#by scheduling your charging times when they're sleeping

[icedmetaltea]

As much as I love Sun I must also acknowledge that we are extremely incompatible for the sheer fact that I end my day anywhere from 1-4am while that's when Sun starts his

[genderqueerdykes]

Ditch Etsy for Good: A Disabled Etsy Seller's Experience

i started my Etsy store in August of 2022. I was in desperate need of income at the time, as I am disabled, and waiting for my full disability payments to come through. I currently make $245/month off of a general assistance program that's meant to "help" while you're waiting for those payments.

I needed, at the time, $900/month for my studio apartment, because I was on a month-to-month lease, and could not re-new it, as I was the secondary renter, and my abusive ex whom I could not contact was the primary renter. They needed his signature to renew the lease, or else I was on month-to-month status, which meant they could increase my rent to whatever price they saw fit at any point.

I was struggling to stay alive. I had a bunch of kandi supplies I had gathered over the years, pony beads, string, all that kind of stuff. So i accrued some extra supplies to make other types of necklaces and chokers. Keep in mind my level of poverty, and the level of inflation in 2022. I was having to accrue supplies secondhand, from thrift stores. Everything I bought and sold was upcycled, save for the few times I could afford things to fill in the gaps from craft stores.

After I gathered supplies, I went to work. I spent countless hours making all types of jewelry. Not really sleeping. Just countless hours of stringing beads, if I woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream or stress about homelessness, I would go back to work. I've been homeless before. Several times. Never lived on the street or in a shelter, but I have lived in hotels, cars, crashed on couches and have run from getting kicked out for making little money endless times.

I drank a lot of coffee and ate very little. Eating consumed time, time that I didn't have. Once I was done making things, it was time to photograph every. single. item., then edit them, and upload them to Etsy. I had to create listings for each individual item, all of which cost $0.20 to create, and again to renew when it ran out in 3 months if not purchased. There was already a start-up cost.

Shipping made my life a nightmare. Etsy charged me for each and every single label. I tried free shipping at first, as it's a huge draw for customers, but labels were around $3.69 from my state to the mainland United States at the time, creeping ever closer to $4. For anywhere else it would easily come to $10 or more, international shipping was easily $20 - $40. Even if the customer paid for shipping I still had to go through the process of purchasing a label.

This didn't account for the fact that I had to purchase printer, ink and paper at some point to keep printing these labels. Ink is wildly expensive and your cartridges run out faster than they should. They are rigged to flag as empty when they're not. This also does not account for ink and paper lost when the printer does something in error, which is often. The office at my apartment complex was willing to print labels and packing slips for me for a while, but they cut me off after a few months.

The biggest kick in the teeth was the processing time for my payments. Because I shipped my first few orders without tracking labels. Etsy put a hold on my money for the next 3 months. They would take a random amount of time to process each payment. I could never figure out the schedule. My money would sometimes take days or weeks to arrive when I set Etsy to a "daily" payment schedule. It was torture. I was sweating over not having money constantly, and missing payment deadlines left and right.

I was getting orders at every hour of the day. I didn't "clock out" of this job. I had to change the notification sound of the Etsy Seller app on my phone because when I heard it, I would panic. I wasn't excited, I was filled with dread. It was never ending, and I was constantly stressed about getting orders out on time. I never had time to rest. I didn't get days off. I was on the job 24/7. Unless you completely uninstall the Etsy app and refuse to check it fora while, you can't really clock out of this job.

This isn't even touching the fact that Etsy also takes a cut out of every single sale you make, meaning you have to jack up your prices wildly either to make free shipping reasonable so you're not losing money on each sale, or you have to play a dance of figuring out what the best balance between shipping and item costs are, which is time consuming. It's a lot of math and comparing against your niche's market.

Etsy has an ads feature, which you must again pay for, where they will run ads for your products in random banner ads and whatnot. You are charged if one customer clicks the ad, not purchases something, meaning this is a complete fucking scam. The minimum is $1/day and you are forced to subscribe monthly. You can cancel at any point, but sometimes it takes a full day for this to cancellation to go through. The Etsy Ads feature sucks ass. I received exactly 2 orders through their service and kept it on for a few weeks here and there. It's horrid. You do not receive a significant enough boost in traffic to make the investment worth it. Also consider how many people use adblockers these days. This isn't hard to see.

The amount of time you have to spend promoting and boosting your own shop, buying supplies, creating and photographic products, uploading them to the website, and everything else in between is not worth the amount of money you make. You do not turn a profit unless you are selling very high end products like fine jewelry and antiques. Anyone else in the bottom rungs loses money through one avenue or another, Etsy finds ways to make the entire process draining and expensive for the seller.

The also will not provide you a 1099 document to file your taxes for your earned income unless you have made over $25,000 in one year on Etsy, which is literally impossible unless you make, as I said, fine jewelry. The average Etsy seller does not make this much in one year. We do not make a liveable wage, yet Etsy pretends like we do.

I didn't realize how draining it was to run this store until I put it in vacation mode. I'm shutting it down as soon as I'm able to. I could not handle the pressure of orders coming in in the middle of the night. I could not handle the pressure of not being able to remember which bracelets I could wear, and which ones were up on the store. Or which ones I could give to friends freely without having to issue someone a refund because I made a mistake. The worry of sending the wrong customer the wrong product was constantly on my mind. Every review that came in made me scared I had fucked up or provided an inferior product. I was distraught, broken and scared.

Now I'm much more free. The piddly jackshit amount of income I made was not worth it at all. I don't think I made back the cost of supplies and I definitely was never compensated for the sheer amount of labor I put into my products and orders. Etsy just kept kicking me while I was down and now that they have made it so that you are unable to file a class action lawsuit against them, they are only becoming more tyrannical.

Etsy does not care about their small sellers. They only care about the big cash cows who bring in big views and line Etsy's pockets with the Etsy Ads program. If you're too poor too keep up they'll chew you up and spit you out. Fuck Etsy. Fuck the lack of respect for their sellers. Fuck them for holding my money randomly for 3 months because I didn't know tracking labels were REQUIRED in their eyes. Fuck Etsy for never letting me know when I was getting paid, and for paying me on such an irregular schedule. Fuck Etsy for the fucked up fees and expensive shipping labels.

Fuck Etsy for everything. Let them go. Cut the cord. Navigate to Ko-Fi or somewhere else. Let this horrid site fucking die.

[vasito-de-leche]

iff its still alright for requests then maybe somethingg small n maybe sleepy with forget me not ? nothing specific otherwise just

sleepy eeby forget me not fic. either that or wrangling his soggy ass to sleep(for once

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "five minutes"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.8k words fluff Being in charge of The Walden has its ups and downs - Forget Me Not enjoys being the conductor of an orchestra composed of dying men and women, even if it costs him hours of precious sleep. You make sure to remind him that even the most powerful broker in Chicago deserves a little nap.

this mf has been fighting me for a month or so, it's so hard to write him SLEEPING, HE RLLY DOESNT WANT TO. I HAVE 3 DIFFERENT DRAFTS GRAAAA so here we are. I fought tooth and nail for this, theres 4 different drafts just about FMN getting some fucking sleep. this one even has like, a different version where you fall asleep on his lap instead bc he keeps FIGHTING ME

either way, ty for the request, nonnie! your ask was the perfect excuse to get this done. sorry it ended up being longer than my usual stuff, I just really love the guy

The amount of work needed to maintain an establishment like The Walden often goes unnoticed.

Its elegant ambience and decor, all the powerful and influential people to rub shoulders with, the precise and meticulous organization behind every single detail and decision - all of it can be attributed to a single man, the very same who leads the crowd and makes their drinks.

When the night arrives, he and The Walden come alive.

Hundreds of desperate rats crawl into his den, searching for things they don't deserve: money, fame, fortune, connections, assets. They want to find their place in the world before they're long forgotten, and this is when Forget Me Not steps onto the stage and finds himself in his element, surrounded by all the people who look at him in fear, disgust and awe.

Do they know? That at the end of the world, he holds their fate in the palm of his hand? Him, a simple broker, a middle man.

An inferior, an arcanist.

Of course, the high fades as soon as the sun rears its ugly head over the horizon, his spirits plummet to the ground when the world returns to that monotonous routine. All Forget Me Not can do now is wait.

He would never dream of being so careless as to have his own residence right above his workplace, but he rarely steps into his home in the first place. It's too much trouble to commute back and forth, wasting time in a building that is as devoid of warmth as the blood running through his veins. That private office nestled somewhere within The Walden has become his new safe haven, in fact - with one too many couches to lounge around and no bed in sight.

Not that he sleeps anyway.

Forget Me Not always fancied the most convoluted route into an early grave, and thus has replaced the bottle for something else: endless paperwork.

It's getting harder and harder to conceal the dark bags under his eyes for a semblance of professionalism. How very fitting that, despite all of his efforts and accomplishments, his quality of life continues to deteriorate. What a depressing thought.

The leather of his seat squeaks as he shifts, leaning backwards to fully take in the piles and piles of files atop his desk. His gaze turns to the clock just to confirm what he already knows - it's a little past 6 AM, the cold breeze of the early morning keeping him wide awake. A brand new shipment of materials will arrive in two hours, they will need to be stored but it's an easy enough job for the Disciples. This means that the next important event on his schedule is the meeting at 11 AM. Forget Me Not's face sours right away at the thought, and he reaches for his drink.

And just like that, without any sort of warning, the door to his office is flung open. It's a good thing that despite his awful, awful health, his grip is as steady as ever - not a single drop is spilled. If else, Forget Me Not remains still as a statue, retaining that air of composed aloofness as he raises an inquisitive eyebrow towards the intruder.

It's you, standing perfectly by his door frame. He almost drops the glass once he recognizes your face, but conceals his little slip by settling it back down on his desk.

"Ah, how rare to see you during the day, you're always so busy with errands. To what do I owe this loud, impromptu visit? Keep in mind, I don't start serving drinks until 8 PM."

You don't wait for him to finish, marching towards the small lounge in his office and picking up a small, decorative pillow before dropping backwards onto one of the sofas. A shadow passes over Forget Me Not's eyes - he doesn't know whether to resent you for knowing you have the freedom and privilege to act like this around him, or whether to feel insulted for the way you ignored him just now. He settles for his usual third, secret option - resignation - and makes his way towards you.

Unlike you, Forget Me Not has mastered the art of concealing his presence and so he makes no sound at all when he approaches. He stands right next you, leaning ever so slightly to hover above your face, as if his piercing grey eyes alone could pressure you into speaking.

It doesn't work, at least not right away. You hide behind that useless pillow, then you shift and turn to lay on your side, all while he simply stands in perfect silence. It's a battle of attrition, one he intends to win.

"I slept like shit, okay? Just give me five minutes here and I'll go back to work." Your voice is muffled, but he hears how tired you are anyway.

It's easy to forget that people aren't nocturnal like him, at least not by choice. It's easy to forget about humanity when most of his coworkers are puppets held by strings and ink, mindlessly following orders. When you curl up on the sofa, Forget Me Not remembers just how tired he is and sighs. Soon, he's walking towards the door.

This makes you sit up in a hurry, clearly misinterpreting his actions. "Five minutes, promise! Don't kick me out!"

There's a faint click, it's the lock on the door. Forget Me Not returns to his desk, making sure not to look your way lest his eyes reveal those wretched feelings bubbling in his chest. Did you seriously think he had the nerve to throw you out so carelessly?

"Ten minutes. Make sure not to waste them with chitchat." He can practically sense you silently cheering and getting comfortable in his office. On his couch. It's insufferable, the way you always get what you want while he slaves away with work.

But it's only ten minutes, he can tolerate you for that long.

Three minutes pass, and Forget Me Not realizes that he's spent more time glancing your way than reading the document in front of him.

From his spot, he can only see the top of your head, just a glimpse of your form as you rest your eyes. But every time you move, no matter how subtle, he notices and turns his attention back onto you.

Seven minutes, he only needs to focus for seven minutes. The document in his hand is important: he's negotiating for better materials for his potions at a cheaper cost. This simple deal could mean a lot for Manus Vindictae, always so low on funds, resources and support.

