#day job writing

[rozmorris]

Can SEO writing ruin your prose style? And why Bill Bryson can call a book Wubberhumptimuph and you can’t

I’ve had this question from Mark…. This question has been bouncing in my brain ever since the digital revolution began and especially after working for various publishers that asked me to help them with social media and website text.  Do you think that being forced to focus on SEO when writing articles, promos, headlines etc can negatively impact your non-journalism writing? My sense is that…

[drawsdenfiles]

Your art looks like someone ran Steven Universe through a blender babe. Don’t quit your day job.

[stevebabey]

this is pure stupid hell crack that took more time than it should’ve to finish BUT i’m ready 2 release it from my drafts <3 this is actually technically written partially w @corrodedcoughin in mind bcos i think u will mighty enjoy it! for cockney eddie!

It comes with the territory, the accents.

Drama kid or dungeon-master, either one could be credited with contributing heavily to his affinity for all of Eddie’s little voices.

There was the deep, low raspy one reserved for trolls in campaigns — and a nasally high one he used for goblins to pair. Wise wizards giving out crucial advice sometimes had a strong Scottish drawl to their words. And Dwarfs? Always English.

So, yeah, Eddie has a couple different accents in his different repertoire. Pulls them out as he needs — a regal tone when referring to Hawkin’s very own royalty or a buried Southern twang used when he’s in trouble with Wayne. The most common is a shoddy Cockney accent for when any conversation dips too far towards awkward or boring.

It's why it's not so surprising anymore when they just... slip out sometimes.

He's learned more now, when specifically not to do it (Mrs. Donnell had not found his plea for a re-sit, in a heavy Irish accent, endearing in the slightest). But with friends who know Eddie, they know the accents come along too.

Steve fucking loves them.

The first time one had taken over his voice, some New Yorker twang to carry a joke, Steve had laughed so hard he’d snorted. And god, had Eddie lit up at the noise— loved knowing that, deep down Steve Harrington had a delicious wonderful ugly laugh that he only showed to people he trusted.

Basically, it’s hardly news to Steve then, all of Eddie’s little voices.

But well, even Eddie didn’t expect… okay, the truth is he never expected to be in this situation at all.

It’s a Wednesday evening when it happens. Steve is over round the trailer like he is every Wednesday, keeping Eddie company while Wayne is out on the double night shift.

It originally had started out as ensuring wounds were checked and dressed properly — considering half of them had scaled up his back, where Eddie couldn’t reach — for the both of them. Then, when technically Eddie could manage the worst of his words, Steve was still coming around. Dustin’s insistence, he’d said.

Then it was… because Eddie asked Steve to come around, to stay a little longer.

So, Steve Harrington is in his kitchen and it’s a Wednesday ritual that they have together and that’s not even the weird part of the evening.

(And somehow, neither is the fact that Steve is, as of a few months ago, his boyfriend.)

Steve’s cooking. Something simmers low on the scarlet glowing hob, bubbling quietly and releasing aromas of spices that percolate into the Autumn evening air.

Eddie feels his stomach growl in its own twist of hunger as he follows his nose. With one hand still scrubbing a towel against his wet hair, he ambles down the hall, fresh out the shower, ready for love — be it the form of food or, he thinks giddily, kisses.

Steve’s not watching the food as Eddie enters, his eyes fixed somewhere across the room. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, an indication of his deep thought.

Eddie grins, approaching without any attempt of being sneaky, (Steve’s as good as comatose when he’s distracted as he’d found) and jabs his boyfriend’s calf with his toe.

“Thinking mighty hard there, Stevie. That’s dangerous.”

Steve jolts, snapping out of his thoughts. He straightens up automatically, then seems to recall the company he’s keeping, and relaxes back down.

He scowls affectionately at Eddie’s barefoot, still jabbing into his leg, and reaches out to flick it with his finger.

“Dickhead.”

Eddie’s faster. He dances away and laughs at the instinctual pout that forms on Steve’s lips.

“What ponders thy mind, hm?” Eddie drawls, a lilt of a Regency style accent in his voice. He sinks into one of the kitchen chairs and drops his task. The towel hangs over his neck, his damp curls resting against it.

Steve seems to jolt again at that, his shoulders rising for a moment. He spins, picking up the wooden spoon beside the stove to swirl the contents of their dinner around. Eddie admires him, broad shoulders and long back, ripe for his taking. Silently, he sighs dreamily on the inside.

“Just… what movie we’re gonna watch tonight.” Steve says unconvincingly. “I’m not doing another re-watch of the Fly.” He adds lamely, an attempt at his usual bitch.

Eddie lets him have it. With one final squeeze of the towel, trying to wring out all the droplets in his hair, Eddie abandons it on the chair as he stands. He waltzes forward, into Steve’s space, and hooks his chin over the other's shoulder.

“You know, that’s what you said last time.”

Steve side-eyes him, his eyes narrowing into a minuscule glare; bitch personified. Eddie grins. Then bats his eyelashes.

It makes Steve laugh, shrugging Eddie’s weight off politely as he gives their dinner another stir. There’s still this tenseness to his frame. Though, maybe it's one Eddie can only notice because he’s paying such close attention.

“Alrightttttt,” He pretends to relent dramatically, his hands coming up to give Steve’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “I’ll let you pick the movie tonight.”

He drops his hands back to his sides, smarmy grin already plastered on as Steve turns to face him, the wooden spoon placed down on the bench.

