#whoop whoop I really enjoyed writing this

[ispeakforthetrees19]

Puck Me

Hockey Player!Levi x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Hockey Player Levi and Coach Reader make a bet...who will win?

A/N: I can't stop writing this and I'm having too much fun with it to enjoy it alone. I suck shit at fancy Tumblr HTML and theme, but here it is.

This story is based on some of my own experiences as a figure skater. This will eventually feature smut, and I will update the tags as I go. I may update again this weekend. Thanks to my beta @nilfgaardianleviosa, as always.

Cross posted to my AO3 in my blog.

Tags: Levi Ackerman/Reader, AU-Modern Setting, Hockey Player Levi Ackerman, Figure Skater and Coach Reader, Enemies to Lovers, You know where this is going, this will be explicit in the future, 2nd person POV, female reader.

TW: bad words, fuckboys

Words: 2.7k

Chapter 1: Teaching Tots

You step out onto the ice with Petra, fresh and smooth after the Zamboni cleaned up from morning sessions. You bend your ankles, testing your laces to make sure they’re tight enough, and start skating around the rink, warming up against the cold air.

You do some basic footwork and finally you feel warm enough to take off your jacket, leaving you in leggings and a form-fitting long-sleeve shirt. Petra is at the boards when you skate up to hang your jacket on the side; she has her foot up, stretching out her hamstrings.

Public ice is pretty dead today, maybe ten or fifteen people in rental skates starting to get on and wobble their way around the ice as they cling to the wall. You smile at the toddler bravely making their way out to the center, holding onto the PVC pipe support that kids use to stay upright. His mom calls out to him, begging him to come back to where she can’t leave the wall, too unstable in the mediocre skates with limited ankle support.

“Wanna run through jumps?” Petra asks, smiling at you with her big, hazel eyes.

You shrug. “Sure.”

You and Petra each claim a side of the ice, doing crossovers to gain speed, running through your single jumps in order, then your doubles. You’re warm now, and you take off your shirt, grateful for the cool air to hit your arms and shoulders uncovered by the tank top you have underneath.

“Fuck, my double lutz is kicking my ass,” Petra complains as she finds her way next to you. “I just can’t get enough oomph on the entrance.”

“That’s because your toe picks are weak as fuck,” you laugh, pointing to her blades. “They aren’t big enough to really dig in and get you the momentum you need to get your ass in the air.”

“But your blades are so expensive,” Petra whines, looking down at your skates.

“Black Friday still happens for figure skaters,” you remind her. “It’s almost the holidays, why not put it on your Christmas list? Not like your dad can say no to you anyway.”

Petra laughs and pushes your shoulder. “Maybe I will. Hey, are you working on your triples?”

You grimace and shake your head. “A little. Waiting for the bruises on my hips to subside before I bruise them again.”

Petra’s about to respond when you hear loud voices whooping from across the ice. You turn to look at the hockey team getting on the ice and roll your eyes.

“God, the Titans,” Petra mutters. “Don’t they have practice later?”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “Tell me you aren’t already drooling over Ackerman being on the same sheet of ice as you.”

Her cheeks light up pink, and she shakes her head furiously. “No! It’s just—ugh, he’s so distracting.”

You laugh at her embarrassment, pulling her wrist to drag her away from the boards. “Come on, let’s work on our jumps before they take over the whole ice running drills.”

Petra pouts but follows, and you both run through some more doubles before the hockey team starts running exercises, tearing through the ice with their abrupt stops and deep edges.

Eventually, you give up trying to squeeze in practice and just skate around the rink with Petra, staying out of the hockey players’ way.

“I’m annoyed,” Petra pouts. “I wanted your help on my double axel.”

You shrug. “They’ll get off like thirty minutes before practice so they can gear up.”

“But the ice will be ruined!” Petra whines.

You laugh at her valid complaints. “Well, if you can learn to land a double axel on shitty ice, think about how well you’ll do in competition with fresh ice.”

Petra visibly debates your logic for a moment before nodding. “I can try.”

You’re about to suggest a break for hot chocolate and a protein bar when you hear, “Oh shit!” and something solid collides into you.

Arms wrap around your waist, and you turn mid-fall, your back pressed against firm muscle of someone’s chest as you go sliding across the ice.

“What the fuck?” you ask as the arms release you to roll onto the ice.

You look over to see Levi Ackerman himself, captain of the hockey team, groaning as he pulls himself off the ice. “For someone who looks as good as you do in tights, you sure weigh more than you look.”

