#yes there are some mistakes and mishaps happening here and there but

[lunehong]

Ateez isn't a group that would stay quiet if they hated the staff and we have seen time and time again how much they love the people working with them. If they hated kq they'd not joke with the staff all the time. Like the members banter with the makeup artists every time we see a behind vid and we see the makeup artists laughing their asses off cuz ateez said smth. Also in the wanteez epi where they were left unsupervised and camera crew weren't there that epi showed a lot of their bond with the staff. Then not to mention their bond with the managers over the years and also the producers and the ceo? If they really hated kq they wont really make an effort to show their relationship off like that.

stupid is twtiny convincing people that ateez ABSOLUTELY HATES KQ using wooyoung being a little shit by pronouncing brand names on wanteez as "proof"

[stripedstarsblueflags]

Am i the only one who's kinda insulted colapinto immediately insults logan after he crashs the car or am i reading to much into it like?????? Why are you insulting the guy who was so nice to you? And if ur not insulting him then why are you joking abouy his crashes like there funny????

Here’s what I have to say about Franco:

I definitely spent too much time on this, but receiving this ask absolutely BEWILDERED me so I went on an internet spiral to find what on earth it could be referring to before I found it. X, Instagram, Williams App, Motorsport.com. I looked everywhere for any sort of comment or criticism that could be called an “insult” from Franco and he hasn’t made any sort of statement, on socials or interviews, about Logan at all. Which, considering the media/PR hellscape Williams has now roped him into, is definitely for the best.

What I think you meant– I think– was Franco’s radio message right after he hit the barrier. An apology. “Sorry about that, guys.” Now this is where I guarantee you, you are reading too far into it. Drivers are well aware of the consequences of damaging their cars, especially at the beginning of a race weekend. Especially when the whole world is watching with as much ridicule and scrutiny as Williams is receiving now. They know how much the damage costs. They know their teams don’t have bottomless resources. They know that they’re not the ones who are going to have hours or days worth of nonstop work to do to clean up their mess.

Crashing is shameful. It’s embarrassing. It’s like throwing up on someone’s favorite shirt and then watching them hand wash it. Drivers apologize on the radio after crashing more often than not, even in different tones/wording. Logan did not invent dejection, he did not invent self-loathing apologies, he didn’t invent apologizing on the radio after a driver-error impact.

I’m a huge Logan Sargeant stan. The August 27th news hit me like a battering ram in the chest and I’m still in the process of catching my breath. I get that it’s so easy to have a natural, almost overeager resentment for his replacement. The fact that Franco’s media personality, the costumes they put on and stick to throughout their careers to make themselves likeable and recognizable, is so opposite from Logan. Cocky, confident, smooth-talker, upbeat.

But he isn’t in charge of his own image, even, none of them are. He’s walking on eggshells because he’s going to be met with backlash and hate from ex-Williams fans, Logan fans, people who think he can’t be good as a rookie, people who love to underestimate him. He doesn’t have an inch of room to make some kind of public image mistake. Also, he’s not even 25? I still consider that a kid. He’s a kid, he’s learning, he’s gonna be reckless and ambitious and trip over some hurdles trying to navigate the monstrous traveling circus of F1 for the brief time he has.

Also, speaking of mistakes– because Logan, the driver he’s replacing due to James Vowles’ erratic leadership, was famous for crashes and not much else– Franco knows that he can’t afford to show any similarity to that sort of pattern or else he’ll be finished. He’ll be a laughing stock, a mistake, a disappointment, another reason to shout, “Why would you do this?!” to Williams as a whole. Just like Alex, his performance on track has to do more than just carry them forward in the championship– they need something shiny and sparkly and impressive just to cover up the horseshit back in the garage. What happens to Franco if he fails to meet that standard?

He gets maybe one crash. One crash to burn. A single crash could be rookie error, overexcitement, getting used to a new track, any number of excusable mishaps. Anything else? He’s history. And before his second race out of his Formula 1 debut, he’s burned straight through it.

Just because he comes across as optimistic, proud of himself, excited, ready to race onscreen doesn’t mean that everything’s totally fine behind his yes. He’s under enormous pressure. Monumental stakes are weighing on his performance as an F2 rookie, as an F1 rookie, in someone else’s car, for the last third of an already-in-progress season. This could be his only chance to make an impact, to show his talent. And Williams have made that as difficult as it could be for him. Which they’re good at.

Just because Franco is performing better than Logan doesn’t mean he’s a participant in the insidious nightmare that is Williams management right now. He’s just a young driver they could have thrown into the wrong car at the wrong time. Sound familiar?

tl;dr I will defend Franco Colapinto as a temporary Williams driver and support Logan Sargeant as a survivor of abuse and those two things can exist at the same time

[miloformula123fan]

I absolutely want part 2 of the love language fic!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

ohhh of course, but warning, it's gonna hurt!

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

peter bonnington x wife!reader

“You, okay darling?”

“Yes” she croaked, laughing at her own ruined voice

“Who’s going on the podium, darling?”

“Fred. I think Toto wished that the overtake had worked so he could be on the podium for Lewis’ final race. Are you ready to be coaching a child next year? Bit of a step down from your 7 time world champions.”

“He seems like a nice kid, y’know. Good championship this year. And next year is about rebuilding and then the year after going for the trophy.”

“With the kid? God, trying to break Seb’s record are we?”

Bono snorted but the laughing fell off his face as he grabbed Y/N’s hands.

“Take care of him, okay? I don’t trust him with a lot of people, so I’m trusting you with him.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Y/N laughed as she threw Carlos in after Lewis. There were a few sad faces mainly from Carlos’ side of the garage and Williams. Maybe they were thinking about Sauber’s pit stops from this year. And how that was them next year.

And Williams. She would miss Logan. She’d taken him under her wing after seeing the way James was treating him. And while she was happy he’d managed to get a seat at Prema’s Indycar project, she would miss seeing him week in week out. 

---

“OH FUCK NO NO NO LEWIS.” Y/N wanted to cry as she watched Lewis slip down the order as the pit stop was screwed up, as they tried to take the wheel off for the third time.

“Shit, Lewis I’m so sorry.” Y/N raised her head from her hands to make sure Lewis could hear her properly as she mumbled into her mic as the scarlet ferrari rejoined the race.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll come back stronger next race.” Lewis tried to reassure her as he fought with the Haas cars.

Y/N wanted to believe it. She really did. But she could sense the glares coming from the Mercedes garage next to her as she sat at the pit wall, cursing herself, her head still in her hands. Watching through her fingers as Lewis fought for position with Haas. The Ferrari was so good. He should be breezing past them.  Scratch that, he should be miles ahead of them and not even in contention to see them unless he was lapping them.

Y/N couldn’t stop rewatching the interview, the way Toto mocked Ferrari and appeared angry at them for what had happened in the race. She could still feel the anger from the race mistake, she could almost hear all the critics, all those who hadn’t wanted her anyway, now utilising the current mishap to further mock her, further their arguments.

Their arguments that she did not belong.

And maybe she didn’t. Her entire career she had felt like she was the model, she was the goal for little girls who weren’t into karting. She was the trophy that got paraded out any time any time there was an argument about inclusion or a situation where someone was being cancelled and they needed her to confirm that the paddock was a good place to work.

“Darling, you promised you’d protect Lewis.”

“Yeah, well y’know” she barked out a dry laugh “it’s like a coming of age when you race for Ferrari.”

“Well, okay then, but I mean you told me…”

“THE FUCK DOES IT MATTER ANYWAY?” Y/N outburst. She saw the shocked look on her husband’s face and tried to lower her volume as he spoke.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Yes it matters, you’re Lewis’ race engineer, if it doesn’t matter to you, who does it matter to?”

“Not me. I’m leaving next year anyway.” Y/N couldn’t look her husband in the eyes as she said it.

“You’re what…”

“I’m leaving. I’m going to red bull if it matters.”

“What do you mean you’re going to red bull? You’re ferrari’s best engineer.”

“Yeah, well, red bull had a better offer. Y’know? You’re working on the future and red bull are bringing up Liam, so. New experience for me. I’m older y’know, last hurrah, bringing Liam a championship.”

“But Ferrari have Lewis, Adrian, Charles, Fred…”

“So? It’s my fucking life Peter, you don’t own me. I can make my own decisions and I can make my own choices in my life. And this is my choice. And if you can’t respect that, then maybe I should leave here too.” 

Y/N didn’t even wait for a response, but simply turned and left, needing to calm down.

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @pear-1206

[nightmarish-fae]

professor blake (alex blake/academic!reader)

a/n: I originally wrote this little one shot as a request for @prentiss-theorem. I usually don’t feel very comfortable with sharing what I write, but I have been badgered (lovingly), so here we go. I am not a native English speaker, all mistakes are mine.

pairing: alex blake x reader

genre: silly fluff

warnings: swearing

word count: 767 (one-shot)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was fun, sneaking around with Alex. Not that you were really sneaking around - neither of you needed or wanted to keep your relationship a secret. All the important people in your life knew. But neither of you quite felt the need to tell your colleagues and students at Georgetown when you started seeing each other and eventually, it just slipped your minds. And then, it became sort of a game, seeing just what you could get away with and laughing at how confused people could get trying to put two and two together over shared dinners and glasses of wine. 

You couldn’t be happier. When you took the position of Latin professor at Georgetown, you didn’t quite expect the impact the position would have on your life. On your first day, you managed to bump into a fellow professor and spill your coffee on both of you, which, in turn, made you burst into tears. It might not have been an entirely appropriate reaction, but the stress and terrible previous work experience made it too much for you to handle. 

Even so, it turned out to be one of the best things to ever happen to you. The woman you managed to get your coffee all over, a linguistics professor Alex Blake, blew your breath right away. She was gorgeous. And smart, funny and ridiculously kind. You found out very quickly, because she insisted that the coffee related mishap was her fault, soothed your tears almost immediately and persuaded you to let her buy you another coffee. You knew, on that first day, right after you parted ways, that it was either this woman or no one else.

And you were right. You continued to bump into each other, which in turn evolved into planned meetings when you found out just how much you had in common.

It was easy, falling in love with her. It was easier than breathing. And, by some strange sort of miracle, she fell for you too.

That’s how you ended up cuddling her in your shared bed, in your shared apartment, with a ring on your finger and a cat curled on the bottom of the bed. Sometimes, you felt like crying from how happy you were. It wasn’t all easy. Her FBI job led to late night, dangerous situations and countless arguments. But both of you pushed through, determined to do better for the other one. 

“What is going on in that head, huh?”

Alex snapped you out of your train of thoughts, handing you your coffee mug along with a kiss to your forehead. It was your first day back to work after returning from your honeymoon and while neither of you were quite ready to burst the bubble, there was also fun to be had. 

“Nothing, just thinking how lucky I am to call you my wife.”

That earned you the sweetest possible kiss, carefully pressed to your lips while those clever hands cupped your cheeks. 

“Sweet talker. See you for lunch?”

You simply hummed in response, heading for your lecture with the goofiest smile possible plastered on your face. It was impossible to get rid of. And what made the whole thing even better was what was about to follow. You and Alex made a bet. She insisted it was impossible no one knew about the two of you. You in turn, insisted that the name change was going to come as a shock. The stakes were high, but you knew you had this. Alex overestimated the intelligence of university students. 

It was exactly as you presumed. As soon as you walked down the steps, facing your class, a wave of confusion rose. 

“I thought Professor Blake was meant to be teaching this class.”

You only leaned back and looked at your nails.

“Well, yes. That’s me.”