“Oh, you’ll let me, will you?” He gives this incredulous look, even if there is this playfulness toying at the corners at his lips.

“Uh huh,” Eddie affirms with a severe nod, then begins counting on his fingers as he lists off. “No badgering, wailing, complaining, of any sorts I—“

Suddenly, Steve’s reaching out, his deft hands reaching out to snag the waistband of Eddie’s pyjama pants. It supposed to be a smooth move he’s used countless times before; fingers looped through belt loops to pull a girl in for a kiss. It usually works like a charm.

Except, there’s no belt loops— and when Steve tucks his fingers beneath the waistband and tugs him forward, Eddie shrieks.

“Fucking christ, Steve!” He bats Steve’s hands back without thinking. Steve holds them up defensively.

“Sorry! I was just—”

“What are you doing sticking your hands in my pants?!”

“It was a move!” Steve insists, voice a little whiney. “God, you’re dramatic- I was trying to pull you closer, numb-nuts.”

“Oooh,” Eddie switches up in an instant, hands shooting out to grab Steve’s own. He pulls them forward and settles them on his own waist, shuffling in closer like he hadn’t just shrieked a minute earlier. “Continue.”

Steve chuckles, delight peeking through on his face. His hands, large and slender, curl around the skin of Eddie’s waist and Christ, he’s still not used to that. Eddie’s too focused on repressing his shiver to see the shadow of nervousness cross Steve’s face.

“I was actually thinkin’ about,” Steve starts lowly, eyes skirting off Eddie’s face, over his shoulder. His fingers tighten their grip. “How—”

He sucks in a breath, like drawing in courage, and meets Eddie’s gaze. “About how much I love you.”

There’s the smallest tremble to his voice, giving away the immense emotion behind the words.

And here’s the situation that Eddie never expected to be in, ever. His breath catches, his eyes widen — his heartstrings tangle and knot themselves as he soaks in Steve’s admittance. Love, love, love — he loves me.

His lips part, a raspy noise escaping as he tries to compute, tries to think of anything to say because the longer he stays silent, the more crushed Steve’s expression becomes. And then—

“Well, I luv ya too.”

The words fall out, thick in that godawful Cockney accent.

Steve's face doesn't change but Eddie's does, contorting in an amalgamation of pure cringe and panic as embarrassment crawls beneath his skin. He slaps his hand over his own mouth as if it can take back his awful reply to being told he's loved by Steve.

"I—" He starts, speaking through his fingers, except it still comes out in a funny accent. Eddie squeaks, his grip over his mouth tightening, brown eyes wide in his panic. Oh God, never in stupid silly life has his accents come back to bite him in the ass so magnificently.

"I'm so sorry," Eddie whispers-yells in his regular voice, finally dragging his hands off his face sluggishly. "Jesus H Christ, I didn't— that wasn't making fun of you, I— oh god, you know that happens when I'm nervous sometimes. Shit. Shit, I'm so sorry, Steve."

Steve hasn't moved, his hands still resting on the small of Eddie's waist. His expression is guarded, nothing betrayed. His dark eyes scan across Eddie's face and just before he speaks, the smallest glimmer of amusement glitters across his face.

"Well," Steve begins, heaving a faux large sigh. His hands squeeze comfortingly at Eddie's waist again. Eddie who is still frozen, still cursing himself internally, still echoing around the apparently true fact that Steve loves him— well, maybe not anymore with how awfully Eddie responded.

And then Steve opens his mouth and the most appalling attempt at some accent comes out. It makes his words all garbled and Steve's pink in the face, obviously embarrassed but trying to commit to some shoddy Scottish when he says, "Aye, that's al'right."

Eddie stares at him. Steve stares back.

The moment of silence is broken as laughter seizes him, a guffaw bursting from his lips and holy fuck, Eddie loves him so much. Steve laughs too, the two of them relaxing and sinking into one another. Eddie's hands, previously fluttering and unsure, find their natural place curled in underneath Steve's jaw and when he leans in, he's fighting off his laughter. His grin is unbearably wide, cheeks aching.

Steve's got this shine in his eye, his hands sliding further around to pull Eddie in closer, his pink lips quirked in delight. Eddie practically purrs, so close to kissing him but not quite closing the gap.

"Yep," He says, eyes bright as they bounce over Steve's face to drink in his boyfriend's love-soaked expression. He loves him. Steve loves him. Eddie sounds as lovesick as he feels when he whispers, "It's decided. I think you're it for me, Stevie-baby."

He presses forward, lets his mouth find their home in the curve of Steve's lips. It's warm like nothing he's ever felt before, softened by their gooey-grins of love. It's an in love kiss.

"Even if you're terrible at accents." He murmurs against Steve's mouth.

"Shut up."

Steve hisses, but he’s still grinning. The dinner bubbles behind them, still cooking away behind them. "Like I'm ever going to let you live that down."

Eddie finds he doesn't really mind all that much — God forbid his boyfriend ever remind him they're in love.

"Shut up," He still says, then sticks out his tongue, like he's ten years old. "You love me."

"I do." Steve admits easily, his fingertips dancing along the small of Eddie's back. Eddie has to tuck his bottom lip behind his teeth to restrain his wild grin.

"And I love you." He says, properly this time, jabbing his finger into Steve's chest — so there's no absolutely mistaking it.