Six minutes. Forget Me Not hears you hum and he slowly turns his head on instinct. You're staring right at him, face resting on the armrest, squishing your cheek against the plush cushions.

"You have four minutes left, are you sure you want to waste them like this?" He lies, as if he wasn't ready to ignore the passage of time to give you a few more extra minutes, expecting you to comply. But you get back at him with a question of your own.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Three minutes." It comes out as a warning. You ignore it.

"I'm serious! You look awful from here." By now, you're sitting down and he knows that if he doesn't stop you, you'll make your way to him. To invade his personal space, cradle his face in your hands and torture him with your gentle touch. "You're always here when I start my shift and when I finish. Where do you get the time to go home and all of that?"

Forget Me Not would rather swallow his own tongue than to openly admit that he essentially lives here. That he has spare clothes in the drawer by the window, that he showers, eats and sleeps in this office of his. You might've figured it out by now, but with his pride and dignity at stake, he pretends to ignore you in favour of work.

"Hey, c'mon. Don't just go back to work like I'm not even here talking to you!" He does exactly that, picking up a pen to sign a few documents. "Drop that. Drop the pen. Hey!"

You talk to him the same way one would talk to a misbehaving dog, and he hears that whiny, frustrated tone in your voice that he's come to appreciate. There is a pause and Forget Me Not does as told - the pen now resting neatly on the desk.

He finally deigns himself to look at you, returning a small smile.

"Thank you, now, like I was saying-"

Thud!

With his free hand, he stamps a document, never breaking eye contact. The pettiness is always worth it, but this time even more so when he sees that tic in your eye and the way you inhale sharply, absolutely done with him. You sit up, consider laying down again in frustration, then simply cross your arms like a child throwing a tantrum - seeing you get worked up over the smallest of things is always such a treat.

"Fine! Be like that! But don't come running when you- Uwaaah!" A yawn interrupts your words, you barely have time to cover your mouth.

Oh no. It's contagious. He feels that tell-tale tingle in his nose, and just like that, he yawns as well.

"Aha! You are tired, I bet you haven't slept properly in days!" An accusatory finger is now pointed at him, and Forget Me Not fights the impulse to roll his eyes.

"That's quite the leap to make over a simple gesture like that. Your time is up, by the way - please, go back to work."

"I'm telling on you, Forget Me Not. I'm so telling on you."

He gives a raspy laugh at this. "And who will you be telling about my horrible sleeping habits? The waiters? The delivery boy? Our esteemed guests?" The latter would definitely eat up any sort of information about his private life, especially if it was something to ruin his reputation, but he doesn't share this out loud.

"Ahh... So, you admit it, then? Having the worst sleeping schedule known to mankind?" Touché.

Before he can even reply, your mouth opens in a feigned yawn and Forget Me Not seethes when he finds himself imitating you. He seethes even more over the smug smile on your face. And he wishes he could just die on the spot when you scoot over and pat the empty seat next to you. Him? Rest? With you? Absolutely not.

"Ten minutes," a tight knot forms in his throat when you start to coax him in. "I'm sure you can spare that much, since you've been indulging me for this long! If you were actually busy, you would've just sent me home to rest. C'mere, sit."

What is the point in keeping track of time by now? Forget Me Not will be by your side until you decide to leave. Indulging you and your stupid ideas, your well-meaning and annoying habits, your reactions - all of it, they're his favorite vice and he never learned how to quit.

"Five minutes." He sits next to you.

"Fair enough." You scoot closer to him.

He watches when you link your arm with his, not bothering to ask for permission. Typical. Your palm is warm as you rest it over his forearm, fingers drumming idly over the soft fabric of his shirt. But you don't linger for too long, and slide down until your index and middle fingers reach the bare skin of his inner wrist, over the pronounced vein there. Can you feel his pulse? The shameless and frantic beat of his heart?

Forget Me Not is so entranced by this simple action that he fails to notice the sudden extra weight - your head rests on his shoulder, with your cheek pressed against the prominent bone. He knows it's an uncomfortable position, because you shift and nuzzle closer to his chest, the top of your head and your hair now tickling his neck and jawline. The knot in his throat returns and he holds his breath on instinct, like an animal at the verge of being devoured.

Nevermind the constant cycle of violence and doom he's turned his life into, these are the horrors that keep Forget Me Not up at night: your body against his, your displays of affection.

"Your eyes," the soft murmur of your voice pulls him from the awful, nonsensical noise in his mind. You're looking up at him. "You're meant to close them. That's what this whole thing is for. Unless ...you can sleep with your eyes open?"

"Don't be ridiculous. As if such a short amount of time could make me fall asleep." He huffs, a way to conceal just how out of breath he is. Part of him is afraid to close his eyes, knowing that he will feel each and every little thing you do - only tenfold. And what would he do with himself then, when all he can focus on is your finger tracing shapes over his palm? It tickles. It's distracting. It's unbearable.

His hand flinches, just barely, and you interlock your fingers with his in response.

"Hush and close them!" Always so obedient to your commands, Forget Me Not does as told, cursing you in his mind.

He gives you an inch, and you take a mile - the moment his eyes are closed, his body turns rigid but you still coax him backwards, so that he can lean on the backrest of the couch. It takes the coordinated effort of every single muscle in his body not to melt on the spot, to remain in a proper, sitting position. With you nestled so comfortably by his side, Forget Me Not makes the worst mistake in his life: he turns his head towards you, his nose now buried in your hair.

The content and pleased noise that leaves him is something that feels alien, entirely out of character for someone like him. Right away, he feels the tips of ears burning with shame and his body uselessly recoils away from you, trying to revert back into that persona he's created for the world.

It backfires immediately.

"...Hm? Is your arm getting numb? Here, let's switch." You move away, all while your hands cradle his face in order to guide him over to your lap.

It's a painfully slow process that is simultaneously over in the blink of an eye. Forget Me Not doesn't know what's worse, the fact that he didn't put up a fight or the way he feels so incredibly small, being held so lovingly by you.

He's laying on his back, hands resting uselessly over his chest like a corpse in an open casket funeral. If he glances upwards (a difficult thing to do, because you flick his forehead whenever you catch him wide awake) he can see you hoarding all the pillows available within your reach to support you as you lounge about, still hellbent on sleeping in with him.

Did he die at some point throughout the day without noticing? Is this his own personal Hell? Forget Me Not wants to speak, to say anything and regain control of the situation, but nothing comes out. All there is to do is to lay there, with your hands combing through his hair.

His heart might as well burst out of his chest. Even better, crawl up his throat and choke him from inside out.

Without thinking, he sits up. It's a nervous impulse. You can't see his face with his back turned to you and he's grateful for the small moment of privacy, as he steels himself to send you away. Or to fuck off into The Walden and walk around aimlessly to cool off, and then avoid you for a few weeks. Whichever comes first.

"Oh! Want a pillow or something? I kind of just took them all without thinking." He doesn't deserve this sort of contact, this domestic bliss - he doesn't want it either.

"Hey, do you think we could do this more often? Just... make some time for me in that busy schedule of yours?" And why would he? You're already pretty skilled at turning his life upside down with your constant nagging and your antics.

"Sorry for being this sappy so suddenly, it just came to mind...Oh, oh! Wait! While you're at it, mind closing the window, please? It's getting a liiittle cold in here."

Forget Me Not leaves his glasses on the table and lays back down, this time making sure to wrap his arms as tightly as he can around your waist, his face hidden in your stomach. What he receives is a weak chuckle, a weak complaint and a weak attempt at pushing him away. You don't mean it, of course - the same way he never means any of the things he thinks.

"Hm, I believe it's perfect like this."

"You're just saying that because you're going to leech off my own body heat, you little snake."

There's a hint of victory in your voice, you've won once again against him but you're always too nice to rub it in. Instead, you caress the scales on his neck, now on full display for you. It's a heavenly sensation.

"Perhaps," he murmurs, eyes closed. "But what are you going to do? Kick me out of my own office?"

"I might if you don't get some rest. Sleep, now."

And just like that, Forget Me Not unravels - he's been waiting so long to be given permission, for someone to allow him a moment of peace despite all these restraints holding him back.

He knows that the moment wakes up, he will act like none of this happened, that he will stubbornly deny everything until his very last breath, but right now, he clings onto you like his life depends on it.

And he falls asleep with your name on his lips

[tyuntopia]

hiii i js wanted to say ur writing is so good omg and also can i request husband txt. theyve got me feeling a little delusional lately 😭🙏

★ txt as husbands

pairing : ot5 x fem! reader

genre : fluff, kissing, smut but not fully just a bit suggestive, minors dni

a/n : hii it's been a short while, i got kinda busy with life all of a sudden but hopefully in the near future i'll have a consistent update schedule ^^ other than that, i hope you like it !!

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yeonjun

he would still be so so flirty referring to you as his angel or his darling

he would want to stay in bed with you all day just sleeping and maybe occasional make out sessions where he tells you how beautiful you are to him

as you get up to go to the restroom he orders takeout over the phone so that you don't have to worry about cooking, he's always so considerate of you

you guys would eat takeout in bed while watching a movie and as the night gets older he would turn on candles and caress your body while talking about your guys' future

he could stare into your eyes all day and night and he does do that until you drift off to sleep in which he blows out the candle and gives you a soft kiss on your shoulder before drifting off as well

he would be so good at planning dates to keep your marriage fresh, picnics at the park, hole in the wall cafés in the mornings, massages for the both of you

he would also give you a lot of presents, after work he would come home with a small necklace that he saw that made him think of you, small things like that

he would just love you so much and want to give you world if he could

soobin

he would be such a mushy husband, asking you all the time if you need anything, calling for his honey, his sunshine

LOTS of cuddling, specifically on the couch where he would be on top of you laying his head on your breasts because, and i quote "they're just too perfect"

i don't see him cooking for you, however, as you cook breakfast, dinner, you name it, he would be right behind you, head resting on your shoulder and hands hugging your waist asking what you're doing every couple of minutes,, such a clingy boy

you two would play video games together and bet that whoever loses is in charge of the chores for that day and sometimes even if he wins he gets up, gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek, and lets you know that he'll get them done because you've done so much for him already

you guys would probably always shower together: he would wash you, and then you would wash him and he would be so soft and vulnerable

after marrying, he would definitely call u odi's mom and it would be such a big deal to him

watching you take care of odi makes his heart swell because all he can think about is how you would take care you your guys' children

and at night thats definitely all he can think about now too, bringing it up when he's inside you asking if that's what you want and with a desperate "yes" from you his dream comes true

beomgyu

i think like many of us see, he would be energetic always shining light on his baby, his honey bun, his beau

but i think with you he would let shine his more raw persona

you two would spend hours in bed laying next to one another talking about the most earth shattering things, your fears, desires

he would try his best to be all that he can for you, always being there for you, asking if you need anything, just being the shoulder that you could cry on and vise versa

you two would probably bake brownies together and eat them as you watch that ridiculous dating show because why not

and you bond and laugh over video games that he forces you to play because even though he's older he "still needs to maintain his youth" whatever that means, but you don't mind it, it keeps your relationship fun

you would definitely also have pillow fights all the time and he would chase you around the house trying to tickle you

on slower nights he would draw a bath for you both to just lay together and he would bath you

upon getting out, you would get in bed as he turns on candles and begins playing guitar for you, singing you to sleep

he's definitely a goofball, but there's so many more layers to him that you love and adore

taehyun

god he would be so soft with you, treating you like a queen, calling you his love, honey, sweetheart, you name it he just wants you to know how special you are

you would wake up every morning feeling soft traces of his fingers on your legs and hips along with breathy kisses along your neck and shoulders

he would tell you to rest more as he gets up to walk to the kitchen to start cooking you breakfast, but not before giving you a soft kiss on your forehead which makes you feel all warm and protected so as he disappears you can't help but smile at the ceiling, giggling, and kicking your legs up and down

his breakfast would be so delicious and you would probably do the dishes together: him washing them and you drying them and putting them away ><; dream team and this would probably be the same with all chores

he would probably lift you on the counter after you're done to make out with you softly, his hands gliding up and down your thighs and yours tangling in his hair

he would be so sweet, carrying you to the shower and washing your hair and body, then dressing you in his shirt that he thinks looks so fucking sexy on you

you would probably have movie days in bed together and late night trips to the gym

at night he would be the most sentimental, kissing you everywhere and telling you how much he loves you, taking his time- definitely lots of eye contact and temple kisses

i could also see you guys having a lot of quickies where he pins you against the wall and hikes your skirt up as he lift you up, definitely has a strength kink and isn't afraid to show it

overall, your relationship is just so so soft, you can feel his love from a mile away

huening kai

he'd be such an angel to you, but would call you his angel because that's what you are to him and he makes sure he treats you as such

you'd wake up to tummy rubs and pouty kisses and maybe even tickles which would lead to tickle fights and him and his evil laugh (that is still somehow so cute)

you would probably make pancakes together with lots of different fruits and talk the whole morning about anything and everything

no matter how old you two are he would still take you on arcade dates and lunches with his sisters who he adores so much even though he's always making fun of them

you guys would have dance parties in your living room listening to bruno mars

in any situation he always puts you first and is such a soft gentleman, i love him

© tyuntopia | please do not copy or translate without my permission

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

Hello! I was wonder if you could do Slasher headcannons with a S/O who struggles with Anxiety? If not that's alright!

