#getting rid of stump

[chrisstumps05]

Why do people remove stumps?

[patricksbandmerch]

Band: Blue Meanies

Link to merch this one was such a pain to track down. resellers of any merch are far and few between. thanks to a fan on their facebook page for posting all their old merch so I could even prove this shirt exists

Support the band on Bandcamp, Spotify, Apple Music

Genre: Chicago ska punk

[ganondoodle]

i dont know if anyone from not here is awake but .... yesterday i had the idea to perhaps bind the champions 2.0 abilities to the inventory/weapons

(totk rewrite "botw2")

so, for example, yunobos would be tied to a permanent two handed weapon (his signature weapon for example) in your inventory that doesnt break and doesnt need repairing (considering my craft and repair system otherwise) but instead needs recharging to recast the ability somwhat like when the master sword looses its power, but instead it just deals the base or reduced weapons damage (perhaps using the ability function via the throwing mechanic, like the MS swordbeams? or a different way to control it when using that speciffic weapon)

teba/tulins would be either a magic bow or arrow that similarly doesnt break/run out (unsure whether arrow or bow is better)

sidons water shield + heal would be tied to a shield

rijus would be tied to the hookshot, when aiming it thered be a button prompt to switch to send the lightning instead, thought to tie it to this bc i wanted it to be aimable similar to the hookshot and combining them saves you from making yet another aiming system and menu

the idea was that i could also use the tie to a weapon as an explanation for how they give it to you without repeating botw but worse (since in botw they are ghosts of the dead and a spirit knowing how to give an abilitiy tied to their spirit to you is more sensical than your childhood friend that didnt even have an ability at all even after a hundred years time last game suddendly not only mastering one but also somehow knowing how to give it to you within .. 5?) the explanation being that the weapon has been charged with their magic over the course of using it for so long or doing so during the dungeon

(like in yunos case, he was the only one that actually had the ability in botw, he always used a .. stone breaker weapon thing, and he gifts it to you at the end; teba/tulin would discover charging their arrows with magic during it and give you the bow at the end (perhaps them having to pull on the same bow to shoot it during a miniboss fight in the dungeon makes it charged with it); sidon would use your shield to channel his magic in a way to make it useful for you and since hes still new to using it, perhaps he gives you the permanent one at the start of the dungeon bc its the one hes been practising it with and at the end gifts it to you since its charged with it (if you leave the dungeon before beating it hed want it back sicne .. its his practice tool); riju charges your shiekah arm with lighting, like overcharging a device just before it breaks, perhaps discovered accidentally during her dungeon ? so we have a variety and not all work the same ... and overcharging bricks your arm for a short time lol)

the possible downside of this is the menuing, but you dont really have to use all of them all the time (maybe longer cooldown but more powerful anyway just like in botw- also each permanent weapon would be the first in the row) and .. anythign is better than those god awful sage ghost controls of canon totk imo lol

other idea would be that its NOT tied to a specific weapon, but just to the category in general, so when you got a shield out you get an extra button prompt to activate sidons ability (very similar to botws system but giving you the control of activating it or not) BUT that has the issue of lacking the explanation on how they give it to you and the downside of not having anything permanent, and while i like my reworked weapon system, also givign players a permanent thing even if not very powerful sounds kinda right to mitigate those complaints without destroying the system outright

[stump-o-matically]

i got this from my coworker a few minutes ago and of course i said yes

[itsjustfirealarms]

every once in a while I try to get ahold of a Soul Punk vinyl and manage to give myself a headache and then I repeat the process in another 3 months

[faetealights]

i rlly wanna . get into my bedroom bc it does need a clean but . its such an effort

[barleyo]

Raising the Bar.

Hiromi Higuruma X F! Reader X Toji Fushiguro

A/N: i've had this idea for a while so i hope it turned out well. not sure how i feel about it personally, especially since it's so ooc

Tags: infidelity, cheating, divorce, ooc, infidelity, pwp, cunnilingus, p in v, creampie, baby-trapping, hate sex, no threesome sadly

Wordcount: 2.7k

High school sweethearts never made it in the long run. Everybody had told you that what you and Toji had would burn out, but God, you didn't want to believe them. Maybe that's why you stuck by him, glued to his hip no matter what shit decisions he made or awful positions he had you in. Maybe that's why you found every excuse possible to defend him to your family. Hell, maybe that's why you had his kid. Just another thing to stick it to everyone who disapproved of your relationship.

Years passed, and every day you spent with him was spent like a game of cat and mouse. 

It started with the gambling. You knew about his high and fast lifestyle before you were stuck with him, but you never realized just how quickly a savings account could be drained. Filled, too, as there were good nights and bad nights, but that was not the point. You had never known a man who hated the flesh-scorching burning sensation of money in his pocket like Toji did. Shady casinos and the horse track were his safeholds. It wasn’t just gambling that he fell victim too, though. He was easily impressed with luxury, whether vehicle or clothing.

When you had first met, he took pride in showering you with expensive gifts and tokens, but the cost never really settled with you. It was nice, but the lingering question of where the money came from, and why it was being spent, stumped you. When he was just your boyfriend, it was well enough for you to keep your nose out of his finances.

You lived separately and had your own lives, to an extent. If he wanted to live up to his nostrils in debt and negative credit, that was far from you to speak against. You made the grave mistake of marrying him so many years ago, though. His debt was your debt. His mistakes were your mistakes. Your child, bless him, was just as much comprised of Fushiguro DNA as he was of your lineage. Despite sharing all of these responsibilities, you rarely had a say.

When Toji brought home his winnings, he was content and decent enough, as one would be. What worried you was when he lost. He was never angry at seeing your joint bank account drain, knowing he would eventually win again. He was insatiable, an unstoppable force that never found an immovable object to stall him. You begged him to cut it out, to work out his priorities, and he tried a few many times, but it was never quite up to your satisfaction.

The thing that had broken your trust in him, or what little of it you had left, was when you had tried to purchase graduation gifts for Megumi. Your card declining was something you were used to seeing while shopping. You had tried locking it, but somehow, that couldn’t stop Toji either. Normally, you would call your husband and squeeze an answer out of him, and the funds would be returned to the account after a few hours. That day, though, there was no answer when you dialed Toji’s number. A few seconds went by, accompanied by ringing, but his voicemail ultimately picked up.

It was a long time coming. You sped home and threw his clothes out onto the yard.