[izzystizzys]

“ - but have you ever considered, I don’t know, not sucking all the time? Just a thought.”

It takes the combined grips of Nuisance and Hound to keep the wriggling, snarling body beneath Fox from throwing him off its back. With three years’ practice of having to fix his own rickety desk chair over and over again, the movement merely ruffles the proverbial fringe on his helmet.

“And I don’t mean that as an insult, necessarily. Well, I do a little bit. But also I have some amount of empathy for the no doubt immense amounts of trauma that had to go into the creation of something so dysfunctional as you, on a very personal level, so have you considered going to the root of that in a way that’s like… useful? Instead of wasting it all on kriffing Kenobi, I mean. Look at the guy. All he does all day is drink tea and commit warcrimes. I bet he knits for fun. Bit of an embarrassing nemesis, don’t you think?”

“I”, says Kenobi, then pauses. The space between his eyebrows is creased with uncertainty, and he looks deeply torn between continuing rocking the shaking Duchess of Mandalore against his chest from his corner of the throne room and re-activating his lightsaber to continue losing his fight against the Darksider Fox is currently sitting on. “I feel like I should object to some part of that, but I’m not entirely clear on what. Or how this happened, again. Isn’t Mandalore a few star systems from your purview, Commander?”

“Probably the warcrimes”, mutters Nuisance underneath his strained breath.

“About as far from my supposed assignment as yours, General”, says Fox a little louder.

Kenobi twitches. Fox cannot claim to know which of them does it. Both, maybe. Probably.

“I will - taste - your - flesh!”, heaves out Darth Maul, snarling and hissing.

“Oooh, kinky!”, calls Grids, from the corner where she’s got her stun-setting aimed at the other Zabrak, currently passed out cold. Fox sighs deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have taken those three - any combination of Grids, Hound and Nuisance in a room together usually spelled chaos.

Unfortunately, it also spelled competence. The Basic alphabet can be funny that way.

The point being: as of some months into the war, one of Fox’s assigned tasks is the surveillance of all GAR-wide communication. All command-class staff theoretically got that memo, but no one seems to have read the fine print where that includes both professional and personal communication, as well as any and all comm devices registered or suspected to be registered to that person. Especially not one Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

The point further being, if that sounds both immensely impractical and sort of terrifying in a democratic supposedly non-surveillance state, you’d be bang on the credits, and to Fox’ eternal chagrin the singular person in this whole useless army who’s spent the second of thinking necessary for that conclusion.

The final point being, when one frantic General’s mad dash across the Galaxy to rescue his teenage sweetheart from the spectre of his supposedly dead nemesis crosses his desk on its way to the Chancellor’s inbox, it doesn’t take much time for him to block any and all trace of it across the digital space of the GAR commboard and take matters into his own hands.

“ - which is why I told Thorn to suck it up and be in charge for a few days, and also why you’re still alive, your Highness, very welcome, was no trouble at all”, he concludes, drily. The Duchess stares the wide-eyed look of someone attempting to reconcile clones with ‘sentience’ or perhaps ‘personality’ in her head, but won’t say it outright.

Or the look of someone who’s just been violently overthrown and nearly murdered, perhaps, Fox allows.

“Um -“, Kenobi hedges, blinking rapidly.

“And the reason you’re still alive, probably. You’re welcome for that too, by the way”, Grids calls from the back of the throne room, cheekily.

“Alright”, says Kenobi, loudly. There’s color back in his deathly-pale cheeks, Fox notes, even if that color is a lot of red. It doesn’t fade very gracefully into his beard. “Opinions on whether or not I had everything under control notwithstanding -“

“You really didn’t”, Hound supplies helpfully.

“ - opinions notwithstanding, I am admittedly still lost on why you’re now sitting on Darth Maul and attempting to, to - jeer at him, Marshall Commander!”

“We’re not jeering, we’re trying to create a safe space and lay the groundwork for more open communication”, Fox says, primly.

Maul screams into the ground, attempting for the umpteenth time to rear up and visit great violence upon Fox, which admittedly has him rattling in his crosslegged seat atop his back.

Kenobi raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Safe space?”

“He’s restrained and not stabbing anyone, I personally feel much safer than before”, Grids muses. “Watch the teeth though, Hound. Little biter.”

Indeed. Fox’s right greave will have to be replaced posthaste.

“And anyways, the point isn’t to jeer at him, it’s to make clear that he’s focusing his energy in the wrong places and could be doing much better things with his admittedly not-great life”, Fox adds, shifting to cast a pointed look down at Maul. The Sith is panting open-mouthed into the durasteel floor, sharp teeth gnashing wildly as his piercing yellow eyes shine with barely restrained rage. “I’m just saying - aim higher. You aren’t seeing the forest for the Kenobis, Maul. Can I call you Maul?”

“I will feed you your own entrails”, yowls Maul.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Right now, I’m an easy target to focus all that built-up rage on, but is killing me really going to help you achieve any of your goals? No! Think about it - when it all comes down to it, who sent you on that mission to Naboo in the first place? Who made sure the Jedi and, by extension, Kenobi would be there to kill you? Who used you as a dejarik piece and then cast you aside the second you outlived your usefulness?”

Beneath him, Maul slowly stills in his struggle, still panting heavily. Hound and Nuisance don’t let it deter them in their vigilance, because they’re damn good vod’e and possess an ounce of common sense.