You sit up, glaring at his smug expression. “Excuse me?”

“Just saying,” he mutters, getting to his feet. He extends a hand out to you to help you up and you swat it away, getting up yourself.

“Can you watch where the fuck you’re going?” you ask him bitterly.

“Can you? You know we’re running drills,” Levi says, crossing his arms at your rejection of his assistance.

“I was skating forward! You hit me from behind!” you protest. “How am I supposed to watch out when you sneak up on me?”

“Pay attention, princess,” Levi says mockingly. “It’s not just your ice.”

You’re absolutely fuming, ready to unleash on him, when you feel Petra’s hand on your arm.

“Are you okay?” she asks, noticing the snow in your hair.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, looking away from Levi’s piercing blue eyes. “Jackass knocked me off my feet.”

“Jackass?” Levi questions, irritation shining through his expression.

“Yeah,” you say emphatically. “Jackass. I think it’s perfect to describe you. Or do you prefer Captain Jackass?”

“Bitch,” he mutters, skating away back to his team who are carefully watching the interaction.

“Fucking hockey players,” you grumble to Petra, who loops her arm through yours as you start to skate around the rink again. “Think they own the ice. It’s not even time for their practice and they’re running drills, terrorizing the public skaters.”

“Yeah,” she says, unconvincingly. “Jerks. But hey, at least he broke your fall, right?”

You turn to look at her, mouth parted open in shock. “Seriously? He slammed into me from behind and you’re giving him brownie points for not knocking me unconscious?”

“Well,” Petra says sheepishly. “I saw him turn so that he fell against the ice and didn’t fall on top of you. He was going pretty fast.”

You press your mouth into a line, shaking your head. “You’re a simp, you know that? An Ackerman simp. He could burn this rink down and you’d still justify it, fawning over him.”

Petra protests and you giggle at her poorly crafted excuses. You shake your head, pulling her off the ice to the lobby, where it’s warm and loud.

“Hey,” your boss says, waving at you from the rental counter. “I know it’s not your day for Learn to Skate, but we need coverage on Saturday. Can you do it?”

“Miche, come on!” you whine, sighing dramatically. “I work two of the three sessions every week. Tuesdays and Thursdays. One day more than my contract actually says, because I’m so generous and nice.”

“It’s just the tots,” he says, eyes pleading.

“Miche, no!” you exclaim, unable to help the smile spreading across your face. “You know I hate teaching the little ones.”

“Come on,” he says. “I booked a trip out of town for Nanaba and I’s anniversary and I totally forgot she’s on Saturday rotation. Please, help me woo my wife and preserve my marriage.”

“Miche, you’re really a piece of work,” you sigh. “You know I can’t say no to helping my coach.”

“I knew there was a reason you’re Nanaba’s favorite,” he says with a smile. “Thank you so much!”

“You owe me!” you call over your shoulder, walking over to the viewing bench. “Man, I can’t believe I have to cover the tots. I hate that shit.”

“But they’re so cute,” Petra protests.

You groan at her utter betrayal. “No, they aren’t! They fall and cry, and cry and fall, for almost an hour. It’s horrible. I finally worked my way out of teaching tots.”

“It’s just one Saturday,” Petra consoles. “Plus, I’m on Saturdays too! We can get lunch after.”

You pout your lips out at her. “Fine. We can get lunch.”

Your blood is pumping as you skate down the rink, edges ripping into the ice as you precisely carve delicate swirls with your blades. Loud techno music plays over the speakers as you skate, all in perfect synchronicity with the other skaters as you do footwork.

“Faster!” Coach Pixis is sitting on the boards at the side of the rink, sipping from a water bottle that certainly isn’t filled with water.

You reach the goal line and circle back to run the same footwork back down the way you came. Power class continues like this for another twenty minutes until Pixis finally dismisses you, calling it “slightly less than abysmal this time”.

As he swings his legs over the boards to walk back to the lobby, you collapse onto the ice, chest heaving. Your best friend peers at you from where she stops beside you, eyes curious.

“You alright?” she asks, out of breath herself. Petra’s face is flushed after thirty minutes of on-ice cardio.

“So...sweaty,” you groan, enjoying the feeling of the cold against your overly warm skin. “Cold feels good.”

“You’re in a tank top, you’ll get ice burn if you don’t get up,” Petra chides. “Come on, it’s almost time for hockey practice anyway.”

You reach up a hand and she pulls you to your feet. You brush the snow off of your leggings and tell her you’ll catch up, grabbing your jacket and water bottle from the boards.

