#Avocado Concept

[icewindandboringhorror]

What would you choose? :0c

(note: original image is from HERE (link) - but I edited it to add a wider variety of options.. also added $3 extra to the total, even though I know that makes it more uneven lol, I thought if you're adding 10 whole extra items, the money to spend should at least be increased slightly, if that makes sense..)

[heartless-aro]

There’s nothing wrong with disliking or even hating romance as long as you aren’t being a dick to other people about it. Some people are going to think romance sucks, and that is not inherently a judgment or a slight against people who do enjoy romance. There are definitely examples of toxic romance negativity in the aromantic community and it’s important to take efforts to combat that, but expressing a negative opinion about romance is morally neutral (as long as you do it in an appropriate setting and not at someone’s wedding or in the comments of their Naruto/Sasuke fanfic or whatever).

Someone expressing that they personally dislike romance is not necessarily saying that YOU should dislike romance or that something is wrong with you if you enjoy romance. Saying “I hate romance” or “romance is boring” should be as much of a nonissue as saying “I hate avocados” or “The Beatles are boring”.

[the-oaken-muse]

I had a silly idea

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

so i'm writing an 8th year fic and h&d are taking a muggle studies class together in which they read one of shakespeare's plays, and i'm trying to write a final project (for which they are partners) but like. hogwarts academics don't seem all that uhhhhh rigorous to me (like we see the students complaining about having to write a foot of parchment which is essentially ONE PAGE HANDWRITTEN) and i'm a little worried that my assignment is too rigorous.

it involves a lot of like. thinking analytically and using your imagination wrt the motivations of people unlike yourself, and that's not rlly something they do much at hogwarts as far as i can see. BUT it is muggle studies, and like. they could definitely all use some practice at those skills, following the recent implosion of their society.

[petewentzisblack1312]

if only i could... id make a deal with god......... two avocados for 10 bucks.....

[smallfrogdoesart]

50/100 - todays painting is the third of a series of three showing an avocado as it decays! It developed some interesting red waxy mould in the end. Was fun to paint! :)

[specialagentartemis]

man. People get so upset when you call things social constructs. Thinking that if you say something is a social construct that means it's fake and unnatural, and following that, that that means it’s bad. Something being a social construct means that it’s socially constructed. That’s it.

Money is a social construct. Weekends are a social construct. Vegetables are a social construct.

That doesn’t mean it’s okay if my paycheck is withheld or my rent is late. Doesn’t mean I don’t luxuriate in sleeping in on Saturday. Doesn’t mean the nutrients in tomatoes or spinach aren’t good for you.

What it means is that the way we think about things is socially constructed, and could be constructed a different way. Why do we base our society around money? What does value mean outside of money? What is “value”? The way we construct it isn’t the only possible way.

Why is a week a cycle of seven days, and five of those days are for working and two of those days are for resting? Could we organize our time differently? Should we? What would that look like? Other cultures don’t/didn’t have seven-day weeks with a five on-two off cycle. It’s not inevitable. It’s historically and culturally specific.

“Fruit” has a scientific definition but “vegetable” does not. Many parts of plants are culinarily defined as vegetables. Fruits (eggplant, avocado, tomato), stems (celery, asparagus), leaves (kale, lettuce), roots (carrots, potatoes, turnips)… all of these are culturally categorized as vegetables. And nutrition advice is based on this cultural categorization. Is a mushroom a vegetable? It’s not even a plant! Why do we categorize it this way? Why isn’t wheat or oats considered vegetables, but corn is, except when it isn’t? Could we categorize our plant-based food other ways?

Calling these social constructs doesn’t mean they’re bad or unimportant. It just calls attention to the fact that they aren’t inevitable. That they could be constructed in different ways, and that is worth thinking about, and thinking about the value we get in constructing things the way we do.

Gender is a social construct.

Romance is a social construct.

They are based on feelings, desires, and experiences, but how we name and categorize and express and act on them are fully culturally constructed. Other cultures do and have constructed these concepts in other ways. You can like the way we do it now. You can find it stifling. But the way we do it now is not the only, inevitable, inherent, real way. It could be done other ways, organized and categorized and conceptualized in other ways. And that’s not a bad thing either.

[doe-rose-q]

Playing around with Google’s GeminiAI image generator again and this time it’s an avocado theme…

for bathroom design! 🥑🛁🚿🚽

I had a lot of fun with this task. 😜

How delightful would it be to have a bathroom with an avocado bathtub in it? Or an avocado sink basin? Or even an avocado toilet??? 😛

I love all of the above, of course! 😋😏

How about YOU??? 😄

Artwork credits:

Image 1–artist unknown

Image 6–“Avocado in Red” by Jennifer Doehring

Image 8–artist unknown

Image 10–“Avocado” by Prashant Shah

[girl-lostconnection]

Fruit Bat!Reader AU

• Concept Post

• Harbours and Seals (Soap)

• Bat first impressions (Simon)

• The dragon (Price)

• Chatterbox (night ask)

• Reader’s species origin (bunni ask)

• Sizes and proportions (anon ask)

• The games (night ask)

• Avocado (weirdness ask)

• Pumpkins (night ask)

• Refreshing treat (night ask)

• Sticky hands (anon ask)

• Pregnancy (anon ask)

• Wrapped in wings (honeyed tea anon ask)

• Roosting (anon ask)

[vivwritesfics]

Wallaby

Chapter One: Conception

You were just best friends, a friendship born from improper business practices. But Oscar's Japan win leads to celebrating. Celebrating leads to his bed. His bed leads to a baby. Oscar Piastri x Verstappen!Reader Warnings: hints of abusive parenting, 18+ themes, smut, foreplay (fingering, fem!receiving), p in v, drunk sex, unprotected sex (let me know if i missed anything) 5.6K

Red Bull cap pulled low on your head, you sat in the McLaren garage. The first few times you had done it, you looked so out of place. Pictures of you were plastered across social media; the mysterious Red Bull girl in the McLaren garage.

It wasn't your fault the McLaren garage had better coffee. 

With your iPad in your lap, you doodled. No, it wasn't a doodle. Once upon a time your dad called them doodles, but you'd turned those doodles into your career. 

“Wanna show?” 

You held your iPad against your chest, hiding your work from the prying eyes of the McLaren driver. 

“Nice try,” you mumbled and pressed the off button. Tucking your pen into its little case, you looked at him across the table. 

Him, with his coffee and his salmon with avocado on toast. Too healthy of a breakfast for your taste, but you knew he enjoyed it. 

Oscar held up his hands in defence before digging into his breakfast. “All right,” he said, using his knife and fork to cut through the salmon, avocado and toasted bread (not how you would have eaten it, but you didn't comment). 

“I don't even have anything interesting so far,’ you mumbled as you turned your iPad back on. “Just the outline of Rocky.” 

“Rocky?” His eyebrows went up. 

You rolled your eyes. “Of, come on, Osc! You know who Rocky is.” 

He looked around, as if looking for some sort of clue (the clue was on your head). “Pato O'Wards dog?”

“No!” But then you stopped. “Well, maybe. But that's not the Rocky I'm talking about.” Pulling the iPad pen from its little case, you tapped the brim of your hat. 

“Stop being cryptic,” Oscar said, grinning as he shook his head. 

God, you hated it when he did that. The way he looked down as he laughed slightly. That laugh alone was enough to have you growing… Shy wasn't the right word for it. But you did grow quiet, did take a moment to gather yourself. 

You shouldn't have needed that around your best friend. But you did. And part of you hated it. You just wanted to be normal around him. 

He was your best friend, after all. 

“When are you gonna get that hat fixed?” He asked as he finished off the salad on his plate. 

Pulling the hat from your head, you looked at it. “What's wrong with it?” You asked as you turned it over in your hands, trying to look for any issue with it. Nothing. Thank God, because you never would have heard the end of it from Max.

Oscar shrugged his shoulders. “Not an OP81 hat,” he mumbled and picked up his coffee. 

You waited for him to put his coffee mug down before you threw your hat at him. Oscar caught it like it was nothing, went to put it on his head, thought better of it, and placed it on the table. 

“I only wear hats with a number one on it,” you said, your voice smug. 

There was a second before Oscar replied. A second where he stared at you, where you still couldn't look at him. (You just hoped he didn't notice). 

“Gonna be me by the end of the season.”

A scoff left your lips, but you fully believed him. He would be world champion. If not this season, then some season soon.  

Finally, you met his eye. “Can you leave me to draw in peace, please?” You asked and picked up your coffee. 

Stacking his cup on his plate, Oscar stood up. He grabbed your hat and placed it on your head before he walked past you, leaving you to your work. 

***

You had always loved racing. The high adrenaline, the way your heart beat quicker as the cars went past. The sounds of the engine, the smell of the fuel, the shouts of the crowd. 