Now I don't have an anxiety disorder so im doing research and I'm not sure it's you're talking about an anxiety disorder or just dealing with getting anxious but I'll make it the first one.

I tried to make this more serious but I failed

Slashers with reader who struggles with anxiety!

Michael

He may notice you seem extremely stressed about things, whether small or big and he doesn't understand it I mean if you're away from him then yeah he gets pretty nervous but about somethings like dates and schedules to the point it messes up in your daily life? Why?

But tries to comfort you. If he sees you fatigued then he'll usher you into bed, if you can't sleep then he'll just lay down next to you until you do which I'm unsure how long it'll take but he's quite the patient man, if he's in his younger days that is.

If you start crying because of it or get a panic attack and come to him he'll sit and let you cry on him and may have a hand on your hand, head or back while at it. He wants you to get help despite his strong dislike for you being away from him he sucks it up. But at the same time he also doesn't, because look like happened when he was with Loomis, he was supposed to help him and look how he turned out.

But he'll suck it up. If he notices if your mental health is getting worse when you are "getting treated" He'll just find and kill whoever is in charge of you.

Sinclair brothers

Bo has a hard shell yes but inside his heart is bouncing all over the place of worry. He may have had his fair share of panic attacks and it's horrible. He hopes there's something he can do to help. He listens to whatever problem you may be having and comforts you with what things you may like. He also tries not to lose his temper or yell around or at you. Which may be hard since he's angry 90% of the time but anything to help your anxiety reduce at least just a bit. He has magical hands that can and will remove anything that stresses you out and magical hands that will make you forget what stresses you out... He'll cuddle the shit out of you behind closed doors with many affections and kisses. Or just warm and gentle holding. You choose he'll do it. 🫶

Vincent is probably the most understanding, his worries and anxiety attacks when he imagines someone seeing him without his mask or when he can't find it. He doesn't know what much he can do since he's very awkward and and can't speak and is just '🧍' but he can listen and hold you however you'd like. If you want to touch and play with his hair then please do so, if you want to do a little a wax sculpting you're more than allowed. You're both doing wax sculptures to take your little mind off things, but if you start worrying if it's going to look good or not then he just "✋". If it's work then he'll bring you drinks and food of your choice and signals you to take a break. If your boss keeps pushing you to the point you break down then uh... Hey why did your boss go missing suddenly?

Lester the most carefree and happy though seen what it does to his brothers and hates it that it also happens to you. Very very sad. He takes you out on walks and Or driving around. Literally just holds you if he notices you being too nervous. And just the most sweetest soft kisses and affirmations that everything will be alright and you don't have to worry about anything because he'll be helping you through it all. Just soft cuddling as your pour your feelings out to him. He doesn't want you to feel alone and he won't make you feel alone. Snacks and drinks and heavy blankets and anything else that might help you for the time being. If there's someone or something that stresses you out too much they're either gone or oh look it looks like there's a hand popping out of the pile of roadkill! Anyways let's play with jonesy.

Bonus: jonesy! She just knows when you're feeling anxious before you do. plays with you, lets you pet her, kisses you. Just lays around you. Loves going on calming road trips with Lester so you're going too if you want to that is. If you're worried about your looks or something she'll just bite or bark at whoever gives you the looks or talks bad about you. She'll never let you feel bad she's your best friend 🫰🫵

Hannibal

He noticed this when you were first appointed, it's okay nothing special so did many of his previous patience but your case is really severe and you don't seem to get better. That's alright. There isn't always immediate changes it takes time. But no matter how much he gives time Or uses his techniques you don't seem to get better. This bothers him. And eventually he finds himself attached to you, like really attached and not just your disorder but for who you are. So now he is no longer Dr lecter. He's your best friend (boyfriend?) hannibal. Isn't that illegal? No because he's no longer your therapist and you're not longer his patient. How does that make sense? Don't ask anymore further questions.

He can read you like a book and he'll bring all your necessities you need when you start feeling really tense. During the attacks he'll rub your back while he holds a glass of cold water to your mouth while telling you it's okay. It also stresses him tf out. If you start becoming distant or get irritated more than usual he prepare something nice for you like food or a very pleasant warm bath and he assures you that he'll be there to help you. He'll make a healthy schedule for you and make you start looking after yourself, though he wonders if you're gonna leave him if you start finally getting better.

There may come a time where you are in a corner and uncontrollably crying and hannibal is just across the room staring at you as he calls will and says "Will, Will they won't stop crying what do I do." He knows what to do but is too afraid to do anything.

Billy and stu

It's really chaotic.

You may be on the ground and stu is just screaming and aggressively searching on his phone on what to do while Billy is shakily holding a glass of water and just says

"I heard water helps... You want water...?"

You're practically going to be sandwiched between them when it's cuddling time. And god forbid anyone makes you anxious and cry because they're gonna be on the news report later.

At least one of them is always going to be on your side incase anything distraughts you and there's gonna be no one there to help you ease down. Stu will be there to make jokes to help you feel lighter and Billy is just uh Billy. You three will maybe watch a movie or two and go on fun or relaxing outings. No person or something will make their s/o feel anything negative.

[yesitsmewhataboutit]

Hiiiii, so don't know if this is where I can request.. :/, so if you don't want to take this request that's fine. But I saw your todoroki fic.. and I thought maybe you can do a fic of todoroki x reader where todoroki has a fear of thunderstorms.. cuz u know loud noises and all that. So reader comforts Todoroki. Just like a really fluffy fic :)

(Sorry if this was confusing, perfectly fine if you don't want to do this)

:))

Rain, Rain, Go Away

»»——⍟——««A/n: I was working on this and then lost the request and was super confused

Based off this timestamp

Masterlist

̶̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ Requests open　 ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶

You knew the forecast is to rain today, but you didn't think much of it. It's not scheduled until way into the night, and you'd already be asleep. All you had to do was make sure you and Shoto's phones are charged just in case the power goes out.

Shoto comes home, you eat dinner and watch a movie, ending the night cuddling in bed as you both start slipping into unconsciousness. It only is lightly raining when Shoto turn's the tv off, settling down to spoon you and go to sleep.

Shoto doesn't mind the rain. The sounds of the heavy water hitting the bedroom window he finds the sound calming as he latches on to the sound in his mind, and it carries him to sleep. The problem; is the thunder. The first crack makes Shoto jump, startling him awake after only being asleep for about two hours.

He jumps, instantly jolting against your back as he sits up. Shoto looks around the room, then another crack of thunder sounds, and he jumps again, this time holding his breath and looking at the window, understanding that it must be a thunderstorm.

He brought his attention to you, looking down at you to make sure his movements didn't wake you. He didn't, and he lets out a slow sigh, relaxing back against you and squeezing his eyes shut, his arm tightening over you a bit and pulling you closer.

He takes a few slow breaths, trying to calm his nerves and get back asleep, but it's no use. The thunder isn't letting up, and suddenly the pater of the heavy rain isn't as calming as it was. All Shoto wants is to go to sleep, but he can't the rain and thunder keeping him awake, his nerves all over the place, and he can feel his eyes filling with tears.

After yet another crack of thunder, which frankly felt a little too close to your little shared home, Shoto hides his head in your neck, sad whimpers coming out of his throat.

"Y/n." He doesn't want to wake you, but he has no choice. "Y/n." His voice is quiet, calling for you, and any other time you probably wouldn't have heard him, but something deep in you switched like you knew he needed you, and you were awake right away.

"Shoto? Shoto, what's wrong?" you mumble and turn around to him, pulling him to hide in your neck.

"It's loud," he says, his voice cracking.

"Aww, baby," you coo to him, running your hands through his hair and taking note of the way he holds on tighter to you each time another crack of thunder sounds. Who knew a pro-hero could be so scared of something as simple as a loud noise?

You move slowly, reaching your hand into the table next to you to grab the headphones you knew you stashed there. You'd gotten them for Shoto during when you were getting work done on the house, and all the construction noise was a little too much for him. They weren't exactly noise canceling, but they're good enough.

You sit up and pull away from him for a second, giving him a gentle smile when he looks up at you with wide glossed-over eyes. You lean in, giving him a quick peck on his lips before leaning back again and sliding the headphones over his eyes.

You sit up fully, getting comfortable and motioning for him to move his head onto your lap, settling your hand in his hair when he does. You stay like that, massaging his head and watching as he lays there curled up against you, his eyes slowly closing. You can't help the ghost of a smile that forms on your lips.

This may not be the ideal situation, yet it's perfect.

Masterlist

Ahem: @izukuisbaby

[sunredamancy]

Pros and Cons of being with me.

Pros.

Widely-regarded as a decent artist, writer, etc. You will be made a muse.

Excellent listener, trained in active listening skills.

Good at gifts and loving others the way they want to be loved.

Securely attached.

Accolades ranging from state to international level in multiple areas (theater, psych, art, journalism, etc.)

Educated.

Can take charge and mostly enjoy doing so.

Aesthetics ranging from alt, goth and dark academia to pastels and indie kid.

Value vulnerability and authenticity, so will insist on making sure you are not (subconsciously) deceived by them and vice versa.

Good at comforting + reassuring others.

Always striving to better himself for not only him but those they love.

Protective and romantic. Nurturing.

Knows what he wants. In himself, in others, and in the world.

Touchy if consented. Loves cuddles and being in close proximity, skin to skin. Hand on back or waist while walking.

Really interesting.

Loves meaningful and deep conversations.

7 years of studying psychology.

Rambles.

Cons.

... 7 years of studying psychology. And rambles.

Too nonchalant.

AuDHD.

A brat.

The type to grow on people. Like kiwi. Sour at first, yet you grow to like them.

Abhors someone only preferring either his masculine or feminine energy. VERY agender.

Unless asked explicitly, will tell their darlings everything.

High standards yet questionable taste in partners.

Believes himself to be their own soulmate. (Aside from Kuro.)

Observes before striking.

Possessive and intense for every single one, regardless of type of relationship. Doesn't show it unless given permission or in a dynamic in which it is expected. Afraid to be possessive.

Not a ghoster, but takes a decent time to reply (hours) unless emergency calls.

Secretly clingly (surprisingly.)

There's a gap moe between different thoughtforms. If you don't like to interact with all of them, you're automatically disliked -- since they're all him.

A martyr for being alive. Would willingly put himself through emotional and experiential suffering at times for the sake of living and satisfying his own curiosity.

Have a god complex joking bit that may at times come across as actual arrogance.

Prone to impulsivity when dealing with stress.

When it comes to interpersonal communication, struggles between balancing logic + curiosity and empathy.