The hockey players spill onto the ice, immediately skating laps at high speed forward and backward around the rink, warming up. You purse your lips, annoyed that they couldn’t wait another fifteen seconds for you to grab your shit and get off, instead making it nearly impossible for you to reach the exit closest to the coach’s room, meaning you now have to walk around the entire rink from the bench.

You decide to wait them out, annoyed with their crappy behavior. You lean against the boards, your things in your arms, for the full five minutes, watching them, making eye contact, waving at one or two that you know.

They run laps until Commander Erwin calls for them to line up on the blue line in front of him. When he does, you leisurely skate behind the group of men to get off at the exit you wanted.

They all turn around to watch you, evidently surprised you didn’t chew them out like usual for doing this. You smile at them, your eyes finding Levi’s from where he’s smirking at you. You raise an eyebrow at him and exit the ice, feeling him watch you until you disappear behind the bleachers.

Petra is inside the coach’s room already, unlacing her skates as she sits in her assigned chair. You sit in your spot next to her, following suit.

“Ugh, did you see Levi?”

You roll your eyes at Petra’s simpering expression and wide, hazel eyes.

“Why are you such a simp for him? For any hockey player? They’re dicks and they smell bad,” you complain.

“Not Levi,” she says with a dreamy look on her face. “Remember? He helped me when I cut my hand.”

“He wrapped a dirty hockey rag around your hand and told you to stop bleeding on his ice,” you say flatly. “He’s not exactly a knight in shining armor.”

Petra continues on, dithering about how Levi is, in fact, kind of an asshole but if you look past his harsh words, sour attitude, huge ego, and generally rude demeanor, there’s probably a decent guy in there. Yeah, okay.

You slip on your tennis shoes and pull Petra out to the lobby, grabbing a Gatorade and a protein bar from the concession stand.

“Let’s sit on the bleachers,” Petra says, trying to be nonchalant.

“Because we don’t spend enough time here, let’s go watch the hockey players on our break?” you ask sarcastically.

But it’s hard to say no to Petra, with her wide eyes and pouty lips. So you cave, agreeing to go sit on the bleachers, grateful for the cool metal against your back as you lay against the bench. Petra sits at attention, watching the players skate up and down the ice, practicing formations and plays.

“He’s looking over here!” she practically squeals.

You roll your eyes, scrolling through Spotify for a bass-laden playlist to mentally prepare for spending an hour with the tots later this morning.

There’s a loud crash against the boards and you jump, nearly falling off the bench. You shoot up, glaring at the plexiglass, behind which stands a smug Levi Ackerman, smirking at you. He raises an eyebrow at you and shrugs, feigning innocence. How mature, hitting the boards to startle you.

Petra gives you a sidelong glance, a slight furrow in her brows as you roll your eyes at Levi who’s wiggling the fingers in his glove in a semblance of wave. For which you return a middle finger, setting off a round of laughs between his teammates.

You look over at her with a raised eyebrow, wondering what she’s so concerned about, but she shakes her head and turns back to face the ice, eyes watching intently as they start running drills.

Later, you teach the tots a fun fishing game, where they pull out fish from the ‘pond’ you drew on the ice with a marker, and then you teach them how to skate away according to the type of fish they caught. It’s nearly time to go, and the class has been surprisingly smooth.

However, as your last student pulls out a “big fish! So big and scary!”, and you all skate backwards away from it, doing swizzles on their unsteady little feet, your smallest skater falls.

Oh fuck, here we go.

He looks up at you with wide eyes, lip trembling as he clutches his hand to his chest. He’s two feet tall, you know he’s fine, but he thinks he’s hurt, so you let out a quiet sigh and kneel next to him.

“Oh bud, that was a big fall,” you say empathetically, pulling off your gloves and taking his ��injured’ hand between yours. “You did great though.”

“I did?” he asks tearfully, clearly wanting to have a huge meltdown but also wanting to hold it together to earn your praise.

“You did,” you confirm with a nod. “You know what I do when I hurt myself from falling? I take a big deep breath, and I shake the ouch out. Have you ever done that?”

He shakes his head no, eyes wide, and you smile at him, a little charmed by his chubby cheeks.

“Hey, isn’t that the chick you nearly took out on public the other day?” Eren nods to the ice as he throws his bag over his shoulder coming out of the locker room. “Is she a coach?”

Levi looks over and sees you kneeling down on the ice, holding the hands of a tot who must have taken a fall. He watches you shake out your hands, and the little boy imitates you. You throw your head back to laugh at the boy’s enthusiasm, quickly wiggling his whole body, and take his hand to pull him back to the other tots who have been watching curiously.