Racing had always called to you, like it was in your blood. Maybe because it was in your blood. Your mother had raced and your father had raced. It hadn't interested your sister, but it had consumed your brother, in the same way it had consumed you. 

Your brother was a natural talent when it came to racing. Actually, it was incredible. When he started out in Formula One, he struck fear into the hearts of his fellow drivers, those that had been into the sport for years by that point. Those with multiple championships under their belts feared him, though he'd never admit it. 

Just like your brother, you were obsessed with racing. Unlike your brother, you didn't drive. You had no desire to climb into a kart and zip around the track. You weren't destined for the highs and lows, the wins and crashes, of the track. 

You may have been a Verstappen, but you were never meant to drive.

Still, you loved it. You loved the world of racing. You loved the world of Formula One.

When your parents divorced, you and your brother went with your father. It wasn't the easiest time in either of your lives,  but you had Max's karting races to took forward to. Watching the races, socialising with other kids, when you felt up to it. 

You were a quiet child. It was behaviour you taught yourself to stay off your father's radar. If he forgot about you, you were safe. 

Your father didn't pay much attention to you. Why should he, when you had nothing to offer him? You weren't a racing prodigy, you didn't have world championships in your future. You were just you. 

You were an easy child. All you wanted was to watch your brother race. You were enthralled by it. In a way, doing one of the things that made you happy made up for the neglect. 

Racing seemed like the obvious career path. Not in the same way it was for Max, but it was still something you wanted to do. You just didn't understand what. What in racing called to you? 

At first, nothing. As a kid finishing school, trying to make a decision on university, you didn't know. But you couldn't think of any job role beside driver, engineer or team principle. 

It made you regret not listening more when you were a kid. Maybe then this decision wouldn't be so hard. 

But Max got you in talks with the Red Bull Racing team. Someone from each department walked you through what they did. 

You didn't find interest in any of the engineering departments. Nothing in management or support roles. 

It was the creative sectors that got you. Art had always been a passion, an outlet for when it got particularly rough at home. 

That was how you ended up doing graphic design at university. It was fun, but it was still hard work. Your presence at race weekends got less and less as your workload became larger and larger. 

But nothing beat sitting trackside as you did your work. 

During your third and final year at university you began attending more races once again. For mental health reasons, you know? You could complete your work in a quiet corner in the hours before the race. Somewhere you could be alone, somewhere Max couldn't disturb you. 

Your final year at university just so happened to coincide with Oscar’s first year as a Formula One driver. His first year in McLaren. You were aware of him, just as you were aware of other rookies, like Logan Sargeant. But you didn’t know him, had no interest in knowing him. 

You had university to graduate. 

But Oscar noticed you. Not right away, he didn’t see you and then birds started singing. He didn’t see you and the clouds parted to shine a light on you. No, he just saw you with your iPad, sitting alone. 

You had no team hat on, no affiliation to anybody. You almost looked like you didn’t care (in reality, you were too busy to care). You had to be there with someone. A driver, a team member, an engineer. 

The first couple of times Oscar saw you, he didn’t approach. You were busy, clearly, and he didn’t want to distract you. But he was so curious about you. 

Fuck it, he was gonna do it. He was gonna approach you, just to find out what your deal was. Why attend the pinnacle of motorsports just to sit on your iPad like a bored toddler? 

On this day, you wore a team hat. Not just a team hat, a Redbull Racing hat with a number one on it. Fuck, a Max Verstappen hat. But you couldn’t be a casual Max fan, not with the amount of access you had. 

So, he approached you. He kept his hands in his pockets as he walked up to you. He had no idea what he was going to say to you, he just had to sate his curiosity. 

Standing in front of you, he blocked the sun. At the shadow cast over you in the shape of a twenty-two year old man, you looked up. 

Oscar Piastri stood in front of you, looking incredibly awkward. Putting your iPad pen down, you took pity on him. “Can I help you?” You asked him, iPad against your chest as you rested your chin in your hand. 

Yeah, who are you?

But Oscar didn’t ask you that. He rocked on the balls of his feet and asked, “What’re you working on?”

A simple question, one that made you sit back. You unlocked your iPad and showed him what you had been working on. “Uni work,” you said quickly as Oscar looked at your screen. 

He really looked at it. The longer he looked, the more uncomfortable you became. Not properly uncomfortable, but you hated showing people your work. People who would judge you in person, not just people hidden behind a screen. 

“That’s really cool,” he said as you took the iPad back. “You’re in uni for art?”

When you began replying, Oscar pulled out a seat to sit down. But you found you didn’t mind it. A bit of company, a bit of a distraction was welcome. “Graphic design,” you answered. “All my coursework is racing related.”

Oscar raised his eyebrow at you. “That’s really cool,” he said, his fingers drumming against the table. “I’d love to see more.”

Being brave, you turned on your iPad once again. You went to your drawing app and showed him all that you had done over the past three years. All the work that had been graded highly, all the work you were proud of. 

When Oscar got to the last of your work, he passed the iPad back to you. He wore a grin, one that had you looking away from him. “That’s all really good,” he said again. “Should be proud of yourself.”

You were. 

“If I asked you to design a special helmet for me, would you?” He asked.

Your eyes went wide. You’d never done something this public before, not even for Max. “Uhm, I suppose,” you said and opened a new document. 

He checked his watch. “Consider yourself commissioned,” he said and stood from his seat. 

Oscar walked away. You watched him go, your mouth wide open. “What?” You called after him, your voice rising in pitch and volume, like a teenaged boy.

Thus, through improper business practices, a beautiful friendship was born. 

***

You watched the race from the back of the Redbull garage. Oscar might have been your best friend, but you were still a Verstappen, still supported your brother over everything. You watched him, and you watched Oscar.

Max wasn’t in for a win, and he knew it. He had told you before the race that he knew he wasn’t going to win, but that he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind not winning anymore. Jesus, he’d grown up so much since the year before. After two seasons of being the majority winner, after getting his girlfriend pregnant, he had calmed down a lot. 

It was weird to see your brother like this, but it was nice. 

Max had never reminded you of your father. He wasn’t unnecessarily cruel or volatile. But he could get angry, he could easily become enraged. That side of Max had always scared you, was always something you’d stayed away from. 

The Max from two years ago would have become so angry if he’d lost in the way he was this season. Yes, some of his radios were still angry, but you could understand it. He didn’t hold that same anger when he climbed out of the car and wrapped his arms around you. 

An Oscar win. You loved an Oscar win. You loved getting to muss up his sweaty hair, making it messier than it already was. You loved watching him on the podiums, loved his calmer form of celebrations. 

It was a far cry from Max’s celebrations, if he celebrated at all. Max would drag you to the club and get wasted with his wins. The most celebrating you got out of Oscar was his arms around you for a total of five seconds. 

This race was an Oscar win. You were a Redbull cap in a sea of McLaren, cheering for him. 

Oscar looked down. You didn’t have the illusion that he could see you, even if he later told you that he could. It didn’t deter your cheering for him.

You would have cheered the same if Max was on the podium, you told yourself. 

His first win of the season. You had to celebrate, properly celebrate. As much as you enjoyed his quiet celebrations, you wanted something more for him. To go out, to explore the Japanese nightlife while you were here. Themed bars, karaoke, night clubs. You were going to drag him so far outside of his comfort zone and he was going to love it. 

“Congrats, champ,” you said as you wrapped your arms around him. He stank of sweat and champagne. It didn’t have you pulling away, didn’t have you withdrawing. If anything, the sweat and champagne pulled you closer. 

When the two of you let go of each other, Oscar started towards his driver's room. You followed him as he went. “I think you should get to celebrate this first one, properly,” you said.

Oscar stopped in his driver’s room doorway. There was nothing stopping you from going in there with him, but you never did. It felt like a boundary you didn’t want to cross, like stepping into the bathroom with him while he was in the shower. 

“Bad luck to celebrate the first win,” he said and pushed his fingers through his hair. Sweat dropped to the floor. “Won’t get another if we celebrate this one.” His voice was so serious, but his grin suggested his teasing. 

You pushed his shoulder. “What if I promise you’ll have fun?” You asked him, stepping closer. 

“You promise?” He echoed, eyebrows going up. When you held your hands up, as if in prayer, he grabbed them both. “Okay, we can celebrate,” he answered and you let out a little cheer. “But only because this is the first one of the season.”

You nodded in agreement, but you couldn’t stop grinning. 

You didn’t have an outfit for this. Nothing cute and classy you could wear to a nightclub. So, while Oscar did what he needed to do post race, you went shopping. 

Sent you an allowance

You rolled your eyes at the text from your brother. It wasn’t an allowance, it was just money Max sent you to allow you to live. Like how he let you live in his Monaco apartment. Just until you started making proper money. Just until your work wasn’t just from Redbull Racing

Asshole, you sent him. ILY.