Believes social interactions are transactions, even with the more abstract level--like a transaction of vulnerability. They will therefore, in the beginning, provide anecdotes that do not have as much personal value (ie. closely kept) while prying for your vulnerability.

Dislikes martyrs despite having one as his partner.

Actually very soft and devoted.

The moment the other party is too insistent on seeing them a certain way (and intrudes upon their existence as an ever-changing being) (despite communication), they do not hesitate to cut that person off.

Spammer once close. Like, 20+ messages spam.

No sleep schedule.

Self-obsessed and self-conscious.

Indecisive.

Unpredictable.

Unnerving.

[subwaytostardew]

Hello! I’ve been following this mod for a little while now and I want to say!! How absolutely impressed and blown away how amazing it is!! The story and world building is so much fun! And the sprites and the amount of effort you put in each animation is phenomenal! The pokemon look so good and I adore how you made emmet and Ingo’s walk cycles different, and just the! Writing and seer amount of programming done is just! Amazing! Super bravo! You two so clearly but so much thought into (1/?)

First off, I'd just like to say thank you for taking the time to type out all your messages! It really means a lot whenever we get feedback like this!

Kade is brilliant on the world-building aspect of things and coming up with ideas... She sent me a whole google doc with a draft of their schedules a day after I managed to get Emmet in game. Really helped give this project a sense of direction!

I wasn't too confident regarding writing and pixel art at first, but having her take charge with scripts really helped me stay on track towards a higher state. After so many events, I feel like we have a good idea as to how to write their characters. Making Emmet's sprite first did make Ingo's a bit of a pain to draw (since he does not walk like that) but I'm glad I committed to the bit from day one.

I've been staying up late (I get too excited working on the mod...), but I'm making sure to sleep in to account for that! It'll be a while until we get around to releasing platonic versions of their routes (don't get me wrong, it's first on our patch priority- especially since so many people following this are aromantic! We just still have a long way to go regarding the base mod.), but I'm glad what we have is still enjoyable for now. Emmet's part of Ingo's 10 heart event is still one of my favorite things I've written. It wasn't in the original draft and was only added in during the coding phase, but everything is constantly evolving!

As for Chandelure and Ingo, they can understand each other, just not in the way the farmer can understand Pokemon. We actually discussed the logistics and capabilties together but I don't believe we've ever published it in a post. The farmer understands Pokemon as if they were recieving instant translations to English from the noises they "speak". Farmer has a bit of telepathy in a sense because sometimes, they're just making noises, but they can read their thoughts in words. (When writing Joltik, I don't actually have any text in my head... it's just babbles of "bah" and "wawwawawawawa" in my head. Baby noises.) Farmer also has an absurd ability to eavesdrop, so they can just tell if a Pokemon is thinking/saying anything.

Ingo and Chandelure have their souls bonded, but Ingo can't quite decipher what Chandelure's chimes mean exactly in words. He reads her through a mix of tone, how her flames burn, charades, and any visions she transmits into his mind through active effort. In the tunnel, she's just transmitting what she wants to say into the farmer's mind. Ingo can't pick up on that. When Chandelure communicates with Ingo, she has to will his perception, and it's only in images. If Ingo had the image of hand-holding with his crush flashed into his mind, he would just get flustered and eventually assume it's his imagination running wild again. He does get caught up in his ideas, so Chandelure can easilly gaslight him into believing it's his own train of thought rather than her fault.

In that same line of thinking, Chandelure could convince him that he's super down bad for the farmer with enough suggestions since she kind of wants to win a bet with Grandpa saying that they'll get married in three years. Ingo feels haunted about having a crush for a reason.

▷ Station Steward Thylak

[beauleifu]

hi!!! can I request some Ne Zha x fem reader? plenty of hugs and fluff >:D

Oh of course! Sorry this took so long! <3

Roughly 1.6k word count. Enjoy!

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

NEZHA X READER

Lego Monkie Kid

Context: You're invited to a baking competition with your friends. Funny, your partner happens to be none other than the Third Lotus Prince, Nezha. And things go a little chaotic.

TW: None

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

[MEET ME AT MY PLACE ASAP]

That's it.

The text message belongs to none other than your good friend MK, who, coincidentally, had contacted you just when the boredom was two seconds from stealing your soul.

Grateful for the opportunity to visit, you fire back a quick:

[On my way!]

Then, you're off.

Sure, MK can be a bit impulsive and careless, but he's the funniest and kindest person you've met. Besides, they've graced you by letting you sleep in; normally, MK would send a text in the dead of night. These spontaneous messages are at random and without warning. And, slowly, they're growing on you.

Today, however, MK spared your sleep schedule by texting you at 2 p.m., the perfect time to do so.

You eagerly make your way downtown, through the tall city buildings of Megapolis.

What could MK be planning?

When you get to their place (Pigsy's Noodles), your question is somewhat answered. It seems as though your friend already has company over. Could you have arrived too soon?

You pull out your phone.

[Hey, I'm here.]

A few seconds pass.

BANG!

The back door at the top of the stairs flies open and you quickly look up. MK's grinning face beams down at you as he grips the hand-railing.

"Yo!"

"Hey!" You return, offering a wave from down below. "Can I come up?"

The Monkie Kid shakes his head. "Ah- no. Actually, we're doing the baking competition downstairs in the dining area. Everyone's waiting for you! I'm just up here for a few extra supplies," he calls, gesturing all around for emphasis.

Baking competition? Oh, goodness.

"There's more people?"

"Yeah!" MK says, looking positively ecstatic. With that, he departs to his room, calling, "Go say 'hi'!"

Huh.

You stare upwards for a few more moments, then deciding that MK isn't planning on reappearing. So with a calculated huff, you narrow your eyes on the entrance to Pigsy's Noodles.

Who else could be here?

Curiosity get's the better of you. Reaching out, you push past the rolling sheet door and into Pigsy's Noodles. Funny, only now do you notice the conversations filling the room, and your eyes flick wide open at the sight to behold.

It looks like everyone is here. Mei, Pigsy, Tang, Sandy - even the Monkey King, Redson, and Prince Nezha.

You find yourself staring, lips parted.

The Third Lotus Prince glances over, eyes sharp and calculating. You quickly avert your eyes as MK bounds down the stairs in front of everyone.

"OK, gang! Is everyone here?" He performs a quick headcount as you travel further indoors. Mei and Sandy greet you accordingly, to which you return with a wave. Pigsy seems too distracted in making sure MK doesn't trip and fall off the counter he's currently strutting down, while Tang's occupied with leftover noodles. Redson is busy acting unbothered while inspecting his (probably) hand-carved pocket knife.

The Monkey King is doing, well, you don't really know.

Looks a 'lil something like making himself seem as epic as possible while doing absolutely nothing.

Nezha, on the other hand, shoots Sun Wukong an occasional glare, as though peeved by something outside your knowledge.

"Hey," you say, sidling up to the lotus Prince. "What's up?"

His glare is suddenly directed your way, and you almost wither under the ferocity within his dark eyes. You're amazed at Wukong's superpower to ignore such a look.

Thankfully, Nezha's features soften. "Just . . . entertaining my charge."

"MK's your charge?"

"More or less. They've grown on me, as much as I hate to admit it," Nezha says, but the sigh he gives informs you that his words are lies. No sane person would ever hate MK's company. The lotus Prince must feel some kind of urge to protect them.

You smile, but Sun Wukong beats you to it. "D'awww, is my apprentice growing on you? That's cute."

"He's not your apprentice anymore," Nexha spits.

He looks away when MK straightens and calls for attention. "All right, guys! I've invited you all here for a baking competition! So we're all gonna split into teams of two - I will be the judge to even things out. Anyways, Pigsy agreed to provide ingredients-" Said pig huffs irritably.

"Against my better judgement."

"Riiiight. You just wanna show off your skills," MK says, grinning knowingly. With that, he whips out a clear bowl with small slips of paper filling the bottom. "OK! Who wants to pick a teammate first?"

Sandy's massive hand shoots up. The bowl is practically thrown to him, but he catches it easily and fingers out a paper slip.

"Uhhh . . . The Monkey King?"

Sun Wukong's head shoots up. "Aaaye, nice! What're we baking?"

"Whatever you want, Monkey King" MK says, going around to everyone in turn. Mei with Redson, Tang with Pigsy, and since MK will be judging, that leaves just you and Nezha.

Slowly, you turn to gaze at him. "So. I guess we're-"

"I request a refund," he scoffs instantly, going to tap MK's shoulder. The kid whips around, eyes wide, to watch the exchange of comments. "I'd much rather pair up with another instead of you. I've seen the products of your baking, (Y/N)."

"Wha-" Affronted, albeit smiling, you cross your arms over your chest. "I'm not that bad."

"You are."

MK butts in while everyone else departs to their assigned tables. Apparently, you and Nexha aren't the only pair experiencing difficulties. Redson is infuriated with having Mei as his partner, hair and eyes ablaze.

"Guys, chill," the Monkie Kid says, thoroughly amused. "It's not that bad! Besides, there's no backsies on this; whatever you bake, you gotta do it together, or else I take five points off your original score."

You blink. The teams will be judged in this fashion?

Nezha tosses his head, his black fluffy hair bouncing in place. "I, the Third Lotus Prince, will not be paired up with some inexperienced troublemaker who will most certainly cost me a solid victory!"

"Wow, prepared that just now, huh? I'm honored," you say, momentarily distracted by the Prince's lackluster demeanor. Interesting.

Despite his comments, you feel that he doesn't truly despise working with you.

It makes you grin wickedly. "All right, lover boy. Let's get cracking."