You felt crazy. No other wife had to do this, spare the ones on television, so why did you? Could you not have a stable marriage, with a man who, for the longest, you felt a semblance of love towards? Rather than that, could you not have a man who had it under control? One who could focus on more than one thing at a time? One who felt responsibility for something other than his own satisfaction? You wondered if you were justified in trying to get rid of him. You had been together so long, long enough to make restarting life seem pointless.

But then his car pulled into the driveway. His recently purchased car, looking nearly totaled. The car that was being financed through your shared account. The car that you had given up a year’s worth of nail and hair appointments for, so that he could afford it without dragging you both down into poverty.

You gave so much of yourself away for him. Your secrets, time, money, and career, all to stay home to raise his child that, thank God, turned out to be more like you than his father. You gave away your last name in place of his, robbing yourself of any identity, and for what? An irresponsible wretch of a man who knew only how to drink, gamble, and avoid sharing his feelings?

He was lazy, egotistical, and the biggest mistake of your life.

A friend had pointed you in the direction of a decent divorce lawyer. It killed you that it came to this point, but you refused to let yourself play the fool. You had seen how it tore your mother apart to stay with a man who she hadn't loved in a very long time. She stayed brave for you, because she realized her truth much too soon. Now was your chance, with an empty nest and few damns left to give. 

The firm was nice enough. Small, but clean. Well landscaped. Your friend broke a little more than even in her divorce, so obviously the attorneys were capable. Alimony wasn't what you were after, though. Just freedom.

You tried to look put together, if not for the sake of decency, then for the sake of your mental health. The process had not even begun, but you were already exhausted. You knew Toji was going to fight you on this, so preparing for the battle was crucial. You had to call in some backup. 

"Hiromi Higuruma, at your service. I hope you found the place without problem."

He seemed overworked, with light bags under his eyes and a stern disposition following him, but that hardly disguised the fact that he was undeniably attractive. It was simply the truth—the god honest truth—he was a good looking man. Not that you could dwell on that for long

You weren't single yet.

"Yes," you said, after an awakened moment of shifting on your heels, "easily. Thank you for consulting with me, I've heard good things about you."

"Glad to hear it. Follow me, if you would."

Your eyes scanned furiously to find something to focus on, but the ashen, beige walls leading to his office were bare. Not a hint of chaos followed him. There was a clean divide where the outside world started and ended, and outside of that was his territory. Everything in its place, everything with a place to stay. 

His desk was no different. The closest thing to disorganization was the cup of pens that sat on the tabletop, with the mess being in the pens not being color-coded. 

You took a seat across from him and held back the urge to wring out your hands. You instead gripped onto your slacks, pinching silk between your fingers. You wanted to be here, you wanted a chance, but all you could think of was failure. 

Failure to choose the right man, failure to shield your son from arguments and bitterness, failure to be the brave woman that your mother had to be. Failure to pursue happiness, when you knew you deserved it much earlier on.

Higuruma was polite enough to not point out your obvious nerves. Either that, or he had seen it dozens of times before. 

You suddenly felt very unsheltered at that thought. You weren't the first desperate, lost woman to seek his help. And with his looks, well—

"Would you tell me more about your situation?" he asked, voice firm but far from sharp. "Are you looking at a custody agreement with your husband, or splitting assets, perhaps?"

You shook your head, bringing yourself to the present reality. 

"No, our only son is long gone from home now, so custody isn't an issue. Honestly, neither are our assets. The house, the cars, they—" you picked at the skin around your nails, trying to physically peel the jitters out of your body, "—don't matter much to me. I'll take what I can get, but I just can't be with him anymore."

"And why not? Infidelity? Abuse?" He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together and resting on his chest.

"Nothing like that," you said quickly, tongue rushing to force out defense. "Not at all. He's not the man I used to think he was, and I guess I just can't put up with him anymore. He's got a  spending problem. He's inconsistent. Irresponsible. I could go on."

He huffed in slight amusement, giving off his first impression of humanity and imperfection, with a nod. 

"Please do. I can only work with what you give me, Mrs. Fushiguro."

You cringed at the name, but held your tongue. Until legally free, Toji's last name was your burden to bear. 

"He's completely reckless. It's like I've never got a read on him, and when I do, he flies off my radar." You settled on staring at the window behind Higuruma's head to distract yourself. "He's never planned ahead a day in his life, he's just chancing it. It was fun, when we were young, but it got tiring. It used to excite me, but now it just..."

"Exhausts you."

"Right." You cleared your throat to continue. "I felt lucky, when I was young, to be with someone so free. Now, it's more like I've been trapped."

You had never had someone pay so much attention to you at one time. Given, it was the man's job, but it still felt nice. 

"At first, I thought I could handle it. Thought maybe he'd settle down once our son was born. But Toji doesn’t change. He never does. Every time I thought I had convinced him to get his act together, he’d do something stupid and drop the ball." You swallowed, trying to press down any emotion threatening to spill. "He’s not violent with me, but that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous in his own way."

"Financial instability," Higuruma murmured. "Debt?"

"Not always. I mean, not in a normal way, at least. He always finds a way to dig himself out, but only after making things worse for us first."

Higuruma finally reached for a pen, clicking it absentmindedly before jotting down a note. "Does he know about this meeting?"

"I'm sure he does, but not by my doing. He finds everything out, somehow." You let yourself crack a smile. "At this point, I'm not sure I would even tell him the color socks I'm wearing."

"Good. It's best to keep things to yourself at this point. Detach."

Your eyes darted up to meet Higuruma's dark, tired ones. You were surprised to see him grinning.

"So, dark grey, then?" His pen tapped the desk, motioning towards your shoes underneath it. 

Your feet shuffled a bit, since he was right. 

You were glad to find him. You had faith he would make this all work out. Complete faith.

"So y'leaving me for some prissy fuckin' suit?"

Toji couldn't let it go. He heard you call Higuruma one time. Once, and he latched onto it. He had been on it for days now, trying and failing to get you to change your mind. 

It wasn't the fact that you were leaving him that bothered him. Sure, he loved you. A good bit, actually, but if you were unhappy, he wouldn't stop you. However, the thought of another man taking you—what was his—was what bothered him. 

More than bothered. It enraged him. He accused you of cheating the whole time, but even he knew that wasn't true. He threatened to physically fight Higuruma, but you shut that down just as quickly as the cheating allegations. 

He was somewhat right, though. Of course, you hadn't been with Higuruma the entire time. That was factually impossible. You had gotten close to him, perhaps too close to be considered professional.

A few week of planning court dates and splitting assets had set 'Operation Dark Grey' into motion. Naturally, you both were spending more and more time together. It was inevitable.

