing your eyes in the meantime. Chasing the pleasant feeling to wash over you. Your hands started wandering, slipping under his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, his muscles hard under your touch.

“Will you let me tonight? Will you let me fuck you tonight?” he mumbled when you pressed your chest against him, your lips centimetres away.

Your eyes opened, a little smirk dancing on your lips when your fingers grazed delicately his skin, just above the button of his pants.

“Take me to bed, Jude”

[shinygoku]

Percy and the Coaches

Seems kind of odd in hindsight how Percy covering the Ffarquhar line during the Sodor Strike in Troublesome Engines is barely covered with a single sentance, isn't it? So odd, indeed, that I decided to turn my wheels for another fic for the first time in ages! Enjoy~

=-=-=-=-=-= =-=-=-=-=-=

Going back onto the main line, as he was specially sent for by The Fat Controller, was unexpected but something that Thomas was ready to roll with. Something about the Tender Engines having a strop and being rude to Edward?! What silly behaviour indeed! The very morning he was informed, he bustled down, but didn’t get to take in much information before the Controller himself was speaking with him, Edward, and a green Tank Engine who Thomas hadn’t seen before.

Thomas was quietly relieved that he wasn’t to go back to shunting, and wasn’t too worried about the task to pull trains on the mainline (where Edward would be in control of the opposite direction). It was no longer his heart’s desire, now he had his beloved Branch Line, but it was still a thrilling prospect. Which helped take the edge off his concern for his equally beloved Coaches, Annie and Clarabel. He wouldn’t be able to take them along with him, and in any case it would be better for his Branch Line to have his faithful coaches keeping their eyes on things. That meant that someone else would have to take them out on runs, and the someone else was the new Tank Engine he’d met that morning.

Thomas couldn’t quite trust another Tank Engine with Annie and Clarabel yet, and he wasn’t sure just why. Part of it was that the Green Engine was indeed brand-new to this railway, and didn’t know the first thing about Ffarquhar, but there was something else.

“He seems decent enough, I suppose. But I can’t tell if there’s much going on behind his eyes! He’s got this sort of face, how would Gordon put it– not that I think Gordon is right about whatever it is he’s blathering on about now! Just– oh! It’s so annoying, if The Fat Controller brought him in he must be sensible, but I can’t quite make the connection.”

His Fireman murmured suggestions while cooking a late breakfast on his shovel. Thomas didn’t know what some of them meant. 

“Retty-sense? What’s that all about?” he asked, distracted from the moods he was going through.

“My education is wasted on you,” Fireman sighed, before pausing to take a bite out of his runny egg sandwich. “Nevermind, Driver will tell me off if I put new ideas into your smokebox anyway.”

Driver and Clarabel’s Guard came back from the conversation at the station building, where it was established that Thomas’s footplate crew were to remain with their charming (and fussy) Engine. Both of them were very keen to assure him that both of his faithful coaches would be well looked after. Driver also hastened to get back on the footplate while Fireman was still cooking, before the shovel would be returned to its standard use.

Feeling a little better, Thomas again remembered the remark ‘Common Tank Engines’ and felt his fire burn a smidge hotter, and then a curious sound like alarm from his crew …and their rapidly blackening bacon.

== ==

In the whirlwind that had him successfully sold to this portly new owner, given a name, driven to the Railway and having another half-day to be refreshed in the basics by a nice local Engine, Percy was still quite abuzz in the thrill of it all.

Most of this was decidedly simple, of course. He’d been bought and sold and sent to many and various corners plenty of times before, and this little island being uncharted territory was the trickiest part. Well, and getting used to having a name now, but as long as there weren’t any other Percies then he should be fine.

A blue Tank Engine had appeared, seemingly one of the old guard of the island. He seemed confident, openly scoffing at the Big Engines and bustling off with his new assignment swiftly.

Well, except for one moment. Percy was having his coal and water topped up, as the Number One Engine was given a bit more detail than what Percy’s New Controller had initially offered. Number One’s face wouldn’t stop shifting between moods! It was almost funny to see, but Percy started to wonder what exactly had caused it. Oh dear! Maybe it was the island’s Coal! If that was the case, he’d probably start feeling peculiar before long, too!

Ah, but he was still new here, and it would look better not to make a fuss. And anyway, maybe that only had an effect when one had been on the island for quite a while. He needed to make a good impression, and he’d been tasked with running a branch line!

It may have occurred to Percy that it was a little odd to prioritise a branch line when the Main line was only having a single train in each direction at this time, but his wasn’t to reason why. They wanted him to run the line, so he’d be doing that with gusto.

The crew he’d been given did not appear to be old hands in this part of the island (honestly, they didn’t seem that old at all to Percy), but they swiftly adjusted to his cab and water and bunker needs, so that was enough for him. A Guard emerged from the Coach Who Had Brakes, and strode up to them.

To the crew, he said, “I’m sure you know enough about our Thomas to understand the gravity of this task.” They made affirmative sorts of noises.

To Percy, he said, “These coaches are very well mannered ladies, so be sure to treat them gently.”

“Oh, yes sir! Of course, sir!”

“Have you pulled many passenger trains before?”

“Oh, no sir! Barely any, sir! I’ve done all sorts but I’ve never even seen any coaches like this before, sir!”

His crew groaned. Was he supposed to say something different?

After a talk, where the Guard made several important notes and Percy’s new Driver became rather shorter in his replies and stiffer in pose, while his Fireman barely stopped smirking, they eventually broke apart to return to their respective spots.

A remark made in Percy’s cab was drowned out by the sound of coal being tossed into his fire. Ooh, he was eager to get going now!

He bustled over to meet the coaches. Their names were Annie and Clarabel, but only one of them could see him from this angle. He didn’t know which it was.

“Oh my, who might you be?” She asked.

“Where’s our Thomas?” Asked the other one.

“Good morning! My name is Percy, I’m here to run the Branch Line while your Engine helps out on the Main Line!” he beamed.

“Thomas, on the main line? Oh dear!”

“Oh goodness, I do hope he’ll be alright!”

They were coupled on, and Percy was again too awash in the excitement of this rare new situation to notice they hadn’t really paid much attention to him. His crew seemed to be operating a little slower than was needed, too, but the countryside line had plenty for Percy to look at.

Eventually they reached a junction that joined with the main line and had to wait. A blue engine rushed up, soon revealed to be the Tank Engine. When he caught sight of Percy, again his face shifted so suddenly it was quite comical, though this time the coaches behind Percy started to call out.

“Thomas!”

“Oh, Thomas! Hello!”

But Thomas (as his name seemed to be) couldn’t stop, instead whistling twice before disappearing down the line.

== ==

Percy was sitting idly, chortling to himself by remembering some of the silly behaviour of the Big Engines that Edward had told him. How the ringleader, Gordon, had had a jammed whistle once after being so stodgy about the etiquette, and that time his safety valve burst. What a joke! And there were less tales of the other two, but it did further prove to Percy, at least, how daft they all were. Strike indeed!

Whyever would Engines need to strike? Or humans, for that matter?

His crew were walking back towards him, not as content as he was here in the sun. There was an indistinct din in the distance, probably more people, but Percy hadn’t a clue what that lot were trying to say. He’d merely tuned it out ages ago, but it did seem to have redoubled around the same time his crew reappeared. How queer!

“Well, Percy, old boy–”

“Young, surely? He looks like a baby!”

“That confirms you ain’t polished him like you said, his builder’s plate is right there! He’s old as the hills!”

“Oh! No I’m not!!” Percy cried, nettled.

“Anyway. Well Percy, intermediate boy that you are, I hope you enjoyed your work on this Branch line–”

“Absolutely, sir! I have indeed!”

“Let me finish. Hope you enjoyed it as it looks like things will be back to normal soon. For a loose definition of Normal, anyhow.”