"L-Lover boy??" Nezha stutters, but you've already hooked your arm through his and dragged him over to your assigned table.

~~~

"You're doing it wrong."

"I am not."

Nezha snorts, casually - yet gently - taking the measuring cup from you. "The instructions directed to add half a cup of oil to the mix. You tried adding a full cup."

Your eyebrows skyrocket. "What's wrong with going off script?"

He simply gives you a look, like 'oh, woe is this pitiful human standing before me.' But his exasperated eyes are fond. It just makes you smile and nudge him affectionately. Sure, Nezha can be a pain and a wall of unbreakable stone - plus the infinite cold shoulders if you do him wrong -, but you really do like him. He and you are actually really close.

He's kind of adorable.

The lotus Prince suddenly hands the measuring glass back to you, and your smile fades.

"Wha- I thought you wanted to do it."

"You might as well finish the job," Nexha says calmly. "Don't worry, I'll be watching in case you make anymore mistakes. Sound fair enough?"

You frown deeply, taking the cup. ". . . You're mocking me."

"No, I promise I'm not," he returns, but the amusement in his eyes says otherwise.

"You're supposed to be stressed and angry and controlling, y'know," you venture, pouring some oil into the glass cup. Peering at it closely, you continue; "Aren't I making you nervous?"

At this, Nezha tilts his head and smiles. "Not in the slightest. I've come to terms with having you as my partner. Might as well deal with it rather than complain."

"Smart words, lover boy."

His look sharpens, but he makes no comment. Instead, he scoffs, walks off, and returns with his arms full of ingredients. You look up after pouring the oil, eyes wide and glittering with approval as he lays everything out.

"Oh, perfect!"

You raise your hand, and Nezha, after glancing at it, instinctively gives you a high-five.

Oh.

Honestly, you don't know what you were expecting.

He's smiling, though, unaware of your shit-eating grin as he picks up the bag of flour.

"All right," he says, eyes narrowing at the bag. "How much flour do we need?"

"Uh . . . 3 cups," you say, after peering at the instructions.

The Third Lotus Prince nods determinedly, grabbing the measuring cup. "Here, you hold on to this," he says, handing you the flour. With that, he heads off. "I'm going to wash this so we can use it."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He glances over his shoulder, fluffy black hair brushing his cheek. "Hmm?"

You set the flour bag down to spread your arms. "Hug."

"Wha-"

"Why not? Aren't we friends?" You jest, but you're not really joking. The Prince would usually give you a warm embrace whenever he'd visit, and this should count. Perhaps he was distracted with the Monkey King's presence? Said deity is currently producing a beautiful batch of brownies with Sandy.

Nezha blinks, then rolls his eyes. "All right, get over here." With that, he holds his arms out, and you eagerly fall into them.

You grin up at him, safe and warm within his embrace. "Thaaaanks."

"You're welcome."

He's quick to walk off, but you feel it's to hide his smile. When he returns, you're wearing a shit eating grin. With the flour bag in hand, you make sure Nezha's got the measuring cup cleaned and dried before pouring some. Or, well, you would pour some.

Unfortunately, you trip on thin air.

The lack of footing makes you yelp as you fall forward, hands flying out to stabilize yourself. And that is where your fatal mistake comes into play; you'd already opened the flour bag in preparation to pour into the measuring cup. Two seconds after you trip, you're blinded with white powder - and so is the person in front of you.

Nezha stumbles backwards, managing to catch both the bag of flour while also still holding the glass cup.

You blink, patting your face free of flour. Damnit.

Hands still outstretched with the ghost of the flour package, you stare.

The lotus Prince blinks once, nose wrinkling all of the sudden. He then lets out a loud, flour-filled sneeze before recovering. His eyes are wide, astounded by what had just happened.

HA.

"What'd you do?" Pigsy calls.

MK shushes him, grinning. "Shh, they're creating a masterpiece."

Honestly, the sight is utterly hilarious. Nezha is covered head-to-toe in white powder, even coughing some of it out. The incident attracts a lot of attention (MK and Mei letting out a huge burst of laughter), and you feel the amused gazes of your friends as you slowly walk up to Nezha and take the flour bag from his frozen hand.

"Uh . . . sorry."

His eyes fix on you. "This means war."

"What?!"

There's no mistaking it; Nezha is dead serious. You have zero time to react as he snatches up an egg - which turns into a blur as it collides with your temple.

Yelping, you cower back, arms going out defensively. "Noho! Stop! I'm sorry!"

"Ohmygod-" Mei gasps-

"FOOD FIGHT!" MK suddenly bellows, and the room goes quiet. So quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Everyone shares a glance.

Mei is the first to act, grabbing an entire jug of milk, unscrewing the lid, and pouring its contents right over her poor, unsuspecting partner. Redson flinches away, eyes wide at the assault, before going in for the kill. "How- dare you!"

"Catch me if you can!" Mei teases.

And that's when all hell breaks loose. Food is rushing in all directions; Pigsy is calling for order, Tang is hiding under the counter; Sandy is acting as a shield for the Monkey King. You're vaguely aware of Sun Wukong yeeting eggs at anything that moves before Nezha suddenly flips your table on it's side in one swift movement, tugging you to the floor.

Everything you've worked so hard on is suddenly at one with the ground.

"B-But the competition-"

"You really think that matters now?" Nezha snorts, peeking over the table. He quickly ducks when an egg whizzes past his head. Getting down on your level, he sighs. "Damnit. I have no control over this."

Hhhhh.

You manage a guilty smile. "This is totally my fault."

"Oh, it is. And you will definitely pay for it when we're done here," Nezha growls over the battle cries of your friends.

"Pfft, right. I'm so scared."

~~~

Finally.

The chaos does ebb away eventually. But the noodle shop isn't in great condition when order is secured. There's a burning hole in the wall that's most likely the result of Redson attempting to headshot Mei. Sun Wukong and Nezha eventually duked it out in the center, while you'd joined Tang under the counter to cower.

Luckily, everyone listened when MK called for peace.

So now, everyone's sitting outside on the sidewalk, plates in hand with various desserts piled on top.

You and Nezha had scraped together a half-assed dessert at the last minute, and luckily the oven decided to spare your souls and produce something edible.

Everyones' creations are actually really good. Tasty, like sweet or sugary, or cold and minty.

You savor the flavor of Pigsy's dish (obviously the best, to which MK boasted about), smiling fondly at Nezha. Currently, you're sitting shoulder to shoulder, with Sandy on your other side. As the others chat happily, you nudge your friend's shoulder. "So, tell me. Are you proud of us?"

"I'm proud of my endurance," Nezha ventures.

You smirk. "Ah, you're a scream."

"You think I'm joking? If you had to put up with yourself, you'd quit," he fires back. But, after a moment, taps his chin. "Our batch is pretty good, though."

"See? I'm a baking genius," you hum, finishing your desserts.

Nezha's eyes are fond as you stand up, brushing yourself off. It doesn't do much for the residue baking ingredients stuck to your outfit, but you do your best. Then, you face the group and salute. "All right, guys. Imma go get cleaned up."

MK's head snaps up. "Oh! You're going already?"

"Well, look at me!"

When MK snorts in reply, Nezha locks eyes with you and frowns. "Are you going home?"

You nod, hands in pockets. There are things you have to take care of back at your place, anyways. Too bad you won't have anyone to keep you company-

Wait.

Well, you do have a bunch of potential companions.

Blinking slowly, you tilt your head at Nezha. "Hey . . . you wanna come with me? I know you don't plan to do much else here, considering MK's taking everyone who wants to go to the arcade. Redson is going home, Pigsy needs to clean up . . . and Wukong will be with MK. I'm sure you wanna steer clear of him."

"How do you . . ?" Nezha wonders, albeit smiling absently. He slowly stands up as you reword your invitation.

"Speculation. A-Anyways. Maybe we could give this baking thing a second go at my place? After I finish my to-do list, that is," you amend, eyes low.

The lotus Prince lets out a long hum. "Well, I don't have anything to do today."

". . . Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You want to leave now?"

Swallowing and fighting the butterflies, you nod quickly. Turning to MK, you snap your fingers. "OI! MK!" The kid glances over. "Nezha and I are going to my place. Thanks for the desserts!"

"Did I make them?? No," MK puffs, rolling his eyes. "Aight. Have fun!"

You smile, heading off.

The lotus Prince catches up with you in no time, and the two of you walk down the street for a second.

Tentatively, as if nervous of rejection, your let your hand brush Nezha's. You bite your lip to fight a smile when his long, slender fingers slip through yours and lace together. What a sweetheart.

Glancing up at him, you meet his relaxed, small smile. "Thanks."

"What, you scared to cross the street or something?"

"Shut up, I'm tryna be nice."

[3pirouette]

Fic: Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home (1/1)

Title: Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: Set during CA: TFA

Rating: Teen and Up (mild references to sexual activity)

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Word Count: 2914

Distribution: AO3  Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: for @behindthelabels for Steggymas! Steve can’t get her eyes right… or the story of how he managed to have a picture of Peggy in his compass. 

AN: So, I started writing a COMPLETELY different story for @behindthelabels, only to find out that I was basing it on something she hadn’t seen. So, I scrubbed it for the time being (though it’s likely to be posted soon, and dedicated to her as a “gift I know you won’t like but sorry, there’s no receipt so you can’t take it back”) and in the meantime, I cooked up this based on an ask she answered. I hope she enjoys it! Thanks @steggyfanevents for another great year!

Title taken from Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran

~*~

He couldn’t get the eyes right. 

It didn’t matter how many times he tried to draw her, he couldn’t get the eyes right. 

Not that he could actually see what he was doing in the dark tent in the middle of the night as sleep evaded him. Drawing her was at least something he could do, an activity to fill the time and his idle hands as he waited for his next assignment. 

The curve of her cheek he managed after a few tries. Her nose took two or three attempts to get the line down. After about two months of sketching at every opportunity he had a passable likeness that he felt confident in. Her lips…

Her lips he got right on the first try. He couldn't imagine not knowing what they looked like, their bright red velvet likeness burned into his memory forever. 

But her eyes, Peggy’s eyes, evaded him. 

He couldn’t quite nail down the sparkle in them, never managed to figure out how to make them stoic yet mischievous at the same time. He could, and frequently did, get lost in those eyes whenever she was around. He would try to memorize the curve of her eyelid and the length of her lashes, made guesses about how many millimeters wide her pupils were and tried to get the shade as close as he could with his nubbin of a pencil, but still. 

Still. 

He couldn’t get the eyes right. 

It didn’t make sense to him that he had a notebook full of images of her and not a single one seemed real, not a single one seemed to capture who she was and the power that radiated from her. It didn’t make sense when he could see her in his dreams every night, as crisp and real as if she were standing before him, a smile on her bright lips and a twinkle in her eyes, but her eyes still evaded him in sketches.

His drawings were all he had out on the lines. It was the one thing he kept with him: his little notebook and the last inch of a pencil went in his pack wherever he went. He made himself notes about missions and plans he should write, but the majority of the pages were filled with drawings. Sometimes it was the monsters of battles on them, being purged from his psyche the only way he could: through the pencil. 

But usually, mostly, it was Peggy. 

He didn’t have any right to miss her, not really. They were both too important, too integral to the war to have time alone or time away from battle. She was busy saving the world through undercover missions and breaking codes in back rooms while he led the charge out in the open. 

There would be time for them when this was all over. 

Or so they told themselves. 

Stolen moments were all they had, little minutes and hours here and there when they happened to both be in the same place at the same time. They didn’t make promises about tomorrow: there were no promises to make in war. They only mused about when they’d next cross paths or how long their next assignment was scheduled to be. 

And those muses were short, clipped words between stolen caresses in closets or as they were making out between mission briefings in abandoned offices. 

Steve wanted to be valiant: he wanted to take her on long, romantic walks and ask her family for permission to have her hand. But war was hell. They were all exhausted and just a little bit traumatized, all broken and a little bit hopeless. Falling into her, feeling her soft, porcelain skin and kissing her warm, red lips, was like a balm. It didn’t last long, but it gave him fire to keep going, gave him a reason to haul his ass back to camp when he just wanted to lay down in the mud, gave him a reason to wake up another day and fight when he constantly seemed outnumbered and outmanned. 

Some nights, all he could do was focus on getting back to her so he could let his fingers trail over the curve of her hip, so he could feel the weight of her in his arms and her breath puffing against his cheek one more time, as he made his way through mud and snow, as he sat in freezing cold tents and hid in bushes behind enemy lines. 

He didn’t have much to hold on to. No family at home, no one waiting for him. 

They didn’t send letters, there was no way for them to write anything meaningful that wouldn’t get read or censored before it got to the other. 

He just had her, just Peggy, and their wartime romance that felt so fragile it could break like glass any day. 

There were so many things that threatened it. 

They were clearly going against regulations. Most who could find someone did, it wasn’t a secret. Even though he hardly thought Colonel Phillips was one to report them, if someone made an official complaint, he’d have to follow through. 

Either one of them could get killed any day. It was a harsh truth, but one they both knew deep down. Every goodbye was hard because they knew it very well could be their last. Men didn’t come back every day, spies were caught behind enemy lines regularly. Either one of them could be on the next list of casualties, so they kissed and touched and loved as long and as hard as they could with the little time they had. 

Steve tried not to think about Peggy finding someone else, but he had a hard time believing sometimes that she truly loved him. Not for anything she did, really, but for the fact that he still saw himself as a different person, still saw himself as someone that was looked over and dismissed. He constantly worked to prove himself, in the field and to her. 

He wanted to deserve her. 

How could he do that if he couldn’t get her damn eyes right?

~*~

“You’re going to stare a hole right through me, you know.” 

“Huh?” Steve’s eyes widened, realizing he’d been caught. 

Peggy leaned up, kissing him before wiping at the red rim of her lipstick around his lips with her thumb. She pulled the sheet tighter around her, her sweat-slicked skin chilling now that they’d slaked their needs for the time being. “Have I something on my face?”

He shook his head, pushing up to sitting and running a hand across his chin, but didn’t answer. 

Peggy slipped from the bed and wrapped her robe around her nude form, retreating to the small dressing table in the hotel room. It was serendipity: they were in the same city at the same time, her mission not starting for a few days and his just ending. The hotel room was a compromise, the quickest way to hopefully not get caught, to spend a quiet moment in the middle of the maelstrom. She started pulling the pins from her mussed hair, looking over her shoulder at him. “Well?”

He was embarrassed, caught, and didn’t know how to broach it without sounding like a fool. He kept his eyes down, shrugging his shoulders. “I can’t get the eyes right.”