One evening, late at his firm, you two happened to be going over documents together, and your hands met over the top of the desk. You tried to pull your hand away, but he wouldn't let you. He held it in his, tensely, as of you would evaporate in front of him if he let go. 

There was no magical confession of love, because that's not exactly what it was. You sought solace in him, in his body. You couldn't refuse him when he sank to his knees in front of you. You gave in when his head slotted between your thighs, when his tongue dipped into your folds. 

He made you feel so good, and more than that, he made you feel attractive. Like you would have a shot in the world after everything was said and done. Like you still had it.

You were weak, and you needed him. How could you turn him down when he had been so helpful and so, so sexy? 

Technically, on a small, fine-print detail, you had cheated on Toji, but he didn't need to know that. 

"No, Toji," you said sharply, pushing your hand against his chest, "I'm leaving you for my own sanity."

"Pfft, right. You think I'm not good enough for you anymore? Got a taste of some boring bastard and now you don't want me?"

God, he could be so childish. It used to be funny, how such a strong, solid man could get so fussy. Now, not so much.

"You haven't been good enough for me in a long time," you answered quickly, spitting out what hateful venom you could tolerate on your tongue, "and you know it."

You were lucky he wasn't one to get his feelings hurt, but that didn't mean he couldn't retaliate.

"Who's not enough, huh? I don't see you bitchin' at me now," Toji sneered, pulling one of your legs up. 

He held you in a pose so strong, so mean, that you barely had the strength to balance yourself. 

It had been months since you had last had sex with him. You forgot the feeling of being drunk on him. Too bad you always woke up feeling like shit after. 

"S—shut up," you spat back. You reached your hand backwards, blindly reaching for his shirt to hold onto. You wanted to say more, to rain hell on him, but he was punching all the air from your lungs. 

He pushed your hand off of his shirt collar, jeering at your flailing palm. He bucked forward and knocked you forward, face down into the couch cushions. He preferred this view, anyways, with your ass in the air and your protests muffled. If you stayed like this more often, he thought, your marriage would have lasted longer. 

Your legs kicked, saying what your mouth couldn't. You were cramping, being bent down so sharply, but the deepness of his strokes made it nearly worth it. 

Toji was a lot of things. 

A bastard, for one. Snarky. Untrustworthy. Irresponsible. 

But, God, he could fuck. Making love, meh. But fuck? Oh, he could do that and well. 

Your greedy cunt spasmed around Toji's cock, dripping onto the shag carpet beneath you. Your mind— a mess of frustration and need. 

You felt Toji slam his cock into you, rutting his head against your cervix's tip. He dug into you, burrowing himself deep enough to become uncomfortable, but necessary. 

"What are you—?"

"Quiet," he hissed, leaning down to your ear to place a nipping kiss. "Feel that? Feel—fuck—feel me throbbing for you?"

Your eyes widened in panic. No. He wouldn't do this to you. Not over something so stupid.

"Let's just try again, yeah? I'll make it work for us, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of you both," he said through clenched teeth, shooting every drop of cum he had saved up into you.

Another try. One more go around to get this right. You guessed you could stick around. 

Everyone deserves a second, or twelfth, chance, right?

[chrisstumps05]

How to Remove Stumps Using a Stump Grinder

[imaredshirt]

Give me a Stan who thinks Fiddleford doesn't know how to throw a punch, much less defend himself in a fight with your average goon, so one morning he takes it upon himself to show the nerd a few basic jabs and hooks and maybe an uppercut or two behind the cabin, because let's face it, there's gonna be a time when Stan can't be there to take a hit for the guy or defend his nerd butt. So he's gonna teach him some stuff for his own peace of mind.

Fiddleford just kind of genially goes along with it, following Stan around the back of the cabin and watching with hands on his hips and a smile as Stan gets into position.

"This is one of the most basic punches in the world, so pay attention, 'cause I'm not gonna show you again," Stan says, knees slightly bent and fists up.

Fidds nods. "You've got my full attention, Stanley."

Stan isn't sure if he's imagining the way Fidds is eyeing him up and down, but he automatically flexes his arms a little more than he needs to. Up ahead, Ford is sitting on a tree stump and taking samples of the air or something (Stan had stopped listening to Ford's explanation once his words went from interesting to Big Science Shit that Stanley Does NOT Care About) and he's watching them with this amused grin, rolling his eyes skyward when Stan won't stop flexing and showing his arms off.

Stan ignores him and rolls his shoulders before jabbing his fists forward in a quick one-two. "There - you catch that?"

Fidds has got his arms crossed now and gives Stan a thumbs up. "Sure did!"

"See, just like this," Stan says, and shows him again despite saying earlier that he wouldn't.

He shows him a few more punches, going over each one a couple times before telling the engineer to mirror him, even getting in close to adjust the guy's scrawny arms and balled fists. He's being real professional about it and everything and doesn't understand why Ford keeps grinning and shaking his head at them, which is making him a little incensed but he stamps it down because Fidds is watching him with this nerdy, dopey smile while letting himself be maneuvered around and he's gotta learn to defend himself 'cause Stan can't stand the thought of some jerkwad wiping that smile off the nerd's face.

"See," he says near the end of the lesson, tapping his fist right against Fidds’s chin. "Do it right and your fist'll hit right here."

Fidds tilts his head a fraction at the touch. "Well alright then, seems easy enough."

"Yeah, like I said, if you do it right. Gimme your hand-" he takes Fidds’s wrist and taps the guy's balled fist against his own stubbly jaw. "Right here. You got that?"

Fidds nods. "Sure do!"

"Good." Stan drops Fidds’s wrist and gets into position again. "Then come on - lay one on me."

Fidds pulls back and blinks at him. "Come again?"

"Hit me!" Stan taps his jaw. "Right here!"

The guy suddenly looks nervous and galnces over at Ford for help. "Hit you? Stanley, I don't think-"

This is what Stan means. Fidds isn't always gonna be able to look to him or Ford to save him. He gets this weird, uncomfortable feeling in his chest at the thought of Fidds facing off against some asshat on his own, and that alone is enough to keep him from letting the guys off easy, if only to get rid of the weird feeling. Maybe a bit selfish but he doesn't care.

"Ah, come on, one little punch ain't gonna hurt ya, Fidds."

"I'm not worried about me," Fidds says, and then frowns when Stan barks a laugh.

"You think you're gonna hurt ME?"

Fidds is still frowning when Ford calls over in an amused, warning tone, "This is not a good idea, Stanely!"

"Just worry about your air test or whatever and leave us alone," Stan calls back. Ford shrugs and scribbles something in his journal, and when Stan turns back to Fidds, Fidds is finally getting into position.