Trying not to laugh was almost an herculean effort. Their poor little confused faces as they tried to put two and two together filled you with joy. Eventually, they succeeded and you thought you heard what sounded suspiciously like ‘lucky bitch’ coming from one of the girls closer to you. 

“I am indeed lucky, thank you very much. Not sure about the bitch though. Now, because you all managed to score me a weekend getaway with my wife, there will be no pop quiz next week. For the basics…”

As you droned on about the syllabus, your eyes flicked towards the door. It was open and Alex was standing there, leaning against the frame with a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her laughter.

Life was good.

[frozenbluecookies]

So the Dracula Daily debate of the day (or the debate of yesterday I guess, i'm a little late): Did Bram Stoker mis-label the date on Lucy's August 30th letter, or is Lucy lying about everything?

My opinion: it's Bramothy's fault, but it wasn't the date he got wrong, exactly.

Explanation under the cut.

I think both theories have merit but also have problems. The "Lucy is lying about all of it" reading checks out in that Lucy has been shown before to put up a façade in order to not make others worry. The most concrete example is with her mother, when Lucy asks Mina to keep the truth of the sleepwalking mishaps from her, but there are also hints of that tendency to put others before herself earlier on, when she writes about rejecting Jack and Quincey and how she felt about it. So do I think she would lie because she doesn't want to make Mina worry/doesn't want to take Mina's focus off Jonathan? Yes, I think she would.

The problem here, though, is that I can't see a reason to lie about still being in Whitby. There's nothing worrying about being in London (as far as Lucy knows, at least). Mina knew Lucy was due to go back to London soon; she asked Lucy to take some of her luggage back. So why lie about it? And, on top of that, the letter is postmarked from Whitby, meaning it had to have been sent from there, unless Lucy has the means to fake a postmark (and that seems like an unnecessary amount of effort even if she could).

Ol' Bram getting the date wrong fixes that though, right? The letter actually was supposed to be sent earlier, while Lucy was still in Whitby, and was feeling better because Dracula had moved to London already. Simple explanation! Except. Except. That would mean that more things are mis-dated. Mina's letter informing Lucy of her marriage was sent on the 24th of August. Lucy's first diary entry, the diary entry in which she has already returned to London, is that same day. If Lucy's letter is mis-dated, that means that either Mina's letter or Lucy's first two diary entries are also mis-dated. And if Lucy's diary entries are mis-dated, then either today's letter from Arthur is also mis-dated or her second decline happens shockingly quickly. In short, it's a slight mess.

So, what I think. I think Bramilton did get his timelines mixed up, but the date on the letter is correct. It is supposed to be an August 30th letter. The timing of both Mina's wedding letter and Lucy's reply to it make sense that way. He just made a mistake about where Lucy was supposed to be on the 30th.

I think he did the thing that writers often do where you write some parts before others, out of order, and then later on you fit them together. Specifically, I think he wrote Mina and Lucy's letters together, but separately from the diary entries and such that are dated around them. And when it came time to piece everything together he missed the fact that the pieces he'd made didn't match up; that he'd written a letter from Whitby at a point in the timeline where Lucy is already in London. I've not read Dracula in its original format, but if I had to guess, I'd guess that the content from these last few days is not presented side-by-side, making the discrepancy easier to miss.

In conclusion, this is why you plan out your timeline before you write, kids. Particularly if your novel is epistolary.

Unnecessary addendum: if I were making an adaptation and trying to figure out what to do with this entry, I'd keep it dated August 30th, but have Lucy write about spending happy times with Arthur in London. She'd be lying, of course, to keep Mina from worrying, because I do think that's in character for her in this situation. That way you get to keep the the rest of the canon timeline intact, and you get to keep the juxtaposition of Lucy's second decline happening at exactly the same time as Jonno and Mina's reunion and wedding, Dracula's previous victim beginning to heal while his newest falls back into his clutches.

[bluelockednyx]

i just finish rereading "Isagi's Gemstone Mishap", and not sure if i should use ask on tumblr or comment on ao3 to rant about it but here i am (sorry for any grammayical errors):

isagi is pining hard, (and a bit possessive too, lol)

the whole journey of "retrieving a stone that can wreak havoc where i have to disguise, trick someone, break into a warehouse then break a spell, nearly break my neck from a fall and involve a friend using his young-master status to cover up my ass" is hilariously silly, my face hurts from smiling too much

i have questions, like, did rin drop the luggage out of the window bc he saw reo outside? or someone else? im kind amazed that isagi didnt argue and just went along with rin's plan

their dynamics were so well portrayed. it's consistent with what i think is in canon, most of fandom works quite frightened me a bit because they are very ... off-putting, i guess, but with yours, i feel somewhat safe (?)

i am interested in this au that i want to ask about your inspirations (?) for this fic, like how did you come up with this plot, and if there are other works that i should read in order to understand this world more

thank you so much

You can do whatever you feel more comfortable with, anon! Ao3's easier for archiving purposes, but if you prefer asking on tumblr then go ahead. I don't mind either way.

Yes, I wrote the whole thing with the idea of coming up with 'something fun that could happen while Isagi is crushing hard on Rin'. I'm happy you like it and find it silly!

When I was writing that scene, Rin and Isagi were preoccupied with getting out of the warehouse as quickly as they could without being spotted. The luggage was both bulky and heavy, so Rin took his chances with tossing it out of the window so Isagi could get up on the ledge, then they'd both run. Isagi had no idea that Rin was going to do that, so he was actually panicking when the noise got attention. Rin hadn't noticed Reo at all in the entire fic.

asjkl thanks, i'm glad you like the dynamic I put down here. I don't really read much fanfic these days, so I'm not too sure what you mean by my fic being safe? If you mean the content, do be aware that I explore heavy 18+ content on occasion, though I do tag it appropriately.

I based most of the world building of this AU off of generic fantasy novels and manga/manhwa. There's no 'one' work that I referenced explicitly, although I do indulge in Magic A is Magic A trope extensively, with some ideas about the limits of what the characters are able to do here.

I have only posted one other work for this series, which focuses on Karasu and Chigiri looking for a cure for a badly hurt Otoya, and it's also on ao3. That fic precedes this, and is both longer and a bit more serious, with some hints about other fics I've been writing for this AU. The 'part 3' of the series is a mistake from my side due to drafts and posting issues, so there's only two fics for this series currently.

Thanks again for reading!

[ineffable-snowman]

WIP Wednesday

from chapter 13 of "Match Made on Earth", my tropey arranged marriage Good Omens fic where they're literally ineffable husbands (or not?).

Gabriel laughed. “What can I say, mistakes happen, and they happen to the best of us! But no harm done, you can return from your assignment and take up your training for Armageddon again.”

Suddenly the heavenly light was much too bright, the air too thin and Aziraphale felt thoroughly dizzy. “I-I – you mean – I – I don’t have to be married to Crowley anymore?”

“Exactly.”

“And – I should return to Heaven?”

“I’m sure this must come as a relief. No doubt you’ve fulfilled the assignment to the best of your abilities, but operations on Earth was not really what you were trained for, so it is only understandable that there were some mishaps. But you have all of eternity to repent, so – welcome back!” Gabriel spread his arms wide and smiled. Aziraphale was still shaking. “Wrap up whatever it is you need to do on Earth and then report back to active duty.”

“Active duty, yes, right, yes.” Aziraphale kept nodding and walked out of Gabriel’s office in a daze.

He was almost discorporated by cars when he walked back to the flat, paying no attention to the London traffic at all. His thoughts were spinning, everything had been turned upside-down again. His feet carried him automatically towards the flat, up the stairs, his hands turned the key and then there was Crowley, who said something about tea. Aziraphale followed him, sank down in his chair and accepted the offered cup of tea.

“That bad?”

“Bad?” Aziraphale stared at his cup. Crowley had made tea for him in preparation for when he came back whereas Gabriel had apparently forgotten he even had a meeting scheduled with Aziraphale. He was going to miss tea. He was going to miss Crowley. “No, not exactly bad.” Aziraphale put another spoonful of sugar into his cup. Might as well enjoy it as long as he was still here. “Gabriel just gave me some new information. Um. We aren’t meant to be married.”

“What made them change their mind? Thought it was some kind of divine plan?”

[georgeshutcheson]

The Essentials of P11D(b)

New Post has been published on https://www.fastaccountant.co.uk/the-essentials-of-p11db/

The Essentials of P11D(b)

If you are an employer in the UK, you’re probably familiar with the myriad of responsibilities you have when it comes to your employees. One crucial aspect of these obligations is dealing with the notorious P11D(b) form. In this post, we’ll delve into the essentials of P11D(b), and why it’s something you can’t afford to overlook.

What is P11D(b)?

So, let’s kick things off with the basics – what on earth is P11D(b)? It is a document that UK employers need to submit to HM Revenue and Customs (HMRC) every year. It’s all about reporting the value of certain benefits and expenses provided to employees earning over £8,500 per annum. Now, don’t confuse it with the P11D form! The P11D form is where you detail the actual expenses and benefits, whereas the P11D(b) is where you total everything up and work out how much Class 1A National Insurance you owe.

Why is P11D(b) Essential for Employers?

Understanding the role of P11D(b) in payroll and taxation is critical for all employers. It’s not just about compliance; it’s also about making sure your employees’ tax codes are correct. But what happens if you don’t comply? Well, let’s just say it’s not pretty. HMRC isn’t known for being lenient, and you could face hefty fines if you miss the deadlines or make mistakes on the form.

The Filing Process

Navigating the P11D(b) filing process might seem daunting, but with some guidance, it becomes much more manageable. Here’s a basic step-by-step guide:

Collect all necessary information about employee benefits and expenses throughout the tax year.

Total up the benefits and expenses using the guidelines provided by HMRC.

Fill out the form with these totals.

Submit the form to HMRC before the deadline (usually 6th July following the end of the tax year).

Remember those key deadlines! You can’t afford to leave this task until the last minute.

Common Mistakes in Filing P11D(b) and How to Avoid Them

Even with the best intentions, it’s easy to slip up when filing your P11D(b). Some of the most common errors include incorrect calculations, missing information, and late submissions. To avoid these mishaps, it’s essential to be thorough and timely in your record keeping and calculations. Consider seeking advice from a payroll professional if you’re unsure – it’s better to be safe than sorry!

Digital Solutions for P11D(b) Management

In the digital age, we’re fortunate to have numerous payroll and HR software solutions at our disposal to simplify the management of compliance forms. These platforms can streamline the data collection, calculation, and submission processes, and help you ensure compliance. So, why not explore some of the top software solutions for P11D(b) management?

Key Takeaways for P11D(b) Management

There’s a lot to take in, but the essentials boil down to understanding what the P11D(b) is, why it’s crucial for UK employers, and how to navigate the filing process effectively. Embrace digital solutions to help streamline the process and avoid common mistakes.

Conclusion

We can’t stress enough how important it is for UK employers to stay compliant and up-to-date with tax regulations. It’s not just about avoiding penalties – it’s about ensuring a smooth, transparent, and fair payroll process for you and your employees.

Final words

If you’ve found this article useful, why not share it with others who might benefit? And don’t forget to subscribe for more information and tips about UK tax laws and employer obligations. Stay savvy, folks!

FAQs

What is the deadline for submitting the form? The deadline is usually 6th July following the end of the tax year.

What is the difference between P11D and P11D(b)? The P11D form details individual employee benefits and expenses, whereas the P11D(b) totals these up and calculates the Class 1A National Insurance due.