You lead them in a line that snakes around the designated area until you reach the door of the rink, making sure they all get off and into the waiting arms of their parents.

He catches your eye, thinking about how pretty you look when you aren’t flipping him off or cussing him out. You give him a hesitant smile before you’re pulled into a conversation with one of the parents.

Eren is looking at him, mouth open as he watches Levi watch you. “Uh, hello?”

Levi looks at him blandly. “Yeah, yeah. She must be a coach if she’s teaching Learn to Skate.”

Eren raises an eyebrow at him. “You look like you’re down bad. For a figure skating coach, of all people.”

“Fuck off, Yeager,” Levi says, pushing him into the wall as he heads for the doors.

[steveseddie]

steddie | rating: t | 8,8k | tags: modern setting, no upside down, crush at first sight, flirting, first kiss, chrissy & eddie are best friends, dustin & steve are siblings, steve’s yellow sweater

for @steddie-spooktober day four “corn maze” and day twenty-nine “sweater”

Summary:

Eddie heads along a straight stretch of the corn maze that ends with a sharp curve to the left. He takes it at a fast speed, eager to get out of here– only to run straight into something solid. “Jesus Christ!” Eddie curses, stumbling back a few steps.

Two hands grab his shoulders to steady him and a male voice says, “Woah, careful there!”

“I’m fine. Dude, what the fuck are you doing creeping around fucking corners?” Eddie asks, finally looking up at the guy and nearly swallowing his tongue.

Because staring down at him, with big hazel eyes tinted with concern and a cute divot between his eyebrows, is the hottest guy Eddie has ever seen.

“I wasn’t creeping,” the guy scoffs, dropping his hands from Eddie’s shoulders to his own hips. “You’re the one charging through the maze like a bull, man, someone chasing you or something?”

Eddie lets out a snort. “I’m just trying to get the fuck out of here but this place is a fucking– well, a fucking maze.” The guy lets out a giggly snort and Eddie melts a little. “Anyway, sorry for slamming into you.”

He waves Eddie off. “No worries. I play sports,” he says, grinning, “I’m kinda used to being tackled.”

Eddie’s eyes roam over him. Even under his coat and his sweater, he can tell the guy has a broad chest, nice arms. Nice thighs too, filling up his tight jeans nicely.

He unintentionally licks his lips. “Yeah, you felt– um, solid. It was like slamming into a freaking wall.”

A very sexy wall, Eddie thinks.

or Eddie gets lost in a corn maze and ends up finding something better than the exit

read full fic on ao3

[crookedfivefingers]

3.13 | ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅꜱ

link to the post I accidentally wound up prattling endlessly about in the tags 💀

[vomitspit2]

omfg it’s almost midnight here and i have to get up for work at 5 AM but let me compose at least some of my thoughts …

ok idia x robot girl! reader … hear me out 🥺

someone he creates to cure his loneliness of companionship in a tender way that ortho just cannot do; ugh i’m imagining a plain head just sitting on the desk, stripped down to the metal and skinless; him asking which eye color you like the best until it lands upon yours;

the midnight conversations as he builds a body; the pining from the reader (is it actual pining or are you just scraping the edges of desperate self perseverance so he doesn’t trash you like the other models); kind of dream-like transition between adding each body parts (like imagine yourself lying in a tub of ink — cheeks, nose, lips, a slight peel of your forehead visible — and eventually it all drains down as more and more body parts are added);

the first very touch of human flesh upon you; the cracked polystyrene blinks that you give with twitchy eyelashes; you siphon your romantic tendencies between a messy mélange of gritty 18+ hentai and victorian romance novellas; idia pours his damned and tormented soul into making you perfect for him and you pour yourself willingly into the image, designed just for one man <3

past midnight edit:

BRUH TO THIS SOnG

yeah to this fuckin banger

((past midnight edit again: there are really only two ways you can go with robot main characters: the building process or the robot being oblivious and thinking they are human (Ex Machina or Twilight Zone) i enjoy both sooo much))

[livesincerely]

squirming outta my skin (i'm in love with you) ch.1 - prologue: one helluva first meeting

AKA, the cheerleading fic. Also on Ao3

00000

The team hasn’t even gotten through their first set of ladders before Albert sidles up to him, scowling darkly.

“Heads up,” he says, jerking his chin over towards the sidelines. “DeLancey’s fucking with the cheer team again.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jack groans, turning away from the field to look. 