You didn’t spend much, just what you needed to to get a cute outfit. A maroon top, a little black skirt and a pair of boots. The rest of the money you pocketed, saved to buy Oscar a drink.

Showered and dressed, you waited in the hotel lobby for Oscar. Makeup and jewellery kept simple, to not take away from the beauty of your outfit. Because it really was beautiful.

“All dressed up and nowhere to go,” Lando Norris said as he walked past you.

You stopped picking at your nails to glare at him. If you’d had the time and resources, you would have painted your nails to match your outfit. “Shut up,” you mumbled, staring up at him. “I’ve got somewhere to go.”

Lando frowned. “Thought Max was going back to Monaco,” he said, leaning against the handle of his suitcase.

“He is.” You crossed one leg over the other, chin raised as you looked down at your boots. “But I’m not going with him.”

There was a moment where Lando’s frown deepened. But then his eyes went wide. “How the fuck did you convince Oscar to go out with you?” He asked, leaning closer. 

You shrugged your shoulders. “Dunno,” you answered and leaned back on your palms. Almost as if you knew how good you looked and you were throwing it in his face that you didn’t want him.

Lando swallowed. He looked you over one last time and left the lobby. 

Alone, you sat there. You went back to playing with your nails as you waited for Oscar. Going out wasn’t really his thing, you knew, but he would pull through, right? He wouldn't just leave you here, sitting alone, right?

A relieved breath left you when the lift dinged and he stepped out. Dressed simply, a white shirt and black trousers, as if he didn't have an outfit, either. But he still looked good. 

“Jesus,” he breathed as he stepped towards you. 

Placing your bag on your shoulder, you stood. “Went shopping,” you mumbled and pulled down the black of your skirt. 

“Really?” He asked, voice full of sarcasm. “Looks good on you.” 

You looked down at yourself. “Really? Hadn't noticed,” you said and grinned, tongue between your teeth. 

Rolling his eyes, Oscar began walking. He held his hand out behind him, clenched it shut and then opening it again. Offering it to you, you realised. 

You did an almost jog to catch up to hum. Securing your little black bag on your shoulder, you placed your hand in his. Your mouth opened, but you couldn't bring to ask him. You just enjoyed it, the feeling of your hand in his. 

Oscar kept hold of your hand as you went from venue to venue. The two of you did almost everything, at your insistence. The only thing you couldn't convince him to do was karaoke. But Oscar was happy to indulge you on everything else. 

Several drinks in, after three themed bars and two nightclubs, Oscar dragged you back to the hotel. You didn't remember what the theme of the bars were, and you kept muttering the same thing over and over again. 

You were thoroughly drunk, and Oscar was giggling like a fool. You were both too drunk to be making good decisions. 

“Gonna be world champion,” you muttered for the fourth time in five minutes. 

“Yeah I am.” He stood so close to you, head ducked to look at you properly. “You'll wear my hat?” 

“I'd look so good in your hat.” You were on your tiptoes, your arms coming to wrap around his neck. 

His hands found your hips. The lift doors opened but neither of you realised. Too wrapped up in each other. Crossing a boundary that never should have been crossed. 

“Oscar,” you whispered as his fingers danced up your sides. You shivered and stepped close to him. 

“I think I want to kiss you,” he whispered. His stare was so intense but you couldn't look away. 

You blinked. Lashes thickened by mascara, but it made your eyes look so pretty. “Don't be a pussy,” you whispered and started giggling so hard you snorted. 

The lift doors slid shut as Oscar kissed you. He gripped your hips and pulled you flush against him as the lift travelled back down. 

He grunted as you stepped back. Following you, Oscar pressed you against the wall of the lift. His hands travelled lower, fingertips toying with the bottom of your skirt. 

Grabbing your hand, Oscar pulled you out of the lift. “Wait,” he mumbled as he looked around at the lobby. And then he pulled you back into the lift and pressed His lips were back on yours. But it was only for a moment before he pressed his forehead to yours. “Distracting me,” he whispered. You toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always distracting me. My good luck charm, too.” 

“Your good luck charm?” You echoed, blinking at him. 

When he nodded, his nose bumped against his own. You couldn't explain it, but you wanted to bite it. Only gently, your teeth sinking in just until he pulled a face. Not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt. 

“Yeah,” he said as the lift doors opened. This time, the two of you stepped out onto the right floor. “Make me feel lucky, at least.” 

You kissed him again. Up against the wall of the corridor, you kissed him. Softly, gently, tugging at his hair until he groaned. You couldn't get enough of him. 

“Need to get you inside,” he mumbled as he pulled his key card from his pocket. “Knew that from the minute I saw you.” 

“Shut up,” you scoffed as he let you into his room. 

Holding his hand, you pulled him over to the bed. But then you laid back and pulled Oscar on top of you. The two of you began giggling again, seemingly uncontrollably. As if you couldn't hold yourselves back. You couldn't as you wrapped your legs around him. 

But that was enough to get Oscar to stop laughing. He dipped down and kissed you, stealing the very air from your lungs. As he kissed you, he moved his hips. Grinding them against your own. There was so little separating the two of you, his trousers and your underwear. 

You could feel him, every inch of him. Throwing your head back, you moaned as Oscar kissed down your neck. Even in his drunken state, Oscar only kissed. He didn't nibble, didn't bite, didn't suck. No marks, nothing that could get either of you into trouble. 

Even in his drunken state, Oscar was smart enough to be scared of Max. 

“Can I?” He asked, fingers fiddling with the material of your shirt. 

You sat up and let Oscar pull down the zip at the back. You pulled the rest of the top over your head and discarded it further into the room. 

With nothing on beneath, you were laid half naked before him. Oscar sucked in a breath, sitting back to look at you.

Under any other circumstances, you would've covered up, held your hands over your breasts until your partner busied himself with taking off his own clothes. But the way Oscar was looking at you, you left your hands tucked under your back. 

He touched you, fingers ghosting over your nipples. Almost like he was unsure. But, when you pulled your lip between your teeth, Oscar touched you properly. 

Hands firm but gentle all at the same time. His lips were against your collarbone, hips still rocking against your own. 

“Oscar,” you whispered. He pulled away to look at you. Still wearing a grin on your lips, he kissed you. Gently still, hands coming up to cradle your face. 

He pulled away to unbutton his shirt. Every popped button revealed more and more of him. All you had seen before, when he opened his driver's room for you when he knocked, when he was covered in champagne, shirt clinging to his muscled torso. You'd seen it before, but never like this. 

You didn't know what came over you. But you sat up, hands on his hips as you held him close. But then you licked his torso. Tongue running across his muscles in a such an obscene way, it had him groaning, holding your cheeks as you looked up at him. 

His thoughts strayed, cock throbbing at the thought of you on your knees, gagging around him. 

But that wasn't for tonight. 

Oscar didn’t know if he'd get another opportunity like this. But he couldn't push it, couldn’t push you. 

He didn't realise how badly you wanted him. It was maddening, how willing you were to sink to your knees before him and take him into your mouth. But, just like Oscar, you couldn't push it. You couldn't push him. 

As you laid back, you shimmied your skirt down your legs. Oscar pulled your boots from your feet and discarded them, throwing them over his shoulder. They thunder against the floor as they landed. 

Just in your underwear before him, you looked divine. His belt clinked as he fiddled with it, trying to undo it with tearing his eyes away from you. Hazel eyes staring into your own, until you threw your head back, exposing your throat to him. 

He hadn't touched you, yet he had you reacting like this. He let his trousers drop to the floor and stepped out of them, leaving himself just as exposed as you were. 

“We're doing this,” he said, like he was unsure. Fingers on the waistband of your underwear, just waiting for your signal. Your confirmation. That was all he needed. 

You. 

You wanted to beg him to touch you, moan and whine in such a pathetic way until he took pity on you and plunged his fingers into your underwear. 

But you didn't need to beg Oscar. Not when he pulled your underwear down your legs and took you in. 

Despite it all, his fingers seemed so steady as he touched you. No hesitation as he felt you, gathered you on his fingers. Already so wet, and what had he done? 

He plunged his fingers inside of you. Just one at first, moving slowly and carefully. Not too deep, not yet. But, with each curl and stroke of his finger, he seemed to get deeper. “Please,” you whined desperately, attempted to reach for his wrist. 

“Please?” He echoed, his other hand on your thigh. “Please what?” 

“More.”

One word, one single word. Oscar tightened his grip on your thigh, his touch bruising. But you didn't wince, not when you were loving it so much. 

He added another finger and watched your face twist. Eyes squeezed shut, but you let yourself smile, as if content. Not just content, you'd gotten exactly what you wanted. 

Oscar picked up the pace. Gentle pumps of his fingers became quicker, more intense. Your name left his lips, a breathy sound he could have listened to on replay.