She stilled, hands still pulling a pin from her hair, as only her eyebrow moved, lifting high. “The eyes?”

“Your eyes,” he sighed. He pulled his shorts on and moved to the side of the room, rummaging through his pack and pulling out his small notebook. There was a tear in the corner and half the pages were dogeared, so it bounced to an open page when he put it on the table in front of her, leaning back against the wall. He shrugged again before crossing his arms. “Can’t seem to get them right.”

Peggy was stunned, abandoning the half-done job of her pins as she started flipping carefully through the pages. In between his neat notes about troop movements and mission details were sketches. Some were half done, some were shaded and lined and damn near perfect. 

Almost all of them were of her. 

Her jaw dropped as she flipped through the pages. “Steve…” His name passed breathlessly through her lips, she was so taken with picture after picture of herself. 

“I know.” He shook his head, hiding his face from his in his palm. His words were muffled in his hand.  “It’s stupid, I know.”

She set the book down, looking up at him. “Stupid?”

He just waved his hand at the book. “I guess that, other fellas, well, they get to carry pictures, you know? They get to have letters and day passes and-“

“And we have this.” Peggy easily finished the sentence for him, standing in front of him and taking the notebook with her. She opened the page to her favorite likeness, a profile shaded best he could in pencil, her hair detailed in a sharp victory roll. “But why would you think this is stupid?” 

He didn't have the words to express his embarrassment, his insecurity, so he just shrugged again, pink running hot over his chest and up into his cheeks. 

“This,” she held up the picture, “is not stupid. Far from it, in fact.” Peggy shook her head and put the notebook down, letting her hands rest on his folded forearms. “Do you know what I do?”

He laughed nervously. “No.”

“When I’m on a mission or undercover, I collect the papers.” She leaned back, letting her hands move over his forearms. “I can’t draw, so I collect the papers. The ones that have your picture in them. Easy enough to explain away keeping an old paper or two in your flat to use about the place.” She smiled, just a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips as she holds his gaze. “I can’t have your picture in my purse or a ring on my finger or-“

“You want that?” He interrupted, once again surprised. Her confused hum spurred him to elaborate. He lifted her hand in his, running his thumb over her fingers. “A ring?”

Her half smile bloomed into something wider, something sparkling that he’d only captured on paper rarely. “Eventually.” She took his hand and threaded her fingers in his, reaching for his other, swinging them with a little mischief in her eyes. “Though if you thought we could get away with an elopement without the War Department finding out, I’ll start getting my shoes on.”

His lips crashed into her almost before she could finish getting the last words out. “Silly brute,” Peggy playfully admonished, pushing away from his embrace to sit back at the table and resume pulling her pins out. “As if I wouldn’t marry you after going through all this time and again just for five minutes of peace.”

His laugh was genuine as he stepped behind her, helping her probing fingers pull out the pins that had long since moved and snagged, pushed out of place by his passionate embraces and the friction against the sheets. “I guess I just always hoped. We never really talk about it.”

She took his hand in hers, kissed the back of it over her shoulder, her smile dropping just a little in the mirror across from them. “No, you’re right, but with all the things that could go wrong…”

He ran his hand over her cheek as her words faded, the weight of the world outside their little hotel room creeping in just enough. “With all the things that can go wrong, it’s nice to know that I have someone who wants to see me on the other end of it.”

Peggy turned, holding his hand tight in both of hers, her eyes finding his, warm and sincere. “Always, Steve. I will always be waiting for you to come back to me.”

He leaned down, kissing her gently. “Same, Peg. Every mission you go on, I’ll be waiting.” 

“Good,” she took a deep breath, pushing away the emotions she was far too anxious to not feel while she was in this room. If she got to thinking about leaving in a few hours, it would ruin the time they had left. “Now, let’s get these pins out, shall we?” She turned back, looking up at him in the reflection in the mirror. “I have not had my fill of you, but if we leave them in my hair will be matted beyond recognition and not only will I be dress coded, there will be no question as to where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing.”

Steve kissed the top of her head, pulling another pin out and setting it on the table. “Yes, Ma’am.”

~*~

Luck was on Peggy’s side when Steve and the Commandos made their way into the small base the next day. She would be heading out soon, as would he, but even fifteen minutes would be enough time for what she had planned. 

She passed him in the hallway, stepping in time with him only long enough to say hello to everyone and slip her hand into his pocket without him noticing. 

Ten minutes later, she made a show of bumping into him in the hall, flustered and dropping her pile of papers.

The commandos helped her pick them up, and she smiled like the cat that got the cream as she walked away. 

~*~

“Something wrong with Peg?” Dugan asked as they settled themselves in the back of the transport. 

“Wrong?” Steve asked, settling his shield next to him so he could lean on the wall of the truck. “She looked okay to me.”

Dugan raised an eyebrow under the rim of his bowler. “Carter ran into you like a freight train on a mission. Have you ever known that woman to ever drop anything like a ditzy secretary before?”

Steve looked at his friend, realization slowly dawning. It was unlike Peggy to not know where she was in space and to be clumsy. He’d never seen her trip or barrel into anything unless it was on purpose. And boy, had he seen her do it on purpose to unsuspecting targets when she wanted to get her hands on something they had. “But why…”

Dugan shrugged, pulling his hat over his eyes. “Dunno, friend. Maybe check your pockets.”

Steve started patting himself down as the truck roared to life, bouncing him as it headed out to their destination. Everything was where it should be, everything was accounted for in the right pockets. 

But it didn’t make sense. 

Steve started pulling each thing out, looking over each little piece of equipment. Everything was as he’d put it in there, except his notebook. 

On the very last page was a new entry in Peggy’s neat handwriting. 

My darling, we have the rest of our lives for you to get the eyes right. 

She didn’t sign it. She couldn’t. Not if they wanted to at least continue to pretend to follow the rules. But she did draw a little star symbol next to it. He looked over her words for far longer than he needed to commit them to memory, eyes following the sharp points of the star over and over. On nights to come he would look over them again and again, trying to remember her voice in his mind as he read them. 

He slipped the notebook back in his pocket, closing his eyes and trying to get some sleep before boots had to be on the ground. 

Something bothered him, though. It wouldn’t let him rest.

The star. 

She’d never drawn a star before. They’d never talked about stars or night skies in any significant way. They definitely hadn’t spent time talking about stars last night as he moved in her, dragging his lips over her soft skin and pulling her thigh up over his hip, existing as one for as long as they could muster in the middle of the war. 

No, the little eight pointed, stylized star wasn’t quite right. It had to mean something else. 

Four long points, four short points…

He sat up and shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling his compass out. 

He knew before he even opened it. It smelled just faintly of her perfume. He couldn’t hide his smile as he flicked it open to find her picture staring back at him. It was simple, surely an ID photo she managed to drag up from somewhere. He’d want to know why she had a copy at hand, especially one small enough to fit in his compass. She was full of surprises, though the more he thought about it he was sure it had more to do with the photostats or halftone prints she could get done from the records department on base. 

For now, though, he decided it would be better to just focus on what he had in his hands and not the how. He had her image with him now, everywhere he went she was just a flick away in his pocket. 

He could look at her face on those lonely, cold nights, and use it to help guide him when he felt like pulling out his pencil and trying his hand at her portrait again. 

He’d get her eyes right. 

And if he didn’t?

If he didn’t, she was always with him now. 

[micahtweten]

You know my healthy folks, we are scheduled to die, anything we do won't prevent our death.

The length of time we have on this planet is out of our control. That salad you eat could be your last meal.

All that exercise could actually put a lot of stress on your heart and cause a deadly heart attack.

"Don't you want to live a really long time?"

Well, you could get out of bed, slip on whatever and smash your skull through the wall at any age.

You could die in your sleep.

You could be killed by a driver.

You can do all this healthy diet and exercise, you're still going to die.

No one is going to say, damn you had a good body when you're dead. Or they're not going to say damn they looked so good at 99 years old.

Once you're dead, you're dead. All that money and time and effort wasted to leave a good looking corpse.

Have you seen how the world is turning out, all the new this and that we're supposed to accept is fucking exhausting and a waste of time and effort.

Do you really want to live long enough to see the next plague? See the next person to fuck up our country?

See which bullshit Elon Musk invents to make him a bigger douchebag and a bigger billionaire?

Do you really want to see what war we fund or war we participate in?

You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain.

Are y'all afraid to die?

We are all going to die, don't you want to choose something fun?

Your kids or grandkids are going to pull the plug on you to charge the newest Iphone anyways.

My diet consists of protein, dairy and fruit, very little vegetables and Oreos and peanut butter cups a lot of mountain dew, I exercise next to never, I get very honest guesses of 10-15 years younger than I am, I have very little stress, my resting heart rate is 65, my blood pressure is quite ideal,

And over all quite healthy. When I typed this up I was 39.

Your healthy living doesn't prove anything.

Yes, taking care of yourself is a good thing, but it isn't for everyone and doesn't work for everyone.

Keep your shit to yourself unless someone asks, don't shove it down everyone's throat. We don't all have the same gag reflex.

[riding-palominos-every-day]

 “what if aliens think we’re the aliens.” “the hell are you talking about-” perhaps Skittery and Race? (Bromance is great)

(also thank you! I love trying to get comedic timing right in writing lmao)

AH very late, apologies! Thank you for the prompt though, hope you enjoy :D

Racetrack Higgins had always thought himself to be a patient guy. He had to be, he was in charge of wrangling the younger boys both morning and night. Nothing ever really got under his skin.

Except Skittery, it seemed.

"I'm just sayin' Race," The other boy had never really cared much for his own sleep schedule, nor Race's, clearly, "what if aliens.. think we're the aliens?"

Not for the first time, Race found himself wishing Blink hadn't swapped bunks. The one-eyed boy snored, but at least he didn't spout nonsense like Skittery did.

"...What the hell are you talking about?" He asked, staring up at the bunk above as if the force of his gaze could shut Skittery up.

"Think about it," Skittery continued, "Aliens are only aliens to us because they're from other planets. So to them, we're from the other planet. Making us aliens, y'get me?"

Race thought for a moment. Another moment.

"Skittery. I have just had to spend half an hour reassuring Elmer and Buttons that vampires aren't real. If you start talkin' about aliens I'm gonna soak you. Got it?"

Skittery had a lot of... out-there ideas on how the world worked. Political conspiracies, theories on folktale creatures... every night he had some new concept to torment Race with.

"You don't get it, Race!" The bed creaked as Skittery shifted, and much to Race's despair he was shifting from his bunk down to Race's.

Oh joy.

Skittery settled himself at the end of the bed, staring at Race with an excited intensity never seen on his face during the day. Race stared back at him with a look of pain reserved only for the stupidest comments.

"Skit.. aliens ain't real. And if they were, meetin' you would make 'em wanna head back into space right away." Race mumbled, turning over in a feeble attempt to ignore the other boy.

"C'mon Race, a whole sky fulls stars an' planets and you don't think there's aliens?" Skittery scoffed, poking Race with his foot, "They're out there, and I bet they think we're aliens too."

Race had already had a long night. Finch had been extremely late coming home, sparking a flurry of panic, and Ike had taken nearly an hour to settle despite his and Mike's best efforts. He'd no doubt be up at least once to go take care of a nightmare, if not more. Somehow all of that was more appealing to deal with than Skittery's inane ramblings.

Some of the younger boys asked dumb questions, or came up with groundless theories on how the world worked. That was to be expected. But Race would've thought that at seventeen Skittery would've shut up with his conspiracies.

"Skittery." He sat up, nearly nose to nose with the taller boy, "Not that I ain't fascinated with all this, but it's gotta be nearly three. Now either get your ass back up on your own bunk and pipe down, or I'm sendin' you next door when one'a the kids has a bad dream."

He was up on his own bunk so quick Race felt the bunk shake. Satisfied, Race lay back down, until Skittery's head appeared in his line of vision.