Percy’s face fell. “Oh sir, I won’t be going back to the Mainland, will I?”

“You dolt! You’ve got him upset now!”

“Oh, shove it. No, Percy, you’ll be the shunter at the big station, like you were that first day. THAT’s what I meant.”

“Oh, splendid, then!”

“Yeah, wonderful. But it’s something, ain’t it? Puts bread on the table.”

“Br…red? Why are you painting your table?”

“I’m still not convinced he’s not a newborn, ‘ere.”

Percy was too busy beaming, the Big Station was exciting a prospect. So many trucks to play with, the high glass canopy where light danced down, more coaches –oh, and he supposed more engines too. The same daft trio who’d caused all the mess? Well, they oughtn’t be too bothersome after this, making a fuss over nothing as he’d been told.

The two coaches he’d been pulling had been nice, but Percy did quietly wonder how long they were for this world, with how much that Guard had talked about pulling them gently and carefully. Hopefully the other rakes he’d assemble on the main line would take a playful bump or two… not too much, of course, Percy still had to profusely thank the Controller more for these exciting new tasks, and being sent back before then wouldn’t do.

== ==

The two tank engines didn’t get to swap stories with one another, their crews went on different rosters as relief shifts were shuffled and contracts were looked at again. Percy saw the blue Tank Engine looking much more Well, his face calmer than he’d ever seen it, and Thomas saw the green Tank Engine with flushed cheeks and a smile of gleeful anticipation. But it was fine, they weren’t likely to see each other so often they needed to take that much notice, did they?

“Annie! Clarabel!” Thomas beamed, not even hesitating before backing onto them to make their iconic Train.

“Thomas, are you quite alright?”

“Yes, you must be exhausted, on the main line like that, an Engine of your build?!”

“Ohh, don’t worry about me! I’ve been fretting over you two, did that green fellow treat you alright?”

“Oh yes, Percy was fine.”

“Percy was a very polite sort. Maybe a little slow and cautious.”

“O-ho? Too slow for your liking?”

The coaches fell into the comfortable, delightful pattern of quarreling with Thomas about his running too fast, and he chided them for being fussy old things. 

At the Big Station, Gordon watched from a siding, as Percy pushed a coach rake into the buffers. The coaches all made indignant sounds with the bump.

“If only little Thomas could see Sense,” he bemoaned. “But maybe this little green one is far cleverer than even I had accounted for. It seems he had restraint enough for those two to not have been converted into matchsticks. But I suppose that’s something to be grateful for…”

[bogleech]

When you're doing the initial setup for your pondwater enclosures, are you collecting substrate in situ alongside promising-looking detritus? Or do you provide the substrate yourself? I've been interested in setting up some of these enclosures for my new place, and felt it might be worth it to pick your brain a bit. (also, what're you doing in terms of positioning near windows? is on the sill directly too much for these little ecosystems, or is that amount of sunlight actually beneficial? idk any advice you have on tips/tricks/mistakes to avoid is welcome)

I collect some of the aquatic plants, dead leaves and mosses and stuff from any pond that has them, and usually what I do is mix a little of that pond water with 1/2 store bought distilled water or spring water, so it's not TOO saturated with organic matter. Directly on a windowsill is fine if it doesn't get roasting hot; if it's intense sunlight during summer the water could get over 100 degrees! I actually have some jars thriving that way, but only the hardiest little creatures continue living in them, usually reappearing as the temperature cools down in winter. One solution is you can put a piece of paper between the window and the jar to shade it! It'll still get plenty of sun for photosynthesizing organisms. I've also used fake plants, like bundles of fabric leaves from even the dollar store, to create shade that "looks nicer!" The trickiest part for me is finding the right environment to start on. Many public ponds are meant for humans to enjoy and are full of ducks and geese and fish, which lower the populations of tiny invertebrates, and also make the water dirtier with their poop and stuff. Best to find a nice quiet corner of the pond, a small disconnected pool, or a marshier area farther away from human and bird activity. Still ponds and lakes are also better, because the organisms you get from a stream or river tend to require the constantly flowing super-oxygenated water!

[glossyblue]

Can you do another pregnancy imagine with Kylian please!

parenthood

glossyblue: Hiiii everyone, I hope you are well, another fic again kylian!!! I don't know why everything I write for Kylian gets many likes and attention>>🤭 Anyway, thank you, I hope you enjoy it and leave a comment.🤍 Requests are open:)))💌

Summary: +request+ When you are getting ready to give birth to your twin and your husband is by your side.

Pairing: Kylian Mbappe × reader

⋆

The hospital bag sits open on the bed, a chaotic mess of necessities. You run a hand over your swollen belly, the twins kicking with a familiar rhythm. You’re a whirlwind of nerves and excitement, a mix of fear and anticipation.

'You're going to be a fantastic dad, Kylian,' you say, turning to see him standing in the doorway, his face etched with a mixture of worry and excitement.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 'I know, I know. Just need to learn how to change a diaper, that's the trickiest part, right?'

You let out a laugh, the sound a little shaky. 'Don't worry, I’ll teach you. You’ll be a natural, I know it.'

He walks over, his strong arms engulfing you in a hug. You breathe in the familiar scent, a calming element in this storm of emotions.

'Are you sure you have everything?' He runs a hand over your hair, his fingers tracing the outlines of your bump.

You go through the list again, 'Check, check, check…'

He helps you pack the final items. He even insists on taking care of the car, meticulously arranging the baby car seats.

'You are the most patient and supportive partner in the world,' you say, watching him meticulously secure the seats.

He turns, a grin stretching across his face. 'You're just saying that because you're hormonal.'

You poke his chest playfully. 'Oh, so you don't think your wife is amazing?'

He shakes his head, a laugh escaping his lips. 'No, no, I mean what I said. You're amazing. I can't wait to meet our little ones, and you are the strongest woman I know. We've got this, you and me.'

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 'We always do.'

The anticipation hangs in the air, a tangible thing. Your fingers brush against your belly, feeling the soft kicks inside. You take a deep breath, trying to quell the anxiety.

'I'm ready,' you whisper, the words a promise to yourself, to Kylian, to your babies.

He squeezes your hand, his eyes reflecting the same mix of emotions you feel. 'Me too, my love. Let's get this show on the road.'

As you walk out the door, hand in hand, the world seems to shrink to just the two of you. The journey towards parenthood, a magnificent and terrifying adventure, begins.

--------‐----------------------‐------------

ᵍˡᵒˢˢʸᵇˡᵘᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵗᵘᵐᵇˡʳ💌

[serickswrites]

Deck the Halls

Warnings: gore, body modification, blood, corpse desecration, character death, mcd, captivity, restraints, gag

"Caretaker, I think you'll like my latest decoration," Whumper cooed as they dragged a bound and gagged Caretaker from the basement. "I worked extra hard on it this year."

Caretaker struggled against Whumper. They had been trying to find a way to liberate Whumpee when Whumper found them. Whumper had been quick to tie Caretaker up and shove them through the door to the basement, leaving them alone in the dark. Caretaker had vowed that they would find a way out and get Whumpee to safety before beating the ever loving fuck out of Whumper.

"Come now, come now, really, it's absolutely splendid. You just have to see it!" Whumper continued to drag Caretaker along. "I would hate to have to smack you unconscious so that you miss the debut of my new decoration. I dare say it is the prize of my collection and will be for years to come."

Caretaker stopped struggling. They would be of no use to Whumpee if they were unconscious. They glanced around looking for Whumpee. They were certain that Whumper would have dragged Whumpee out first, but Whumpee was nowhere to be seen.

Whumper shoved Caretaker to their knees in front of a drape of cloth. Whatever was beneath the cloth was huge, nearly as tall as Caretaker was. "Behold, my latest and greatest decoration."

Caretaker gasped as Whumper ripped away the cloth, revealing what was beneath. Or who was beneath rather.