“More?” 

It wasn't mocking, the way he said it. But you were almost sure it was meant to be. Still, you nodded your head. Another finger, faster, deeper. Another moan of his name. 

When you came, you looked as though you didn't realise it. But the way you squeezed him, walls clamped around his fingers, your own fingers squeezing his wrist. He felt your body shudder in a way you didn't seem to. 

“Easy,” he whispered, pulling his fingers out of you. Gentle, his touch and his voice. Gentle and grounding. “You okay?” 

You released his wrist. Stretching your fingers, you nodded. “I'm okay,” you mumbled and looked at him. Sweat clung to your skin as you blinked at him, as if coming back to yourself. You were okay. He pushed your hair back and kissed your head. 

But Oscar's tenderness was overshadowed. You didn't mean to distract from the sweet moment by reaching for his boxers, but you couldn't help yourself. The second your hand made contact with him, he bucked his hips towards you. 

“Easy, buster,” you said and giggled to yourself. 

Jesus fuck, he was hard. So damn hard beneath your fingers, and all because of you. He had seen you, all of you spread bare for him. It was only fair it was his turn. 

Hastily, Oscar pushed his boxers from his hips. 

Tall and proud. That was the only way you could describe it as you stared. And I mean stared. Unable to tear your eyes away from his tip, which already seemed to be weeping. 

It wasn't supposed to be pretty. In the few experiences you'd had, from the little bit of porn you'd stumbled across, you knew it wasn’t supposed to be pretty. But it was. If you were any other woman, your mouth would've watered. 

But you remained composed. Somehow. Maybe it was the knowledge that you couldn't push it that far with Oscar. Something in the back of your mind was telling you it was a bad idea. That taking the man who'd just had three of his fingers buried inside of you into your mouth was a bad idea. 

You listened to that small, annoying voice. But you still wrapped your hand around him, swiped your thumb over his tip. You gathered what was there and brought it up to your mouth, licking it off. 

His hips subconsciously rocked. “That was…” 

“Hot?” You asked. 

He nodded. 

Wrapping your fingers around him once again, you pumped him. Not enough to be considered foreplay, almost like you were getting him warmed up as you laid back and parted your legs. 

Oscar got the hint. He climbed in between them and his breath caught. For a moment, he laid there. Your arm was trapped between your bodies at an almost awkward angle as you held him, ready to guide him in. “Hey,” you said and he looked at you. 

You'd always found his eyes pretty. Even that day you'd met and he had been an unwanted distraction. Every part of him was pretty, you knew. Every. Single. Part. 

He opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something, but he didn't. Instead he kissed you. You let go of him, brought your arm up from between you and wrapped them around his neck. “Gonna get on and fuck me or what?” You mumbled against his lips. 

He dragged your bottom lip between his teeth. Hips rutting against yours, the feeling of him nestled between your lips. Blunt head nudging you in all the right places, you just needed him to take that leap. 

And he did. Oscar sheathed himself inside of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, mouth falling open in a mix between a gasp and a moan. 

At first, he was still. Mouth still against yours, but he seemed to be watching you carefully. Gauging your reaction to his every little movement.

“Move, Osc,” you had to whisper. 

He nodded his head rapidly, sweaty hair falling in front of his face. His eyes were closed, mouth open when he began to move, when he pushed himself further inside of you. There was a slight stretch, but you were loving it. The way he seemed to be just too big for you, even with the preparation he had put in.

He hissed through his teeth as he moved his hips. You couldn’t help but moan as you attempted to kiss him, to kiss any bit of skin you could get your lips on. When you kissed his neck, Oscar tipped his head to the side, gave you more room to work with. Clearly, neither of you cared as much about painting his neck in purple bruises. 

“Want,” he began, eyes still shut. “Want you on top.”

Oscar flipped you over. You went willingly and settled on top of him, your hands against his chest. He gave you all the time you needed to adjust to the feeling that came with the new position, like he was rearranging your guts. “Don’t know how the girls in the fantasy books do it,” you managed to say, 

Oscar laughed. Hands settling on your hips, he laughed. A beautiful, melodic sound that was cut off when you began moving. You lifted yourself up as best you could and sank back down onto his dick. It took more effort than you were expecting, giving up after doing it a few times.

But Oscar had you. He kept hold of you as he drew his knees up, feet on the bed to thrust into you. Again and again as you kept yourself braced on his chest. The noises you made spurred him on, along with the way you clenched around him. 

When you came around him, your eyes squeezed so tightly shut you looked as though you would never open them again, Oscar swore he saw stars. Just a few more thrust, just a few more until he came inside of you.

Breathing heavily, Oscar slipped out of you. “Holy,” he breathed, chest rising and falling. 

Your limbs shook as you laid down beside him. It wasn’t graceful, your body seeming to just fall beside him. “Can’t believe we did that,” he mumbled as you snuggled closer to him. 

Two sweaty bodies pressed together, you fell asleep. Neither of you were aware enough to regret it. Minds too tired, bodies too exhausted, and the alcohol still moving through your veins. 

Wallaby Taglist: @nurse-floyd

@mimisweetz

[intotheelliwoods]

Alright gang, heres Avocado Toast! :) The Steven Universe style fusion between Sprout and Poptart!

All assorted art and asks and posts related to them will be under the tag #freshavocado <- <-

Here is a bunch of notes, some have links to related art:

-First and foremost, the fusion is the literal embodiment of self love. It is going to be super hard to catch them without a smile!

-The initial fusion happened by complete accident! Poptart joined Sprout for the night for insomnia mixed with feeling cuddly reasons. In the morning they woke up fused haha!

-Sprout didnt tell anything to poptart about his fusion with Big Leo and that it was possible for them to do the same, it was after their initial first accidental fusion that he opened up more about the concept and his experience

-You can often find Toast hugging themselves and fidgeting with their hands! A related thing to note is that it takes the fusion a while to learn how to use two arms on the same side without bonking them into eachother, and also takes a while to learn how to not fall off balance with so much arm weight on one side without being on the other!

-Clothes are not part of the fusion, when they unfuse the result is either Poptart or Sprout in some VERY oversized clothes haha

-The fusion between Big Leo and Sprout is the same fusion! Same personality! But minus the 'Toast' part of the name, back then the fusion was just named Avocado!

-Related to what is above, there is a thought in the back of the fusions mind thinking that they would never get to exist again, up until Poptart showed up that is allowing them to exist once more, and they cannot thank Poptart enough for that

-The first time Big Leo and Sprout fused (Avocado) was different than Sprout and Poptarts (Toast) first time fused. With Avocado, they fused the same way Poptart and Sprout did (cuddles) but this never happened before, the fusion panicked instead. However the fusion was too strong and stable to unfuse. Big Leo and Sprout didnt know how to even unfuse after all! Anyways they spend the whole day fused and trying to hide themselves from the family while also figuring out how to move with the new body haha

-Toast is, hilariously enough obsessed with Sprout and Poptart and loves to see pictures and hear stories of them, some part of the fusion wishes it was possible for them to meet the Leos they are composed of

-Sometimes when Sprout is having a really bad chronic pain day, Poptart offers to fuse with him as a way to 'share the pain' since Toast has twice the amount of pain tolerance, and can handle the pain way better than Sprout can

-Similar to whats above, at some point both Sprout and Poptart become reliant on Toast to fight for them in physical battles. Sprout doesnt want to fight, it hurts, and he hurts even after the fight, but Toast can fight for him pain free. Poptart is tired of trying to learn a new fighting technique and is often upset he is not as strong as he used to be, but Toast is strong and knows how to fight.

-lmao they also become reliant on Toast to do chores

-What Sprout and Poptart remember doing fused depends on how emotional and stable the fusion was

-An amazing idea thanks to @dianagj-art that I am in love with is that Poptart/Sprout and Toast often pre record videos and write notes to eachother to say hello in the only way they really can. Toast loves to see and understand who they are composed of and whos love they represent. While Sprout and Poptart love to see who they can become

Crossover notes with @dianagj-art:

-The initial time they fuse and form Toast, Sprout is so happy he gets to feel what it is like again. He missed the feeling. The fusion is super fun and cheerful at first, but with time Poptart gets tired and wants to stop. While Sprout insists they keep staying together because he doesnt want to lose the feeling again. Due to this the fusion slowly becomes more and more loopy and unresponsive throughout the day and zones out frequently. Eventually Oneion asks whats wrong before realizing what is going on inside their head, and is the outside trigger to get Sprout to finally let go.

-Out of everyone else, Toast has the best chance of getting on One-Ones good side out of the excitement of another Leo fusion like them. Unfortunately in Toasts attempts to befriend One-One through some sparring, it does not go well....

-Toast is a perch for One and Oneion... do you understand.....