Can software help with P11D(b) management? Yes, numerous payroll and HR software solutions can streamline the process of data collection, calculation, and submission for this particular form.

Remember, running a business involves much more than just selling products or services. Staying compliant with tax regulations, including managing the PAYE process, is crucial to your business’s success. Good luck!

[ace-of-gay]

Im gonna respond to all of these

I prefer writing oneshots

I get a quick general idea written down like very simple stuff like "bucky and reader go on adventures" and big detail i want make sure are in it but thats it

Mines honestly not that interesting or special, i just take a little while to think and then i word splurge, its the exact same way i write poetry it just happens

All over the place, music, my favorite scenes in books/ movies, things i desire, and most certainly from my weird daydreaming episodes

I love constructive criticism as long as theres no hate included

I do not have it beta'd, i just read it six times and put it into word to make sure i catch as many mishaps as possible

I only write in one type of pov because thats how i brain splurge, other pov's take alot more time

I prefer the middle, it always has the most fill to it

Sometimes i comment but im still utterly shy and anxious when commenting

Number ten is absolute gibberish to me... (im on mobile so its confusing to me)

Of my own? Meh probably happiness greed because its my experience written in partial poetry ... of someone elses? Delicate edges!

I love receiving it but it doesn't bother me if i dont get any feedback, ijust want others to be happy

If you have a word pop up im your mind at any time of the day and you don'tknow what it means, look it up, ive expanded my vocabulary by simply asking my phone to define words

I definitely draw from personal experience and like to put my mind in that state for a moment and figure out how i would act

I dont write nsfw stuff although I do occasionally read it if the writing style is encapsulating to me

Like 20 ideas... mmmm tony x reader, stealing his sunglasses so he makes you your own

I just avoid writing when i struggle with it, why hurt my mind with something i enjoy ya-know?

I title mine afterwards, i honestly just take the general idea and put it into words i xant describe it any other way

I dont read or write on ao3 but if i did it would probably be " gut-wrenching fluff "

I love the idea of fluff and cuddles... i crave attention but hate having it in real life so i write storied that give me the attention i crave and share it with others who crave that attention (:

Absolutely i would, i think i already have with one of my friends kinda, i just dont remember what fic it was

I dont write smut

Splurge!! Thow ideas down and when one won't leave your mind think about it as much as you can

To stop writing, genuinely the only thing i can remember

Back when i wrote on fanfic.net i had one that was around 5000 words and it was so full of emotions, sadly its gone now and i didn't write the way i do now so its not saved to any of my devices but it never got much attention

I honestly don't know but in the idea of my personal experience im gonna say happiness greed

I hate the writing it down part, i love the splurge of ideas and seeing that people enjoyed my writing

Uuuh maybe like a sentence here or there on my off days but on good days around 1000 words or more

Read ove it six times, put it into word fix the grammer mistakes add my warnins and stuff and than its good to go

9.5 /10 times i wait unless i know its not deep enough to complete in full

Uhhh both, honestly it mixes together and i dunno i get the ideas at the same time

Skip... cause i forget everyones names and i love everyones writing so so much!!

I hope to publish my poetry someday so technically yes

Probably still writing poetry, hopefully writing a book

They still think how everyone else does their experiences in life are just skewed, trauma can do some crazy things

I have absolutely no idea

I also have no idea

Isnt that what the asks are? Like free commissions? I already do lol

Uuuh i cant find any currently lol

Probably a hug with any charcter from any of my extra fluffy fics

I reread fics all the time, i have links to my favorites saved in my phone

I dont remember currently

I like reading whump in moderation im not sure my feelings on writing it but im not against it

Just silly spelling errors

Sometimes yes to one Sometimes yes to the other

Fluff with trauma

Six times in my notes app and once in word

No one betas my work

On my agere fics people get upset sometimes but i deleate the occasional hate comment, cant bother me when im in a stable mindset on something but that doesn't mean i wont protect others minds in my comments

Like 3000+ words if its even still on here

I dont use a03

I respond to comments as often as possible so people know ive seen what they've said and that they know i appreciate them

70% reader 30%writer

Thinking to myself, in the show/ movie they would never do said thing, but this is my version so of course they would

I love writing for bucky and loki in a way that feels like theyre healing their trauma

Smilies and new words! I love expanding my vocabulary

Editing small things as i write and anything i missed i fix after

Does posting count? Cause one its done im happy

So technically yes and no, so my family knows i write stories but not fanfictions, my best friend knows lol

Yes!!! And they said they love my writing style and agjfkrek it made me giddy with excitement

I like putting my ideas places

Completed series yessss, incomplete with cluff hangers i fear im gonna forget to come back

Orbs... globes, ... just say eyes

I dunno honestly

I look forward to finishing up on the asks that are sitting in my ask box!

I kinda just dont, with my migraines my schedules are basically unpredictable

I like both but im more consistent with independent works

Read, listen to music, watch movies, daydream

Luckily none of them honestly

Enthusiastic because i have more than just fanfics if they want to see

In my head, things in my head are in filing cabinets, jts strange

It all depends honestly

I have no idea, my writing is generic to me

The poetic parts, my poetry is written i. A very specific way

N/A

Yes, person with oral fixation (desire to chew on things and put non edible items in ones mouth) loki scolds their new puppy for chewing things and person starts to try to not chew on things, i was gonna write it but forgot to finish it now it just sits in my drafts

Any of the self indulgent ones

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[kyopmi]

♡ — angel eyes

‣ kita shinsuke x gn!reader

‣ a series of unfortunate events for our mochi kita, meet-cute(?), fluffy

‣ 1,544 words

kita shinsuke is late.

yes, that's right — for probably the first time in his life, due to an accumulation of unfortunate mishaps, he finds himself scrambling in the morning, heart pounding, as he moves as fast as he can to load bags of rice in his truck.

how exactly did he get here?

his first mistake was staying up much later than usual on the previous night, persuaded by atsumu and osamu's goading and whining of c'mon, kita-san, just a few more minutes! at the inarizaki mini get-together in onigiri miya, where he'd consumed a little more alcohol than he'd like to admit. as a result, he had woken up a whole half hour later than usual, sleepy eyes shooting wide open when he made out the time and his body all but tumbled out of bed, legs still tangled with his blankets.

kita shinsuke runs on routines. he finds comfort and contentment in knowing what most of his day will look like — what he's doing, where he's going, when it's happening. to some, it may seem like a dreadful constant of day in, day out, going through the same motions with little to no deviation, but kita likes to see it as his little corner of bliss. an escape, if you will, from the ever-turbulent ups and downs of life. from an outsider's point of view, one would assume his disciplined practice is merely something he has built out of habit, which isn't wrong, per se, but what they don't know is that kita craves — needs his routines just as much. it's inevitable that there will always be unexpected occurences, whether they're good or bad, long or short. this way, he thinks, it's a lot easier to take it all in stride. to have something to fall back on whenever things get a little too overwhelming.

which is why the rapid drumming in his chest, which could be from the overexertion of a rushed morning or the anxiety but most likely due to both, feels so utterly foreign to kita. he takes note of the way his fingers involuntarily trembles as he finishes loading up the last bag of rice, though he doesn't know why. he's supposed to make a morning delivery to Onigiri Miya today, before returning to tend to his farm, and though he knows his delay is unlikely to upset osamu or have any negative repercussions, he can't help the unpleasant nerves churning in his stomach.

still, kita shinsuke is kita shinsuke, so he takes a deep breath, pulls it together and makes the drive he's committed to memory towards the onigiri shop. all along the way, he has the radio playing at a reasonable volume, the chattering from the radio dj's and the occasional music from the speakers serving as a soothing background noise as his eyes stay fixated on the road.

kita is convinced he’s regained his composure during the twenty-minute drive. he’s had the chance to slow down his heart rate, quell the morning fluster he’s been feeling, and mentally move his schedule around so that he can still finish all his tasks before sundown. 

okay. he’s got this. 

all that’s left to do right now is get out of his truck, apologize to osamu, and–

smack! thud! “ow!”

oh, gods. he couldn’t even get the first thing off his checklist done right.

the rice farmer wants to groan, sink into the vinyl of his seat, and hopefully wake up from a bad, bad dream. unfortunately, he’s sure of two things: one, that this isn’t a nightmare he can simply move on from, and two, that was a very real, very alive human person he just hit with the door of his truck.

it’s like all his previous efforts have gone to waste as kita hurries, more carefully this time, to exit his vehicle, his heartbeat spiking once more and a pool of anxiety, now mixed with guilt, resurfaces in the pit of his stomach. once he shuts the door, he’s met with the sight of your figure – sitting flat on your bottom (not by choice, of course), one of your hands rubbing the upper arm where he assumes had come into contact with his truck’s door. he’s quick to bend down and offer a hand to help you up, all the while spewing out an apology and a concerned, “are you okay?”

you don’t make any moves to take his hand, instead blinking up at him with furrowed brows. kita’s heart just about drops to his feet, fighting back a grimace. sure, he didn’t deliberately open his door into you and sent you plummeting to the ground, but he supposes you have some right to hold it against him. he holds his breath when you finally open your mouth to speak.

“are you an angel?”

kita is stunned into silence at your question, hand still frozen mid-air as he stares unblinkingly at you.

“... are ya concussed?”

as it happens, you are not concussed, but in your defense, you were just violently struck down out of nowhere as you were innocently walking to work, and as you’re mentally recovering, an objectively handsome man had suddenly appeared before you, leaning in with his strong, defined facial structure, forehead partly obscured by his bicolor hair and honey-golden eyes boring into yours with such sincerity, it makes your heart skips a beat. it doesn’t help that he’s wearing an off-white linen shirt, leaving the top unbuttoned and teasing a glimpse of his collarbone, and that the sun is positioned behind him, resulting in a glowing halo effect around the man.

so, yeah, you think your question is at least a little bit justified.

though as the initial shock and confusion fade away, and you begin to realize what exactly you had just asked him, you feel waves of warmth flooding your cheeks. you cough awkwardly and take his hand that’s outstretched towards you, using him as an anchor as you jumpily push yourself off the ground. 

however, what you don’t expect is a force just as powerful pulling you upwards, causing you to yelp as you stumble to find your footing and you end up lurching forward instead – right into the arms of the man in front of you.

kita moves swiftly, reflexes instinctively urging his arms to support you by your sides. his heart thumps abnormally loud when you land with an oomph onto him, your eyes staring, wide-eyed, into his irises that mimic the same surprised expression. 

there’s a pregnant pause as the two of you remain in the same position for a fleeting moment, standing very close together for a pair of strangers, his hands firmly holding onto your waist while your palms rest against his chest, almost acting like a barrier. 

kita is the first to speak, trying his best to conceal the stammer in his words. “i-i’m sorry... again. are ya alri–”

“geez, kita-san. yer already try’na make a move on my newest employee right after assaulting them with yer truck?”

the sudden intrusion from osamu drags you back to your surroundings and instantly makes you separate from each other as you feel more blood rushing to your face and your mind spinning with questions.

does miya-san know this man? are they friends? does he think i’m coming into work late because i’m trying to seduce his ridiculously handsome friend?

“miya-san!” you squeak out, cringing inwardly at the crack in your voice. “i’m– it’s not what it–”

your boss waves off your floundering. “s’okay, i saw everything from the window. was pretty funny to watch,” he reassures with a lazy smirk, though it doesn’t seem to shake your embarrassment. “and i told ya to quit callin’ me that! ya better start calling me osamu or else i’ll have to start docking yer pay.”