Sure enough, Oscar’s making a complete ass of himself as usual, leering creepily at the cheer squad while they try to warm up. Even as Jack watches, he lets out an obnoxious wolf whistle, reaching out to tug at one girl’s skirt, then laughing meanly when she darts away.

“Where’s Coach?” Jack asks, already exhausted.

“Hell if I know,” Albert grunts. “Enrichment meeting or some shit, probably.”

“Of course he is,” Jack sighs. He tears off his helmet, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Keep an eye on everyone, will ya?” he tells Albert. “I’ll handle Oscar.”

“Yeah, sure,” Albert says, clapping him on the back. “Good fucking luck, man.”

One of the other cheerleaders—a male cheerleader, who ushers his teammate behind him with a protective arm—is already chewing DeLancey out before Jack’s even made it halfway across the field, clearly furious. 

“—picking on freshman now?” Jack hears as he jogs over, the cheerleader’s tone utterly frigid. “That’s pretty pathetic, even for you, DeLancey.”

“Aw, don’t get your panties in such a twist, Jacobs. It’s just a joke, no harm done—“

“Oh, there’s gonna be some harm done when I kick your fucking teeth in you piece of shit⁠—”

“Hey!” Jack shouts as he approaches. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, DeLancey? You’re supposed to be running drills, not harassing the cheer team. Get back on the field.”

“This is your last warning, DeLancey,” the cheerleader—Jacobs—continues, not paying Jack a single whit of attention. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself and leave us alone.”

“Or, what, Jacobs?�� DeLancey sneers, the prick, crossing his arms over his chest. “You gonna shake your pom poms at me?”

“Hey!” Jack cuts in firmly, because if he doesn’t, this Jacobs guy might actually tear DeLancey a new asshole. “Oscar, get back on the field. Now.” 

Jacobs glances towards him then, and for a split second, all Jack can think is blue. He’s got eyes like the summer sky, vivid and vibrant and vicious, made all the more striking by the dark curls that fall across his forehead and the angry flush blooming high in his cheeks. But his gaze only lingers for a moment, those piercing eyes swinging back towards DeLancey, who’s proving that he’s just as stupid as he looks by lingering instead of beating a hasty retreat.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Jacobs says, his voice hard. “Because I can and will kick your ass up and down the fifty yard line if I have to, but I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your teammates.” He pins DeLancey with a look of incredible disdain, then amends, “Not that you need any help in that department.”

“Oh, yeah?” DeLancey says, taking an angry step forward, his face starting to turn an ugly shade of red. “I’d like to see you try.”

“No,” Jacobs says, with a smile that’s all teeth. “You really wouldn’t.”

“DeLancey!” Jack barks, absolutely fed up with Oscar’s bullshit. “I swear ta god, if you aren’t back on the field in the next twenty seconds, you’re gonna be warmin’ the bench during tomorrow’s game!”

It’s this threat that finally lands.

“What? You can’t do that!” DeLancey blusters. “You need me!”

“Because who doesn’t need a wide receiver that couldn’t catch a pass if it literally hit him in the back of the head,” Jacobs mutters pointedly.

“Shut the fuck up, Jacobs!” DeLancey snarls at him. “Prissy fucking bitch, getting all huffy over nothing! Why don’t you go back to your cartwheels and toe touches before I have to teach you a lesson—“

Jacobs’ expression goes flat. Then he hauls his arm back and drives his fist directly into DeLancey’s face. 

Oscar never even sees the hit coming—he falls flat on his ass, eyes watering as he cradles his nose.

“What was that, DeLancey?” Jacobs asks cooly, shaking out his hand. “The prissy fucking bitch didn’t quite hear you.”

“Holy shit,” Jack breathes, mouth agape.

“You⁠—! You stupid fucking⁠—!” DeLancey can’t even get the words out. Blood is trickling out one of his nostrils, the skin around it already starting to turn splotchy. “I’m gonna⁠—”

He staggers to his feet, fists up, ready to charge. 

“DeLancey.” Jack’s between the two of them in an instant, stopping Oscar in his tracks with a single, scathing look. “I said to get back on the fucking field.”

DeLancey gapes at him stupidly for a few seconds—Jacobs has clearly knocked a few brain cells out of him with that punch, and it’s not like he had that many to spare to begin with.