"When the aliens get here, don't be surprised if they test on you first." He muttered, before retreating. Silence finally settled over the bunk room. Race closed his eyes, relieved that was the end of it- for tonight, at least.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Can I have a B, D, L, P, Q, R, S, W, Y from Dirty A-Z Supreme! Cordelia goode?

Sure thing! (Dirty A-Z headcanon game can be found here) nsfw under the cut

B - Bondage (do they like it? do they not? do they prefer to be the one being tied or the one doing the tying?) 

Cordelia loves tying your wrists to the headboard when she fucks you; it gives her a sense of power over you. She prefers to be the one to do the tying than the other way around, but she may let you tie her up every now and then as a treat if you ask nicely and promise to behave

D - Dominance (do they prefer to dominate, or be dominated? do they have experience as a Dom? Do they have a Dom that they trust already? What kind of things do they enjoy as/with their Dominant partner?) 

Prefers to dominate for sure. She might not have a lot of experience as a dom, but you honestly wouldn't know if she didn't tell you. She loves bossing you around; or better yet, letting you boss her around to make you think you're in charge. You both know you're not, but she still enjoys showing you who's really in charge afterwards by making you scream her name

L - Lighting (are the lights on? off? do they have some kind of mood lighting set up?) 

Whether the lights are on or off is up to you, as she doesn't really care either way, but if they are off she definitely wants there to be at least a lamp or something so she can watch the expressions you make while you cum. One of her favorite mood lightings is having sex outside, under the light of the stars or even a full moon

P - Photography (are cameras allowed in the bedroom? do they send nudes? do they ask for nudes? would they ever record themselves having sex / being caught up in a sexual act?) 

She probably doesn't send nudes, but she does ask for them. All. The. Time. She'll be at a council meeting or something and she'll pull her phone out under the table like

Cordelia: send nudes? <3

You: ...arent you in a meeting rn??

Sometimes she'll reward you for them, but if she feels like it she may decide to punish you instead; it all depends. As for recordings, she's totally up for it if you are, and she might even have some on in the background while you're having sex as white noise

Q - Quiet please (what’s the volume like in the bedroom? are they quiet? do they scream? do they like a loud partner? do they prefer if their partner is more soft spoken?)

As I've said before, sometimes she'll have recordings of the two of you fucking playing in the background so it's not completely silent. Cordelia's moans aren't particularly loud, but they're not exactly quiet either. As for you, she loves when you're loud, and doesn't care who ends up hearing you. If you're more on the quiet side, she does her best to try to coax you to be louder

R - Routine (do they have a routine when it comes to picking up one night stands? do they have scheduled sex with their partner? are things spontaneous or planned ahead of time?) 

She was never really one for one night stands or dates, although she did try to put herself back out there shortly after she became Supreme (it didn't go well). Since you're both incredibly busy, you usually try to schedule having sex ahead of time to ensure nothing else will interrupt. Sometimes this technique works, but usually you just end up waiting until your sexual frustration overflows, which leads to you having sex in places that would otherwise be seen as inconvenient

S - Sleepy sex (do they give oral to wake their partner up? do they like receiving oral to wake up? do they like fucking their partner awake? being fucked awake? how about being fucked to sleep at night? do they have lazy morning sex?) 

It doesn't happen often, but every now and then you'll wake up to find Cordelia between your legs first thing in the morning, either giving you head or just plain fucking you. She has to wake up very early for Supreme shit, so unless you're a morning person yourself you often don't get to return the favor (although she would enjoy it if you do). Honestly, night sex is the most common kind of sex for the two of you to have, as you don't have to worry about being disturbed; however, if you have the opportunity to have sex in the morning, say on the weekends, she certainly won't pass up on the opportunity

W - Water (pool sex? bath / shower sex? are they into watersports at all?)

There are often times that Cordelia wishes the academy had a pool, or at the very least, a jacuzzi, just so she could have the chance of fucking you in it. Half the time when you two take a shower or bath together, it's less of you actually trying to get clean and more of an excuse to have sex, especially since her duties as Supreme often keep her busy. I don't see her to be the type to be into watersports, though, so if that's the kind of thing you're into, sorry

Y - Yes, Master (what kinds of names are used during sex? do they like being called master / mistress, daddy, etc…? what names do they call their partner?) 

Mommy is what you usually refer to her as, especially when you're teasing her, whereas mistress is reserved for when you feel like having a longer, more intense session. She typically sticks to more cutesy names for you, such as baby, honey, sweetheart, etc.

~

Taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @taecube @corn3liiia @nevilleismywhore @ethrealzzz @your-next-daydream

[bandofchimeras]

the selfhate spirals with ADHD & PDA are so potent and really embarrassing. but when i tell you i straight up no call no showed the interview for my dream job that pays an exorbitant amount of money comparatively to everything I've ever done....simply because I forgot what day it was? how do you like, laugh that off? the older you get the more severe consequences become for your invisible disability.

Luckily they were willing to reschedule the interview but that is very lucky and if they hadn't been willing too I may have actually spiralled into suicidality bc of how much effort it took to even make that application and believe in myself enough to score the interview. but the real tea is - I actually just can't do life alone. I can't. Shit like this will happen. My friends and my mom called to see how the interview went, they remembered better than me. And if I had a partner or bestie, and had created an accountability structure, this wouldn't have happened. I did have alarms set up. I had it scheduled in. But the night before I got distracted & avoidant of bedtime, stayed up til 4 am (forgetting what the next day was), didn't plug in my phone, and boom. Anyways, sorry to all my mutuals who have had a window into the severe self-loathing spirals & vents. They're isolating and unhelpful. Its been real tough to talk to people directly about the shame from PDS + ADHD + OCD stuff, or get help, it takes an ocean of grace to forgive myself and I don't know how to expect or accept that much grace from other people. You constantly see people praising others who are on time, prepared, accountable, check in, show up, get things done effectively, etc it is near equivalent with "being a good person" or having character. And after enough failed attempts to live normally, after 1219323832942 abandoned projects and lost ideas and failed medication trials and lost friendships, its easy to give up on ever finding respect for yourself. Or asking others to respect you. Or continue to give you chances. Or even stay in your life.

I have been at the limit of my burnout candlewick. Finding community who accommodate and don't shame has been a breath of fresh air.

But this last fuck up has been sobering.

Like I cannot blame myself for what happened- waking up with brain fog and forgetting the day & all my carefully crafted reminders - but it could have been prevented with stricter bedtime schedule, taking sleep meds, and someone to keep me accountable to charging & checking my phone.

I have to tell myself: No, don't trust yourself. You won't remember because its important. You will forget when the stakes are high. You cannot trust your stress response, you have to get help. Its on me to find that kind of support because eventually everyone will lose tolerance for excuses. But they might be willing to accommodate limitations with agreements made in advance. ADHD is a real disability and deserves and needs accommodations and support structures. So is PDA.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Until The Very End -(WITS Sequel)

A/N: I am sobbing them having a family and finally enjoy the peace they always dreamed of... I’m insane for this -Danny

Words: 2,708

Masterlist

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September—December 2004

Having twins wasn't as hard as they thought it'd be. They've had enough practice thanks to the time spent babysitting all the children. The real problem came when they realized they couldn't hand back the twins to their parents when things got complicated— because they were the parents.

Their sleeping schedules were a mess, whenever the twins were asleep was a good time for them too. Harry left Ron in charge and he was now taking a break so he could help Mel at home. Erick and Anne weren't able to, little Eliot Flint was close to arriving and Josie was taking most of their time, without mentioning they also had a six-year-old and a four-year-old to look after.

"I don't know how they do it," Mel whispered to Harry once she'd managed to put her twins to bed. "They look so well-rested all the time!"

"Anne's used to a busy life, helping her parents at the farm and all," Harry yawned, falling back on the bed with only his trousers on. "And Erick... well, he's Erick. That git always looks good."

"One day he'll get older— grey hairs and wrinkles," Mel crawled onto the mattress and fell next to him with a quiet groan. "Maybe he won't be good-looking then."

"I'll look like the sorting hat," Harry complained half-asleep.

"Fiddlesticks," she tilted her head to the side and kissed his cheek. "You'll be annoyingly pretty, like always."

Harry chuckled, eyes closed. "You're my wife, you have to say that."

"Well, I'm your wife so my opinion should be the only one that matters," she raised a brow. "Would you like it if I spent my days sulking because Isaac Movak has moved on to a prettier, younger girl?"

He seemed to wake up with that, and he frowned. "He did what?"

"Oh, he hasn't, but some men think women are less attractive once they're mothers..." Mel shrugged, sitting up to take off her shoes and socks.

"Well, I think you're breathtaking."

"You say that because you're my husband," she teased him.

Harry grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back, towering over her. Mel let out a short yelp that she had to cover with her hand.

"Don't wake them!" Harry looked over his shoulder at the babies. His eyes focused on them frantically.

"Don't do that, then!" She scolded him in a whisper, slapping his chest. "You caught me by surprise!"

"Sorry." Harry kissed her, but when things were starting to get interesting, Emmeline began to cry. Mel pushed the young man away and went to pick up her baby so she wouldn't wake her brother. "Sometimes it feels like they do it on purpose..." Harry muttered in a bad mood.

"They probably do," she grinned. "They want me for themselves a little longer..."

"I had you first," he replied childishly. "Can't I have five minutes in private with my wife..."

"Just five minutes?" Mel tried not to laugh. "Then I'm glad she woke up! Nothing worth doing takes five minutes."

He snorted. "Give her here..." he took Emmeline from her, Harry's gaze shifted, and he spoke in a quiet, gentle voice. "What if I'm a terrible father?"

"Harry..." Mel said in a tone of warning.

He shook his head. "I don't remember how my dad was... I grew up with Uncle Vernon as my only example..."

"Just be you."

"I've never been a dad," he gave her an annoyed look. "I've been a leader, a friend, but this... How am I supposed to know?"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Your father loved you with all his heart, Harry. That's all it takes. You love and care. We won't be able to help them all the time, but we don't have to. Just hold their hand the same way you do with mine. That's enough."

Harry's frown deepened. "What if they don't like me?"

"What if they hate me?" Mel offered casually. "Being a Dumbledore puts too much weight on a kid's shoulders. There'll be a moment when they find out who we were, and who we are outside this house. What if they resent us because of it?"

Harry took the questions like they were absurd. "All I did, I did it thinking of you, and what we could have together once the war ended. I never cared for the rest."

"That's your answer, then," she kissed his cheek. "They'll love you because you loved them even before they even existed. Trust me, Harry. They are my children too, and if they're anything like me, nothing in this world can make them hate you."

"But you did hate me at some point," he said heavily.

To his surprise, Mel laughed. "Oh, Harry, it wasn't hatred," she told him. "I hated that I couldn't have you. I loved you so much I was angry about the distance, that was all."

Harry nodded a bit, then he made his way to the crib and laid their girl on it once she was calm, he stared at Emmeline and James for a moment, a strange look in his eyes. "Let's go to bed."

The routine had finally gone back to normal for a bit... then Hermione got pregnant.

"Babies! Everywhere I look!" Fred cried dramatically. "Can you people stop for just a second? Give me a break!"

"Why don't you travel with Jo for a while, Fred, it sounds like you need it," Erick smirked.

"I don't mind the babies," Regulus spoke up. He was getting taller slowly but surely, and this was giving him more confidence in himself. "More kids means more birthdays, which means cake."

"And more kids to boss around, right?" Mel asked knowingly.

"I don't boss them around," the boy turned up his nose. "They like to listen to me."

"Don't fight with your brother," Emily warned her.

"I'm not fighting, if that were the case he would lose, 'cause I'm older than him. Anyway," Mel turned to Hermione. "Those are wonderful news, 'Mione!"

"You better pray you don't get twins, Ronnie," Fred teased him. "Runs in the family, after all."

"Mine were Harry's fault," Mel stated.

"We don't know that," Harry scowled.

"A Dumbledore's never wrong, Glasses."

"Anne and I decided we'll only have one more kid and then—"

"I thought you would stop after Elliot?" Mel laughed. They were on their way back home, and Erick had decided to bring up the subject after Hermione's news.