He looks unsure, watching Stan nervously as Stan stands before him with his arms crossed.

"Hey, not bad form - you ready?"

"Well, I suppose so," Fidds says, accent coming in a little thicker than before. "Stan, if you're sure, I should probably warn ya-"

"Don't tell me nothing, just punch me!"

Fidds presses his lips into a line and throws his fist - and jabs Stan on the chin just hard enough to tilt Stan's head half an inch to the side.

"That's it?" Stan guffaws and shakes his head. "That was barely a tap!"

"I don't wanna hurt ya!" Fidds says, sounding so conflicted that Stan gets this urge to pull him into a headlock and ruffle his hair and drive the worry away.

Instead he riles him up.

"Please," he says. "Fidds, look - one of these days I'm not gonna be there to take a hit for you, and then what're you gonna do? Just let some jerk punch ya around?"

Fidds looks slightly perplexed. "Where is this all comin from? No, Stanley, I am NOT gonna just let some jerk punch me around."

"Good! So you gotta learn to defend yourself!" Fidds still looks unsure, so Stan tries a different angle. "Okay, how 'bout this - what if some jerks are beating up on me and Ford, huh? You're just gonna let em?"

Fidds looks up. "What? No, I am not!"

"You're gonna defend us?"

"Dangnabbit, Stan - of course I am!"

"Not gonna let us get our teeth kicked out?"

"What!? No!"

"Then show me!" Stan slaps a hand against his own chin. "Right here, come on! I'm some jerk who just threw your friend Stan to the ground and I'm about to kick him in the gut, what're ya gonna-"

The blow lands hard. Stan's head jerks to the side and he's thrown off balance, and he sees actual stars before his vision clears again and he realizes he's crumpled on the ground. His head swims as hands pull him around onto his back.

"Mother o pearl!" Fidds gasps. He's got his hands on Stan's face, careful touch at complete odds with the punch he'd just landed in the same place. "Are you alright? I am so sorry! I hit ya and you weren't even ready and - you just got me so riled up and I tried to tell ya and I shoulda said earlier instead o just lettin ya show me all those moves, but I just wanted to, well - goddangit, Ford, this ain't funny."

Ford's laughing as he comes up behind them, looking down at where Stan is staring kinda dazedly up at Fidds, who's kneeling by his side in the cool grass. "We did try to tell him, Fiddleford."

"Tell me what?" Stan demands. His jaw is already aching but Fidds’s hands feel kinda good so he doesn't tell him to move.

"Fiddleford was a boxing champion back back in his hometown," Ford says.

Stan blinks. "Bwuh-?"

"Not much of a champion," Fidds says with a wince, but he's blushing a bit as he goes on, "It was never anythin official, but - well, I did win more than a few matches at some backyard parties, see, and - well, people usually don't think I got any hittin power or can defend myself, but my Ma's been all too happy to teach me since I was little, and-"

The guy's rambling, and Stan quits being able to understand what he's saying half way through cause the accent is coming in thick and Ford’s chuckling and standing there looking proud of his best friend and Stan’s a little worried that he's still jarred from the hit, cause when he looks at Fidds kneeling there, one hand one Stan's chest and the other bashfully rubbing his neck while he rambles on - he's still seeing stars.

Later, while Stan sits in the living room with an bag of ice in his jaw and Fiddleford sitting next to him, still rambling about all the times he'd knocked a few guys into the mud in some backcountry hoedown get-together or whatever, Stan can lean back and relax and grin, knowing Fidds is gonna be just fine.

He can't wait to teach him wrestling.

[prentissluvr]

warm brown jacket — sam winchester

for : 200+ followers event [ open ] ➖⟢ pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : major fluff, friends to lovers ➖⟢ cw : mentions of canon typical gore, violence, and bloodiness at the very beginning, mentions of being casually shirtless around each other kind of?, dean teasing a little, barely edited ➖⟢ wc : 1.3K prompt : sharing clothes in a totally (not) friendly way

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

you’re used to the grime and gore of the job; you don’t really have much of a choice. but the whole front and back of your shirt and jacket are so unpleasantly sticky from a horrid concoction of blood, mud, and maybe more, that your fingers itch to peel the layers from your body as you head for the car. of course, you’re just going to tough it out until you can shower and change at the motel. you know that sam and dean will let you take the first shower tonight; they’re not the ones who beheaded a vampire then got shoved into a mud puddle by a second right along with the decapitated body gushing blood from it’s stump of a neck. it sucked, to say the least.

you can’t resist pulling your jacket off, and you’re lucky that it gets rid of most of the mud. but it’s the front of your shirt that took the brunt of the blood, and it’s sticking to your skin, warm and just about dreadful. there’s a rustle beside you coming from sam, and you don’t have to look over to know the sounds of him taking off that big brown carhartt jacket. your favorite.

it’s only when he nudges you, holding the fabric out for you to take do you look at him. he’s got that pretty, borderline awkward smile when he’s trying to be subtly sweet. he doesn’t want to make you feel self-conscious about the mess on your clothes, but your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt and the grimace on your face that’s so subtle just about no one else but him could spot it, and he knows instantly that the stickiness of your clothes is bothering you.

you smile at him, not too wide so you don’t accidentally show him that he makes you feel in love, and accept the jacket with one hand. you’re trying to maneuver your own mess of a jacket away, but sam takes it from you with a soft, “here, i got it,” as you near the car.

“thank you, sam,” you say, pausing at the door so you can shrug the much cleaner layer on without being confined to the small car.

“course,” he replies, all casual and kind as if he isn’t dying to see you put the jacket on. then he remembers his manners. “dean and i’ll look away if you wanna,” he forgets how to be smooth for a moment, clearing his throat as he gestures vaguely to your bloody shirt, “you know, get rid of the shirt too. ‘m sure the blood’s worse than the mud.”