“You can’t just let him do this to me!” he finally sputters, like he ain’t the one that started all this shit in the first place. “What, just ‘cause some skirts got pissy over nothing? He’s just a cheerleader and I’m—“

“—already on thin fucking ice,” Jack says, voice hard. “I’m getting pretty tired of puttin’ up with your bullshit, Oscar, and once I tell him ‘bout this latest stunt, I’m pretty sure Coach will agree with me. So, you’re gonna wipe your face, stow the attitude, and get back on the green or I’m gonna drag you out there by the roots of your fuckin’ hair. Go.”

DeLancey throws him a sour, mutinous look, but finally, finally, does as he’s told, stomping off to locker rooms like the overgrown toddler he is.

“Asshole,” he mutters under his breath.

He turns to Jacobs, who stares back at him steadily, chin lifted. He’s still flexing his hand a little, the skin around his knuckles split in a couple places.

“So, uh,” Jack starts, hesitant in the face of Jacobs’ stony expression. “I’m real sorry ‘bout all that.”

“Uh huh,” Jacobs says, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sure.”

“No, honest,” Jack insists. “It was about time someone knocked that smug look off his face… but it shouldn’t’ve had to come to that. Do you, uh,” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not sure what to do with himself. “Do you want some ice for your hand? That was one helluva left hook⁠— or, I could, um⁠—”

“I am just fine,” Jacobs interrupts, his tone biting. “So, please feel free to save the All-American, Boy Scout routine for someone who cares. If you really want to help⁠—” the look on his face makes his opinion on the quality of Jack’s help crystal clear, “—then you can make sure shitheads like Oscar DeLancey stay the hell away from my squad. And if he comes within spitting distance of one of my girls again, I’ll have his fucking dick in a vice.” 

A razor sharp smile. “So glad we had this talk.”

And with that, he marches away.

“Oh, fuck me,” Jack murmurs to himself, utterly enraptured as he watches him go. He’s real, real pretty and he’s real, real mean: Jack’s heart is already doing loop-de-loops around his chest, his skin buzzing with static. “‘M so fucked.”

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @astreamofstars for this ask meme: Sickfic Prompts - Jaheira/Rasaad - [ 🛒 ] - going out at an absurd hour to grab supplies for them. Set about a month before Rion's birth. c:

-----

"Who in the hells can that be at this hour?" Sleepily, Miriam Hummel treads across the floor of her shop in slippered feet, holding a candle before her to keep from accidentally walking into the shelves of dried meat and produce. She shoots a cautious look at the dagger kept unobtrusively beside the door, then pulls it open to look outside.

The thoroughfare of the Lower City market district is utterly silent, the moon hanging heavy and low between the rooftops. There is, in fact, not a single other soul to be seen besides the old man standing on the doorstep.

She recognizes him, just barely; he's come a handful of times through the shop before. Bashir - the monk, one of the couple who bought Elerrathin's Home a year or so back. He's a bit of a strange one, or so he's always struck her - very quiet, but gentle when he does speak, and remarkably quick on his feet. It's hard to guess his age; by the lines in his face, he is old indeed, but his dark eyes are bright and he has a square, stocky, muscular body that would do credit to a man half his years at least.

"Good evening," he says earnestly, as soon as the door has opened.

"Saer..." Miriam looks the man up and down with a mildly bewildered expression. Then, after a long pause and with heavy irony, she says, "We're closed."

Rasaad winces. "I realize this is not an ideal hour--"

"It's near midnight, Saer Bashir!"

"--but it would be a great kindness to me if you would give me a moment of your time." Rasaad hesitates, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out two heavy platinum coins. "This will cover all I need, thrice over and more. I beg of you, I will be here and gone in no more than a moment."

Miriam's eyebrows shoot up. "Well," she says, coming a little more awake out of pure perplexity. "That's fair generous of you, Saer, but what call you can have for any of my goods that is worth twenty gold pieces at midnight is--"

"Please," he says. "I need pickles."

She blinks slowly at him once. Then twice. "...Pickles?"

"Yes." He nods very seriously. "The largest container you have."

A long, long pause. "Are you having me on, Saer?" she asks suspiciously. "This some sort of joke?"

Now it's his turn to look puzzled. "A joke?"

Either he has the finest deadpan in the Realms or he’s being completely serious, and she’s starting to think it’s the latter. “...If it’s pickles you want for twenty gold, then pickles you shall have,” she says, quirking one eyebrow up. “Though I still can’t fathom the need.”

For the first time, his placid expression shifts, and a hint of something else pokes through the facade - worry, and a sort of pleading strain. His weight fidgets almost imperceptibly, left to right and back again. 