“And, look, I get it. I could spend the rest of my life punching every civilian who spits on me in the streets and it would even be satisfying. I could hit back the Senators who think of clones as easy targets. Or - I can aim my sights at who’s on top. And I think you know who I mean, because you know as well as I do the same damn man has ruined both our lives.”

Kenobi makes an alarmed noise, and Maul an interested one - not that Fox is going to let him walk out of this place awake. Still, he tilts his head in a way he hopes conveys his helmeted grin successfully to non-vod, as well as the bloodlust behind it. “You’re also welcome for the fact that the Chancellor won’t have heard of your spontaneous resurrection yet, by the way. You’ll retain your element of surprise instead of gambling it away on petty revenge on Kenobi.”

“He cut me in half!”

“He killed my master!”

Fox waves their protests away.

“Also, that’s treason!”, Kenobi adds, sputtering. Fox grins. Kenobi purses his lips, and continues. petulantly, “…do you have any proof?”

“So. Much. Proof”, says Nuisance, dreamily. “Like, do you want it alphabetically or by date?”

Which is when the Duchess, of all people, bursts out into barking, crazed laughter.

“You - you’ve certainly given yourself an edge in that fight, Marshall Commander”, she wheezes, brushing tears from her eyes. Fox raises his eyebrows at her, which she somehow seems to be able to tell, because she gestures at the clunky handle dangling from his belt.

“What, this old thing?” He unclasps the black rectangle from its hook, holding it up in the air. Maul stills strangely beneath him, and Kenobi goes ghostly pale again. Fox is starting to get a bad feeling.

“I took it off Viszla and beat him over the head with it. I figured he’d taken it off a Jedi cadet or something. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

[lost-in-fandoms]

Max and Daniel meet at a club and have a one-night stand. That's the plot. Not as much smut as one would think.

cw: not too graphic sexual content and mentions of alcohol (but neither of them is drunk)

Daniel watches from the bed as the guy comes out of the bathroom and starts pulling his clothes back on. He almost stumbles while slipping into his skinny jeans, and it should be funny, or maybe awkward, how clumsy he is with it, but Daniel can't help feeling a little bit charmed. Just as he had been charmed by his blunt advances in the club, and the way he had laughed too loud at Daniel's bad joke in the car.

He wasn't supposed to be charmed.

Well, to be honest, he wasn't supposed to be in this situation at all. He doesn't usually go to clubs alone, he isn't that young and horny anymore, but he had needed to feel the bass in his lungs and the alcohol in his veins after a few long, awful days, so he had chucked on a shirt and some pants and found his way somewhere he was hoping he wouldn't get recognised. He had ended up in a small club on the other side of the city, and it had taken him a sparkly drink and two dance offers to realise he maybe still was young enough to have fun.

It had taken Max to make him think that maybe he was also horny enough.

Max had slid behind him on the dance floor, large palm against his hipbones, turning him around to throw him a wide smile, eyes crinkling and sparkling in the low lights.

Daniel wasn't planning on going home with someone, but Max had guided him to grind against him while they were dancing, and then kissed him wet and open right there in the middle of the crowd, and Daniel had lost his mind a little.

Daniel had thought about asking him to go to Max's place, he didn't like inviting strangers into his house, but Max had slipped a hand under his shirt to touch his sweaty skin and asked "take me home?" and Daniel had.

Max had chatted and laughed in the car, a hand firmly planted high up on Daniel's thigh, until Daniel had stopped pretending he was following whatever he was talking about and tugged him into a kiss. He didn't like kissing people, kissing men, somewhere he could be seen so easily, but Max's lips had been red and full and Daniel had wanted it.

Max had taken his shoes off at the door and Daniel had felt a tug somewhere too high up and on the left to be his gut. Max had kissed him like he wanted to eat Daniel whole, but touched him like Daniel had been something precious. He had taken him apart more easily than a one-night stand was supposed to.

Daniel never bottomed with strangers, but Max had been hovering over him, eyes so bright and intense, hands playing with the band of Daniel's underwear, and Daniel had let his legs fall open before Max could even ask what he wanted.

Max had still asked and Daniel should have known he was making a mistake. Because when he had come, Max's hand around him, Max's dick inside him, something had been rearranged inside him, something had dramatically shifted. Or maybe it had happened earlier, when Max had pressed a kiss against his stomach while opening him up. Or when he had closed his teeth on Daniel's bottom lip in the car. Or earlier still, in the club, when Max had told him "you look pretty, Daniel", voice rounding his name weirdly.

And now he is watching Max getting ready to leave, feeling like his world was tilting, and he was supposed to learn how to live with that.

He watches as Max shrugs his black t-shirt back on, trying uselessly to smooth out his hair a little, hoping he doesn't look as desperate as he feels to ask him to stay.

Finally, Max pats his pockets to check for his phone and wallet, and then looks up, smiling at Daniel with the same lips that had been pressed against his pulse point not twenty minutes ago.

How did Daniel end up like this?

"That was fun," he says, smile too practiced to look fake. Hopefully.

Max's eyes seem to soften and he nods, crossing the space to the bed again to press a kiss against Daniel's cheek.

"It was good, Daniel." He says it like it's not just Daniel's name, but like it means something more, something Daniel doesn't know yet. Something he'll probably never know, now.

Daniel is expecting him to leave then, is ready to curl up in bed and go to sleep without even showering, disgusting as it is, just to keep their smells together a little longer, a pathetic thought to have about a one-night stand, but one nobody will have to know. And yet, Max hesitates, a hand coming up to rub at his neck, tug at his hair.