[darlingchronicles]

JJ AND THE GOLDEN GIRL HEADCANONS III

pairing: jj x fem!goodgirl!reader

word count: 2.4k

based on these concepts and season 4, ep 1. spoilers enjoy!

Poguelandia: how do they start their simple life with the gang?

ఌ so golden girl does join the crew with all the treasure hunting starting season two i believe, (i have a whole universe so there will be more on their adventures and even fics so stay tuned) but let's fast forward to the beginning of season four (no major or relevant spoilers). she is on board with starting a business and was the one to suggest they sell food on top of providing for the fishing folks. she is not happy when jj decides to go on a limb and buy the property for wayyyy too much, but it is what it is. She doesn't help much with the building since she doesn't really like it and she almost hit her finger with a hammer one time, but she is big with decorating. she found the huge shark and helped haul it towards the business. she helped paint and make the entire thing a home. she's never had a true home so when they finish she straight up cries from how happy she is there. she works the counter and restocks the entire store and has her own little side business. again, like said before, she's very crafty so she makes a bunch of bracelets and sells them at poguelandia. they're a huge hit (especially with teen girls and children) so you can often find her at the counter helping customers and making bracelets at the same time. she does take custom orders. she also has a sandwich named. it's called "flounder's revenge" (as in the previous headcanons, she's afraid of sharks) and it's a bacon, avocado sourdough melt with chipotle sauce with a little shark hook toothpick on top. needless to say, she very happy there.

✔︎ jj never had a home to rely on or even call home. of course he had his friends as his home, but actually call something a home is beautiful. when they complete poguelandia, he is estatic. he jumps for golden girl and hug like there was no tomorrow. when they start to get busy, jj always makes time for golden girl when he can. he'll help her with bracelets by grabbing whatever material he sees and he was elated when she gave him the first one she made for the business. if he's in the shop, he'll help her customers and with restocking the higher shelves. he always requests a 'founder's revenge' and chuckles every time she narrows her eyes (he's the one who gave her the nickname). jj and golden girl end their nights on the dock, watching the ocean and sky after their busy day before retiring to the room them both moved into. sarah and john b have theirs. pope and cleo have theirs. and now jj and golden girl are officially moved in together. jj is on cloud nine.

how has their relationship progressed?

ఌ golden girl is more trusting of jj. since starting the business, she learned to trust him even more. she's watched jj grow into a more responsible person, of course he has his moments where shes reminded that he's still a boy at heart, but he's growing and it makes her happy. with more trust, she opens up to him more about her feeling. previously, golden girl was always so reluctant to tell jj her feelings because she was scared he would run or start an argument, but jj doesn't. he listens. maybe he won't always agree or see the "big deal" but he takes into account her feelings and notices her telling him more.

✔︎ jj has become much more softer with his girl after they start up the business. they're family now. they all know it. she's best friends with his best friends and they're totally in love with each other. not only that, but he says "i love you" more often now. previously, it was only for special occasions and the odd moment and whenever golden girl said it outside of those moment, he would only just kiss her in order to convey his feelings. he was never good with words, but now, he wants to say it all the time. there is so much more security since they're not running anymore. so "i love you" is a staple now. it was such a dramatic shift that john b did a double take when jj said it before he left to go get more bait for a second and came back a minute later.

how much do they argue?

ఌ here's the thing with golden girl. she hates arguments. not for the same reason as jj, but because she hates when there's no peace. she despises it. she tends to cry whenever she's frustrated and can't sleep if it's a prolonged one. she has a deep sense of guilt as if everything is her fault. which it isn't but she has that. previously, jj and her got into disagreements and arguments due to their lack of communication. she has a lot of words she afraid to say and jj isn't good with words and tends to keep them to himself. if they do argue, it's because golden girl doesn't want to say what's on her mind and jj's just trying to help. they never go to bed angry though. they never sleep in separate rooms either. neither of them can bare it. sometimes she'd cop up and just let it go but then jj can't let it go and vice versa.

✔︎ jj hates arguments because before, arguments meant violence. it meant breaking things and tear up a storm to be heard. as said, jj isn't good with words and if he can't say them, it becomes an issue. jj hates it when golden girl doesn't say anything when something is clearly bothering her. he hates that he wants to force it out of her. so previously, they did have a lot of icing out periods due to the lack of communication. now, they're more open to each other. jj once said he doesn't call them fights, but instead, disagreements. they disagree. they don't fight. he'd never be able to fight her. sometimes he'll try and let it go, but when he can't, he'll tell her. and she won't be mad. she won't yell. she won't hit. she listens. it's more than enough for him.

how have they had progressed physically? (slightly NSFW)

ఌ it is a fun one. golden girl hadn't let them cross that line for the longest time. the only thing they've really done is make out and dry hump each other. nothing more. it isn't until they have poguelandia and have more stability that she allow them to take it further. she was surprised that jj didn't mind it (we'll get to that in a bit) and that was what made her take that step. it was kind of nerve racking for her because it would be her first time and she knew jj had experience and so did all their friends (john and sarah, specifically) so she was sneaky with her little innuendos because she didn't want to say it out loud. she'd let him put his hand in her back pocket and whenever they hugged, she'd place a kiss on his neck. whenever they laid down, she lay her hand on his lower stomach and trail her finger up and down. she got kind of careless and would even stare at him with her little doe eyes and have that little shimmer in them. she had fuck-me eyes for days. eventually, he got the hint.

✔︎ so jj didn't know for a while. he had been patient with her because he knew he couldn't fuck their relationship up. he understood she had no experience whatsoever with sex or anything of the sorts. he didn't mind because he knew that forcing sex or sex in general ruined a lot of relationships. also at the beginning of their relationship, jj was really uncertain about her really liking him and thought she'd walk away eventually. to ensure the blow was less of an impact if it happened (it didn't, of course) he kept himself from suggesting they sleep together. of course, he did like making out with her and dry humping was really getting to him, but he respected her wishes. honestly, they went so long with doing anything, he was prepared to wait for marriage if she wanted to (marriage was addressed in the previous headcanons). but when golden girl was much more touchy and carefree with her kisses, he got suspicious. the first time she kissed his neck unwarranted during a hug, he froze. he coughed and pressed one to her head before walking away before a boner began to form. there was so other signs, but it was her eyes that gave him the hint. the way she'd look at him with her mouth slightly parted was when he finally gor the hint.

☆ extra! they finally did "it" one night when they we alone at the house. Everyone but them had gone and crashed as Heywards for the night (JJ had to catch bait and Golden Girl was busy making bracelets and doing school work that day). So the house was empty. They didn't expect it at all, but it was when they started kissing in their shared bed when a little spark was lit and the two of them were undressing before they knew it. jj had stopped to ask if everything was okay and she nodded, giving him approval. a very slow and beautiful night for the both of them. it was raining softly outside, the lights were off and only the light was the sparks of lightning outside and the covers were soft and warm from the wash. she definitely had to wash them afterwards though. he was so gentle and caring, truly understanding that this was a passage that she was taking for the first time, and listened and watched her to ensure everything was pleasurable for her. definitely made sure she came multiple times as well. (i could go more into detail ;) but thats for another post) the next morning the glances and wandering hands gave the gang a heads up and they had shit eating smiles and poked fun at them the entire morning.

what are date nights like now?

ఌ it is much more detailed. golden girl decides on the places they go to eat and has jj try new foods he hasn't tried before. they can spurge a little more, but it's not anything huge. they just like trying new things. clearly. and she still likes the simple things. they'll go out on the new boat and swim for an afternoon before retiring to the house and playing a game of cards with their cans of coke next to them. the tradition continues.

✔︎ jj tries to make things slightly more fancy. he'll buy roses for her almost every date night. one time, he bought her a dress to wear for one of their dates because he over heard her saying to the girls that she wanted to buy new clothes with her next month's share of the profit. she was getting tired of wearing the same clothes, especially on her dates with jj. he decided to surprise her and the look on her face made it all the more worth it. he knew she didn't like tight clothes because of the kildare heat and saw it in a shop on the mainland and knew she'd like it. he definitely gets her more gifts now. he always mades "mini" dates where they'd go on break from the shop and lay in the hammock with some music playing. the simple life.

are they open to a future family together?

ఌ golden girl is one hundred percent open to starting a family together. she wants that. not now, obviously. they're too young. he just turned 20 and she was still 19 for a bit. but she knew she wanted it with him. sometimes, she'd imagine him with a baby in his hands - a girl and she'd look just like him. she'd have that little mischievous twinkle in her eyes that said she was gonna cause trouble. just like him. and gosh she wanted it. but until then, she knew she'd just grow more in love with him. and yes, she is open to marrying him. she knew she'd have to wait a bit more until then as they were not together for as long as sarah and john b, but whenever he popped the question, she'd say yes.