“It is for my wife,” he says quietly. “She is… quite far along. I have told her that she shall lack for nothing, but she asks for little; it is not her way. But tonight, she is…” A pause; he is choosing his words carefully. “Low. It is a low night. And she has a craving, as I am told women in her state often have - for pickles, so pickles she shall have, if it takes me all the night to find them.”

Miriam’s wary scowl softens. “Ah,” she says. “Well. That is a cause I can’t fault, certainly.” Her mouth turns up a little at one corner. “She is a lucky one, your wife, I should think. There are not many as would find their man willing to hunt up such a thing at such an hour.”

He tips his head to the side. “Whyever not?” he asks, sounding legitimately bewildered.

-----

The door of the house creaks open on its hinges. Jaheira turns sharply from where she is standing at the window, and relief surges unrestrained across her face to see Rasaad framed by the moonlight in the doorway.

“You are back,” she says, the words like a sigh, an outrush of held tension. “I began to know my foolishness the moment you left - to see you out at this hour. The streets are not safe…”

“There was no danger,” he says gently. “Though I do believe the shopkeeper was greatly surprised to see me.” With a heave, he lifts the heavy jar in both his hands and sets it with a clunk on the table. 

She stares at it and, to her own astonishment, feels tears fill her eyes. Her emotions have been a maelstrom all day - for weeks, really, but today has been particularly bad. She feels restless and fidgety, crawling around inside her own skin, a prisoner in her body weighed down by the life growing inside it. Earlier, it manifested in anger, a lashing-out argument buffeting against Rasaad’s infuriating calm, which was what sent him out into the darkness in search of a foolish whim.

Now it whiplashes back the other way into a gratitude so intense it is almost painful, interwoven with the pinpricks of pre-emptive grief that are always now in the back of her mind. She should not have sent him out; she feels so acutely aware, as she carries his child, of the finite weeks and months remaining to them, draining inexorably into the past. No minute should be wasted, no second taken for granted.

But she asked him for pickles instead, and he found them for her in the dead of night, and suddenly she wants to sob.

She isn’t sure how much of this shows on her face - but he must understand at least some of it, because he steps forward and gently rests one palm against her cheek, the other against the curve of her belly. “My sun…” he murmurs.

“I am sorry…” she mutters, her voice thick.

“There is no need.” He draws her forward, kisses her.

“I love you.” She whispers it against his mouth, then grunts softly as the child kicks in her womb, as if aware of its father’s nearness.

“And I you.” She feels him smile into the kiss before drawing back. “Now… please, sit. For these were dearly bought and I will not have them go to waste.”

[spaghett-onaplate]

it's literally not a good idea in any way shape or form but I want to get a second job in fast food

[scottishoctopus]

So...after yet another hiatus with no warning...I have returned!

[rooksrambles]

Currently going through my fics and downloading my favorites and @xiaq 's Way Down We Go was one of the first to get downloaded on to my usb. I love their fic so much and if you like drarry and haven't read that one yet, or even if you have, go read it, it's so good.

I've read it multiple times now and it's the best mix of the two of them being idiots, Harry being a nosy nelly, Draco being an edgy bitch, they spot each other in a Piggly Wiggly, it's fluffy, it's angsty, it's domestic, everyone knows they're together except them, the Gryffindor crew and Slytherin group mix, and did I mention Harry's a werewolf? Anyway, download your fics, take care of yourself, and go read this fic. As a treat.

[wayward-sherlock]

🔀 + stonathan

hi nic!! i’ve never written stonathan before, so please bear with me 🫶

again, this is longer than i was anticipating!! so it’s hiding under the cut hehe >:)

Steve wasn’t used to being high.

Sure, he’d been drunk before, but never once stoned — despite what people seemed to think about him, he wasn’t the total party boy everyone seemed to think he was. He liked to have a good time, but sometimes people took it too far.

This logic — and all of his logic, really — went out the window when Jonathan was around. They’d decided to camp out in his room, hiding from the rest of the party, soles of their shoes touching as Steve sat against his door and Jonathan sat across from him, head leaning back against Steve’s bed, neck dangerously exposed.

“Wanna get high?” Jonathan asked, looking at Steve, catching his unabashed staring. His face, if Steve wasn’t mistaking, turned a shade pinker than it had been a few seconds ago. When Steve didn’t respond immediately, Jonathan cleared his throat and tried again. “Steve?”

“Sure,” Steve said, finally, throat growing dry at the endless possibilities that were laying out in front of him, mapping out different trajectories of how the night could go. Maybe…maybe he’d finally get the guts to say how he felt, or press his lips to Jonathan’s, or even —

“Okay,” Jonathan breathed, pulling the weed out of his pocket, like he’d expected Steve to answer that way the whole time.