Something scarily close to hope starts to fill Daniel's lungs.

"I don't want to, uh, be that person," Max starts, stilted and awkward, ears red. It's the first time Daniel seems him embarrassed, and he wants to lick the blush right off his cheeks. "Could I maybe give you my number?"

Daniel is looking for his phone even before Max has closed his mouth, ignores him as he giggles when Daniel lunges out of bed to grab his abandoned pants, raising his phone in the air like a trophy. Max is fully laughing by the time Daniel hands it to him, but Daniel doesn't care anymore. He already can't wait to call.

[littleplantfreak]

Grocery Shopping Headcanons 1

I said I'd do these a while back and someone requested I do them when I was taking requests for my 100 followers event so uwu)/ one request fulfilled!! There will be a part two with the others coming eventually...Once I get through the rest of my requests.

____________

Umemiya Hajime

-One of the funnest people to go grocery shopping with tbh.

He's talking you into buying a few extra snacks/food by holding them up in front of you and puppeting them at you, asking in a silly high pitched voice if you'll please buy them because they've heard your pantry is the best vacation spot in town! He gets so silly with it.

-The older people in town tell him when and where the best sales are, which makes budgeting a lot easier. Don't tell anyone, but sometimes if one of them is in front of you in line, they'll have the cashier use their senior discount for your stuff as well. Don't try to fight them on it, though; they'll insist the only thing they need is for you both to visit them every once in a while, which you planned to do regardless.

-Gets upset if he hasn't found you in the store for a while after leaving to pick some things up. Once he does see you, he acts like it's been weeks and refuses to leave your side for the rest of the shopping trip. He's quite literally stuck to you like glue.

-The type to have really funky or cute looking reusable bags.

Choji Tomiyama

-Can't stay on task to save his life. If you're pushing the cart, he will stand on the other side of it being pushed around. He insists he'll take turns, but he gets a bit too enthusiastic with how fast he should be going through the aisles. Nearly runs a few people over before you decide maybe just pushing it normally works best.

-Do not let him disappear on you; he'll end up at some other grocery store two miles down the street.

-Sometimes he knows your tastes better than you do. If you're deliberating over trying something new, 9/10 times he's correct about how you'll like it. He actually pays a lot of attention to what you like to eat and drink.

-Calls Togame and not only asks him what he wants from the store, but tells him to come down by the time you guys are done to help carry your stuff. He hasn't said no to Choji yet.

-He's feeding you both all the samples he can find until you realize you snacked so much you're not even hungry for dinner anymore.

Suo Hayato

-He's pretty relaxed compared to the other two. He'll let you take the reins for the most part since he's got all the stuff written down and knows each aisle it's in. He doesn't often stray from his normal foods so it's almost muscle memory now.

-When he does try something new, it's weird stuff. Like you didn't know this was in the store weird, what aisle does that even go in? You look around to see, and find nothing. He either took the last one or he was in the forbidden part of the grocery store.

-Sometimes, if he knows you're getting a lot, he brings the collapsible grocery wagon. (don't even play with me, this is the hottest thing someone could do for grocery shopping.)

-Watch out if you lose sight of him or he goes to grab something without you, because he WILL jumpscare you and you WILL have to try to smother your yelp.

Nirei Akihiko

-Extreme couponing Nirei edition tbh he's got it down to a science

-Knows a surprising amount of recipes by heart, so if you're trying hard to remember what you need for what you wanna make? Don't even get out your phone to struggle with finding enough bars (because for some reason grocery stores are iron fortresses that don't have cell service?) Nirei has it all up there in his beautiful brain.

-He's never in a rush and doesn't really separate from you (why would he want to?) He's just thrilled to spend time with you.

-Also one to have a bunch of different reusable bags.

-If you have a certain diet or need a certain ingredient, he knows all the specialty food stores around and is more than okay with making the extra stop with you.

-He has a certain type and brand of ice cream he likes to get as a treat every time, and although he tells you he doesn't need it, if they happen to be out of stock, he deflates a little.

Sakura Haruka

-You wouldn't think someone could be bad at grocery shopping, but....he's bad at it. An excess of meats and carbs is what comes home if you send him by himself, so it's best just to go together.

-Also you could swear he's giving a nasty look to the vegetable section hoping you don't pick any terrible ones up (though what's terrible to him is most of them)

-You catch him trying to hide if he sees someone he knows because to him, it'll just make it a longer grocery trip, and honestly, he just wants to go home with you. Point out who he's hiding from and say hi and watch the look of betrayal as he's turning red and grumbling.

-It takes him a bit, but after a few trips he starts to get the hang of things. He can tell the better meat cuts, and now knows to check the eggs to make sure they're not cracked. Sometimes, he texts you a picture of the vegetables you're looking for to make sure they're the right ones or to make sure they're your preferred ripeness if you're not there

The self checkout becomes his best friend, that way he doesn't have to worry about making small talk. He's screwed when he picks up meats, though, because the scale never picks up the weight properly, and then he's sweating waiting for one of the workers to come help him out.

-Refuses to let you carry the bags in, and is also one of those people who insist on loading up all the groceries on his arms at once. There will be no second trips to the car.