Whumpee stood on a small pedestal. Their eyes were closed, but their head remained upright. Blood had dried on the corner of their lips. They were dressed like a nutcracker, complete with wooden sword on their hip, and large hat tucked under one of their arms that had been carefully bent. Caretaker's mouth went dry as they realized it had been sewn to Whumpee's fingers. They stood completely still on the pedestal.

"Aren't they fantastic? Look, I can even make them walk with my latest modification." Whumper stepped onto the platform behind Whumpee and grabbed onto something. Whumpee's head didn't move as Whumper made their legs lift stiffly. Whumper marched Whumpee forward a few steps before twirling them around.

Caretaker began to sob as they saw the mechanism for what kept Whumpee upright and moving. Whumper had pierced Whumpee's body with a series of wooden dowels, each connecting to a main pole running the length of Whumpee's back. They realized that Whumpee was only upright and unmoving because of this. They realized as Whumper continued to speak that Whumpee was dead.

"I cried too when I first saw the completed project. Whumpee was simply to beautiful not to include them in my collection, don't you think?"

Whumpee was dead. Caretaker hadn't saved them. Caretaker hadn't saved them from anything but a terrible death. And a terrible thing after death. Whumper was going to find a way to preserve the body forever and keep them on display. This was all Caretaker's fault.

"I had to attach this main pole first and that proved trickiest because they wouldn't stop squirming and crying. The main anchor point here," Whumper pointed to the blood stain on the left side of Whumpee's upper back, "took care of that of course. I doubt they lived long after that pierced their heart, but I'll never know."

Caretaker stopped listening to Whumper as Whumper continued to prattle on and on about how they mutilated Whumpee's body. How they desecrated Whumpee's corpse. Whumpee was dead. Caretaker had failed and Whumpee was dead.

"I'm not sure how to get their mouth to open and close like a real nutcracker, but I'm sure you and I can work out how to do that in a matter of hours, what do you think?"

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat

[fourteentrout]

"You Ain't Nothing But A—"

Eris Week Day 4: Hounds

Pairing: Azriel/Eris Vanserra

Rating: Mature

Length: 7,487 words

My longest contribution to @erisweekofficial, this is a 5 +1 fic about Eris (casually) treating Azriel like one of his smokehounds!

Read here on AO3

Very short preview below the cut! barrier design by @tsunami-of-tears

The breeze that wended its way through the Autumn woods tickled Azriel's hair and made the fiery half-dead leaves rustle pleasantly. They flicked and whirled, some tumbling to the ground in lazy little arcs and twists, glimmers of the finest ruby and auburn and gold. Azriel could almost fool himself into thinking that the forest didn't belong to some of the cruelest scum in all of Prythian. 

It was dusk, a good time of day for his shadows. The shade of the trees grew long and deep, so dark that it almost seemed like something one could trip and fall into. Fortunately for Azriel, he could. He moved through the forest fluidly from shadow to shadow, his tendrils of darkness reaching out to every corner of the forest, searching for the remaining Vanserra. Finding Ronin and Enoch and relieving them of their memories had been quick and uncomplicated work, but Azriel was no fool. Eris was the trickiest fox of their litter, and he was not going to make it easy for the spymaster. 

As much was proven when a blazing ring of fire shot up around Azriel right as he emerged from the shadow of a skinnier, less fortunate tree. He cursed as the heat pressed in on him, the flames licking well above his head. Not burning, one of his shadows sang frantically, taking cover underneath his wings. The assurance didn't matter. Azriel's panic had spiked, his heart rate along with it, and he couldn't see through the brightness, couldn't breathe through the smoke, couldn't even figure out what to do.

Not burning, the shadow insisted weakly. Just as Azriel's stomach turned in a fashion far too dramatic for his liking, a split appeared in the flames. The wall of fire parted like stage show curtains, and before Azriel appeared none other than Eris Vanserra, in all his infuriating splendor.

[gentleseaediting]

To Comma or Not to Comma

THE CORRECT USE OF THE COMMA WHEN JOINING CLAUSES

Should you use a comma before and? What about before yet, then or if? This is one of the trickiest rules of punctuation to apply correctly: whether to use a comma when joining clauses. But do not fear; I am here to help by providing eight tips on this very subject.

Because this is a complex topic, I’ve created a handy flow chart to assist you. You can download it for free, and I would recommend having it at hand as you read through this post.

You can also listen to this post on YouTube or read it on the Gentle Sea Editing website.

FIRSTLY, WHAT IS A CLAUSE?

A clause is a group of words that includes a verb and a subject. So, Sarah writes books is a clause because it includes a verb (writes) and a subject (Sarah). Sarah is my favorite author is a clause, but my favorite author, Sarah is a phrase, because it does not contain a verb. In today’s post, we’re focusing on clauses.

1. COMMAS WITH INDEPENDENT CLAUSES: THE GENERAL RULE

The Chicago Manual of Style (CMoS) indicates that “when independent clauses are joined by and, but, or, so, yet, or any other coordinating conjunction, a comma usually precedes the conjunction.”

Now, you might be asking, “What the hell does that mean?” Don’t worry, I had the same reaction the first time I read it.

An independent clause is a clause that makes sense on its own. It is a complete sentence. It does not depend on another clause to give it meaning. In the sentence Damon drinks blood, because he is a vampire, Damon drinks blood is an independent clause. You can remove the rest of the sentence, and it would still make sense.

Coordinating conjunctions join clauses or phrases of equal importance. So, if you want to join two clauses and show that they are on equal footing, you would use a coordinating conjunction. The list of coordinating conjunctions is represented by the mnemonic “fanboys”: for, and, nor, but, or, yet, and so.

So, according to the general rule, if you want to join two independent clauses, like Taylor wrote the impactful lyrics and Jack produced the beautiful song, with a coordinating conjunction, you should add a comma before that conjunction. Here are some examples:

Taylor wrote the impactful lyrics, and Jack produced the beautiful song.

Taylor wrote the impactful lyrics, but Jack produced the beautiful song.

Taylor wrote the impactful lyrics, so Jack produced the beautiful song.

Taylor wrote the impactful lyrics, yet Jack produced the beautiful song.

This general rule also applies to imperative sentences—sentences that give the reader an instruction, make a request, or issue a command—in which the subject (you) is not expressly stated but understood. Here are some examples:

Help Queen Charlotte climb over the wall, or tell King George to spend time with her.

Buy two tickets to Barbie, and wait for me at the corner of Cornelia Street.

It also applies to questions, for example: Do we want to save Wallachia, or are we scared of Dracula?

2. COMMAS WITH INDEPENDENT CLAUSES: THE EXCEPTION

The English language is a wonderful thing; for every rule, there are plenty of exceptions. The general rule above is no exception.

If the independent clauses you are trying to join are very short and closely connected, the comma preceding the conjunction may be omitted, unless the clauses are part of a series. (See, even the exception has an exception.)

So, if you want to join two independent clauses, like Billie sang and Finneas played the piano, with a coordinating conjunction, you can do so without a comma, because these two clauses are short and closely connected:

Billie sang and Finneas played the piano.

Billie sang but Finneas played the piano.

Billie sang so Finneas played the piano.

This exception also applies to imperative sentences where the subject (you) is omitted but understood, e.g., Get up and stand tall.

However, a comma would still have to precede the coordinating conjunction if you are joining more than two clauses. Here’s an example:

Billie sang, Finneas played the piano, and I watched the show.

So, essentially, you should follow the general rule unless you are joining two very short and strongly related independent clauses.

3. COMMAS WITH COMPOUND PREDICATES: THE GENERAL RULE

According to the CMoS, “a comma is not normally used to separate a two-part compound predicate joined by a coordinating conjunction.”

Just one question: What??? Let's break it down.