"Anne thinks five's better."

"Oh, so it's all Anne's doing, then? You have nothing to do with it?" Harry grinned.

"I like big families," he admitted. "The Weasleys are a cheerful lot, aren't they? I couldn't help myself, I always dreamed of having what they have..."

"You have it," Mel patted his shoulder. "But I warn you, it might not be as fun once they hit puberty."

"Guess where the World Cup will take place this year!" Ginny went up to them happily.

"Where?"

"France!" She exclaimed. "You guys have to go!"

Mel and Harry shared a look. "Dunno, Ginny, the twins are so small..."

"By then they'll be a year old! C'mon, Ron and Hermione said they'd go!"

"But 'Mione's pregnant," Mel insisted. "Not the same as having to look after two babies..."

"Your mother said she'd come! She's taking Reggie! Remus and Tonks are taking the boys too!"

"What about Erick?"

"Oh, you know he's not a fan, but I think Anne will go and she'll bring Emily."

Harry sighed. "We'll think about it."

Ginny seemed to understand as she spoke, although she did look a little disappointed. "Don't feel pressured to, but I'd like it if you were there. It's my first World Cup, after all..."

Once she left, Mel turned to her husband.

"I know that look," Harry shook his head with a bit of amusement. "You're already thinking about it, aren't you?"

"Well, the twins like Quidditch," she offered with a tiny guilty smile.

"They enjoy watching things flying around, not the same as liking Quidditch," he raised a brow and crossed his arms. "Dunno, Mel, aren't they too young?"

"They'll be a year old by that time," she replied eagerly. Truth was she was just as excited about it as anyone else, the last time she'd gone... well, it hadn't been exactly perfect. "Perhaps we can make it work?"

"Jamie, please just finish your bottle," Mel begged him on the verge of tears. "Leen had no problem with hers, why are you not eating?"

"Give that here for a moment..." Harry asked gently, Mel could be very irritable when she was this tired. He tried to reach for the bottle. "Please..."

Mel handed him the item, and Harry examined it. He turned it upside down and pressed, but nothing came out of it. "Huh, did we just buy this one?" He frowned. "I think the hole is sealed up. It's defective."

Mel started crying for real. "I'm a terrible mother!" She blurted out. "The whole hour I was scolding James for not eating and he couldn't even— nothing was coming out! He's probably so hungry..." The young woman held her baby tighter against her, which didn't help James to feel more comfortable and made him squirm even more.

"He's alright," Harry tried to ease her. "I'll fix it, it's really simple... I'll change the tip and it'll be ready to go..."

"What am I going to do once you go back to the Ministry?" she sobbed, nuzzling James's little head miserably. "I'm a lousy mum!"

"Stop that," he said, speaking in a slightly firm voice. "You're weary, it's easy to make mistakes when we can't think properly." Harry took James from her arms. "Go to sleep. I feel alright, I can watch the twins for a bit on my own."

"But—"

"Mel... shut up," he frowned. "We're not discussing it. You need sleep." She cleaned her face like a little kid. For a second Harry saw that little girl he'd helped many times to recover from her panic attacks. His heart softened. "You're tired," he insisted in a gentler voice. "But you've been brilliant so far, everyone says so."

"You think so?" She sniffed.

"I do. I'm very proud of you, and I would like you to go and rest, I need you to be okay too. So do the twins."

"Okay," she nodded, already feeling her eyes closing.

"Thank you," he leaned to kiss her forehead. "Now go, I have a baby to feed."

"This girl is squirmish!" Ron complained.

Mel laughed. "You asked me to let you change her, don't whine."

Harry was working again, and the twins were well aware of his absence, cause they were crying a lot more than before. Ron offered to help her, his boss was especially willing to let him go, anyway.

"Jamesie's next, so you better get to work," she said.

"Smile!" Hermione exclaimed.

Ron and Mel looked toward the doorstep, Hermione had found Mel's old camera. "Wait!" Ron exclaimed, he finished his work on Emmeline, it was messy and bulky, but done at last. "The babies aren't ready!"

"Well, do it quickly!" Hermione laughed.

Mel lifted her son and sat him next to his twin sister, Ron was holding Emmeline straight. Both babies were looking at Hermione with the same Dumbledorish light-blue eyes.

Once Elliot Flint was born, it was hard to keep up with all the toys, baby clothes, and children that were around their home. Weekly, Mel and Harry would have small visitors on their property, more so now that Bill and Fleur were taking their girls to visit so they could spend time with the rest of the children.

George and Angelina were taking his son and daughter as well, they were closer to Elizabeth and Josephine in age, so they were always together. For some reason, Erick's home was as popular with the children as it was Mel's, maybe because even if he was a wonderful parent to the girls, he was still Erick.

He liked the loud scandal his daughters made, but the rest of the children seemed to be a little afraid of him, even if he was always good to them, he'd never outgrown that aura of haughtiness. The only boy who seemed not to fear him was Regulus, and that was because he'd grown up with him.

Little Regulus, who was no longer little, but an eight-year-old with strikingly smart grey eyes and a smile that reminded you who was his father. As the eldest boy in the lot, he was pretty much worshipped by the others, he was their leader and protector from the scary things lurking out in the forest and under beds, and there was a certain little girl who seemed to blush a lot because of it.

"Mel, is your brother coming this weekend?" Em knelt next to her and handed her the watering can.

"I think so," the young woman replied, thanking her briefly. "Why?"

Emily blushed and smiled bashfully, but she didn't reply. Mel shifted her position so she was crouching face to face, and smiled at the little girl with amusement. "Emi?"

The girl giggled and scurried away, Anne walked up to Mel carrying a sleeping James in her arms, his unruly light-brown hair was already growing at a surprising speed. Mel looked up at her and beamed.

"Is Emmeline asleep already?" Her friend nodded and winked at her, Mel sighed in relief. "Your hands are magical, really."

"You'll learn as well, you just need a bit of practice," Anne grinned. "Was Emily rambling about your brother again?"

Mel got up and brushed the dirt off her knees. "Oh, so that's what's happening?"

Anne nodded again, laughing a little. "You know Erick likes to read her and the other girls before bed, but I think she's decided little Leon as her brave knight."

Mel chortled, she could imagine how Regulus would take the news. "Really? Well, I guess it makes sense, he's quite protective of her and her sisters."

"Oh, he's good to all the kids, but she's completely convinced she'll get him to promise to marry her."

"Marry her?" Mel's brows rose in surprise. "Aren't they too young for that?"

"She is very much like her father in every way, it seems," Anne walked with Mel back to the backdoor of the house and into the kitchen. "Hopeless romantic, determined, and a little obsessive about the things she wants."

"Well, she's also kind, polite and charming, so who knows?" Mel replied humorously. "I'm not sure Reggie will like it altogether, though. He has no problem being a knight, but a husband? He's not very fond of marriage," she joked.

"I'm home!" Harry called, brushing off the snow from his shoulders.

The twins immediately stopped and looked up, squirming on the rug at the sound of their father's voice. Mel chuckled at the cute scene. "We're in the nursery!"

Harry climbed the steps two by two, and he found Mel seated on the floor making sure the babies played safely, they were barely four months old, but they were rather active and attentive, probably every parent thought that of their children, but Mel and Harry truly believed their babies were bound to be really bright.

Emmeline and James squealed happily when Harry came into view, the grin on the young man's face widened as he stepped forward, a light beard was once again covering his face, and Mel was definitely not complaining about it.

She made room for him and Harry sat, kissing her cheek affectionately. "Skeeter keeps trying to corner me around the Ministry to ask me about the twins. They're desperate to know their names and what they are."

"They're babies, what else do they need to know?" Mel asked with an absent smile, watching as James tried to crawl toward his dad.

"Apparently their names, their looks and sizes, and whether or not have they shown any signs of remarkable magic," Harry replied in the same tone, waiting patiently for his son to reach him.

Emmeline rolled over and squealed, her chubby little hands tried to push her back on her belly but she wasn't succeeding.

"Well it's obvious that they're the next Merlin," Mel joked.

Harry chortled, he finally picked up James and the little boy giggled, holding onto his dad's robes. The young man planted a tender kiss on his forehead. "They're perfect," he said lovingly, looking up at her with his lovely green eyes. "Everything is."

Mel leaned in and kissed him, James squealed once more at the proximity of his mother and Emmeline cried a bit with frustration, she was stuck. Mel picked her up and then she got to her feet, walking past Harry she ran a hand through his hair. "Are you hungry?"

"Very," he replied, getting up with James firmly tucked in his arms and following her out of the room.

Next Chapter—>

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[hermitcraft-8]

it takes a village: summary fic

It started as a joke.

Or rather, it started with a dare, but that dare was, essentially, a joke, and was never meant to be taken seriously, but, of course, it was, because the people dared were Casey Jones.

That was a weird way to phrase it, yeah, but that's the simple truth- pretty much as soon as the multiple dimensions melded together, all the Raphaels got together and dared all the Caseys. And the dare?

Successfully care for two kids for one day a week for a year.

The kids were both Casey Jrs, both children of various Caseys- one of which was dead and the other one was from the future- so they were, in fact, their kids, so it made sense.

Each Casey accepted, got together, drew up a schedule, and so, the challenge began.

On weekends, the kids would stay with their guardians- April and Leo- which solved the issue of not having enough Caseys for every day of the week. And it's not like April and Leo only took care of them on weekends, they did often drop in to hang out with the kids, but this made it easier for them to relax and have a moment of calm.

Casey, big Casey, the Casey who always wore the mask, that Casey, got Mondays. They were pretty good at it, surprisingly, despite being known as a bit of a bone head. They took the kids out for dinner and to the park and for ice cream, and picked them up from Kindergarten on time. Their apartment was small, but it had enough space for the three of them.

"I am alone," They warned them on the very first day. "So if you need help and I am not there, you will need to go to your Mother and Uncle Leo, do you understand?"

"Why won't you be there?"

They paused. "I will. I will be there, I promise."

Jones, the ex-hockey player, the brunet, that Jones, got Tuesdays, and he wasn't… bad? He very clearly only had experience with turtle teens when it came to children, as he had a habit of forgetting for a second that these were, in fact, actual children. He let them watch horror movies and smoked in front of them and occasionally would ask them if they wanted a beer, but fortunately, April- his April- was there to save his ass.

"You can't give five year olds beer," She cried, snatching the bottle from Ronin. "They're five!"

"I was drinkin' when I was five, what's the deal?" He frowned. "It ain't gonna kill them."

"You're a menace."

Arnie, the Arnie with the long hair, Arnie with the tank top, that Arnie, had them on Wednesdays. He had no idea what to do. The rules said that he had to take care of the kids, but he was left with loopholes.

"It ain't cheating," He said, watching April and Raph stack legos in a pile while Ronin and Rise told them what to do. "It's babysitting."

Splinter scoffed. "You schemer. When's the last time you really talked to them?"

"This afternoon!" Arnie threw up his hands. "Come on, I'm not that bad!"

CJ, the high schooler, the dumb jock, that CJ, had Thursdays. He still lived with his dad and little sister, but he got permission to get a bunk bed for the kids in his room. It was surprisingly easy for him to take care of them, teaching them to skate and swear and make toaster waffles.

"You know," He told Raph as they watched the kids play tag around the hockey rink. "This is so much more fun than I thought it would be."

"Yeah, but you're a shit influence on them."

"Me? You should see Jones, dude. He's, like, so bad at this."

Cass, the ex Foot soldier, the killer, that Cass, was in charge of Fridays. She struggled more than she thought she would. She'd never had a normal childhood, and now she was 18, too old to have one of her own, and too young to give it to- well. To her son.

"You really do look like me," She told a sleeping Rise. "We have the same eyes."

He didn't respond.

"Goodnight Cassandra Jones Junior," She said. "Sweet dreams."

The Kindergarten they went to was very understanding- they had a handful of other children who were refugees from worse universes, although they didn't have any with seven guardians, but nonetheless, they all figured out the schedule pretty quick.

And so, things settled down.

And that's where the story begins.