“right, of course. don’t wanna get the inside of your jacket covered in the blood anyways,” you agree, glad sam said something about that because you weren’t quite sure what to do. you certainly didn’t want to keep the shirt on, and you’ve been shirtless around the boys plenty before because of the way you live out of motel rooms, but with sam so close like this, waiting for you to put on his jacket, you feel the tips of your ears go flaming hot at the idea of taking your shirt off without some sort of awkward warning. this way, sam’s being an utter gentleman and taking the shot for you when it comes to who’s the most awkward this time around.

sam gives you his silly, pursed-lip smile and his dimples pop out and all you want is to kiss them til they never go away. he slides into the car, and as the door shuts closed, you turn your back to the impala, tuck the jacket between your knees, and shimmy the mess of a shirt off your body. a chill of air hits your sort of blood-wet skin, making you shiver before you can drop the ruined shirt and pull the warm layer over yourself. but the second the soft fabric is over your shoulders, then around your arms and torso, it’s sweet heaven. sam’s body heat lingers, warming you in an instant and pushing a sigh of relief from your parted lips.

the time-worn softness of the fabric is glorious after such uncomfortable textures, and though the metal of the zipper is a little chilly against your stomach as you close the jacket around you, you couldn’t care less about that. 

a moment later, you’re settled into the back seat, trying not to look at sam to see if he’s taking in how you look in his favorite jacket. instead, you catch dean’s eye through the rearview mirror and he sends you a teasing wink that has you stuck between rolling your eyes at him and flat out planting your face into your hands to hide.

the ride is quiet save the few minutes in a fast food drive-through. dean grumbles about the restaurant’s lack of pie as he drives off in the direction of the motel.

standing in the motel room, you hate to take off the jacket, but it’s a must if you want to shower and get the rest of the day's grime off of you and down the drain. sam’s already assured you that you don’t need to wash it for him, so you leave it on the foot of your shared bed before you head to the shower. you know that he likes to pack up any piece of clothing he isn’t using right away.

you try to keep your shower short for the sake of your companions, though it's difficult when the hot water feels so comforting and cleansing. even so, being back in your own clean clothes afterwards is certainly nice as you leave the bathroom after brushing your teeth and running through your short post-shower routine.

sam’s sitting at the table across the room and dean stands from his bed, ready to shower next. you’re expecting to mourn the loss of the jacket on your bed, but your eyes immediately fall on the nicely folded bundle of brown fabric placed neatly by your pillow. unable to resist, you walk to it and pick it up, placing it on your lap as you sit on the edge of the bed. you try to catch sam’s eye to silently ask what he means by leaving it there, but it almost feels as if he’s avoiding your gaze in favor of staring at the book in front of him.

since you can’t get sam’s attention, you turn to dean before he can go, but all you get is a sly smile before he disappears into the bathroom. 

it has got to be your raging crush on pretty boy over there, sitting so close and far all at once, that’s making you jump to silly conclusions. but the barely visible blush on his cheeks, his refusal to look up when he heard you pick up the jacket, and dean’s knowing look makes it feel like sam wants you to put that jacket back on. and you do too.

so, you stand and turn as if you’re not looking at sam anymore, but you’re careful to keep him visible out of the corner of your eye as you unfold the fabric and put it back on. the ac is too strong; it’s cold, you tell yourself that’s enough of an excuse.

if you could tuck sam’s pretty brown hair behind his ears like you so often get the urge to, you bet the tips would be pink. even with his face half blurry in your peripheral, you can see the look he's giving you, because he is looking now. it’s an expression you don’t see on him often at all; he’s the kind of guy to always school his features away from betraying what he thinks and wants. this time, it’s loud and clear and you can feel it as much as see it. you, wrapped up safe and warm in his jacket, are exactly what he wants. 

you think you’re gonna kiss him, and he’s gonna kiss you back with his hands clutching at that soft brown fabric to be sure it’s all real and glorious like he thinks it is.

[floweredsoul03]

Hello! I hope I'm sending requests right, because it's rare that I do these. Could you do a Boom!Sonic going on a date with someone who's an introvert and/or has social anxiety? As someone who struggles with this myself, I'm curious to see how that would go; how he'd figure out why they're so quiet and get them out of their shell a bit. I understand if you can't take this request. If you can take your time, no rush! I hope you have a good day/night!💙

Boom!Sonic going on a date with someone who's an introvert / has social anxiety

(Boom!Sonic x Reader)

The first time meeting Sonic:

You decided to stroll around the village to get to know this new place you will now know better as your home. Then you hear screams. Running towards the sound, you see mechanical bees and crabs attacking a burger joint called “Meh Burgers.”

Ready to fight, you unsheathed your katana and used your power to speed it up. One by one, you sliced a crab swiftly with precision.

“What the..!”

You looked up to see a bald, egg-shaped headed man with a mustache way too big not to be considered comical in a floating machine.

“If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Besides, you’re not even Sonic or his other rodent friends.” The man speaking then put a hand on his chin, thinking. “Or are you? Bah! I can’t remember; who cares anyway. If you want to try and be a hero, you can go ahead and die like one. Attack them!” He pointed towards you.

Looking around, the crabs and bees started surrounding you.

“Not so fast, egghead!” Sonic ran in but then started slipping and looked down. “Ice?” His eyes followed the trail, and it ended with you—someone with a scarf covering half their face and a katana in hand. Before he can do anything, he hears you shout, “Falling snow, adorn my night!”

With a slash in the air with your katana, what looked like a snowstorm surrounded you, leaving you unharmed, unlike the robots that were once surrounding you, now being slashed and beaten around. The storm you created calmed and disappeared once all the robots were destroyed. Unaware that Sonic was stumped in place, he had awe on his face as he was still looking at you.

You just did that all on your own. Sonic has seen other people with powers but hasn’t seen anyone do something quite like what you did.

With a shout of frustration, the man you now knew as Egghead went off, “You’ll pay for that! I hope you’re ready to be paranoid for the rest of your life. Shadows in the corner of your eye, a creak in the floorboard, umm.” He scratches his head, but Sonic spin attacks the eggmobile before he can continue. “Can it already.”

“You just became my new enemy!” Egghead yells as he’s sent flying away.

Once he’s out of sight, you sigh, putting away your katana.

The purpose of going out for a walk was to relax and take a break from spending hours settling into your new home. Not even making it past day one being here, you’ve made an enemy. Granted, you’re confident you can take care of yourself, but just because you know how to fight doesn’t mean you want to go around looking for trouble on purpose.

You tense up when you feel someone tap your shoulder. You turn and see the blue hedgehog that got rid of Egghead. “Those were some sick moves there, and I didn’t even need to step in to help you. Name’s Sonic. And what’s the name of the Ice Prince/Princess.”

In retrospect, you knew off the bat he wasn’t an awful person, and he means well, but your mind shows no mercy. The way he has no problem with direct eye contact with you has you looking anywhere but him. His honest compliment gives a perfect opening to strike up a conversation and possibly make a new friend. Still, experiences of the past haunt you, making you fearful of slipping up and regret saying anything at all. And the way he asked for your name has you panicking. Did Sonic mean to make it sound flirtatious? If he did, that makes the pressure of responding even worse. If he didn’t, you’d feel like an absolute fool and start mentally berating yourself for even thinking of that. What if he called you Ice Prince/Princess because you already came across as a cold individual? You’ve had people tell you that on multiple occasions, more than you would like to admit. Even if he didn’t mean it that way, your mind leads you to these pessimistic thoughts.