What is a predicate? It is the part of a sentence or clause that describes the action but not the subject. So, in the sentence Oppenheimer created the atomic bomb, Oppenheimer would be the subject and created the atomic bomb the predicate.

A compound predicate occurs when two or more verbs share the same subject. So, if a single subject is shared by two or more clauses, and that subject is not repeated after the first clause, you’re dealing with a compound predicate. In the sentence I gambled with Jesper and ate waffles with Nina, the subject of both the predicates gambled with Jesper and ate waffles with Nina, is I. However, I is not repeated after the first clause. So, we’re working with a compound predicate.

Therefore, the general rule is: Do not use a comma when joining a compound predicate with a coordinating conjunction. Here are some examples:

Joe broke up with Taylor Swift and divorced Sophie.

Yennefer wanted to be a mother but could not have a baby.

You should join Jinx or listen to Vi.

4. COMMAS WITH COMPOUND PREDICATES: THE EXCEPTIONS

However, a comma may be necessary to prevent misreading or confusion even if you are joining a compound predicate with a coordinating conjunction. For example, in the sentence I recognized the man who attended the concert, and fainted, the comma before and is necessary to indicate that it is the speaker who fainted, not the man attending the concert. Here are more examples:

He loved the girl who rode a dragon, and wielded shadows.

She dislikes the man who has titanium teeth, but wears Yeezy shoes.

Additionally, you should also use a comma before the word then if it is being used as shorthand for and then even if that comma separates a two-part compound predicate. So, you would write: He attended her show and then gave her a friendship bracelet or He attended her show, then gave her a friendship bracelet.

Finally, the CMoS indicates that “compound predicates of three or more parts treated as a series are punctuated accordingly.” So, if you have a single subject performing three or more actions, you would use a comma before the coordinating conjunction. For example:

Selena attended the Golden Globes, released new music, and became a billionaire.

Victoria published a book, increased her Instagram following, and announced a book tour.

5. COMMAS WITH INTRODUCTORY DEPENDENT CLAUSES

Now that we’ve gotten independent clauses out of the way, let’s talk about dependent clauses. A dependent clause cannot stand as a sentence on its own and is connected to a main, independent clause. So, in the sentence Damon drinks blood, because he is a vampire, because he is a vampire is a dependent clause, since it does not make sense on its own. Subordinating conjunctions—like if, because, whether, or when—are used to join dependent and main clauses.

According to the CMoS, “when a dependent clause precedes the main, independent clause, it should be followed by a comma.” So, when the dependent clause comes first, you separate the clauses with a comma. Here are some examples:

If Sokka trains with Suki, he will become a better warrior.

Because Kim is a successful businesswoman, she gave a lecture at Harvard.

When Nyx is older, he will train with Cassian.

6. COMMAS WITH DEPENDENT CLAUSES THAT FOLLOW THE MAIN CLAUSE

If the main clause is followed by the dependent clause, you have to determine whether the latter is restrictive or nonrestrictive.

The CMoS clarifies that a dependent clause is restrictive if it is “essential to fully understanding the meaning of the main clause.” For example, in the sentence Sokka will become a better warrior if he trains with Suki, it isn’t certain that Sokka will become a better warrior. The dependent clause if he trains with Suki adds information that is vital to understanding the main clause. Therefore, it is a restrictive dependent clause.

If a restrictive dependent clause follows the main clause, you should not place a comma before the conjunction. Here are two examples:

Nyx will train with Cassian when he is older.

Kourtney wasn’t mad because of the fashion show; she was mad because of the timing.

A dependent clause is nonrestrictive if it is not essential to the meaning of the main clause. For instance, in the sentence Margot is a good actress, whether you like her or not, the dependent clause whether you like her or not can be omitted without changing the meaning of the main clause.

If a nonrestrictive dependent clause follows the main clause, the subordinating conjunction should be preceded by a comma. Here are two examples:

I’d like to watch Mean Girls, if you don’t mind.

He arrived hours later, when the movie was already over.

However, sometimes this can be a tricky differentiation to make. Take the sentence Kourtney wasn’t mad because of the fashion show. Without the comma, Kourtney is still mad, just not about the fashion show. Add a comma before because, and the fashion show becomes the reason she’s not mad. The CMoS’s advice? “If in doubt, rephrase.”

7. COMMAS WITH INTERVENING DEPENDENT CLAUSES

When a dependent clause is located between two other clauses, meaning that the two conjunctions are right next to each other, the conjunctions don’t have to be separated by a comma. Here are some examples:

Violet tried to decipher the journal for days, but if Dain had not given her advice, the truth would have remained concealed.

Zuko stood up for the soldiers, and when his father ordered him to fight back, he refused.

They decided that if Percy didn’t return the lightning bolt, he wouldn’t see his mother.

Technically, there’s nothing wrong with adding a comma in between these conjunctions. In fact, it might even be preferred in certain cases for emphasis or clarity.

8. COMMAS WITH RELATIVE CLAUSES

Finally, let’s look at relative clauses. A relative clause provides information about a noun. For instance, in the sentence The book that she wrote years ago was published this year, that she wrote years ago is a relative clause, because it tells us more about the noun (book).

According to the CMoS, “restrictive relative clauses are never set off by commas from the rest of the sentence.” As with dependent clauses, a relative clause is restrictive if it provides information that is crucial to understanding the rest of the sentence. In the example above, the reader wouldn’t have known which book the author is referring to without the relative clause that she wrote years ago, so no commas are used. Restrictive relative clauses are usually introduced by the pronouns that, who, whom, or whose. Here are some examples:

I prefer to support politicians who stand up against genocide.

The joke that he made at the Golden Globes was sexist.

The author whose work I like the most has just released a new book.

This rule applies even when these pronouns are omitted:

The movie I just watched won an Academy Award.

The people we follow on social media have a big impact on our lives.

A nonrestrictive relative clause, on the other hand, is not essential to the identity of the noun to which it refers. In the sentence Sarah’s House of Flame and Shadow, which I finished last night, is a great book, the relative clause which I finished last night can be omitted without changing the meaning of the sentence. So, it is nonrestrictive. Nonrestrictive relative clauses are set off from the rest of the sentence by commas. These clauses are usually introduced by which, who, whom, or whose. Here are some examples:

I prefer to read about scholarly characters, who are less likely to be ignorant.

Madelyn Cline, whose most famous movie is Glass Onion, was seen with Pete Davidson.

The talk show, which recently featured Sydney Sweeney, has celebrities eating spicy food as they answer questions.

So, to sum up (TL; DR):

• If you want to join two independent clauses with a coordinating conjunction, you should add a comma before that conjunction unless the two clauses are short and closely connected.

• Do not use a comma when joining a compound predicate with a coordinating conjunction unless:

o a comma is necessary to prevent a misreading;

o then is being used as shorthand for and then; or

o a compound predicate of three or more parts is being treated as a series.

• If a dependent clause precedes a main, independent clause, add a comma after the dependent clause.

• If a restrictive dependent clause follows a main clause, do not add a comma before the subordinating conjunction.

• If a nonrestrictive dependent clause follows a main clause, you should add a comma before the subordinating conjunction.

• When a dependent clause is located between two other clauses, meaning that the two conjunctions are right next to each other, the conjunctions don’t have to be separated by a comma.

• A restrictive relative clause is not set off with commas.

• A nonrestrictive relative clause is set off with commas.

There you have it; those are the rules for comma usage when joining clauses, at least in terms of the CMoS. In the wise words of Neil Gaiman: “It’s that easy, and that hard.”

For professional editing and proofreading services, head on over to gentleseaediting.com

[thelongestway]

Fun fact #1: do you have any idea how annoying counter-terrorism literature is?

Fun fact #2: the number of brennans on this ship was largely decided by dice roll. Which means that the "oops, (nearly) all brennans" thing was preordained from above.

Author's note: I have also edited some tone things that were bothering me in chapters 6 and 7. I do have the older version saved separately, but I think the tone changes stay.