[lineffability]

thinking how Aziraphale's outfits have gotten progressively less-white in reflection of his own morals/character progression and now find myself wondering if there was an instance, way back, when he first started wearing greys and beiges, and Crowley noticed, maybe even commented,

[babaiii]

what i think about thriller bark re zosan (whether romantic or not) is that it’s the time sanji actually understands zoro’s purpose on the ship.

like i think what most annoyed sanji about zoro is that zoro does nothing — he drinks, sleeps and curses at ladies. he’s good at fights, sure, but so is sanji, but sanji also wakes up at 3am to cook for 100 people (luffy), sanji helps behind the scenes and sanji generally cares for the crew (meaning ladies). zoro is simply an annoying and unnecessary attachment.

then thriller bark happens and the realization hits that zoro is the guardian. no matter what or how he will protect the crew — which can’t be said about sanji himself, he won’t fight women, he won’t use his hands, he won’t turn his human part off. zoro will protect their crew no matter the consequences same way luffy will give freedom and defeat the bad guys even if death comes knocking.

sanji did nothing but fight with zoro, yet zoro wastes no time protecting him, with the same selflessness he protects others, because sanji is crew. sanji already is familiar with idiots who decide on priceless sacrifices to protect him, and he’s already familiar with being indebted to them with no way to pay back, so while he should be grateful, he’s terrified that reiju keeps being proven right, that these idiots keep finding him. he’s furious, jealous, scared, they keep fighting and bickering, sanji isn’t about to let the idiot win, to let him know, and yet.

sanji asks zoro to kill him if things go sour — he knows zoro will do it simply because such is his role on the ship.

[worflesbian]

this woman tugging the children out of the way/putting herself in front of them as the klingons walk past.. they're just going somewhere do u think they're gonna attack your kids unprovoked? it's such an interesting detail establishing how klingons are perceived by federation civilians but also worf's served on this ship almost a whole season do you shield your kids from him too? did you used to?

[eggy-the-boy]

*poking my blorbos with a stick* 

[shitouttabuck]

thank you for keeping us well fed <3

one bed prompt

“ it’s only weird if you make it weird. “

skin/heat/hair in your mouth

buck/eddie | 8.8k | rated e

And sometimes Buck hates having the knowledge of a first responder, but more often than that, he hates being in love with his best friend. Because when he gears up to say what he says next, he doesn’t know how much of it comes from a place of concern and how much, even if it’s just a fraction, comes from wanting Eddie more than anything. “Okay,” he says. “Take off your clothes.” Eddie’s shivering actually does cease for a moment, body going rigid with shock. He leans away from Buck’s embrace, as far as the sleeping bag will allow, so he can look him in the eye. “What?” Buck holds his ground. “Take off your clothes.” Eddie fishmouths at him in surprise, effect ruined a little by the shivering starting up again. “C’mon, you and I both know the best way to warm up is skin-to-skin contact,” Buck says, using the slight space between them to tug off his t-shirt. He reaches down into the sleeping bag, wriggling out of his sweats before wadding them up and tossing them to a corner of the tent.

or, eddie’s bad at camping, buck’s trying to make sure he doesn’t get hypothermia, and naked huddling for warmth is only like the third gayest thing happening in the great outdoors

read on ao3

[becca-e-barnes]

Can i request something where bucky has a smutty obsession with sundresses? Just the way his doll looks in them and stuff?

I've definitely written Bucky loving sundresses before but now that there's a bit of a chill in the air, I'm imagining the same sundresses but with tights underneath 😏

Having the tights keeps you a little bit warmer but it doesn't give Bucky the access he's used to. The tights are such a tease because he knows how flimsy they are but they're in the way of what he wants and that would never do.

He does love the feeling of them though. The thin material is so smooth under his fingertips, there's an attractive sheen to them and he finds he can't take his eyes off your legs, right at the hem of your dress.

"Sweetheart." Bucky's voice is firm and it makes you smile to yourself. "Come here."

He's sitting by the kitchen table, sipping his coffee and you know that he's been watching you since you came down to make your breakfast.

You peck his lips softly when you reach him, enjoying the way a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Everything okay?" You ask, letting him press his knee between your thighs, spreading your legs.

His hands land on your legs out of instinct. The silky smooth feeling does something for him that he didn't quite expect and for a second, touching you over the fabric feels just as intimate as touching your bare skin.

"I like these." Bucky teases, squeezing your ass, making you roll slightly against his thigh.

"I'm glad you like them. You need to be gentle though, you'll rip them."

That wasn't even something he'd considered but now it's all he can think about. Those perfect tights, totally ruined, your panties pushed out of the way so there's nothing between your body and his fingers.

"You've never really liked it when I'm too gentle." He reminds you and you can't help but giggle because he's right and you know it. "What if... I just ripped a hole. Right here. Between your legs." His fingers tap the apex of your thighs, through your tights and underwear and your only option is to grind down on his thigh just a little harder.

"That would ruin them." You rock your hips back and forth, enjoying the friction against his insanely muscular thigh, letting your own need build.

"I don't think so. I think it might make them better. You know I like those pretty dresses you wear. Putting that flimsy fabric in the way is just a tease." Both of his hands meet under your skirt, testing the resistance of the material when he tugs in different directions.

"Rip them." You whisper, half pleading.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, pulling harder and you feel the fabric give the whole way across with little ladders beginning to run down the legs.

"Bend over. Let me see." You do as you're told, standing up, pulling the skirt of your dress up to expose your clothed sex to him.