“r-right,” you nod at him.

you have yet to find the courage to look back at “kita-san” again, fixing your gaze at osamu instead. meanwhile, kita silently observes your interaction with the grey-haired man, maintaining the collected look on his face though he can feel the tips of his ears burning up.

“alrighty, then,” osamu continues, “y/n, you finish prepping the rest of the ingredients in the kitchen. kita-san, i’ll help ya with the rice.”

kita nods in agreement, watching your back as you sheepishly scamper into the onigiri shop and disappear into the kitchen area, eyes lingering just long enough for osamu to notice. 

“wow, kita-san,” he chuckles, grinning slyly at his former captain, “can’t believe i get to watch yer meet-cute moment, right in front of my eyes.”

kita dismisses his comment with a slight shake of his head. “it was an accident,” he states matter-of-factly, moving to the back of his truck with osamu hot on his heels. 

osamu heaves a bag of rice into his arms and looks over to kita once again. “yeah? well, the booze from last night must’ve done quite the number on ya, huh?” he teases.

“yes,” kita admits reluctantly. “i overslept this morning, sorry fer comin’ late today.”

osamu playfully scoffs at his friend. “that’s not what i meant,” he laughs, lightly elbowing kita in the side. “what i’m sayin’ is – how come yer face is still as red as last night?”

♡  taglist — @sachan1956 @gojoanti @llyslikeliz​ @sunkeiji​ @rinsramenshop​ @justmyownreality ​ @a-cosmicdawn ​ @emmyrosee ​ @tyler-dimples-jones ​ @crystal-lilac ​ @loutij @kissmorax @awkwardaardvarkforever ​ @ohtokki @twismare ​ @kitsunekanojo ​ @toorude-er ​ @mattsunkawa ​ @hyeque ​ ​

[fleet-admiral-hiba]

I uh I uh don’t know if you’re still doing it but if you are then hey lol your stories are rlly well written and I enjoy them :)

Uh can I get a size S (Sanji or Crocodile), of the Espresso (yandere), or maybe Macchiato if you are willing. Please do what makes you the most comfy! Thank you for your time aaaa!! (Side note I’m very short 😭).

THE EMERALD JEWEL

There are two things Crocodile hates more than water and Doflamingo.

One is traitors, they are simply tasteless. They can't face people up front. Cowards.

The other one is... Whoever dared to kidnap his jewel. They have chosen a fate worse than death itself.

The only one who managed to capture his heart, his trust and everything. The only one who WILLINGLY CHOSE HIM. AND SOME IDIOT DECIDED TO TAKE THEM AWAY.

DISGRACEFUL. He will gut even the guards he placed on in front of the room, because they made possible this mishap.

......

You woke up rather confused as to why you were now in a cave, outside the town you were staying in for the week. A moment before you were in your cozy room, reading, the next you were bound to a chair.

And you realized only later, that there was blood flowing from your forehead. Great. And it hurt.

Two people were standing guard to your cell, but the only thing you could think about was the absolute carnage it was going to happen very soon.

Let's say that your husband... Didn't like to share. He is..how can you put it? Ah yes, possessive.

Well, you tested the strength of the rope that was binding your wrists. It was loose enough to will away, but you doubted you would make it very far.

While you contemplated what to do, you heard someone screaming. And then you felt the familiar presence of one pissed husband.

You were going to call him when someone placed a hand on your mouth. Disgusting. You jerked your head away, but a knife was placed under your throat. A cut would be fatal.

It seemed that they were panicking, and they just made their biggest mistake ever.

You see, Crocodile loathed seeing you hurt. That is, everything that wasn't his print on you was something shameful for anyone to even think of doing. And here you were, with a fool who had your head closed in a deadly headlock.

He entered, graceful even in his rage. It may not have seemed so, but behind those steely eyes you could feel it.

A whoosh, and a thump. The body that was once behind you had been dried up. And you were finally free to move.

Except that he hoisted you up, and took you home. Not once he loosened his grip on you. And he didn't want anyone to come so much as near you for the rest of the week.

You tried to comfort him, and he accepted that. But the stinging feeling of having almost lost you was bitter.

To make amend for that, you found yourself suddenly sommerged in gifts of every kind.

He was apologizing, and you knew that even if you forgave him, this incident would haunt his dreams for a very long time.

[aquietjune]

SOOO I just realized two scenes were MISSING from the chapter because of a ridiculous mishap in my export settings. I've updated the chapter and I put the beginning of those scenes in bold so that they can be easily found by scrolling, BUT now I'm also adding them here because I feel bad for them.

(I'm shocked and very sorry. Sorry! T__T)

This was the first scene!

In the early morning, Connie woke them up by knocking soundly on their door. “What is it?” Annie asked from the other side while fastening the belt of her dressing gown. “Sara at the telephone for you,” said Connie. “It sounds urgent.”

Annie rushed down the stairs. “Hello?” she said into the receiver, panting. Sara however, on the other end, sounded perfectly calm. “There’s a problem with the provisions for Serenia House,” she said. She told Annie an address. “I’m going there now. Can I meet you there?” So, it was happening. Fuck.

And this one came right after the talk with Verena Benesch, and it is a flashback:

“Your hand strikes too high, and you’re too slow.”

As soon as Annie gave her correction, Eren tried the move again on her.

It didn’t work: she blocked him once more.

“Maybe stop for a moment and think about what I told you?” Annie offered.

“You’d slam me to the ground if I did, Annie!”

“That was one time and it was during freeform, so granted, of course I finished you.”

“Sheesh, what a nitpicker!” Eren was back in front of her, his fists raised in position. 

No matter how rudely she rebuked him, he’d always get back to fight, even teasing her. Always, until he would be too exhausted, and the session would end.

She appreciated that.

Looking back, she could see the precise moments in which she made mistakes in her own form.  This was one of those moments: spending time with Eren to teach him hand-to-hand combat. Her biggest mistake, really—but how could she know it would come back to bite her? Back then, it was lazy entertainment for her; sometimes it would even strike her as something cruel—what would that suicidal blockhead do, even with her refined skills, in front of a 15-meter Titan? 

But then, briefly, she even thought: maybe the guy would find some brain by the time he graduated from the Training Corps. He wasn’t brilliant, but he had a lot of resilience (too much, in fact: why didn’t she realize…?), and he learned quickly enough—not to stay still, not to think, but her moves, the ones she could teach him, yes, and although he did not shine, his motivation was enough to place him high in his class ranks. Maybe he would get it, he would place in the first ten and join the Military Police, live a normal life until Marley would get them all.

This, if she managed to succeed in her mission, that is, and with him in the Military Police beside her… better not. What a bother.

But no, he would not survive there anyway. He would have to be able to suck it up and deal with politics, and Eren was too impulsive for that. No matter how much he learned: he would still hit before he gathered enough information on his surroundings to do that successfully. 

Couldn’t his friend Armin teach him something?

Couldn’t his dear Mikasa… just wake up, and present him with another option? Fall in love, make babies… live nicely for how long it was left to Paradis.

All done.

But no: Eren Jaeger could never have that. He could never back down. He could never lower his head for a willing beheading, for the force that motivated him, the one that told him to “kill all the Titans” was too strong to even make him reason, much less look around at the people next to him to listen to them. In his rage, he would rather destroy anything rather than make a deal. 

He listened only to what he deemed valuable for his goal; he would only succumb to that.

For that, he would listen to Annie, and be slammed to the ground repeatedly by her.

He would kill all the Titans, and with his own hands. No matter how others would think of him as a madman. He would go against all preconceived notions and all societal conventions. He would get to the end of it, or die.

What about Annie, though? Why did she do it? 

Every day she thought about her Dad back in Liberio, waiting for her return. She thought of his tears and of his pleading to her. Of his words.

You’re my daughter.

In all her conscious life, she was sure she’d never seen like that. In hindsight, she knew why that broke her. In all her life, she had been convinced to do the things he asked of her for food, or rest, or other mundane privileges, but never for the warmth of a hug. Never for affection.

She wanted that affection so much. So much. 

Then why would she wait around, following the misguided orders of Reiner Braun, seeking to complete a mission that was already lost at the beginning of their journey, when they lost Marcel? 

Why would she waste her time teaching Eren Jaeger her father’s martial arts?

She knew a simple, rational answer: because she had to silence those thoughts in her head, and her aching, somehow. Because they really had no way to act, at the moment. It was stupid. More stupid than Reiner Braun. So, she had to wait.

But then, she could not ignore the other thing, no matter how she tried to silence that as well, her whole body trembled with it, and in such a different way from the fleeting, uncertain, somewhat rather terrifying way it reacted to the vicinity of that other person she’d rather not think about too frequently about never be it those observant like Sasha or Krista or heavens save me fucking Ymir would notice. (Mina, she didn’t care: she was quiet and respectful.)

No. Getting back on track.

The point was, Eren Jaeger was impulsive, and never thought enough before striking, but trying and trying again, with her telling him to wait! Wait! every time, somehow, he got it. Even the hardest moves, he could learn.

She would then look in disdain at Reiner and Bertholdt who never grasped a sense of what she did when she fought them. Instead, Eren observed. He listened. And he learned.

 And it was so satisfying. She could feel her lips turning upwards in contentedness. 

So silly. So misguided.

But in that, feeling that, another fleeting thought would get her to ache enough to get back into the tracks.

Would Dad also feel like this, when I learned a new thing that he taught me?  

She could not help but feel two contrasting feelings then: fuzziness, and deep discomfort.

For her father’s teachings were only means to violent ends, and so were hers. 

And yet, even knowing this, why did she feel pride for them? Why did she feel that they could stand on their own?

Was there another way?

It was not as if she had known anything else other than violence in her life. She could not know.

Did her father know anything else?

Little Bird: Chapter 13 is out on AO3

[inklyqueen]

"Out of This World" Headcanons because I wish it was a real musical now

Fair warning this is kinda me rambling about Raela's role in this. Also long post. Sorry. Also not sorry.

So I dragged my bestie to see Sing 2 and the nostalgia of high school theatre shows hit hard cause literally did a high school version of Chicago and that was a H A Y D A Y

So yeah I have borderline experience in this stuff

One of the biggest things the theatre director wanted the cast to understand was the motivation behind the character's actions, including background roles. So watching them work on Out of This World was so satisfying to see it develop into something amazing.

That was, until I got to the final product of the musical.

Now yes I know there was an overall plot happening at the same time but I just

I felt like a lot to it was missing as far as the musical

I think I got a little too invested in the musical itself but h e r e we go

Rosita's role was perfect as it was. Her motivation was clear. Her character plot and development was clear. Same for Gunther. So I won't touch those two or their roles.

And Porsha, I really don't see an issue there, I was ravving for her development and change in character in her performance, so I'm not gonna touch her either.

I wanna talk about Act 2 first. Meena and uh... "Darrius."

My thing with their duet really isn't the act itself.

It's the moments immediately after it.

You do not, I repeat, DO NOT START TALKING TO THE AUDIENCE OUT OF CHARACTER IN THE MIDDLE OF A FUCKING TRANSITION I MEAN HOLY C R A P—

I was SCREAMING INTERNALLY for her to GET. OFF. STAGE.

If it's not written in the stage directions, and there's no issue or mishap you're trying to cover up, and it has happened to me before too, you DONT. BREAK. CHARACTER.

I did a show in high school called Be My Ghost. I was one of the ghosts haunting the hotel. The audience saw me whenever I walked on stage. The "living characters" had to act as if I wasn't there at all.

Before the lights went up to intermission, all four of us ghosts had a little part to run across the stage, dance around, be a ghost, etc.