And so, without further ado...

Chapter 8

The first thing Captain Reed said after ke and kes senior staff all piled into this Friend's cramped work room was, "I find it difficult to believe telling a single ship to go shovel its own dung is enough to trigger a full-scale manhunt. If this is about your safety, Atmir Ran…"

"With regards to this Friend, they likely believe that it had lied about its identity or stowed away on one of the six vessels it could have used, including yours, and are continuing to run a routine search. Its safety is not the issue."

Iceblink snorted, and Captain Reed raised a hand to shush her.

"So. What is our issue, then, according to this Friend?" ke said coldly.

"Is Navigator Brisote here?"

The heavy-set, bearded brennan who had been leaning against an empty corner nodded sharply.

"This Friend remembers from navigation logs that the way you escaped the detection of Dandelion's speed by corporate parties was by going in a zigzag via transit rings all owned by different corporations--a route too implausible to seriously consider, and via parties that have no reason to ask each other about the exact time of your departure from the previous point. Is this Friend's assessment correct?"

Brisote exchanged looks with Reed and said, "And with plausible alternate exit routes for each jump. We give false routes where required and switch wormhole networks, too. If that false trail isn't a rot to set…"

"This measure will no longer suffice."

"Again, I fail to see how one less than courteous exchange…"

"This is not about the manhunt, Captain Reed." This was going to be the trickiest part of the argument. "Your problem is that they are bored, and you drew their attention while they have time and resources to burn."

"Cut to the chase already," Iceblink said, perching on the terminal table. "What exactly in the false trail isn't supposed to work?"

"Briefly put, your trail will stop any agencies recognizing one another within a cooperation framework--which, in the Rim, is most of them, and which is far too fragmented to be of any use. But BreharWallHan is conducting a counter-terrorism operation. So the assorted experts are running their searches within a mutual recognition framework."

The crew exchanged looks which told the Friend they were completely lost. Then Dandelion's voice sounded out of a speaker.

"Effectively, this means BreharWallHan doesn't have to ask for information and then wait until someone decides whether they can get it or not. It can order other corporate entities to provide it, and they will have to do so quickly."

This Friend wondered briefly if Dandelion had sneaked past many borders back in her day. It nodded to the speaker.

"Correct. And you were the only ship to flip them off about a routine, but high-priority, inquiry. They will still be looking for this Friend, of course, but that's a much broader pool of requests to wait on, and they haven't yet collected the bulk of their traces. They're also still waiting on Preservation Station giving them the run-around, so they are extra pissed.

"And you? You're right here. You went through a few wormholes whose authorities BWH will have easy access to, because they're local and probably know their counterparts, one palm greasing another. And BWH has nothing but the time and inspiration to mess with you. Which they are doing, if the barrage of clearly pointless requests is anything to go by."

Recognition dawned on the crew's faces. The logistics officer, Phoibe, muttered some sort of incomprehensible swear.

"So the moment enough traces come back, they see the inconsistencies. How many sources of information do they have to draw on?" ke inquired.

This Friend bared its teeth. "Plenty. One is the PFTCS, which will allow them to track wormhole use fees, unless you have been using multiple financial proxies in the Rim itself." Phoibe shook kes head. "Another is the PNSR, which is the passenger name and security re…"

"Enough. Out of the quicksand, into the bog, up to our knees and drowning." Captain Reed said. "The initial conversation with the BreharWallHan ship was yesterday early in the morning. It has been approximately a cycle by Preservation time. What do we have to work with?"

"Even the request will be heavily encrypted, proprietary data. It will need to be carried by a transport, which means BWH probably paid one of the departing vessels for it. If you give this Friend data on those ships, it can try to narrow it down. Then, the nearest jump out of Preservation territory is five days, and this Friend sees no reason they'd take a longer route."

"Sunwinds sharp! We can easily outpace that," Brisote said, relieved.

"And what then?" Iceblink glared at kem. "How long from the wormhole until the transport is in feed range and can pass on the packet?"

"Three hours until the transit station in the worst case scenario, and you would need to either board them or hack them, and remove the request," the Friend said. "This would be a closely cut operation."

Iceblink nodded darkly and patted the dark terminal. "Close, but doable."

"But what's stopping them from just re-sending the request with the next ship?" Phoibe asked.

"This Friend proposes to make certain they forget about the request. If you will permit it, it will show itself in the transit ring and lead them on a merry chase. At this point, BWH will have other things to do, and any requests assumed lost…" It gave it a moment of thought. "This Friend shall endeavor to make sure there is a good explanation for that. Bring down a proprietary feed or two on the way out."

"This is all well and good," Captain Reed said. "But it would mean trusting you again."

This Friend felt a pang of shame and regret. It dithered before replying.

And that meant Iceblink answered for it.

"Actually, captain, we don't have to rely on just the Friend's good graces. Dandelion, didn't you say that PresAlli drone hacker you worked with was freelance? Can we hire it to run backup?"

[aheathen-conceivably]

IF Jo runs off, I don't think it will be for long. Is she having a crisis, absolutely, but the world has changed immensely in the time she's been on the farm. She's not going to be able to make it on her smiles and sharp wit. Her struggle with perceived loss of control isn't going to improve by running away from "the trap". She is the the trap, it will follow her to the ends of the earth, much like her shadow.

That is all. Incredible. Stupendous read of her, beautiful analogy, marvelous writing. I am so happy and so touched.

Because like, yes. Exactly. Until Jo allows herself healing and vulnerability, she will always feel trapped. If not by others, then by her own emotions. The trickiest part of control is that it’s not just controlling everyone around you, is it? It’s about controlling them AND you. Even if everyone else falls in line, you still have to deal with yourself at the end of the day, and especially for Jo, she clearly does want things outside of her control (*cough cough* Gio).

Then on top of all of that, Josephine is deeply concerned with controlling her surroundings. She will not and can not feel safe without a “safety net.” And you’re right in that that is a rarity in the world she’s living in now. She absolutely knows that. We saw her realize it in this post. She knows the world she would be running into is precarious at best, and the safety of a home and family that she would be abandoning. To run away from that with no plan, no money, and no support would be dangerous and reckless.

Josephine isn’t stupid, and she certainly isn’t rash. This isn’t to say she can’t be, especially when backed into a corner, but it isn’t her nature. She’s cunning, calculated, and measured. Just like her mother. It’s only a matter of figuring out how to use that in her favor in a way that fits with the other parts of her nature, which are governed by a sense of perceived morality and loyalty for her family; OR if she can’t, and she’s backed too far into a corner first, then the rash side of her wins out despite everything she knows about the world and what running into it would mean.

[lifeofpriya]

Game of Darts - Jack Draper

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

a/n: @pyotrkochetkov and i were chatting like we usually do everyday and she brought up a fic concept about playing a game of darts with Jack, and the rest was history 🤭🫡

summary: jack can never say no to a game of darts...

"Are you sure your friends won't mind me tagging along?" you ask, looking at Jack with a mix of excitement and apprehension. His eyes crinkle at the corners, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Of course not," Jack replies, clapping you on the back. "You're one of us now."

The pub is a cozy, dimly-lit affair, the kind where the air is thick with the scent of spilled beer and good-natured banter. The walls are plastered with memorabilia, a pattern of faded newspaper clippings and dusty trophies that tell tales of local victories and forgotten dreams. The murmur of chatter and clinking glasses is punctuated by the occasional roar of laughter, and in the corner, a dartboard calls to Jack like a siren's song.

Jack, with his lean, athletic build and a mop of dark brown hair that never seems to stay put, strides over to the dartboard with the confidence of a man who has spent countless hours perfecting his aim. The wooden floorboards creak beneath his feet, and the worn leather of his shoes whispers a story of many matches won and lost. His eyes light up with anticipation as he selects a set of darts, their pointed tips gleaming under the warm glow of the pendant lights.