He may not think that now, but what if he does later?

You knew you accidentally took too long to respond when you heard Sonic. “Umm. Are you okay?”

Great. Now, he probably thinks that something’s wrong with me.

Panicking, you couldn’t take it anymore.

Sonic is taken aback when suddenly you’re gone, but there is a frozen fog where your feet once stood, running away into an alley.

“Wait!” He tries running after you without stepping on the trail of ice. But then he comes to an intersection where a massive mess of ice and snow is left behind, and the trail has ended. It gave Sonic whiplash how every move you made during the fight looked calculated and confident, ruthless with your attacks, with a steeliness in your eyes. Still, once the fight was over, it was as if you became an entirely different person. Eyes shift anywhere but him, your thumb scratching and rubbing the handle of your blade where your hand was placed, and slight sweat begins forming on your forehead that wasn’t there when you were fighting.

Their powers consist of ice; isn’t that supposed to help with heat? Sonic thought to himself.

Disappointed, he looks around one last time before running off.

You’re grateful for this because not even a moment later, the sneeze you were holding comes out on its own. You knew you couldn't outrun him, so you caused the mess on purpose to make it seem you completely vanished when, in reality, you were hiding behind a dumpster.

How you two become friends:

If Sonic thought it would be a one-time thing, he would have been dead wrong. The few times when there was a moment when it seemed an opponent had the upper hand, you’d show up out of nowhere to help and then disappear. Of course, with this happening, Sonic’s whole gang knew about you now.

Most were convinced you were a good person, just not the best at socializing. Sticks, on the other hand, was still on edge.

But that didn’t stop Amy when she saw you coming out of a store with a bag. She instantly lit up; she and the rest of her friends hardly saw you around when they went… well, anywhere. She had a clue that you probably struggled socially, so maybe she can help you and become friends.

So she walked up to you and said, “Hello there.”

You jumped slightly in surprise before turning around, “Hi.” You felt nerves prick your hands slightly, but it seemed like thanks to the fact that you had an idea of how much of a sweetheart Amy is -as long as you didn’t purposely do or say something rude- you weren’t as skittish around her compared to the day when you first encountered Sonic.

“Thanks for helping me and my friends whenever we’re in a rough situation.”

You shook your head, “It’s no problem.”

They seem nervous yet gentle. Sonic must’ve meant this when he said they’re different when not fighting. Amy thought to herself.

“I’m sorry for always running off.” You carefully chose your following words before Amy beat you to it.

“Interacting with others is hard for you?”

Even though she asked, you can tell it was more of a statement than a question. Some of her warmth and gentleness rubbed off and made it easier to look at her as you nodded.

“How about we become friends, and I’ll slowly introduce you to everyone else?”

You’ve made some friends in the past, but sometimes life happens, and you part ways. You’ve met people in the past who you called friends, but as time passed, you noticed it seemed like they invited you into their already tight-knit group out of pity. And you’ve had people you thought were friends but made you feel small in your life.

However, for some reason, it didn’t feel like Amy was asking you out of pity. You knew she was a good person, and you couldn’t help but feel like once you said yes, there was no way she would let you drift away so easily. So you took the leap of faith and said yes.

The day you were forced to have to face Sonic was an accident. You and Amy were sitting on the couch talking about who she should introduce you to when Sonic just barged in, and his sight landed on you, forgetting what he was initially there for.

“It’s you!” He ran and sat next to you. “Talk about a cold shoulder. You’re hanging out with Amy but don’t have enough time to spare for me? I’m hurt.” He says dramatically, his hands clutching the area where his heart is.

“Sonic.” Amy chides. Annoyed already that things aren’t going the way she hoped. She wanted to talk to her friends about your social anxiety and introvert tendencies before they talk to you.

“It’s fine, Amy.” You assured her. If Sonic is still making jokes with you, then maybe that means he didn’t take you running off multiple times as an offense. “I’m sorry for always running away. I’m not the best at talking to people, so please don’t think it’s something personal.”

Sonic waves you off as he lays back with his arms behind his head and his feet propped up on the table. “It’s fine, I get it. You couldn’t look at or talk to me; you started fidgeting with your sword, sweating, and running away. So that means despite being able to produce ice at will, you just couldn’t stay cool enough not to have the hots for me. Am I right, or am I right?”

You swear you felt yourself malfunctioning at that moment, “What?”

Amy smacked Sonic’s feet off the table so hard he almost fell off from where he was sitting.

“Sonic.” Her tone of warning.

“Yes, I heard you the first time; I don’t have amnesia; I know my name, Amy.”

You thank whatever gods are up there that you wear a scarf.

Sonic helping you out of your comfort zone:

Amy would inform him about what she’s learned from you about your social anxiety. He does like you. Even though he tends to be blunt, rude, and shortsighted about others' feelings, being around you might help him become more considerate of others' emotions.

But he is not perfect, so don’t expect him to be 100% a saint.

Sonic decided to take over introductions as his duty as a hero of the people. Or so he says.

Did Amy agree? No.

Does Sonic care? No.

When the day came, you decided you were ready to meet the next person in their group; Sonic was ecstatic for you to meet his best friend, Tails. He told you to wait home, and he’d bring him over. He did not tell you that they were both coming over on hoverboards.

You couldn’t help but notice how much fun they looked.

“You’re (Y/n), yes? Sonic said you’ll be joining us today.” The fox you assume is Tails comes up next to you with a hoverboard in one arm before handing it over to you.

Before you can say that you don’t know how to ride one, Tails continues, “Don’t think that just because you never knew before means you still can’t learn now. I’ll teach you.”

As silly as it may sound, you can’t help but feel like you just gained a younger brother.

And that’s how Sonic was getting you comfortable with meeting more of his friends, making these outings fun enough for you to forget about society and live in the moment.

The moment he knew he was in love with you:

Shadow was attacking you and your friends. Well, now, only you since he knocked out the rest. Amy already sent a request for backup from Sonic before she passed out. You were doing the best you could to hold out. You can parry some attacks and sense when he teleports, but the problem is his speed. You can cloak yourself into a frozen fog when he runs at you, but he can still get a few hits. You’ve only been able to do more defense moves than offense. You can use your ability to go faster, but it’s not super speed like Sonic.