I was supposed to be the one that was a bit "insane," as the director said, and when I was going across the stage, I tripped, and my prop fell and broke on the floor.

The audience thought it was meant to be comedic, and started laughing.

Of course, me being friggin embarrassed at first, had to act fast, because I was just standing there with a broken porcelain doll on the floor.

So I started laughing. Maniacally. So much so I could see the audience was freaked out by my laughter as the curtains were falling in front of me.

That is an example of breaking the fourth wall JUSTIFIABLY. I stayed IN CHARACTER, and the tech crew backed me up to roll with the cover up. The audience won't know it was a mistake if you don't treat it like a mistake

Meena went and started talking to Alfonso out of character and setting up a date after the show.

The amount of R A G I N G I was doing in that theatre was like

But ANYWAY—

The other thing I wanna bring up is Act 1 with Johnny and Klaus Ryan.

For some reason I felt like a lot was missing there. Like, example:

Why are they at war tho

Who started it

Wtf was the point of a war in the first place

Why was "Sky Full of Stars" the choice when it's a love song and there's no evidence of even the slightest romantic stuff happening like wh—

S O I'm here to fill in the gaps with headcanons and OCs because I fucking can 😀👍🏻

The Planet of War is another name for it; it's actually called Calion

Ryan's character is named Karn

Johnny's is named Komenar

They're also in a civil war (which duh bc of the costume colors and such)

Johnny and Ryan's characters command their respective sides

Karn's faction is referred to as the Uprisal, or Uprisers, because they're attempting to overthrow the current ruler of Calion and put Karn in power

Komenar's faction is referred to as the Resistance, and are loyal to the standing ruler, which is also Komenar

Well Karn took someone captive when he last attempted an invasion of the fortress that is barely a fortress at this point

That person is the future First Lady (I lack a better name ok), Ailee. (Aye-Lee)

I say Future because Komenar was preparing to propose to her when the war was finally over

Ailee was constantly trying to get them to negotiate, sign a peace treaty, etc, but Karn wouldn't have it

Shit happened obviously

So the scene shown in the movie is that final showdown, Karn is coming for Komenar, Komenar is preparing to fight to the death for his planet and his lady

So hence the song with "I'm gonna give you my heart" and "I don't care, go on and tear me apart; I don't care if you do; Because in a sky full of stars; ... I think I saw you;"

Obviously, Klaus crashes the party as Karn, and changes the scene

Komenar was supposed to defeat Karn by the end of the song (right before Nooshy started banging on the bucket), so that kinda just makes it a bit more epic ngl

At least to me idk

It's after this that Rosita comes forward asking about the lost space traveler, and comes up empty, so she leaves for the next planet

I've shown y'all Raela's performance dress once before here:

Granted, Rae wasn't intended to have a casted role. She only designed costumes, sets and props, and even made some of the costumes used herself. Including the dress above that was made for that role as the "First Lady." Or princess. Er- Someone help me with this—

It was intended for a different actress, who I don't have a name for yet, that was set for the role. When Jimmy Crystal cancelled the show, and the cast was secretly called in for the performance, she refused to perform out of fear of getting her contract with Crystal Entertainment voided.

So, Moon had to improvise, and Rae agreed to fill the spot.

When she designed the dress, it was meant to represent both sides as symbolism to show that the character just wanted peace, the orange cracks from Johnny's costume, and the red from Ryan's, as well as accents of gold and silver individually from both.

It was also intended for the skirt to touch the ground, since the actress is significantly shorter than Rae, and a bit smaller in the chest. She had to makeshift an extension in the top to be able to wear it since there wasn't enough time to make a whole new dress. She does get to remake it for herself though for the performance at the Majestic, and makes some small changes just for fun. I gotta draw her in it tho give me a hot minute

As for singing for that role, I'm not 100% on that. I have a Choral VC for Raela now, but it wouldn't be a lot as to not pull from Johnny standing up to Klaus.

And now, other headcanons for the musical itself:

THEY. KEEP. RY. AN. HO. LY. CRAP.

Darrius sticks around but somehow he's not very popular with Meet n Greets, etc

Darrius's character is named Darrio because he won't go by anything else and Buster was losing his patience

The Goddess is named Mellodi

Because duh

Porsha's "Nasty Alien Monster" is named Purra

"Planet of Joy" is Jubila

"Planet of Love" is Ardor

The "Lost Planet" is really the Guiding Star's (Ash) hiding place

The Guiding Star is named Luminaria

Luminaria had been healing the Space Explorer, literally keeping the name Clay Calloway, after he crashed landed there

She didn't feel she could send him out on his own to return home

So when Rosita and Robo-Piggy arrive, she tests them to see if they are pure in their intentions to take him home

Then he comes walking out cause yes

Also, Clay's costume was made on the spot by up-cycling clothes Raela bought from the thrift stores and flea markets

And honestly by stealing borrowing a few leather jackets Porsha yanked from the closet in her dad's office

Getting those with Jerry sleeping in his own office was not easy in the slightest

Nooshy was hired on by Buster as his choreographer

The night cleaners didn't stay with the group, but the Majestic was VERY quick about getting their places filled for Porsha's solo

This has been my 2am rambles. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[darkacademicfrom2021]

Flufftober - Day 2

2 - Sneaking Out Together

@prompts-in-a-barrel prompt in bold. Written for @flufftober2021 's event.

Pairing: Loki x Stark!reader

Tags: fluff, fluff FLUFFFFFFF (this is flufftober, of course there’ll be fluff). A tiny tiny bit of angst in the beginning (if you really squint) and maybe… maybe some father issues as well. I’m not discussing this with my therapist.

Word count: 1,2K

A/N: Listen. There isn’t an actual “sneaking out” because technically it isn’t. But it’s the most similar thing it could be, and honestly I like how it ended up.

Gif not mine.

“There was only one rule you had to follow”, started Tony Stark, in front of fucking everyone. The whole team was in there, and you wanted to bury your face in your arms, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t because if there was one thing you’d never lose, it was your dignity. So, you sat right, with your eyes directly on your father’s as he kept going on how bad it was what you had just done. “Just one rule about dating. What have I told you?”.

“Don’t get in trouble”, you repeated, the phrase already memorized. “You know, I don’t see what the big deal is about. I never got in trouble, and I’m not a little kid anymore, you can’t actually control my dating life”.

“As long as you live under my roof, you can’t date criminals. No, wait. As long as you’re an Avenger, for moral stuff, you can’t date criminals”.

“Firstly, he’s not a criminal. Secondly, I only live with you because I’m an Avenger. Thirdly, we’re not dating”.

“Are we not?”, inquired Loki from the doorframe. You shot a panicked look over him, and calmed yourself down as you saw his teaseful smirk showing across his face.

“Can we talk alone?”, you asked, and Tony and you walked out of the room to talk in the corridor. “I just… I just want you to support me, dad. That’s all I ever wanted”, you said, lowering your voice and head, knowing all of your confidence had faded away as soon as he looked at you with that disappointed look he’s always looked at you with.

“I can support you in many things, dear. I really do. I love your work in the science projects you’re doing… and your new friends are great, and I know how hard it is for you to socialize”, you sighed, and looked at him knowingly, because if your relationship could be described in a phrase, it definitely was “not the point I’m trying to make”.

“But?”.

“But how can I support you when you’re making a huge mistake?”.

You sighed in frustration and wiped a tear away.

“If you think being around him is a mistake then why did you even let him in the team to begin with? Why didn’t you just refuse Thor's demand of keeping him here? You know me, you knew I’d get attached”.

“So, you’re admitting you’re dating?”.

“Yes, we are something. Maybe not dating. I don’t know what we are”.

“Oh, what a great way to tell me you’re fucking. Great, nice. I love to hear that my little…”.

“No, not your ‘little-something’, dad. I’m an adult now. So take it or leave it. This is what’s happening, and whether you like it or not, Loki is actually really nice to me. He’s a gentleman, he treats me right, he’s all the Prince Charming you’d think an actual prince is”.

“Just… do me a favor and don’t lie for him, would you? He’s got that much already on him”.

“I’m not lying”, you looked at him defiantly, yet with that tenderness he always saw in you, even as a little kid.

Tony sighed, knowing you were honest.

“Please, don’t let him take your goodness away”.

That same night you couldn’t sleep. You rolled around in your bedsheets, grasping to them for your dearest dreams, but anxiety won, once again. You thought of your studies, your homework, your grades. You thought of your father and your dating life. You thought of Loki. You thought of him way too often. You knew —you were sure— you had fallen irremediably in love with him.

Who wouldn’t? He truly was prince charming.

Speaking of which, you heard a soft knocking at your window. You got up from bed and covered yourself up with a blanket, walking to see who was calling you at such late hours of the night.

The moonrays shone brightly and they were the only way you could see around; otherwise, it would be only darkness. Nights were better now, and Loki was in there, waving hello with that big smile of his, looking up at you as if he were Romeo. He truly was.

You smiled back and opened your window, looking around for any sign of your parents or Jarvis’s cameras being a bitch, and when there wasn’t any, you finally rested your elbows on your window frame and gave him the dreamy eyes he loved to be stared at with.

“My little love?”, he called in a whisper, yet you could still hear it.

“Dear”, you called him back. “Why are you awake?”.

“I can’t sleep without you”, he said, and you smiled involuntarily. Maybe your feelings weren’t so out of place after all. Maybe he felt the same way, and the only thing in your way was your dad and his prejudices.

“Really?”, you laughed softly, and he laughed too.

“Why are you awake, pray tell?”.

“Thoughts”.

“Of what?”.

“Of who, you may say”, you said, and he raised his eyebrows, wondering. “Of you, of course. And of my school books, that’s for sure”.

“Love and anxiety, all in one big package”, he said, and you rested your head over the heels of your hand. Did you just admit your love for him? And did he take it well? “I think it’s only fair for me to invite you to the library. The one from the compound is open at any time, right?”.

“Is this a study date at 4am?”.

“Darling, your idea of romanticism is so nerdy”, he laughed. “But if you may call it a date, then I’ll bring the candles”, he added, appearing a rose in his hand. “Shall I quote Shakespeare, too? Or is it enough for…?”.

“Well, no need to mock me, now”, you chuckled, while reaching for your clothes. “Meet you there?”.

“I’ll be there in a second, quite literally”, he said right before vanishing under a veil of green lights.

The night was spent with chattery over homework, with fun illusions he made in his hands, playing games and kissing —a lot. The night was spent so much, tiredness finally fell over you two, and before you could even realize, the sun had bathed both of your sleepy figures bent over the table, head resting over your arms. Loki was right in front of you and his legs intertwined with yours under the table. Books spread everywhere, you even used some as pillows. Not even once, you realized someone could walk in the library and let everyone know where you were last night.

And, as said, Tony and Pepper walked nonchalantly into the study area of the library, only to find you two sleeping over a pile of undone homework. You still had the rose behind your ear and a smile you wouldn’t be able to wipe off even awake. Pepper smiled and looked at Tony, who was staring in realization.

“They seem… good together”.

“You could even say happy? Good for each other?”, hinted Pepper, fighting back a giggle.

“Maybe… maybe they were right after all. I could give the guy a chance”, he nodded, rolling his eyes. “Now, let’s get those papers and close the curtains, they seem like they just fell asleep”.

(Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @theonewiththenerds , @vicmc624 , @spiderlaufeyson @theaudacitytowrite )

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

The two guards were still outside the door but they did tense up hearing some slight movement. One of them then heard the sound of something from the bathroom. Was the woman sick? He was about to go and check till the other stops him. "What? We have to check if he-"

"No. We are not allowed in her room. Mr. Sukuna said only go in if he is here if not we are to stay out." the other guard was scared after knowing his anger. "I really don't wanna get on his bad side so just follow what he said." He slowly lets go of his wrist but remains standing guard.

~~At the meeting~~

He held his hand seeing the other cleaning the filthy blood off of him. Another comes over to pour another glass of red blood wine for him as he looks ahead. Hearing Jogo say that the mess at the club was taken care of.

"And the damages?" he asked.

"All taken care of sir. Everything was replaced and the damaging items in the club were removed so it's like nothing happened. We also made sure to inform the police that it was just a slight disturbance and that is all." Mahito explains looking at Sukuna who was silent hearing this. His red eyes still glowed seeing the other members in the room scared now before he looks down seeing something set in front of him.

It was a letter and some other information that results in the dead yakuza leader's plans. So he was planning on making one of his clubs a selling ground for people they were trafficking. Well, not anymore.

"At least I can trust you men to take care of a....little mishap so well done." His eyes were calm again but he picks up his wine glass to take a sip before lowering it to swirl the red liquid inside.

"I hope you other idiots learn from this. I really don't have to have anyone hunted down for stupid mistakes. But seems things are well again....If possible Jogo, please be sure to keep me informed if anything else goes wrong in this city. I hate to have to find out on a late notice like tonight." He saw the other leaders gulp sweating more now.

"And you.." He looks to the other yakuza leader that tenses up looking down. "Please be sure you pick your helpers and second in command better. Or else your end up fucking dead next. Get it?"

"..Y..Yes...M..Mr. Ryomen. This won't happen again, I swear.."

"It better not...." he sighed but his hand is clean but lowers it. "Now, was their anything else in this meeting anyone wishes to tell me or are we done for tonight?"

The two guards watches Sukuna leaving the area to deal with what is going on. Though, they knew he could be either really pissed off or just not showing it. They know how he is so it's explaining a lot. However, they remain quiet watching this even so. For now, they leave it alone.

For now, Sukuna was indeed in a room with some others who was siting at a table. They saw Sukuna looking out the main windows of his meeting room. His red eyes looking out at the city seeing the lights gleaming. They knew he was angry; they could feel that deep within their bones.

However, it's not easy to talk if it involves seeing a very furious man that owns everything really. Or to say, the world. Their was silence int he room wondering who was going to speak first since he was also seeing a very scared Yakuza member leader that was team up with the same Yakuza group that destroyed one of his clubs this night.

He was scared shitless knowing his partner was fucked after his gang 'destroyed' one of Sukuna's prized clubs. The two were afraid to look up but they remain standing there behind Sukuna with the other leaders scared.

"......."

"......."

"..U..Ummm...M..Mister Suk-"

He held a hand up to make them stop talking, knowing he didn't want to hear them speak. Not yet. He was doing his best to hold back from killing the two but he keeps looking at the tall glass windows in the office.

They didn't try to speak again but remains silent scared now. Finally Sukuna speaks.

"You have one chance to explain why the hell you attacked and destroyed one of my clubs tonight. Your partner had no idea you were this dumb enough to do it. Followed by holding a human trafficking event in the lower areas? You do know the police have been informed about it for a while but you still kept going? Explain." His voice was cold to show he was angry.

"..I..I'm sorry sir. I Just. I was trying to help with business since you know it's hard to find good catches in the city. Even with the fucking police running about. I..I didn't know that club was yours sir. I just thought if we did that we can-"

"That's not what I asked. I'm fucking asking you why you had that business in one of 'my' clubs. I'm trying to be sure that no officer finds out what I do in this damn city and yet you had the fucking nerve to pull this off."

"......."

"Though, from what I've seen you also been working on some drug as well that has infected the remaining person I found there tonight. Your lucky I didn't have her find you and rip your head off for doing such a thing." He looks down crossing his arms even if others were scared. The aura Sukuna gave off was fucking terrifying. Even the other leader or his partner was scared.

"Y..Yes sir. I...I can't really explain why but you saw the drug and how it worked. It's perfect for the targets of human trafficking. You can find many people in the black markets but...I wasn't told this was your club that they were working under."

".....Hmmmm....even though it seems your little helpers are dead now and from what the information report tells me...they were part of your group is that right?" The man sweats bullets, growing scared.

"Ummmm......which ones s..sir? I mean theirs so many yakuza members it's hard to really-" Sukuna snaps his fingers seeing one of his boys show the image that was taken. It shows one of the dead bodies back at the club but what was circled is a jacket. It had the same theme as his. A skull cracked, a rose in it's mouth bleeding. One eye was glowing from the picture to make the man pale even more. It was one of his boys so this means it was his!! Oh shit.....

"......W..wait, wait wait wait wait! Sir please! It's not what it looks like. I didn't..I was not informed they would..." Sukuna didn't respond.

"Sir please! My boys didn't even tell me this but...but I can make it up to you! I can find a way to pay you back for this for the damage. Please if you just-"

Suddenly blood splatters in the air as the others looked scared or some having wide eyes. Sukuna was standing in front of the one that was speaking but his hand was rammed into and through his chest. His hand gripping onto the beating heart that was beating. He only looked quiet seeing the other chocking on his blood.

"chocking* M..Mi...s...ter.....ryomen..."

"...Such a shame and here I thought I wouldn't have to kill someone tonight. Guess not.." He yanks his hand back ripping the heart out as the former yakuza leader coughs and staggers bleeding. His eyes closed from the pain as his vision becomes blurry. Within moments, he falls to the ground twitching before he died.

"........" Sukuna looks to the bloody heart as it drips to the ground then drops it. Seeing this, other Yakuza shook in true fear that he pissed himself . He tenses when Sukuna looks to him dead in the eyes.

"I hope this is a warning and lesson to you and all the rest of you if I find out one of you is stupid enough to do shit like this. If you don't want to end up dead like this fucking moron....I suggest you watch what you do. Do I make myself clear?" he said.

"...Y..Yes Mr. Ryomen."

"Good...now get this trash out of my sight and we can continue." He saw two of his guards go to pick the body up and drags it out to dispose of it. The room was dead silent now afraid and full of fear of this man. No, this monster. He goes to sit down again but he turns his chair with his glowing blood murder eyes eyeing everyone in the room. His hand already soaked in blood.

"Lets continue shall we?"

[angryinternetduck]

Bet On It

HELLO i’m back again with not only another fic but another friends to lovers!!! here’s 5.9k on hotel mishaps, long-term bets, and falling in love. featuring harry styles x reader with just a few warnings of explicit language and alcohol consumption.

enjoy!!!

masterlist | ask

***

Five Years Ago

If you hadn’t met him an hour before in the bar of the hotel, you would’ve said no. Share a hotel room with a stranger just because the hotel fucked up and double booked a room? No. Absolutely not.

Except -

His name was Harry. He was very cute. And sweet. He complimented your shoes in the bar, dimpling at you all cutely before holding out his hand and introducing himself. He let you prattle on for way too long, laughing at all your jokes and nodding gravely when you started getting serious.

And surprisingly, when you said you had to go, he didn’t ask you out or try to kiss you. He just told you it was nice to meet you with a smile. Problem was that that wasn’t the last you saw of him; when you went up to the desk to get your key card, the receptionist informed you of the mistake.

“We’ve double booked it. You’ll have to work it out amongst yourselves,” they said. “We can suggest other places to stay, or you can sleep in the lobby. Or - of course, you can always share. He’s over there. Guy in the pink shirt.”

You looked over, and lo and behold…

“Harry.”

“We meet again.”

“Was this your doing?” you joked. “All that to get me in a room with you?”

Harry grinned. “I wish I were that smart.”

“So just coincidence?”

“Or perhaps fate,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Did you know?” you asked. “When you, uh - introduced yourself?”

He shook his head and said, “Not that it was you.”

“Well, now that you do, what do you say? Share the room?”

Harry tilted his head from side to side, pondering. “Let’s prove it was fate,” he decided, meeting your gaze with a grin. Your brows furrowed, and he clarified. “Rock, paper, scissors. I win, we’ll share. You win, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.” He held out his fist.

“Won’t make me find somewhere else?” you asked, smiling a bit. “Would rather share?”

He shrugged.

“Alright, then.”

Both of you counted silently, in your heads -

Rock, paper, scissors…

Harry grinned, and you made a fist from your scissors to bump his rock.

“Fate it is,” you said.

Fate proved to be in your favor; that night, you had the most fun you’d ever had in your life. To your surprise, however, the fun didn’t involve sex. Just talking. You sat on the bed drinking booze from the minifridge and talking until dawn with this Harry Styles.

It came up at one point, sex - or at least kissing did - but neither ever happened.

It was around three, when the exhaustion had set in, when you were lying down, gazing into each other’s eyes, half asleep. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” he’d whispered, and you grinned at him. “I should be asking you that, don’t you think?”

He looked confused. “Why’s that?”

“You’re the one in love with me,” you told him.

He giggled, rubbing his eyes. “And what makes you say that?”

“You wanted to share!” you exclaimed, like it was obvious, because it was.

“Sharing is caring.”

You bounced your brows. “Caring. Loving.”

Harry laughed and insisted, “Not the same!”

“I’d bet a million bucks you’re in love with me,” you murmured, tapping his nose.

“Then a million bucks you’d lose.”

“You will be,” you said, nodding slightly.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, a smile growing on his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a million bucks to give me on my deathbed when I still only care?” he said.

“Do you have a million bucks to give me when you confess?” you said back.

He stared at you for a second. His eyes were very green, his smile very wistful. “A kiss.”

“A kiss?” you echoed.

Harry nodded. “I will bet you one kiss that I will never fall in love with you.”

“You’re gonna want a lot more than one kiss when you inevitably do,” you whispered.

“At least one kiss,” he amended.

“At least one kiss,” you agreed.

“Shake on it?”

You both shifted around in the bed so you could shake hands without sitting up.

“It’s a bet,” Harry said.

And so it was.

***

Present Day

“Give it to me straight, Styles,” you greet Harry, plopping down at your table with a sigh.

He hesitates for a moment, drawing out the suspense, and then breathes, “Care.”

You shake your head disappointedly. “Unbelievable, how bad you are at lying, you -”

Harry interrupts, “What’s really unbelievable is your tardiness -”

Then you do: “Your annoyingness -”

He pouts and fires back, “Your vocabulary -”

“Your lack thereof -”

“That’s not proper English.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re not proper English.”

“I promise you I am,” he replies with a smirk.

“I’ve always thought the accent was fake.”

“If it were, I’d be the greatest impersonator to walk the earth.”

“Impersonator?” you repeat. “And tell me, what is an impersonator but a talented liar?”

He gives you a grin. “I’ll take the compliment of talented, thank you.”

Leveling his gaze, you smile back and take a sip of your drink. “You know, I think that actually was proper English,” you muse. “Lack thereof. Your vocabulary - or lack thereof.” Harry bites his lip, eyes narrowed, staring at you, and you’re tempted to joke that his focus is lust when he replies, “It’s still wrong. I was saying your vocabulary is naive, and by saying I have none, you’re fundamentally saying the same. It’s redundant.”

Clearly satisfied with himself, he sits back, smiles smugly, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Harry Styles,” you say, “I’m going to smack that smirk right off your pretty face.”

“Second compliment in a day!” Harry exclaims. “Someone alert the press.”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your own drink. “Why, they’d have a field day.”