✔︎ jj knows he's gonna propose to her. he started saving up for a real ring. he knew sarah and john b had done their own thing, but he was gonna do her right and get a real ring and a real wedding band. he doesn't know when, but he knows that when the time is right, they'll get married. he knows the time is soon. he is kind of anxious to see what she says, but he's hopeful she'll say yes. and kids? oh yeah, he's thought about it. he's seen her with children around the island and he knows she'll be an amazing mom. he's just more anxious about turning out like his dad. he doesn't want that, but he knows he can do better. he has to be better. but sometimes he'll imagine her in a dress with a little baby bump or her carrying a little girl (he wants girls) and showing her how to fish or throw a punch and it makes him hopeful for the future. he has hope for one of the first times of his life.

☆ extra! baby names are definitely in their heads. golden girl likes the princess names or something about light or hopefulness. elena, estelle, aurora, eve, juliette, valentine or persephone. she leaned more towards persephone or juliette cause then they call her percy or jules. those are just some of them. she has a lot more and is open to suggestions. she thought a j name would be nice since she'd match with her father. jj has also thought about it in great detail. he likes lorelai, eloise, victoria, ariel, marlee, or artemis. he wants her to have a nickname like him. he is more leaning towards ariel because of the whole joke about flounder. but if they have a boy, definitely something like rex, james, apollo or atlas. in the future, they have two girls.

thedarlinglore: after the shitshow of the last ep of season 4, i needed some reminder of love and hope from these two. love them dearly. i do want to go more into dept about them so a few more headcanons, blurbs and fics are coming up along with another beautiful new reader! i have mentioned before. stay tuned and rewatch ep. 6 of season 4 because wooo that man is fine as hell. love you, darlings.

➣ my last "jj" work | "oh schroeder" ➣ more concepts | jj maybank

[pasukiyo]

I BLINKED AND SUDDENLY...

remus lupin x female!reader word count: 2,231 synopsis: insecurity kindles like a burning reminder across remus's cheeks. she deserves more than cheap flowers and a poorly-wrapped blind date with a book, but just when he begins to feel sorry for himself and makes to turn around and go back home, she catches his eye through the bookshop window. and he knows he's screwed. caught like a fish on a hook, she reels him in, and all he can do is pray that this valentine's day will be different from the rest.

…i had a valentine!

 He thinks the tips of his ears are red. 

 In a desperate attempt to hide them, Remus sifts his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands until they cover the tips of his ears but when he blinks up at his reflection in the bookshop window, he realizes how ridiculous he looks. A curse tumbles from his lips and he shakes his head around, combing his fingers back through his tresses, hoping his hair will fall back into place in the wake. 

 Maybe he can blame it on the cold. 

 The wind is a bit nippy today after all, and he’s walked at least a couple of miles between his flat, to the florist, then back to his flat when he realized he forgot to grab her damn gift, all the way to the bookshop he stands in front of now. He hopes she can’t see him now, ruffling his hair, trying to quell the scarlet that’s bloomed across his face. 

 He feels perspiration gather along his hairline and he sighs, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. Maybe this is stupid, he thinks to himself, peering down at the bouquet and wrapped book in his hands. He’d spent quite a lot of time picking each of these things out for her— trying to figure out her favorite color and flowers, figuring out ways to subtly ask about the books she’s read to get a better idea of her preferences while simultaneously figuring out what books she hasn’t read yet. He’s seen enough photos on Pinterest and Instagram of blind date with a books to understand the concept but he fears he doesn’t project that well— his scrappy packaging and hasty handwriting is enough to make him suddenly want to throw everything away and make the trek home to crawl in bed and sulk for the next two to three years. 

 He thinks that’s what he’ll do— a spider of shame crawls from his ears, to his cheeks, down along the column of his neck when he peers down at the gifts he’d prepared. This isn’t enough for her, he thinks. She deserves more than flowers from one of the cheapest florists he could find in the city and a book she may or may not have already potentially read, packaged in probably the shittiest wrapping job that even children wouldn’t be entirely thrilled to open on Christmas morning. 

 A wave of nausea suddenly rumbles through the pit of Remus’s stomach and he thinks he should go now before he really embarrasses himself and blows the chunks of that piece of untopped toast he scarfed down this morning. He’s about to make a break for it when suddenly he sees her, through the window of the bookshop, guiding an older man to a bookshelf. 

 And he’s fucked. 

 Remus is entranced, his feet stuck on the pavement below him as he simply watches, watches the way she speaks with her hands and even through the glass, he can see how bright her eyes shine, gleaming with passion for whatever book she must be referring the customer to. He watches the way she listens as the older man speaks, eyes transfixed, head nodding as she soaks in every word, happy to offer whatever help she can. 

 She’s so… kind. And that’s just the simple way of putting it. She’s passionate, charismatic, she’s every guy like Remus’s dream: she works at a bookshop, she likes coffee and tea, she enjoys the classics, she listens to good music, she eats avocado on her toast, she’s even in a book club! 

 She speaks about her interests with a fervor that’s hard to come by these days and she meets others’ interests with an equal amount, even if it’s something she doesn’t normally find all too intriguing. She always seems to have her special way to make people feel comfortable and despite how incredibly cheesy Remus thinks it sounds, she’s always been capable of brightening even the darkest of rooms. 

 Remus truly believes that if the sun were to vanish, she’d be enough to even put the stars to shame. 

 It’s in Remus’s trance that she notices him standing by outside the window and her face splits in a grin, so natural that he doesn’t even initially notice it’s for him. Her mouth forms his name and that’s when he realizes: oh. 

 He’s screwed now. 

 She gestures with a hand for him to come in and it’s like it’s in his program to be incapable of resisting her, because his feet practically move on autopilot, straight through the entrance of her bookshop. 

 “Remus!” She exclaims when he enters and her voice, god, her voice feels like the breath of a fireplace along his skin in the coldest of winters and he’s suddenly made aware, again, of just how red the tips of his ears are as warmth spreads across his face. 

 His heart leaps against his chest and he doesn’t know how he was able to even muster a coherent sentence, but he greets her back, albeit, rather meekly. Her smile widens and Remus thinks that the world has stopped spinning because he swears nothing moves around them when she does it, when she looks at him like that. 

 “Quite a gloomy day for what’s supposed to be one of the happiest days of the year, don’t you think?” He hears her say and he clears his throat, hoping it will snap him out of his stupor. 

 Get it together, he hisses at himself. Rotting in bed, whether you like it or not, is not a fruitful way to live out the rest of your days. 

 He turns to peer out the window. It was a rather drab and gray day, he concurs, and the wind came with a harsh chill. The conditions were certainly less than ideal, what with all the running around he’s done throughout the day. 

 “Yes,” he manages, a little awkwardly as he turns back to face her. When he does, he finds she’s eyeing the items he’s since forgotten he was even holding and suddenly, he thinks he’ll melt into a puddle of magma right then and there. 

 That, or he’ll just turn and run away until his legs can’t hold his weight anymore. 

 “How cute!” She says, nodding down at the bouquet and book. “Did you make a blind date with a book for your girlfriend?”

 Remus blinks, a little surprised. She thought he already had a girlfriend? He wonders if he should take this as a sign that maybe she didn’t feel the same way— she thinks he’s taken, after all. Is she not interested in him after all? Was he wrong to suppose that maybe she’d even give him a chance?

 His mouth opens and closes, trying and failing to give her a coherent reply, an elongated ‘uh’ emitting instead, a little dumbly. She simply blinks at him, waiting for him to reply, perhaps a little less enthusiastic than before but Remus assumes it’s because of how incredibly awkward he’s acting. 

 He presses his lips together and closes his eyes, tightening his fists around the gifts, and breathes. He’s tired of embarrassing himself, of being so incredibly self-conscious and timid that it prevents him from simply talking to someone, from making friends, from telling her how he feels. This is far from the first time he’s spoken to her and he should know by not that she’s not the kind of person to make him feel bad, whether or not she accepts or rejects him. 

 And he’s put so much thought into this. That’s got to account for something, right? Never mind how bad his handwriting or wrapping skills are or how cheap these damn flowers are— he should know by now that she’s the kind of person to value intent over expense. 

 So, he sucks in another deep breath, shakes the warmth away from his cheeks (to the best of his ability), and he takes his shot. 

 “Actually, these are for you,” he says, daring a step forward, extending his arms to present her with the gifts. She blinks down at them, eyes rounding in surprise. Remus shakes away that nagging sense of insecurity and continues. “You know, I’ve been coming here for quite awhile and you’ve always… you’ve always been so nice and I just thought… I’ve always just thought that you’re so… beautiful and I…”

 He trails off, heart pounding against his chest when she glances up at him again, meeting his eye. Her gaze is so bewitching, so heavenly, he thinks she must’ve been crafted by the gods and goddesses above, sent down to Earth solely to catch him like a fish on a hook and keep him here, enthralled by her forever. A single look from her is enough to make him want to sink to his knees and pray for just an ounce of worthiness so that he could merely be around her for even just a minute. 