Except…something wasn’t right, here.

“Um,” Steve said nervously, scrambling into a standing position. “We should probably go outside.”

Jonathan’s lips turned into a frown, and it was — it was distracting. “Why?” He asked, suspicious.

“Parents,” Steve lied — as if his parents would care what he got up to in his room. No, he was more worried about someone from the party below stumbling in to find them…together.

He offered a hand to Jonathan, who took it slowly, his slim fingers warm against Steve’s skin. “Let’s go to the roof?” Steve asked, pulling the other boy up until they were nearly eye to eye.

Jonathan smiled at him. “Okay,” he said again, always agreeing with him, and — hell, if Steve got to enjoy two of his favorite views tonight, then maybe…maybe the party wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[spacedlexi]

rereading my violentine oneshot and realizing i actually wrote more than i remembered

also i Will be breaking the 10,000 words mark

[transannabeth]

they are 100% planning to transfer gatsby to bway if that makes u feel better

PROMISE?

i don't like... look up shows anymore so i don't see anything and since they have Zero social media presence i just didn't know. i especially didn't know since there's already a gatsby on broadway and i wasn't sure if they were willing to risk that yet given i have no idea how that show is doing. but god i hope so!! i will see it again. i'll move to nyc for a month and see it daily. this is dramatic. i'm also not sure if i'm kidding.

[oh2e]

Didn’t manage to go to the theatre in June (I’m trying to go once a month) so I’m going twice this month! AND to the cinema! I’m so excited

[mercuriart]

hmmm i want to be. a little bit controversial. but i fear this is the no nuance no critical thinking webbed site. and i don't want to start discourse on this account. ill just. tags.

[kiwipineappleparasol]

I saw your tierlist! love the blackbright (Blackquill x Fulbright) appreciation!! your tierlist is actually pretty swag, but I do have like one question and that is how come you don't get junithena (Juniper x Athena?) just curious!

(also I feel like you probably know these ship names so it's weird for me to add the explanations but I'm doing it anyway just in case)

(I had typed out a whole response right. and Tumblr. and Tumblr Ate It. In front of my Eyes. It even Said so. so you are Spared with this being a bit more Brief since I have to retype Everything . as it did not have the Kindness to save it as a Draft 👹)

(Also I do know These Ones at least but I do Appreciate it . I think ship names are a Little Goofy sounding though so I tend not to use them but I will take this into account in Tagging things 👍)

But Glad to hear my takes are Swag 😎 of course I gotta appreciate the Silly Guys (as I like refer to them . like it's my own Ship Name for these guys) I Mourn the Hilarious dynamic and Interesting things they Could've had if Dual Destinies didn't Hate Me In Particular. Curse You Dual Destinies. Guess I have to do it Myself 🙄 (Lighthearted Statement)

Anyways I realize that I put it Juniper x Athena in the wrong tier (Classic me mixing things up and only realizing it in Retrospect moment) I do Understand why people would ship them - on a surface level, y'know they're childhood friends, have Nicknames and all that Jazz. Not for me though. (So it would have been the Yellow Tier) But to Elaborate:

It's a disconnect I have with Juniper as a character -- it soured her dynamic with Athena for me. There's something about Juniper's portrayal, in conjunction with some of her actions that just rubbed me the wrong way. The vibes were off, shall we say. (I wrote a bit as to why but Uh….. It got sent to the Ether. Thanks Tumblr. I might go into it Another Day)

I guess I'll just say Turnabout Academy didn't really convince me that the characters were good friends -- even though that was The Point? I dunno (my Ability to word my points has Gone down the Drain 💀)

Point Being: Certain aspects of Juniper's whole deal impacted how I saw their dynamic Which didn't exactly lend itself to Romance in my eyes (Outside the fact Juniper is Canonically waxing Poetically about how Apollo makes her feel like she's Photosynthesizing Lmao) and I'm just not a Huge Juniper Fan as she exists in canon. Love her Design though 👍

[rosesradio]

update on the fic:

the time for me is half past eleven, and i have finished the fic with a final word count of 22,310 words.

however, it's very late and i need a fresh set of eyes for editing (it's not a quick grammer scan, this thing needs revisions i'm so serious lmao). so i'm going to keep it in the drafts for right now and try to post it tomorrow.

sorry to anyone who wanted to read it, & i'm happy you do, but trust me--i want to post it when it's at what i consider a good quality for my readers. gn you guys <3