When you were wondering if you might fail your friends, Sonic arrived. And when the battle was over, you stood in silence for a moment when, for some reason, a giggle left your lips. Which then turned into laughter.

Sonic asked if you were okay when he saw how you looked.

Your scarf had fallen off from your fight with Shadow, showing your face for the first time. Your smile was big yet still held a gentleness like your voice.

And your laughter.

Whenever you laughed before, it was usually just a closed-mouth giggle. The most Sonic could get out of you was when you placed your hand over your scarf where your mouth was to keep yourself from bursting out. But now here you are. Laughing out loud unapologetically without holding back.

You looked beautiful even with a messy hairstyle, dirtied clothes, and bruises. There was a sunset with a chaotic mess of ice surrounding you.

An ice-ability user with a warm heart.

“After everything we’ve been through, I have no idea how we’re still alive; it makes no sense!” You laughed. Your laughter started feeling contagious to Sonic, and he joined in.

How he would confess to you:

As much as Sonic makes it seem like he’s not a sappy person when he puts in the work, he’s exposed as actually being a softy. He wants to make this special, and he does.

You feel drained and desperately need to recharge. You care and love your friends, but if you don’t care for yourself when you feel this way, you start getting irritated and feel a bit snappy. You’ve done a good job holding back from doing or saying anything you know you don’t mean, but it still scares you now and then that it might happen one day. Yes, arguments have happened amongst your friends, but you try your best to be the neutral side.

Saying your goodbyes, you head home. However, once you are away from your friends, Sonic runs beside you. “I made plans today for just the two of us.”

“I’m sorry, Sonic, but I’m not in the mood for anything hectic right now.”

Sonic panicked, “You’re going home to rest up, right? Well, it just so happens that my plans involve both of us just slowing down for once.”

You blinked. “Did I hear that correctly? Sonic T. Hedgehog, ‘the fastest being alive,’ Mr. ‘can’t be tamed,’ Mr. ‘can’t slow down’ has made plans to take it easy for once? Is it the end of the world?” You then poked his shoulder. “Is this secretly Metal Sonic with a new upgrade from Dr. Eggman? A new ploy to let our guard down and destroy everything on Seaside Island?”

“Ha ha, very funny. You know, you’re starting to sound like Sticks,” He took your hand to hold in his and started leading you away. “Don’t underestimate me. I can be unpredictable when I want to be—slowing down? No problem. We’ll start by just walking down to Meh Burgers. No running.”

“I look forward to seeing if you can back up your words.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Sure enough, you and Sonic walked to Meh Burgers hand in hand without running. Before you mentally prepare to speak to the cashier, Sonic says, “You can go ahead and find us a table; I’ll order.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not a problem for me.” He waved, reassuring you before he walked away.

You find a table to sit at and wait for Sonic. Unfortunately, your mind starts to take a cynical path. You chose a table that you hoped seemed inconspicuous, but it still doesn’t change the fact that there’s not really a hiding spot in an open area like this.

Did you stand out negatively? Why does it feel like a giant neon light is pointing at you? Is there someone here talking about how weird you stick out? Are some of them pitying you, thinking you’re eating here alone?

Distracted by your overwhelming thoughts, you don’t sense Sonic arriving with the food. “Everybody else is busy in their own world.” You jump slightly, hearing his voice. “If you listen closely, you can hear them talking about something they got going on.” He says as he places down the tray.

When you listen, you hear conversations about visiting family, going to a theatre, and shopping. Your thoughts and emotions slow, and you feel like you can breathe properly. You miss Sonic's gentle smile before he changes the subject to something he knows makes you happy and allows your mind to drift away from negative thoughts.

You and Sonic are walking hands together to the beach. Sonic has seen more than enough sunsets, but this time, he needs it now more than ever to help ease his nerves and confess to you.

Sitting down, you noticed that something was off with him, but instead of asking immediately, you decided to watch the sunset and wait awhile for him to hopefully feel comfortable enough to talk about it—emphasis on hopefully.

He takes a breath before taking out a Starfruit, “Do you want to share?”

Others may think it's a small gesture; however, you recall reading a story and telling Sonic about a scene where a character mentions that if two people share one, their destinies become intertwined. They will remain a part of each other's lives no matter what.

Your heartbeat quickens, and your face warms up, but not because of anxiety.

He knew you needed to rest and recharge, so the fastest person alive slowed down for you. He also knew how nice-looking restaurants make you paranoid about whether you're overdressed or underdressed and whether you're showing proper etiquette, so he took you to a burger joint. He knows how you rehearse every interaction with a cashier multiple times in your head so you don't screw up and make a fool out of yourself, so he went and did it for you. He noticed that your mind had taken over and nearly drowned you with your thoughts, and he helped pull you out. And right now, in this moment, he remembered a small detail in a story you’ve only talked about once.

“I’m not the best at talking about my feelings, but I hope you know what I’m trying to say.”

For once, without a doubt, you hold Sonic’s free hand by the wrist to gently pull it towards you and use an index finger to draw a heart.

Sonic lets out a breath of relief before whispering, “That’s good.” He had a big smile on his face.

A/N: Did I give the reader similar powers of Kazuha and Ayaka from Genshin Impact? Yes, I did. Did I make reference to The Case Study of Vanitas? Yes, I did. Did I also make a reference to Kingdom Hearts? Yes, I did. Do I regret any of it? No 😈😂

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hey could I possibly request an Autistic! reader x Dealer! Remus where r shows affection through biting so they'll randomly come up behind rem as hes with a customer (Or James/Sirius) and just bite his shoulder but no where near hard enough to hurt and they just stand there like that and the other person with rem gets a little confused but Remus is just completely unfased because R will do this all the time if they get overwhelmed and just need to be around Remus but is way to overwhelmed to hug him

That probably made no sense but my lil autistic brain came up with it while reading your dealed rem fics :))

Your autistic brain has made this perfect blurb be born!! Thank you for requesting and feel free to send more autistic!reader x whoever you please

You'd been sketching on the sofa in the dispensary, mechanical pencil scratching against the paper as music blasted through your headphones.

It wasn't the first time that Remus had you sit in the quietest corner of the dispensary while he was selling, and every so often he'd throw his gaze in your direction smiling quietly to himself when he found you relaxed and drawing.

"Are you sure this is all I can get?" Remus hates when customers get like this. He's been straining a new type of weed and it'd been a selective process, not wanting to waste too much of it in the event that it didn't do well.

He'd limited it to 7 grams only. It was still a lot, but to seasoned smokers, not really.

"Yeah mate, m'not trying to send anyone to the hospital if they green out." The man nods, asking Remus another question that doesn't register to you.