It's not clothed for long though, he widens the hole just a little, slipping your panties to the side to allow him to sink a finger into your wet, eager, inviting cunt, quickly followed by a second.

"Pretty little hole to fuck you through." He muses, watching you try to resist the urge to fuck yourself on his fingers, getting more and more desperate for his cock.

[viperwhispered]

Too Much

So this would be the little thing I teased earlier that had the working title of "Jamil's oh shit moment". Whoever the anon was who was curious to see this come to fruition, well, here it is. Hope y'all enjoy this little trip inside Jamil's head.

It all started with an off-hand comment from Kalim.

Well, truth be told, it started well before that.

For a while now, Jamil had found himself strangely fretful whenever you were around.

It was not the sort of irritation he felt with Kalim’s constantly chafing presence, nor the constant worries of what trouble Kalim might find himself in next. Not really like the frustration he got from suffering with Floyd and Ace’s antics during basketball practice. It wasn't even just another of the usual pins and needles of all the small things of his everyday life that kept on needling on his patience.

No, if anything, you were quite…inoffensive.

But he couldn’t help being on edge, on alert even more than usual.

So much so that the other day, when you turned up in Scarabia and your voice suddenly rang clear in the lounge, Jamil nearly spilled the tea he was just pouring into Kalim’s cup.

Or when you’d joined him and Kalim for lunch in the cafeteria, Jamil could feel his shoulders inching up to his ears with the tension that crept into his body. Even holding his utensils and bringing his food to his mouth somehow felt awkward and clumsy.

Most bothersome indeed.

Besides, he already had enough on his plate without you adding to it all, threatening to tear down the precarious control he barely maintained over his life.

And yesterday, you had come to talk with him after the basketball game, saying such things about his performance on court that his cheeks still threatened to redden just remembering it.

You really were just too much.

And the way you had looked at him, like-

“Jamil! What are you thinking about?”

Kalim’s voice startled Jamil out of his thoughts.

“Nothing.”

What was he thinking about? Why were you on his mind like this?

Jamil’s hands kept working, chopping the vegetables with practiced ease. Yet his mind was barely in what he was doing, busy with trying to tease open the budding thought.

…No.

No.

No way.

Surely he was not that stupid. After all, there was no way-

“Oh, you just seemed so happy, but guess it was nothing then,” Kalim said brightly.

The rest of Kalim's words faded out of Jamil's ears.

The steady rhythm of the knife turned more erratic and forceful, sure to leave deep marks on the cutting board. The urge to pull his hood tighter over his face was almost irresistible, Jamil’s hand slightly twitching even as he forced himself to continue with his task as if nothing had happened.

Why had he been thinking about you? About the way you smiled at him the other day?

Shit.

ETA: there's now a part 2! And a part 3. Part 4. And finally, part 5. I originally had more written for this but ngl this seemed like the perfect point to cut it. But who knows, maybe there'll be a part 2 at some point. They played this song in my dance class and it got me thinking of that moment when Jamil realizes just how down bad he is for you. How screwed he is when it comes to you. Jamil certainly wouldn’t be as all in as the narrator in the song is (at least with his NRC circumstances), but the lyrics still sure worked as inspiration. Tagging @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @twstgo If you'd like to be tagged for future works, let me know!

[judasofsuburbia]

it's a bad idea, right?

steddie toxic exes au. based off olivia rodrigo's new song.

“Shut it off,” Eddie whines groggily into Steve's ear. 

Steve's eyes open up to the incessant ringing of his phone. He reaches over to pick it up off the nightstand, effectively getting out of Eddie's grasp. Eddie makes a disgruntled noise but doesn't protest further. 

It's Robin.

“Oh shit,” Steve grumbles as he sits up completely and answers it.

“Dingus! You're up, oh my god, finally. The girls and I are ready for the museum thing whenever you are. Though, I suggest that we go like right now because the lines are gonna get ridiculous and we're most definitely going to hit traffic going into the city and who knows if the teens have eaten anything so we might have to stop at McDonald's too. I have enough to get a bunch of sausage biscuits, could you cover the coffees? Maybe El is responsible and has money but I don't trust that Erica and Max do. I'll make sure they don't get any fancy frappes or anything—”

Robin continues at a mile a minute and Steve's brain is trying desperately to catch up. He rubs a hand over his tired eyes and sighs. 

“I can probably bus to your house if that would be easier.”

That gets Steve's attention. His eyes shoot open as he says, “No, no Robin. I'll come get you. Don't even worry about it.”

“Oh, okay,” Robin agrees easily. “You good dude? Sleep like the dead last night?”

“Something like that,” Steve grumbles. “Look I'm gonna need like half an hour to get ready. I'll text you when I'm near your apartment.”

“It's just a Wonder Woman exhibit. Don't get fussy with your outfit.”

“Uh huh, okay,” Steve replies. He starts to roll out of bed but Eddie catches him, yanking him closer. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Eddie rasps, sending shivers down Steve's spine. He couldn't get wrapped up in that too long though because all he hears is Robin's responding gasp through the receiver. 

“Half an hour, love you, bye!” Steve shouts, hanging up hurriedly. 

Eddie chuckles into Steve's neck, successful in pulling Steve back into his hold. Steve's weak to do anything but sink into it. 

“You haven't told them, have you?” Eddie asks, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve's neck.

“There's nothing to tell,” Steve argues.