You watch him, admiring the ease with which he handles the darts, his strong fingers curling around the shafts with the familiarity of a much-loved instrument. He notices your gaze and holds one out to you, the metal cool and smooth against your skin. "Here, you go first," he says, his accent a gentle lilt that makes everything sound like a question.

You take the dart with a mix of excitement and nerves. You've never played darts before, but Jack seems to have faith in you. The weight is surprisingly comforting in your hand, a reassurance that you can do this. The bar is noisy, but in this moment, it's just you and Jack, the dartboard, and the promise of a new experience.

"Alright, so hold it like this," Jack says, his voice clear and patient as he demonstrates the grip. "Three fingers, like so." His hand covers yours, guiding your fingers into place. His touch is warm, the roughness of his calloused thumb brushing against your skin as he adjusts your aim. "Now, just look at the board, pick your spot, and throw."

You do as he instructs, focusing on the red bullseye that seems to pulse with every heartbeat. The room falls away, leaving only the sound of your breath and the faint whisper of Jack's encouragement. The dart feels like an extension of your arm, and as you let it fly, time seems to slow. It arcs gracefully through the air, the tail end fluttering like a feather in the breeze.

"Good throw," Jack says, his voice a soft rumble of approval as the dart sticks into the board, a few rings away from the bullseye. "Keep that elbow up, and follow through."

You nod, eager to improve. You, with your curiosity piqued, mimic Jack's stance. The darts feel heavier than you expected, a surprising weight that you hadn't noticed before. You take a deep breath, trying to still the tremor in your hand.

"Steady," Jack murmurs, his gaze intent on yours. "You've got this."

You nod, feeling a rush of determination. You throw the second dart, and it lands closer to the bullseye this time, the thunk echoing through the pub. The crowd around the dartboard, mostly Jack's friends, cheer and clap, making you feel like you've just scored a winning point at Wimbledon. The third dart, though, is the trickiest. You take a step back, eyeing the board as if it holds all the secrets of the universe.

"Just relax," Jack whispers, his breath tickling your ear. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, a gentle reminder of his support.

You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding and throw the third dart. It sails through the air, straight and true, and lands smack in the center of the bullseye. The crowd erupts into cheers, and even Jack's eyes widen in surprise.

"Bloody 'ell!" one of his friends shouts, slapping the wooden countertop. "Look at that, Jack! You've got yourself a natural!"

Jack's smile is a beacon in the dim pub light, pride shimmering in his eyes as he pulls you into a side hug. "Told ya," he says, his cheek pressing against your temple briefly. "You're a quick learner."

The crowd around the dartboard parts to let you through, and you can feel the warmth of their eyes on you, a mix of admiration and curiosity. You blush under their gaze, but Jack's hand, resting casually on the small of your back, is a grounding force. He orders drinks, the ease of his movements and the way he interacts with the bartender telling you that this is his second home. The clinking of glasses and the murmur of congratulations are a symphony of welcome.

You took a sip of water, watching as Jack's friends gathered around, curious about your sudden dart prowess. The cool liquid washed down your dry throat, calming the nerves that had been dancing there. Jack's arm was still around your shoulders, and you leaned into his side, feeling a sense of belonging that was as surprising as your newfound skill.

"Alright, let's see if you can do it again," Jack said, his voice filled with playful challenge. You nodded, eager to prove that your first throw wasn't just a fluke. The darts felt more natural in your hand now, a tool you could wield with grace and precision. You stepped up to the line, the chalky residue from previous players' feet a ghostly outline beneath your sneakers.

Jack's friends chatted and joked around the table, their laughter bouncing off the low ceilings. The atmosphere was electric, a potent mix of camaraderie and competition. You took a deep breath, focusing on the bullseye, a tiny red target amidst the sea of green and yellow. The dart felt like a part of you, an extension of your will.

You throw again. It hits the board, not the bullseye, but close enough to score a solid number. The group cheered, and Jack's arm tightened around you for a brief second before releasing. His eyes sparkled with pride, the kind that made you feel seen and appreciated.

The night weaves on, a tapestry of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional dart landing with a satisfying thunk. You learn the lingo—double-twenties, treble-twenties, and that elusive outer bull that's worth fifty points. Jack's friends, a motley crew of locals, share stories of their own dartboard triumphs and disasters. You listen, your cheeks flushed from the excitement and the warmth of the room, feeling a kinship with these people who, only hours ago, were strangers.

Jack's hand occasionally finds yours, squeezing it reassuringly when your throws go awry, and you realize that this isn't just about the game. It's about the connection, the shared moments, and the joy of learning something new together. Each dart thrown is a declaration of trust in each other's company.

As the night deepens, the pub's lights seem to grow softer, the shadows stretching out like lazy cats seeking warmth. The air is a blend of laughter and the faint scent of the rain outside. You're not sure if it's the beer or the thrill of the game, but your cheeks feel flushed and your heart races every time Jack's hand brushes against yours. His eyes, an intoxicating shade of hazel, hold yours as you throw again. This time, the dart sails past the triple-twenty, thwacking into the single-four, a look of mock horror crossing his face.

"Oh no," he says, his voice rich with amusement. "What a tragedy."

You laugh, the sound a little too loud in the suddenly quiet pub. The tension in your shoulders eases as you realize everyone's just having fun. You lean into Jack's side, feeling his chuckle rumble through his chest. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, and you're surprised by how comforting it feels.

"Don't worry," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "I'll teach you all the tricks."

Jack's grip is firm but gentle, his hand guiding yours to adjust the angle of the dart. You follow his instructions, your breath hitching slightly as your body molds to his. The air between you crackles with energy, the kind that makes you feel alive. You throw again, and this time, the dart slices through the air, finding its mark in the treble-twenty. The cheers from the crowd are like music to your ears, a sweet symphony of victory.

"Better," Jack says, his smile wide and proud. His eyes crinkle with mirth as he ruffles your hair, a gesture that feels more intimate than it should. "You're a fast learner."

You blush under his praise, your heart fluttering in your chest. The pub's warmth isn't just from the bodies and the laughter anymore; it's from the heat that seems to be radiating between the two of you. You swipe at the loose strand of hair that's fallen over your eyes, a gesture that feels surprisingly shy.

Jack notices, his smile softening. He leans in, his hand moving from your shoulder to tuck the hair behind your ear. The touch is feather-light, but it sends a jolt through your body, making you shiver. "You're doing great," he says, his voice a low murmur that feels like a secret just for you.

The next few rounds are a blur of laughter, cheers, and the occasional groan as a dart misses its mark. Yet, with each throw, you feel your confidence growing, bolstered by Jack's encouragement and the camaraderie of the group. The game becomes less about winning and more about the joy of trying, of being part of something.

Jack's friends, once a sea of unfamiliar faces, now feel like old companions. They tease you good-naturedly, offering tips and praise in equal measure. The bartender, a burly man with a beard as thick as a fur coat, winks as he refills your drink, a silent acknowledgment of your place in Jack's life.

As the evening wears on, the conversations become more personal, the jokes more intimate. You find yourself sharing stories from your childhood, the words spilling out like they've been waiting to find an audience that truly cares. Jack's hand is a constant presence, resting on your shoulder, playing with your hair, holding your hand when you lean in to whisper something only he can hear.

One of his friends, a lanky man with a mischievous grin, tells a story that has everyone in stitches, except for Jack, who's too busy watching you. His eyes are soft, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he takes in every giggle, every flash of your teeth. His gaze is a warm embrace, making you feel seen in a way you haven't felt in a long time.

The game of darts turns into a lesson in teamwork and trust. Jack's hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you to the perfect spot to throw, his body a wall of warmth against yours. You lean into him, feeling the strength of his arms as he corrals you into place, his voice a gentle hum of instruction. Each dart thrown is a step closer to understanding this strange dance of precision and power, but it's the moments between throws that truly matter.