 He’s completely trapped now and even though he knows she’s the kind of person who would make rejection still feel nice, he thinks he’d die right then and there on the spot if she were to refuse him, if she were to say she’s not interested, if she says there’s already someone else. 

 “…I know you said you liked these flowers so I hope you like them, sorry they’re a little… windblown,” he titters nervously as he hands them to her. “I’ve been running around incessantly all morning.”

 She takes them from him cautiously, a furrow in her brow as she brings them closer to her nose, taking in their scent. 

 “And I… I really hope you don’t already have this one,” he says, handing her the wrapped book, a little hesitantly. “I tried to find one I was sure you haven’t read. And, uh, sorry for the, uh… well,” he gestures to the pisspour wrapping skills and not to his surprise, she laughs but much to his surprise, it’s more amused than anything. 

 “‘Dark Academia, whimsical, secret societies?’” She reads his handwriting scribbled across the brown packaging  “Remus, this is…” she trails off and for a moment, Remus’s stomach sinks and he really feels like he’s another to blow chunks of toast all over the place. 

 Just then, her face splits into the most marvelous smile he thinks he’s ever laid eyes on, the entire universe put to shame by this girl, this beautiful, enchanting girl. And that smile is all for him. 

 “…this is the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given me, I think,” she continues with a breathy laugh, curling her fingers around the ends of the wrapping paper. “You don’t mind if I…?”

 “No, go ahead,” Remus says with a breathy laugh of his own. He watched as she tears through the paper, pulling the paperback out of the wrappings, her face— if it was at all possible— glowing brighter than he’s ever seen it before. 

 “The Starless Sea?” She says in more of a shriek, meeting his gaze again as she hugs the book to her chest. “I’ve been meaning to pick this one up for ages! How did you know?”

 He didn’t, but he’s more than relieved to have been the cause of that devastatingly pretty look upon her face now. 

 “You recommended The Secret History by Donna Tartt that one time to me a few months back and told me about how much you loved it,” he replies, resting his elbows on the counter, a newfound air of ease around him. “It was amazing, by the way. I immediately began searching for books like it. I’d hoped you hadn’t gotten to this one yet.”

 He thinks her eyes are beginning to gloss over and he blinks, dipping his brow, afraid she might cry for a moment. He yearns to see that smile of hers again, but before he can ask her what the matter is, she circles around the counter and practically leaps at him, locking her arms around his neck in a hug that he nearly recoils from out of instinct. It’s so shocking— being so close to her all at once, to be touching her and for her to be the one initiating but he breaks himself out of his stupor again, resting his hands on the small of her back, afraid to lose her touch once he has it. 

 After a moment, she pulls away just enough to peer up at him and Remus thinks that even if she were to reject him now, it would’ve all been worth it just for her to look at him the way she does now. He feels his lip tremble as she brings a hand up to his hair, the tips of her fingers brushing against the tips of his ears. 

 “Your ears are red,” she notes and he screws his lips together, swallowing down the boulder-sized lump at the base of his throat. She laughs and for a moment, a silence falls and he doesn’t realize she’s blinking up at him expectantly until she breaks it. “Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘will you be my Valentine?’”

 Remus blinks back at her, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch but he doesn’t muster the courage to repeat it. She grins again, her warm knuckles dragging along his cheek. 

 “Because my answer is undoubtedly yes.”

a/n: FINALLY GOT AROUND TO WRITING A VALENTINE'S DAY FIC THIS YEAR! i hope you all enjoy! wrote this all in one sitting so not sure of its quality... but nevertheless, i hope you enjoy shy, fluffy remus <3

💌 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it would be such a great valentine's day gift 🥰🫶

TAGLIST!

@pinktree

@iamthejam

@strangerfromketterdam

@burns-in-the-sun

@cancelledkaley

@d3adp00ls

@all-in-the-fandoms

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Exercises For Poets

Writer’s block plagues writers of all kinds, but perhaps none more so than poets. Writing poetry is an exercise in patience, passion, and perseverance. From mining your surroundings to playing with literary devices, here are some exercises to help stimulate your imagination.

Explore Your Surroundings

Find inspiration in your environment and everyday activities:

Take a walk. Go on a walk and bring your notebook. Look around and write down observations on what you see: a tree, a person, a neighborhood. Try starting a poem by using some of these descriptions. Make a decision about its structure: what will the stanzas look like? Will you use enjambment or will you use punctuation? Do you want to use long sentences or short?

Find an interesting object. Whether you’re in an office or a kitchen, a park or a library, choose an object you can see and describe it. Does it evoke personal memories? Does it have cultural implications, or elicit a certain emotion? Try starting a poem with this object and its associations to guide you.

Brainstorm Ideas

Try these exercises as a jumping off point for a new poem:

Use flash cards. Think of a topic. Take ten blank flash cards and on one side of each flash card, write a line about this topic. Use a mixture of emotional detail, concrete detail, and images when writing these lines. Put all the cards face down in front of you. Turn five of these cards over, face-up. What kind of poem is this? What questions remain? Experiment with which five cards should be turned up in order to create a poem that is both mysterious and clear enough for the emotions to be anchored.

Eavesdrop. Carry your notebook with you as you go about your daily tasks and write down interesting things you overhear. At the end of the day, go over the snippets of conversation you wrote down and, rather than thinking about the content of the conversation, analyze how it was said. What have you learned about the way people speak? Incorporate this speech rhythm into a new poem.

Analyze your every move. In the evening, write a list of twenty things you did that day. Use this form: “I washed the dishes, I ate an avocado, I read the newspaper,” and so on. The only rule is: don’t list the things in chronological order. Review your list of twenty activities and see if any of them spark a line of poetry. Try to make use of one of these seemingly mundane activities to write a longer poem.

Free write. Take your notebook and give yourself ten minutes to simply write whatever comes to mind, not letting your pen or pencil leave the page, and not revising. After ten minutes have passed, review what you wrote. How do the subject and tone change from the beginning to the end? Is there anything you might want to lift for a new poem?

Play With Structure

Play around with the formation of a poem, and experiment with language to create new meanings:

Think about the stanzas as various “rooms” in the house of the poem. Imagine that the poet is taking readers through various rooms in a tour of a house. Now, read one of your own poems and look at the stanzas: in the margins of your poem, write down what each stanza or “room” is revealing.

Play with elliptical language. Look at one of your poems, and play with elliptical language. Are there are any words you might want to omit to heighten the sense of mystery? How does the omission of different words change the lines’ potential meanings?

Play with your own ambiguous meanings. Create a sentence that could be interpreted at least two ways. Think of the word “blue”—is it indicating color or mood? Or consider using qualifiers like “perhaps” or “should.” Let this sentence constitute the first few lines of a new poem, and keep playing with this concept of double interpretation throughout.

Make a mess. Write your next poem in long-hand in your notebook and feel free to make a mess with strike-throughs, asides in the margin, and the like before you type it up on a screen. How does the typed up version look on the page? Is it thin, sprawling, even or jagged? Are you moved to make adjustments in the poem, such as shortening or lengthening lines, for the sake of giving your poem a definite shape? Consider editing for diction, pacing, and clarity. Even consider cutting the nonessential lines and phrases.

Play With Form

Try writing different types of poems that have different rhyme schemes or lengths:

Write a haiku. Let the subject take on any topic you want but limit yourself strictly to the haiku form: three lines with the first line having five syllables, the second containing seven syllables, and the last containing five. How did this exercise make you revise your language?

Write a poem of any length. It can be on whatever subject or subjects you choose (and it doesn’t need to rhyme), but try to make each line in iambic pentameter. Remember, this means five iambic feet (da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM).

Write a traditional Shakespearian sonnet. Do this using iambic pentameter and the rhyme scheme ABAB CDCD EFEF GG. Make sure your poem has exactly 14 lines, and use the last two lines to make a “turn.” Remember that the turn often has the poet looking back at the previous 12 lines and making a two-line comment on them.

Play With Setting

Transport your poetry to different time periods and locales:

Write a few lines setting a scene that is easy to accept. Think about the example of snow on pine trees or a dog lying under a hammock. Establish a scene of your own. Then have your poem take a twist. Take your reader and yourself somewhere very different—spatially or thematically—from your original scene.