Eddie laughs again, dragging Steve's ear lobe with his teeth. “You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Steve does manage to get out of Eddie's apartment and back home in time to slip on some clean clothes, spritz himself in cologne, and get out of the door. Thank fuck for fall because the turtleneck he grabs covers the number Eddie did on his neck. He wishes he could get the phantom press of his lips and teeth out of his head. 

He picks up the teenagers first. They're easy because they all were spending the night at the Sinclairs. He thought he could put off his death a little bit longer. He was wrong. 

The girls are giggling as they clamor into the backseat and Steve is immediately on edge. 

“You're so fucking dead, dude,” Max declares as Steve backs out of the driveway.

Steve smiles tightly at her through the rearview mirror. “And who said anything to you?”

The girls are giggling again. It grates every nerve in Steve's body. 

“Mike overheard Nancy and Robin on the phone. He texted us. It probably wasn't very nice,” El says, at least sounding a little bit guilty. Steve shoots her a sympathetic look.

It's not her fault he fucked up, again.

“Great,” Steve grits. “That's fucking fantastic.”

Steve pulls up to Robin's apartment, tense and seconds away from wincing when he sees her stomp out the front door. She plops into the front seat and the whole car goes quiet. 

“You look nice,” Steve tries. 

“Breakfast is on you,” Robin replies. 

“Yeah, I figured,” Steve mumbles. 

Everyone is happily sipping their fancy frappes. Everyone except Robin of course who has managed to not dig into him in front of the teens but he knows it's coming. Like a storm about to brew. 

Steve tries not to think about how Eddie tasted like caramel as they made out because he's quit smoking and sucks on candies instead. He's torturing himself with the caramel frappe in his hand but he can't help it. He craves it more than he should. 

They get their tickets and the teens run ahead of them, checking out all the cool displays. Steve starts to walk in front of Robin but he gets yanked back. 

“Did you just...trip and fall into his bed? Or is this a repeat offense?” Robin asks with a cool, casual tone.

“I...” Steve stutters, taking a sip of his drink that's long gone to buy him time. All it buys him is a loud empty slurping sound. 

“You said you were falling asleep early last night,” Robin states.

“And I did! I was asleep just...not in my bed.”

Robin scoffs. “What was it this time? Eddie looking to reconnect?”

Steve's lips turn into a frown. As much as Steve likes to believe he's above Eddie's words and affection, it truly does not take much to break him. He and Eddie dated casually for about a year. Steve wanted to be serious but Eddie's band was about to take off and he didn't want any strings tying him to Chicago. Steve painfully decided to end it, decided he needed more than “I promise you're the only one I'm sleeping with”. Eddie's band did kind of take off. But not enough to get Eddie out of Chicago. And out of Steve's brain, apparently. 

“I only see him as a friend,” Steve lies through his teeth.

“Do I look stupid to you?” Robin asks with a tilt of her head, eyebrows raised. 

“No,” Steve emphasizes. “But we...we're not back together or anything.”

“I don't think you were ever together to begin with.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

“I'm serious, dingus. You were not good after that breakup, or whatever you want to call it. I just don't want to see you get hurt again.”

Steve lets out a long sigh, tossing his frappe into the trash, and leaning up against the wall. He watches as fans of Wonder Woman roam the museum, some of them dressed up for the occasion. He's happy he's here, happy he got to take the girls here, but he knows he'd rather be somewhere else. He feels guilty for that. 

“I fucked up, okay?” Steve admits defeatedly.

Robin leans her head on his shoulder. “I know you did. I know you know you did. Question is: is this going to be repeated?”

“No,” Steve says. He doesn't believe it and he can tell by Robin's huff that she doesn't either. 

“Gimme your phone,” Robin says.

“What? Why?”

“Just hand it over.”

Steve holds his phone to his chest. Looks at Robin seriously. “Don't tell him off or something. Don't read our texts!”

“Ew, I don't want to read your texts,” Robin sneers as she takes the phone from his hands. “I'm just gonna change his contact name.”

Steve looks over her shoulder and sees her typing “DONT PICK UP IGNORE IGNORE IGNORE” is now Eddie's contact name. 

“Surprised you didn't just delete it,” Steve mumbles, wincing because maybe he shouldn't have given her that idea. 

“Because I know you have it memorized. No use blocking his number either because he has your socials. But take this as a reminder that you deserve better than him.”

Steve's mouth opens and closes, an argument dying on his tongue. It's not that Eddie is a bad person, necessarily. He's a little much sometimes but deep down, he is rather sweet. Very nerdy, very animated. Very thoughtful. It's like he could make the perfect boyfriend if he just let go of his inability to commit to anything that's not his music. But Robin's right. Steve is monogamous at heart and deserves more. 

So tell him why he’s standing outside of Eddie’s door not even three days later?

Eddie answers with a shining smile that has Steve clenching his fists. 

“Next time, you’re coming to my place,” Steve states as Eddie pushes him up against the door. Eddie drags his tongue up Steve’s neck, causing his knees threatening to buckle. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Eddie answers.

Steve doesn’t hear anything else beyond moans and incoherent ramblings. It’s like the second Eddie gets his hands on him his brain goes “Blah, blah, blah.” 

[marlynnofmany]

All right, what's on the ol' professional to-do list for this morning? Ah yes, a photoshoot with Stabby the Roomba. Naturally.

[breakfastteatime]

When you wanna write fanfiction but you gotta go to work to pay the bills.