The little cafe you’re in is absolutely adorable. It’s midway between your place and Harry’s, and after that fateful night in the hotel (during which you learned you live so close to each other), you began a tradition of meeting here once a week.

Tradition doesn’t end with just the location and time. Each meeting is almost exactly the same. You’re always late, and you always greet him the same way: some variation of “Have you fallen in love with me yet?”

And his reply is always the same: negative.

From there, the conversation wanders as much as it ever does, with one asking about the other’s week and the response being long and filled with complaints and woes and lamentations. The question is echoed back, and the response is - again - long, filled with complaints, woes, etc.

Despite the moaning and groaning, the mood never falls too low. It’s impossible to feel down around Harry Styles; just one look at those dimples makes a smile of your own appear on your face.

Your friendship with him has certainly blossomed. It’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen in love yet (or maybe he has, you’ll never know unless he says), and a greater wonder still that he hasn’t turned the question around on you.

Because the answer would be yes. You have, in fact, fallen in love with him.

Deeply, madly, in love.

But he’ll never know, because you’ll never say.

***

“I love you,” you tell Harry breathlessly, looking up at him lovingly. “Most ardently.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no - I’m just a girl! I’m just a girl, standing in front of -”

“I’ll always be there for you!” you cut in excitedly. “All the love in my heart, Llo -”

“Michael, I love you!” Harry gushes. “Choose me, marry me, let me make you happy!”

You jump up and jut a finger at him dramatically. “We live in a cynical world!” you exclaim. “A cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you! You - you complete me!”

Harry jumps up to match you and begins, “I hate that -” then shakes his head and restarts, “I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie - I hate it when you make me laugh and - and - and even worse when you make me cry - I hate the way - I hate it when” - he’s grinning big now, jumping with excitement and passion - “you’re not around and the fact you didn’t call - but - but mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even a little bit, not even at all!”

It all came out in a rush of jumbled words and you’re so impressed you can’t help but sit back down and clap for him. Bright red, Harry takes a bow and collapses onto his couch next to you. “That took way too much effort,” he says, out of breath.

“It was worth it,” you tell him. “That was dazzling, really. You should go on the road.”

Harry nods. “One man show. Shakespeare. All of his long monologues, then bam - a poem better than all the others combined.” You giggle and fall into him, leaning against his chest with a sigh. “I’ll come with you,” you say. “Follow you to the ends of the earth and hold my breath to Pluto.”

“What’s that from?” Harry asks.

“That’s all me, baby.”

“Maybe the poem better than all the others combined could be yours.”

“Impossible,” you say immediately. “Nothing will ever beat Kat Stratford.”

“I’ll manage.”

You scoff. “You?”

“We.”

You shake your head. “There’s no ‘we’ in genius, Styles, but there is an I.”

“And a U!” Harry replies.

You look up at him.

“Wait.”

Snickering, you sit up and stretch your arms towards the ceiling. “Stick to memorization, maybe. Leave the heavy lifting to me. You need some practice on that speech, anyway - I counted at least three errors, not to mention the stuttering.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Harry sings. “What do you say, can I confess my love to you every night for the sake of practice?” You shake your head, standing up again and grabbing an empty container of food to throw away. “Not without losing the bet.”

Harry follows you, cleaning up as he goes. “Just for the one man show!”

“No exceptions.” You grin at him, grabbing your stuff and heading for the door. “Thanks for the food, Styles. I’ll see you Sunday?” Harry nods and blows you a kiss, which you catch and put in your pocket. “I’ll save that for when you lose the bet,” you tell him.

“Get outta here,” Harry laughs.

You stick your tongue out at him and stick a post it note on the door frame as you leave.

***

Harry usually wakes up to a few texts. Maybe a call every so often. Notifications from social media aren’t uncommon. The only days he wakes up to nearly a hundred texts are the nights you decide to go to the outlook.

Whether or not you like staying up late normally, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning to go to this place you found about three hours outside of the city. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’s completely worth it.

There’s a little woods out there, and a while ago you went a bit off path and found an outcropping of rocks that look out over the city. At night, stars are visible. There’s nothing you love more than lying for hours on the cool stone, gazing up at the heavens above.

The first time you took Harry to the outlook, you asked a question, and Harry’s answer to that question was one of the only lies he’s ever told you. You’d asked, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

And Harry had said, “Of course not!” when in reality, he’d been looking for an opening to mention that very fear for the twenty minutes before, while you’d been climbing steadily uphill through the trees.

In his defense, there was no way he could’ve said anything different. You were just so happy, glowing with excitement and practically buzzing with energy. Plus, you’d grabbed his hand at the moment you asked to pull him up the last ridge and he was still a bit startled.

He never came to regret that lie. He grew out of the fear, anyway, so it wasn’t a huge deal. In fact, he’s almost come to love heights. He loves the thrill, the burst of happiness, the insane phenomenon of a racing heart and the feeling of being totally at peace all at the same time.

Incidentally, he also feels that way around you, whether the two of you are a hundred feet up or not. He’s always enjoyed spending time with you, and even just seeing you makes him happy. It’s what makes you a good friend.

Harry’s gone with you a few times to the outlook, but it’s usually pretty late by the time you want to go. Sometimes you’ll call him and he’ll pick up, and you’ll talk on the phone until one of you falls asleep.

You went last night, apparently, because Harry scrolls through seventy-two text messages this morning. It takes a while, since he reads all of them and then replies, but he woke up early anyway so it’s fine.

It’s Sunday, so he’s headed to the cafe to meet you. He has a cup of coffee even though he’ll get one at the cafe, too. There’s a sticky note on the coffee maker - Note to self: tell Harry there’s a snickers bar in his sweatshirt pocket - which you probably left a few days ago.

Harry smiles at the note, then frowns, sticking his hand in his pocket. There is, in fact, a Snickers bar in there, and Harry throws it out. It’s from almost a month ago, when you and him had an August Halloween. The sun is just a little too bright. Harry listens to music in the car, humming along and tapping his hands against the wheel in time.

You’re late, of course, so he orders his second cup of coffee and reads a newspaper on the shelf while he waits. Today it’s five minutes until you arrive, which is actually more on time than usual, and Harry throws you a large brimmed hat he found in his closet when you approach the table.

“What say you, Harry Styles,” you greet him, catching the hat and placing it on your head. “Make a jester laugh” - you form a heart with your fingers - “or make a jester cry?” Your heart cracks in two as you pout at him.

Breaking a finger-heart of his own, Harry grins. “Laughing clowns were always creepier to me,” he tells you. You trace a finger down your cheek like a tear and sit down across from him, sliding a menu from its place on the wall and beginning to read it over.

You look up at him, half smiling, a joke on your lips, and then -

Harry blinks.

Just like that, something’s changed.

You snap in front of his face. “Hello? Anything? You could at least pretend to laugh.”

“Christ, sorry,” Harry breathes. “What’d you say?”

Raising a brow, you lean forward and inspect him. “You alright, there, Styles?”

“If I were any better and it’d be obscene,” Harry answers easily, tapping your nose.

Grinning, you sit back. “Fantastic. Tell me, then, how it’s been. Fill me in.”

“It’s a lot better seeing you in that hat.”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim, looking up at it.

Harry giggles and asks, “You wanna know what one hat said to the other?”

“Oh, boy.”

“I’ll see you on a-head!”

Groaning dramatically, you throw the hat at him and bury your face in your hands.

***

"This is getting embarrassing, Styles,” you say as you walk up to Harry.

He turns around, a smile already on his face, and begins, “What’s -”

He stops when he sees you, because you’re all dressed up. You look absolutely stunning, which was on purpose, because of course you want to see his reaction, whether he loves you or not. And it’s very satisfactory, this reaction.

“You look fantastic,” Harry says softly.

You clear your throat, a little put off by how serious he’s being. “That was the goal.”

His eyes float back up to meet yours, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” you chirp. “But don’t let your head get too big - I only came for the free food and movie.” Finally, the glaze over his eyes fades, and he grins at you. He takes your arm, and as you walk, he asks, “You started a thought, you know, about something embarrass-”

You scoff. “You asked me on a date, Styles!”

“I did not!” Harry insists. He shakes his head. “My date ducked out at the last second -”

Smirking, you cut in, “Wonder why, Mr. Pink Suit.”

“- we were going to match, thank you - but really, she ducked out, and I wasn’t about to waste two perfectly good tickets. Thus… here we are.” He nods, like he’s pleased with his answer, but you raise a brow at him. “That’s a terrible excuse. You can just say you love me. I’ll accept.”

You arrive at his car. “Not yet,” he says, and then he gets in.

He starts the car, and for a moment, you gaze out the window.

Then, breaking the silence, you say, “I like the suit.”

“I like the look.”

“Thanks, I came up with it all by myself.”

“Impressive.”

You wait a moment, and then ask, “What inspired the pink?”

“She said she wanted a pink rose.”

Frowning, you begin, “I thought you said pink roses are -”

“Yeah, they’re not my favorite,” he mumbles.

You snicker a little. “Oh, what a bad date in high school can get you…”

“Hey, don’t tease,” Harry whines with a pout.

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur. “You’re nice to dress up anyway. No rose, though?”

Sheepishly, he tells you, “I… forgot.”

“You forgot?” you laugh.

“Yeah…”

“Well, um… well, it’s the thought that counts.”

Harry pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, then unlocks the doors. “Come on,” he says, but you frown at him, confused. “You know you pulled in the wrong way?” you ask, but he just beckons with his hand and opens the trunk.

You hadn’t even looked - there’s pillows back there, and candy, and blankets, and he flicks on little fairy lights. “Harry Styles, you romantic!” you gasp, enthralled. “Wow, I gotta meet this girl, if you’re doing all this for her…”

He sits down and pats the space next to him, then grabs a pack of candy - your favorite. He hands it to you, which you take with a slow smile. “Her favorite too?” you ask. “Nope,” Harry replies, shaking his head as he opens his own pack of candy. “Forgot to ask her, but when I called her in the store she wouldn’t pick up so I just… got yours.” He clears his throat and hands you a bag of popcorn. “There’s this, too.”

“Thanks, Styles.”

On the huge screen in front of you, the movie begins to roll. You take a risk, sliding a little on the seat so you’re leaning against Harry, head against his chest. You can feel him breathing, his heart beating, his arm around your waist, thumb gently moving back and forth over the fabric of your clothes.

You fall asleep for most of the movie.

When you wake up, you’re leaned against a pillow, not Harry. Frowning and out of sorts, you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s leaned against the car outside, on the phone, and you can just barely make out what he’s saying.

“... I know, it’s… Yeah, I - I’m sorry you couldn’t make it, love. I missed you…”

The familiar feeling of tears building behind your eyes horrifies you, and you have to turn your back to him as tears start slipping down your cheeks. You’d somehow managed to convince yourself that it was all a ruse, that he’d meant it to be you from the start, that there was no other girl, that all along it was -

“Hey,” Harry says.

You cough, palming away the tears on your face and yawning like you’d just woken up. “Oh, hey… How’s, um - how’s she doing? Or - whoever - I mean -” You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“She’s fine,” Harry tells you. “How are you? Took a pretty long nap there…”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I was… I’m tired.”

“C’mon, then, let’s get you home.” He smiles at you, dimpling adorably, and holds out his hand. You take it and slide off the back of his car. “Thanks,” you say. He nods and shuts the trunk while you get into the passenger seat.

You don’t say anything as he starts the car, as he backs out and heads for your place. He glances over at you, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, and eventually turns on the radio. You fold up a sticky note and covertly slide it into the center console.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” you tell him when he stops the car.