Jack's friends, now your friends too, share stories of their own dating misadventures, their laughter as contagious as the warmth of the pub. You find yourself opening up, sharing tales of your past that feel lighter somehow in this new context, as if the weight of your worries has been transferred to the darts in your hand. The air is thick with the scent of camaraderie and the sweetness of shared confessions.

"Alright, last round," Jack announces, his voice a warm rumble in the cozy space. You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and reluctance. This night has been a whirlwind of emotions and new experiences, and you're not quite ready for it to end.

You both line up, darts in hand, the air crackling with the anticipation of the final throw. You look at Jack, his eyes shining with the same excitement you feel. The connection between you is palpable, a silent promise of more to come.

You throw first, the dart spinning through the air with the grace of a ballet dancer. It lands in the treble-twenty, a feat that earns you a round of applause and a proud nod from Jack. He steps up to the line, his focus intense. His throw is swift and sure, the dart embedding itself in the board with a satisfying thunk. The room falls quiet, the only sound the steady beat of the rain outside.

Jack's turn comes around again, and he throws a perfect shot, the dart landing in the double-twenty. His grin is wide, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Your turn," he says, nudging you gently.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment, the anticipation of the crowd, and the warmth of Jack's hand on your lower back. The dart feels alive in your hand, the room a blur of faces and sounds. You focus on the board, the numbers a dance of possibilities. You let go, the dart spinning in the air, a silent prayer to the gods of pub games.

It hits the board with a thwack, landing just outside the double-twenty. The room erupts in a mix of groans and laughter, Jack's friends clapping you on the back, Jack's eyes crinkling with delight. You can't help but laugh at yourself, the tension in your shoulders easing.

"Close," Jack says, his hand coming up to ruffle your hair again. "So close."

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch linger even after he's pulled away. His friends are already setting up for the next round, the darts flying through the air like miniature missiles of fun. The pub's atmosphere is thick with cheer, the kind that comes from a shared experience of victory and defeat. You lean against the sticky bar, watching Jack as he lines up his next shot. His focus is unwavering, his body a study in concentration.

As he throws, you find yourself not just watching the dart but watching him, the way his muscles flex, the intensity in his eyes, the way his mouth quirks up into a smile when he nails the shot. You realize, with a start, that you're not just here for the game anymore. You're here for him.

Jack turns to you, catching your gaze. His smile turns knowing, and he winks before stepping back to let you take your turn. Your cheeks heat up, and you hope the dim lighting hides your blush. You step up to the line, your heart racing like you're about to serve an ace at the US Open. The darts feel heavier in your hand, the room quieter than a library at midnight.

You throw, and time seems to stand still. The dart slices through the air, a silent testament to your newfound skill. It lands in the treble-twenty, the sound echoing through the pub. The crowd erupts in cheers, and Jack's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into a quick, exuberant hug. His laughter is infectious, and you can't help but grin as his friends slap you on the back, praising your throw.

The night stretches on, a tapestry of laughter, shared stories, and the rhythmic thud of darts hitting the board. You learn the nuances of Jack's friends, their quirks and their histories. They accept you with open arms, teasing you just enough to make you feel like one of them. The unspoken bond between you and Jack grows stronger with each passing moment, a silent conversation that needs no words.

As the crowd thins and the pub's lights flicker in the early hours, Jack leans in, his breath a warm whisper against your cheek. "Wanna call it a night?" His voice is a gentle nudge, a question that holds the promise of more.

You nod, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of leaving this cocoon of warmth and camaraderie. The cool air outside hits you like a slap in the face, sobering you up from the haze of the pub's warmth. Jack's hand finds yours, weaving your fingers together as you walk down the cobblestone street, the rain a gentle lullaby under the glow of the street lamps.

The silence between you is comfortable, a blanket of understanding that wraps around you both. The occasional puddle splashes under your feet, but you don't mind. You're too busy watching Jack, the way his hair sticks to his forehead in the dampness, the way his eyes light up when he looks at you.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you say finally, your voice a soft echo in the quiet night.

Jack squeezes your hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles on your skin. "You're welcome. I wanted you to see this side of me, you know, the one that's not all about tennis."

You smile, feeling your heart swell. "I like this side of you," you reply. "It's… real. It's nice to see you relaxed and having fun."

Jack squeezes your hand a little tighter. "Yeah?" He looks down at you, his eyes searching yours. "I like being with you, too. You make everything feel… more."

You blush, ducking your head slightly. "I do?"

Jack nods, his smile gentle. "You do."

You walk in quiet companionship, the sound of your footsteps syncing with the steady beat of your heart. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, leaving the air fresh and clean. The streetlamps cast a soft glow over the damp cobblestone, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow.

Jack's hand is warm in yours, the calluses on his fingers a testament to the hours he's spent on the tennis court. Yet here, in the dim light of the pub, those same hands had been gentle, guiding yours to the perfect grip, the perfect throw.

[charles-leclerc-official]

i have been trying to find the characteristics of the albert park circuit (speed corners and etc) but am not able to. do you know if it has more medium-high speed corners or low?

A majority of the corners in Australia are high speed. However there are a few medium speed corners and two(or 3 depending on who you ask) low speed corners.

Turn 14 is a high speed corner which goes right into turn 15 which is on average the lowest speed corner of the track, which then goes right back into 16 which is another high speed corner. Which makes that part of the track probably the trickiest area. (Turn 2 into turn 3 is another area that has this feature) these are usually the spots on this track where we see drivers go off track, hit the barriers, or get into collisions.

So a vast majority are high speed corners, there are a few medium speed corners, and 3 low speed corners.

It's really the placement of these corners relative to each other that can create a lot of errors when driving. There are two very harsh braking zones.

Mercedes has been posting some really good track maps with the speeds and gears this year here, really helpful resource!

[beneathashadytree]

Hey! I saw in the rules that you prefer romantic love to platonic love, but it's always worth a try, right? Well, can I get little Levi with a mother-reader who will find him instead of Kanny and give him a little better childhood?

OUR HOME - LEVI ACKERMAN & READER

Warnings : this is purely platonic & familial, mentions of death and grime in general, implied PTSD, this is not proofread, reader is female and acts as Levi’s mother!

Genre : fluff (but some angsty parts)

Word count : 1.2K words

Additional notes : Hi nonnie! Normally I don’t write for female readers, but since the premise in this is quite different I was quite okay with it. I do occasionally write platonic fics, by the way! This request gave me the opportunity to think a while about the possibility of Levi being found by someone with motherly instincts and all the love to give (and I think I cried a little). Hope you like this!💗

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

It was impossible for her to not notice the kid that managed to melt into the shadows on the walls and the corners of the room

After all, he made his presence so scarce that it made him all the more visible, and her eyes couldn’t help but soften at the sight of his lifeless eyes, unblinking as they stared at the ground in front of him

His emaciated figure brought a pang in her chest; a starved, dirty child no more than a few years old, curled in the darkness of a room that reeked of the stench of rot and decay

Speaking to him proved to be fruitless, as he only ever turned his empty eyes to look at her through his long, greasy bangs, without any other sign to show that he’d even understood

Still, when she said that she was taking him away to somewhere safe, there wasn’t much of a reaction from him except for the slow blinking, and the finalized turn of his head away from her as soon as she was done speaking, which was enough to tell her that he had no qualms he wanted or felt the need to express

First things first—she had to give him a long, clean scrub, to determine whether or not the grime and filth had hidden any wounds or illnesses that she should be made aware of

Her place on the surface was a quaint little cottage on the edge of the town near Wall Sina, and she barely had enough space to take a child in

But after having heard from her brother (who’d secretly frequented the brothel at times) that a child had been abandoned in a room where his mother had died all alone, she couldn’t help but take the trip to the Underground and swear to herself that she’d do anything within her capabilities to save the boy