Subvert the norms. In the Elizabethan period, the dominant subject was romantic or courtly love. In the age of the English Romantic poets, you were supposed to write about nature. Poetry advances when these rules of acceptability are violated. Think about Walt Whitman: when he should have been writing about nature, he wrote about machinery. Thom Gunn wrote a poem about Elvis Presley when pop stars were not considered appropriate for poetry. Both poets violated the literary decorum of their time. In choosing what to write about, nothing is too trivial. Don’t censor yourself. Don’t feel that you have to be serious, or even sincere. You can be playful, even sarcastic in your poems. Think of a subject that may seem outside of today’s literary decorum and write a poem about it.

Play With Titles

Titles can inspire a poet, but they’re also useful to readers:

Guide the reader—but surprise them, too. Write a poem whose title lets the reader in on how the poem is going to proceed by indicating what lies ahead. Then, write this poem, making sure to both deliver on the promise of the title while complicating its meaning.

Play with capitalization. Write a first line that could also work as a title, and write a poem under this line. Play with the capitalization of untraditional nouns: try giving weight to unexpected words by capitalizing them.

Play With Literary Devices

Utilize different literary devices in your poetry to produce different outcomes:

Play with diction. What are some words that, for some reason, make you laugh when reading them? (Think, for example, about “fork,” “nose,” “potato,” or “peas.”) Write a poem that deliberately uses these words to create a tone.

Use assonance. On a sheet of paper, brainstorm a handful of words that use a similar vowel sound. Now, using this brainstorm as a guide, write a poem that utilizes assonance in one or several places (or even throughout the poem). As you read over your draft, ask yourself how these sounds add musicality to the poem, acting as a kind of sound-glue that holds the poem together.

Try anaphora—at least once. Write a poem of at least seven lines, using anaphora at least once. Now, write a poem of over 15 lines in which you use anaphora several times, switching the words being repeated over the length of your poem. Let the development of your anaphora tell another story or add another layer of detail and depth to your poem.

Look Inward

You are the greatest muse for your own poetry. The following exercises require you to mine ideas from your personal life:

Does your personality make its way into your poems? Think of what kind of social person you are and consider the feedback you get from others about your personality—from family, friends, and others. Write a poem that is spoken in your natural speaking voice. This poem need not exhibit your best self. Try allowing the poem to be controlled by a voice other than the one that shows you off. Write a poem that lets the ruggedness of your life drive the voice.

Start a letter to someone you know, would like to know, or once knew. The rule is: assume that they won’t see it. Start this letter by addressing this person directly (think “Dear X”). After you’ve written a few lines or sentences, begin breaking your letter into poetic lines and finish the poem.

Imitate Poets

Imitation is the best form of flattery. Look to poets you admire for inspiration in your own writing. The following writing exercises borrow concepts from other bards:

Mimic voice. Think of some of the poets or poems you admire. These could be poems you’ve discovered in this course or longtime favorites. Pick one of these poems and read it over and over again, noting the methods the poet uses to achieve his or her voice? Notice how the poem develops stage by stage. How does it find its way through itself? See if you can write a poem that follows a similar style of organization or path of development. This is more than an exercise; it’s a way of opening yourself to the influences of other poets.

Describe a disturbing occurrence with an uninvolved, distant voice. Remember that the point of poetry is to make the reader feel something, not for you, the poet, to get emotional. The best way to do this is to write “cold.” If you are doing the feeling, the reader will pull back because all the emotional work has been done by you.

Create tension. Use space to create suspense, putting the reader on the same level of knowing and not knowing as the speaker. Write a poem that describes one large action and uses spacing as a way to force the reader to pause, creating tension and suspense as the action of your poem progresses.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Unique 1975 mid-century modern home in Idyllwild, CA. The cute 2bd, 1ba home is $675K.

It's an open concept layout with lots of interesting architectural details. The ceiling is amazing- the beams are a different wood than the ceiling, for a nice contrast. The fireplace has little niches and there are lots of skylights.

Behind the living room is the deepest conversation pit I've ever seen.

It's like a pool, and it looks like they sit around, rather than inside, it.

The next area is the dining space in front of the kitchen counter.

The kitchen is small and original. I love the orange sink and the mosaic backsplash.

The single bath is also original with the typically round MCM sink and an avocado sink cabinet.

Look at the cute little terrace.

The primary bedroom is cozy and I like the avocado feature wall.

Since there's a luggage rack in the 2nd bedroom, it looks like this home, or at least this room, was being rented on Airbnb.

Looks like there's a little built-in cabinet that is used as a desk.

The very angular home is built on a hill. 10,018 sq ft lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/52326-Pine-Ridge-Rd-Idyllwild-CA-92549/18046225_zpid/?

[saddled-on-stars]

not exactly a request, but feel free to build on this idea if you like

So I imagine that as time goes on, Y/N gets used to Beetlejuice’s presence in their life.

The only problem is that if they were to tell anybody about how their boyfriend just watches them sleep sometimes, their friends and family would probably find that very concerning because they don’t have any context.

Hiii there! I sincerely apologize for this taking so long, on top of breaks and technology failure, it just took so long, I'm so sorry! This was such a cute idea, I sort of added a bit to it, hope you enjoy! - Star ★

-★-★-★-★-★-★-★-  Trigger Warnings: Fluff, Marriage -★-★-★-★-★-★-★-  Key:      ★ (Y/N) = Your Name      ★ (L/N) = Last Name  -★-★-★-★-★-★-★-  Requested by: @sleeplessdreamer14 -★-★-★-★-★-★-★-

- ★ - Strange Suitor - ★ -

He’s strange. But God, you love it.

Sure, meeting a dead guy at first was… alarming for you, to say the least. It was a strange experience, but honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for the world. Beej quickly became the person who made you laugh and smile. He was the first boyfriend to actually make you feel loved and happy. He knows how you feel, and it makes his insides feel all warm and fuzzy, to know that HE’S the person who’s able to make you feel happy. Sure, he may eat avocado pits when you’re making guacamole. Sure, he might act like a total fool 99% of the time. Sure, he probably watches you sleeping. But you wouldn’t change a single thing. You love your silly little boyfriend. You want to spend the rest of your life with him. And the afterlife too, of course. But, what about your family? How could they understand the concept that you’re dating a person who floats and watches you sleep? Let alone, a demon. You don’t want to become distant from Beej, but you also don’t want to become distant from your famil- “Babes? Is there someone at the door?”, he asks from the kitchen, his voice raised a bit. “I’m not sure, I’m not expecting anyone. Just stay in there!” You open the door, confused, as your mother and father are standing there? Big smiles on their faces, their eyes reflecting the light. They look so happy to see you! Of course, you hug them, and forget about Beej for a moment, inviting them inside, not aware of the consequences. Apparently they’re just visiting. Huh. Oh no. He’s standing right next to you now, and your parents look fairly confused, especially since there is a green, striped, grimy man standing in your kitchen. “Y/N, dear.. Who’s your friend?” your mother asks, as if she’s grimacing, trying to keep a smile on her face. Your father is just wide-eyed, his usual warm smile gone. With sweaty palms, you pick at your fingernails, as if there’s a thousand-pound weight in your stomach. If you were even thinking about it, you’d say that your legs were to give out any minute. “Mom, Dad.. This uhm.. This is Beej. Beetlejuice, actually, just call him Beej. He’s uhm… He’s my-”, your wrist is firmly but gently grabbed as you’re cut off. “Boyfriend. I’m her boyfriend. Mr. and Mrs. L/N, a pleasure to finally meet you both. I’m gonna make this quick. Can I have your blessing or whatever the hell it’s called to ask your kid to marry me?”, Beej says, his mind running a million miles a minute. Your heart almost stops. Did he just ask for your parents’ blessing.. In front of you? Well, you wouldn’t expect him to know traditional proposal rules. His different view of things is another thing you love about him. However, your parents go blank as they stare at Beej, and then you, disbelief taking over their expressions. Your mother is the first to take your hands with a worried look. “Y/N… do you love this Mr… Beej?”, your mother asks, her eyes gazing into yours for any sign of you needing help. Nodding, you squeeze your mother’s hands slightly. “I do, mom. I love him dearly. He makes me laugh, he makes me smile, he’s brightened my life, Mom. I want to spend my life with him.” She looks at your father, then back to you, squeezing your hands as she looks at Beetlejuice. “If you love this man, sweetheart, and you think he’s good enough for you, then we support you.” Your father kisses your forehead before shaking Beej’s hand. “You take care of my kid. You hurt them, I’m hurting you.”, he says, his stoic expression still in place before you see Beej nodding, a bit fearful. You squeeze his shoulder, chuckling before kissing him on the cheek, and he gets down on one knee. Tears roll down your cheeks as you agree to his proposal, and you share one last kiss before your parents walk out the door. He gazes into your eyes, twisting the ring on your finger, as he nuzzles your nose, as he whispers, “I love you.” You kiss his lips, whispering the same. God, you can’t wait for whatever fun, wacky wedding this will be.

- ★ - Written by Saddled_On_Stars - ★ -