He nods. “See you then.”

You hold his gaze for a second, and then get out of the car. As you’re shutting the door, Harry says, “Hey!” and you stop. “Hey, er - thank you. For coming tonight. I know it was a little… It was a bit much.”

“Not too much at all,” you say softly. “Bye, Harry.”

You shut the door.

***

The sticky note business began about a year after Harry met you. He’d mentioned something about refrigerator magnets being the most charming form of communication ever invented, and the next day he found a sticky note on his mirror that said, Note to self: find a more charming form of communication than refrigerator magnets.

Harry doesn’t find the sticky note in his console until the next night, when he’s driving home after working late and he’s trying to find his phone. It’s ringing, and it’s your ringtone, which is really, really annoying because you set it to the worst song you could think of so he’d be motivated to pick it up fast.

It’s not in the center console. It’s actually in his pocket. He picks it up.

“Harry, you gotta tell me now,” you say immediately. “Do you love me?”

“I -”

“Love or care, Styles.” You sound breathless. “L or C. Lover or Cunt. Tell me now.”

“Cunt,” Harry says reflexively, and then shakes his head. “I mean -”

“You don’t love me.” You don’t sound upset at all. You’re just clarifying.

Harry frowns. “I… What’s going on?”

“Well, I think I love this guy, Styles, and I’m about to fuck him, so I’ll talk to you later.”

And then you hang up.

Harry stares at his phone for a moment. Then he puts it down, frowning at the street in front of him, and thinks for a while until he gets home. When he does, he’s shutting the center console, which he’d left open, and he sees the little post it note.

Note to self: buy a pink rose for h to make him like them bc they’re pretty

Sitting in his car, staring at the note, Harry can’t help but think he’s messed it all up.

***

Sunday. You don’t show up.

***

Another Sunday. Harry orders a coffee and reads the newspaper.

You don’t show up.

***

You answer a text.

He asks if you’re okay, and you say, Yup!

***

You send a text.

Hey, Styles? Can you bring me a flower?

***

He should’ve gone to your place first, Harry’s thinking. He should’ve checked there, and then gone here. But it’s too late now. He’s stepping out of his car, trekking through the forest, and he’s finally here, and -

You’re on your back, staring at the stars.

“You know, I really thought he was the one.”

Harry bites on his lip and fiddles with the flower in his hands. “Did you?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you sigh and sit up. “No.”

“He didn’t - you’re not… You’re okay, right?”

“Nothing’s broken but my heart,” you murmur. “Physically, I’m fine, emotionally, I’m…”

You fade off, and Harry sits next to you and hands you the flower.

“Yellow,” you whisper. You look up at him, eyes wide in the moonlight. “Why yellow?”

“Color of your shirt the first time I met you.”

Smiling, you murmur, “Memory of an elephant.”

“I couldn’t remember her favorite candy,” Harry says impulsively. He shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. “Sorry. Wrong thing to say.” You shake your head, looking forward again. “It’s fine. How’s she doing?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

Surprised, you glance at him again. “You mean you -?”

Harry shrugs. “She said my priorities weren’t right. Then she said goodbye.”

“We’re just a coupla broken hearted fools, aren’t we?” you say quietly.

“Broken hearted, yes,” Harry replies, “but I’m not a fool. Don’t know about you.”

You scoff, hitting his chest with the back of your hand. “We’re having a moment here!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, but he’s laughing so the apology is moot.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you say, “I would’ve known about her if I hadn’t missed all our Sundays. I’m sorry.” Harry shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have fun, at least? With Mr. Heartbreak?”

You giggle. “So much fun.”

“Well… that’s good, at least.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment, he forgets himself.

You’re looking up at the stars, your head tilted up, your lips curved upwards in a smile.

Harry’s expression matches yours. It’s one of quiet awe, of happiness and joy and adoration. He’s smiling, too, but it’s not as conscious. It’s more reflexive, something he can’t help but do whenever he catches sight of this view. He’s not looking at the stars, though - his gaze is focused on you.

“Come on!” you exclaim suddenly, jumping up. “This is the perfect excuse to watch The Notebook again.” Harry blinks, standing up and following you back to his car. “You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says.

***

Ideally, on the anniversary of your meeting Harry, you’d both rent a hotel room and get drunk on the minibar, talking nonsense until morning, to properly reenact that first night together. Problem with that is that hotel rooms cost money.

So instead, you have a sleepover. Last year it was at your place, so this year it’s at his. The good thing about not being in a hotel is that you can buy normal size bottles of booze, rather than the teeny ones from the minibar.

He’s grabbing everything from the kitchen while you’re queueing up the movie on the TV in his room. It’s not cooperating, though, and you’re rooting through all the wires in the back to try and find something that’s supposed to be connected.

“Harry, if you don’t get in here this second!” you shout at him.

“Did you get the other remote?” he shouts back.

You groan and whine, “Just come in here!”

“I haven’t gotten everything yet! Look for the second remote. It’s in one of the drawers.”

“Which drawers?” you yell.

He doesn’t reply.

So you ruffle through the drawers closest to the TV. Books, papers, chargers. No remotes. You go further and find his record collection. A few photo albums. You stick a sticky note on the top one that says, Note to self: go through these. There’s more books. A few DVDs.

And then - a folder. It has a yellow flower on it.

Frowning, you glance at the door behind you and then flip it open. What must be a hundred post it notes fall out. Your jaw drops, just slightly, because they’re all from you. Every sticky note you’ve ever left him is in this folder. He kept them all.

“Did you find it?” Harry shouts.

You ask, “Find what?” but your voice is too soft and he doesn’t hear you.

He shouts your name again, and you quickly shove the folder back where you got it. You clear your throat, then yell, “Harry, I can’t find it!” Finally, he comes in, arms full of food and drink, and tugs open the top drawer on his bedside table with his foot.

And there it is.

“Have I got to do everything around here or what?” he jokes.

You give him a laugh and set up the TV, which works just fine now that you have the right tools. Harry sets everything down and puts his hands on his hips, raising a brow at you. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine,” you tell him. “Just grew a few white hairs waiting for you to come back.”

He sticks his tongue out and tosses a bag of chips at you. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

Finally, the movie’s set up, and you lean against his bed, sighing in contentment as the opening credits start to play. Harry hands you a glass and holds his own out, which you knock against your own. “Cheers, Styles,” you say. “To five years.”

“And counting.”

Grinning, you drink up and then settle back to watch the film.

***

His voice is thick.

Like honey.

It drips off his tongue, catches on his lips, slides down the column of his throat and glistens in the dim light. It’s rich. Deep. It turns to crystal in the cool air around you as his words fade off. You want to reach out and feel it on your fingers, want to taste it on your tongue, want to feel it slide over your lips, down your throat…

“... and then, suddenly, I was flying out the window with the worst pain I’ve ever -”

“Harry,” you interrupt with a giggle, “this is the third time you’ve told this story tonight.”

“It’s a good story!”

“Lemme see,” you say, crawling forward, and you’re on his lap now but you can’t really bring yourself to care because this is for scientific purposes. Harry grins and puts his hands on your waist and you giggle again and put your fingers on his jaw. “Lemme see your tongue.”

“Wanna see it or touch it?”

You smirk and reply, “How ‘bout lick it?”

“That’s gross!” Harry exclaims with a delighted laugh.

“I know!” you exclaim back, equally delighted.

“It’s broken,” Harry says, but he’s opening his mouth so it comes out all warbled. “I’m broken, you know -” You peer at his tongue, but it doesn’t look very broken. “No, you’re not,” you tell him.

“On the inside,” Harry says, pouting at you.

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, nestling your head on his shoulder in a hug. “You’re warm,” you say, “that’s what you are.” Harry nods against you, running his hands up and down your back. “You fix me,” he slurs into your neck.

“That’s so romantic!” you giggle.

You sit there for a second, breathing him in, feeling happy, and then suddenly -

“I’m roasting,” Harry says, and it’s morning.

“I’m so hot,” you groan, “and my head hurts so bad…”

Harry grunts and pushes against you. “Get off me.”

You open your eyes, squinting in the sunlight, and fall off of him and onto the floor.

He stands up, moaning and groaning, and walks out. You may have fallen asleep again because when he comes back in and hands you a glass of water and some medicine you’re blinking back awake. “Thanks,” you mumble, downing both.

“That was something,” Harry says.

“Something for sure,” you say.

“I can’t move,” Harry says.

“Me neither.”

So you don’t. The day drags on, and when you’re both coherent enough for food you go to the kitchen. Harry cooks something up, and you eat it, sitting next to him at the kitchen island. You feel his foot against yours, and you play a half-delirious game of footsie as you finish eating.

Once you’re all done, Harry stands up and starts to wash the dishes. You watch him, watch his back and his arms and the way he moves, and stand up and stand next to him, grabbing a dish towel and holding out your hand. He hands you the plate, and you dry it.

It’s comfortable, the silence, and it’s more than peaceful, standing there drying dishes with Harry in the early afternoon. There aren’t many dishes, but you both take your time, and eventually he breaks the silence and the productivity to put on some music.

And then, suddenly, you’re dancing, a smile on your face that you can’t seem to get rid of curving your lips as you float around the kitchen with him. He’s bopping along to the song, hand in yours, dish towel over his shoulder after he stole it from you.

The dancing carries you to the living room, where he twirls you out so you can collapse onto the couch. He does the same, and you put your feet on his lap, head on the armrest, looking at him.

“You’re staring,” he says.

“You’re in front of me.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

You raise a brow, smiling and still holding his gaze, and then sit up. “Staring contest, go.”

Instantly, he blinks, and you laugh, “Fuck’s sake.”

“No, no, again,” he demands, grinning, and he blinks quickly a few times before declaring, “Go.” The staring begins. Your eyes begin to sting, and you bite your lip, trying to keep your eyes open.

“We should watch Bird Box,” Harry whispers.

“Saw it last week.”

“I saw it,” he corrects. “You hid behind your hands the entire time.”

“You were the one screaming like a baby.”

“I prefer rom-coms, you know that.”

“Sometimes you need a little variety in life.”

“I lost the bet.”

You blink.

“Victory,” Harry says, a bit weakly, blinking too.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“Victory,” Harry repeats, smiling sheepishly.

“No, no, before that,” you insist, shaking your head.

“I lost the bet,” Harry repeats softly.

You swallow thickly. “What bet?”

Harry bites his lip, concentrating, and then stands up and walks away. You scoff, following him, and ask again. “What bet?” He shakes his head, quiet, and opens his refrigerator, looking for something.

“Harry, for the love of -”

He holds out a kiss. A chocolate kiss.

Your eyes widen.

He steps closer, holding the kiss out on his palm. “I lost the bet,” he says. “I fell in love with you.” Your breath catches in your throat. “I don’t know if you feel the same,” he goes on, “so I… I don’t want to kiss you. I mean - I do, but -”

He holds the kiss closer to you. “I lost,” he finishes quietly.

You can’t find the right words.

So instead, you close the distance and kiss him.

The chocolate kiss falls to the floor, and fireworks erupt behind your eyelids.

After a moment, the words come.

And then, when you pull away for a moment, you both speak at the same time -

“I love you.”

Laughter bubbles from your lips, and Harry grins, kissing you again.

“So I guess I didn’t lose after all,” he murmurs.

You smile against his lips. “Let’s call it a tie.”

***

AHHHH there it is!!!! i actually did write this in like . two days . which was ! great haha but i hope u liked it!!!! if u did, feedback and a reblog would be much appreciated 💜

thanks for reading!

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