As a simple baker, she didn’t exactly have the world to give in terms of finances and services, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try her very best to take him in

And so, for the first time in her life, she actually invested in a proper bathtub, seeing as she had an inkling that the child—Levi, she’d learned his name was after he’d croaked it out after a few minutes of her probing—wouldn’t have been too keen to bathe in the communal of the town, where all the adult men were

And besides, she doubted he currently had the strength in his arms to prop himself up for longer than a few seconds at a time; a fact that was proved right when he staggered on the way to the dining table after he’d cleaned himself of the dirt that had been caked on his skin

Gaunt as he looked, she couldn’t help but optimistically scoop potatoes and bread onto his plate (though, as was to be expected, he wasn’t able to stomach much after having been starved of food for so long)

Perhaps the trickiest part of the day was getting him to fall asleep at night, after she’d managed to hurriedly set up another makeshift bed in her bedroom with the help of her brother, until she could afford to set up a proper space for him in the unfurnished room she’d been using as a storage space for years

She sympathized with Levi, who must’ve been wracked with nightmares of the past couple of months he’d endured, and must’ve found it difficult to fall asleep

Exhausting as it was to wait for him to tire himself out with his own thoughts, she didn’t mind the wait, and made it clear from the inviting space beside her that she was willing to hear his worries out, should he ever want to confide in her

Though as the days of routine turned into weeks and months, it became clear that Levi simply had little to say in all cases, and showed even less inclination to divulge anything on his mind

She’d been slowly increasing the portions of his food, silently urging him to eat more at mealtimes, and with the rate at which he quietly tried to help around the house, he often ate ravenously after having exerted so much more energy than he’d been used to

Though there was one terrible habit it seemed that Levi had developed, and that was an overwhelming urge to clean himself and keep his surroundings spotless

He’d often scrub his skin raw and red while in the bath, tirelessly try to dust away the shelves even when she herself couldn’t spot a single fleck on the surface, and unfailingly offer to help with the dishes instantly after every meal, though he could barely even reach past the sink

His short stature alerted her to the fact that his malnourishment had probably aided in it, and that was one of the reasons she so eagerly tried to feed him, though she knew it wasn’t very logical

Of course being a baker came in handy, and it soon became a well-loved routine for them to sit at opposite ends of the dining table, with Levi biting into a buttered scone and holding a cup of tea that comically dwarfed his hand

Perhaps the most difficult of all was forming a healthy relationship between them; one where he felt safe enough regardless of whether or not he felt the need to open up his heart

More importantly than anything, she just wanted to make sure that he could feel the affection she felt for him and would always offer him

She would not be deluded into thinking that she could ever replace Kuchel (whose name she found out while mending a tattered handkerchief that Levi had been so adamant in taking care of until it had ripped at the edges), but she could not help but slowly love him as though he were her own

It wasn’t hard to realize that his quietness and nonchalance was only a front; that he was a much kinder kid than he’d ever let on when he was so busy seeming so much older than his years

After all, whenever she fell ill, he was instantly there to usher her into bed with a scowl, though the way he wiped away at her sweat and pressed cool rags onto her forehead showed that he was anything but annoyed

His concern was apparent, and it perhaps was caused by his own lasting paranoia from when Kuchel had fallen ill, but in all cases it showed just how deeply he cared

Levi wasn’t exactly the most polite boy she’d ever seen, but he was good at heart, and exuded a sort of purity that came out in clumsy gestures

Helping out in the house without her ever asking for nor expecting it, a quiet but no less honest thank you after a hearty meal, a bunch of wildflowers that mysteriously popped up in a cracked vase whenever she seemed down; it was clear he’d grown fond of her over time

Though she was barely in her early 30s herself and had never foreseen his presence in the house, she could no longer imagine her home without Levi—and in her tentative praises and careful hugs he’d slowly grown to melt into, she could see that her love had truly saved him from the pits of hell

And really, nothing in the world could beat that incredible feeling of being a mother in all the ways that mattered

Taglist: @blondeboyfriend

[ranger-ribbons]

💭 - brainwash my muse into forgetting something, replacing it with a false memory.

Brody/Preston!!

Hmmmmmm.

~~~

Preston doesn't look up from his magic book as Brody walks in. "Ready, Preston?" the Red asks.

Preston shrugs, closing his book and setting it on the desk. "As I'll ever be, I guess. I still don't think this is a good idea."

Brody puts a comforting hand on Preston's shoulder. "It's gonna be okay. If it works, I forget all about Madam Odius torturing me. If it doesn't, I continue coping. No harm, no foul."

"I'm not worried about you," Preston replies. "What if I mess up?"

Brody squeezes the hand on Preston's shoulder. "It's okay, Preston's. I have total faith in you."

Preston sighs. "Okay," he replies. "Let's try it out."

Brody lays down on the couch and makes himself comfortable. Preston's hands shake as he pulls out the old pocket watch and lets the watch drop so he holds onto the end of the chain. Brody watches the watch as it swings slowly from side to side.

"Keep your eyes on the watch. Watch as it swings. It swings back and forth. You're watching the watch." Preston had watched Now You See Me before he tried this, Brody can tell. The Red shuts that thought down before it can break his concentration.

"You're getting tired. The watch is swinging and the hours pass as it does. Very tired. And," Preston clicks his fingers right under Brody's nose at the same time he commands, "sleep."

Brody's world goes dark.

~

Preston startles as Brody's eyes shut and he collapses back against the couch as if someone had hit his off switch. "Oh god," he murmurs, panicked. "Brody? Can you hear me?"

Brody slurs out a, "Yeah," and Preston feels like he can actually breathe.

"Okay," Preston says. He thinks back to the information he has from his spell books on hypnotism. Most sorcerers in the books had considered it a forbidden art. To mess with a person's memory is to commit an unspeakable crime. However, Preston had found a few and he holds to the rules they'd set in place like a life raft. "Brody, your mind is open to you. There is nothing you can't remember, there is nothing hidden from you." Brody makes a humming noise that Preston chooses to take as assent.

"Go back in you memories to the years on Galvanax's ship. Do you remember them?"

"Yes," Brody replies, hushed.

"Good," Preston soothes. He wraps one hand around his arm and rubs his shoulder, trying to soothe himself as well. "Think back to Madame Odius. To her torture and everything she's done. Do you remember?"

Brody makes a pained noise, but replies with an affirmative. Preston wants to reach out and touch him, but the books say not to so the Blue restrains himself.

"I want you to imagine the memories as file folders, okay? Take all those memories and put them into a box. The box is safe. The memories can't hurt you if they're in there." This tactic is mostly born of Preston's hands. His experiences with memories are to put them into a box and shove the box into the furthest corner of his mind. He's sure the therapist his teachers say he should see would love to talk about it. For now, though, Preston's thinks it should work fine here, too.

"Okay," Brody replies.

Preston swallows. "Now lock the box and set it on a shelf."

"Okay."

"This box is forever untouchable to you. You will not remember the contents of this box, when you awaken. You will not remember what Madame Odius did to you while you where on Galvanax's ship. When I snap my fingers, you'll awake with no memory of the box or its contents. Do you understand?"

This is the trickiest part. The hardest to get right. It has to be worded just so, or Preston could mess everything up.

"Yes," Brody replies.

"Okay," Preston says to himself. "Ready?" he asks Brody. "Three, two, one," Preston clicks his fingers again, once more commanding, "Wide awake!"

Brody's eyes snap open and he sits up. "Hey, Presto," he says. "Did it work?"

Preston shrugs. "You remember Madame Odius or her actions on the Warrior Dome?"

Brody frowns. "She didn't touch me on the Warrior Dome."

Preston breaks into a relieved smile. "It worked!"

~~~

@estel-eruantien thank you!