You're just on your way to Remus, you've been stumped by your drawing and being stumped has led to a bit of overwhelm that you know just how to get rid of.

Your hand presses into the small of Remus' back as you sink your teeth into the crook of his shoulder. You don't bite him for longer than ten seconds, not hard either- there's just the slightest imprint of your teeth in his skin when you pull away.

Remus turns to you, a question on his face that he doesn't vocalise. He doesn't need to- you've been together so long and Remus has worked hard to learn all your cues so that when you don't want or can't talk, you don't need to.

You shake your head and he nods once, the man on the other side of him confused as to the entire interaction. "Sorry mate," Remus says when you're back on the sofa, pencil tapping against your lip.

"That doesn't break skin?" the man asks and Remus chuckles, placing the baggie in his hand and taking the money from his outstretched hand.

"No it's sound, see you next week?" The man takes the dismissal, taking his weed and leaving. Remus turns in your direction.

He mimes taking off one of the ears of your headphones. "Everything okay?" he asks when you do, eyes roving your face and then taking a peek at your journal.

There on the pages are a series of sirens, all from different angles. The body twisting one way, then the other, some are swimming upside down, others are laying on a rock lower body hidden as they entice a sailor.

"Yeah, was just stuck on something. It helps." He knows it does, so much so that he doesn't even check on the mark. You lean into him when he takes a seat beside you, pressing a kiss to the bitten shoulder.

"You know it's okay, dovey." he whispers, patting your head and feeling you preen under the action. "Doesn't bother me." you smile where your lips are pressed into his skin.

"Can I do it again?" you don't sound overwhelmed but Remus nods. Your teeth sink into the same spot, Remus strokes hair back into your braid, cheek pressing into your head.

When you pull away, there's a little line of dribble moving with you. Remus swipes it away with his thumb, kissing your forehead as he watches you fix your headphones back on and pick up your sketchbook again.

You start a new sketch, one of a superhero Remus has come to recognise as yourself, equipped with your pink headphones as all, laying on a sofa much like the one you're sitting on now with a cat Remus thinks is himself sitting on the arm near your shoulder.

He sits with you until another customer comes in, eyes flitting to you every couple of minutes he's away.

[thoughtportal]

Grinding tree stumps is usually how we deal with them. If you have land to clear on your homestead, it could become quite a chore to get these stumps taken care of. But did you know that you can eat your stumps?

Well, that is not exactly true. If you head out there and start chewing on tree stumps, they won't taste very good. And there is no method of slow cooking that will make that poplar edible or appetizing.

However, one way you can both eat your stumps and hasten their decomposition is to inoculate them with a mushroom spore. I understand that is a mouthful of words that don’t really mean much to the average person.

What I'm saying is, you can buy wooden dowels that are covered with the spores of certain types of mushrooms.

These dowels can be easily inserted into your stumps and they will begin feasting on the wood. The best part is that you will get delicious mushrooms several times a year. These spores are prolific and will produce enough mushrooms that you will need to dry them.

If you do this to a field of stumps, you better get your e-commerce ready or set a booth up at the local farmers market.

Shiitake Mushrooms retail for between 8$ and $15.

I prefer the Shiitake because it looks very distinct and I love the taste as well. They also preserve well.

Mushroom Nutrition

The Shiitake mushroom is a delicious little cap. It's full of great nutrients like copper and selenium. It's also a decent source of Vitamin B2 and B6. It contains lipids and amino acids as well.

Shiitake have played a role in Chinese medicine for millennia. There are also studies on their ability to fight tumors. For the most part, though, they are just delicious and grow with little to no effort. You can eat them, dry them, or sell them.

Tools and Supplies

Drill and Drill bit of 5/16th inch bit

Hammer

Wax

Vessel for melting wax

Small Paintbrush

Shiitake Spawn (store in fridge until ready for use)

The Process

7. That’s it! It’s not a tough process. If you can melt some wax and use a drill, you can have all the mushrooms you want.

How to Activate the Spore

It takes about 6-12 months for the spore to initially spread through your stump. So, it will take at least a year before you get any production.

Your stumps will produce in spring and in fall. You may get some sparse production in summer, but the bulk of production happens in spring and fall. The spore will need to be distributed through the stump each season and activated.

The best way to do this is to first soak your stumps thoroughly. When I do this with logs, I toss them into a small creek on my property overnight. You can water the stumps a few times a day for about 5 minutes. Just get them nice and soaked.

Next, you will want to bang the stumps. You can use a bat to hit the stump. Don’t really crack the thing and damage the stump, but give it a couple whacks on all sides. This will kickstart production.

Other Tips

After 6 months, keep an eye on the logs or you may miss the first production.

Stumps in the shade will produce best.

Too much direct sun will dry out the stump and they will not produce.

Harvest them when the cap is between 3-4 inches.

To dry, put them in a 200-degree oven until the caps are shrunken and hard.

Of course, the other payoff is that these mushrooms will hasten the decomposition of that problem stump. It won’t work as quickly as a stump grinder, but you will get years of delicious mushrooms out of it!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The speaker drones lowly, your playlist cycling through your most listened. You fall into your routine. You always liked cooking. It was always comforting. Your grandmother taught you all her favourite recipes whenever you came around. The familiar aromas bring back what can never truly be. 

You split the squash with a large knife, the thunk jarring you. You might not be the safest person in the kitchen but you’ve yet to do worse than a few nicks. You gut the seeds from inside and scoop in a heap of butter and brown sugar, then drizzle the rest with maple syrup. You’ll bake that while you work on the roast. 

The back door clatters and makes you flinch. Somehow, you almost forgot. That needling presence never really fades completely but you felt somewhat normal. 

You listen as Bucky lingers at the back door. He appears in the kitchen door as you look over. His grey jacket is streaked in dirt and his hands are similarly filthy. You give him a curious squint. 

“Got rid of that dead stump. Rot’s not good to keep around,” he explains. 

“Oh, right, you... wait? How did you do that? I was supposed to borrow Ian’s axe--” 

“Don’t need an axe,” he wiggles his vibranium fingers at you. “Gonna wash up. Anything I can help out with in here?” 

“Think I’m good,” you assure him, “I’m almost done.” 

“Mm, smells good,” he glances the pan of squash. 

“Hope so,” you reply. 

He watches you a moment before he turns away. His footsteps echo after him and fade into the soft music. You carry on, putting quartered onions and garlic cloves round the cut of meat. You baste and season, then put it all in the stove. 

You gather up the peels and seeds into your hands and head down the hall to toss it all in the compost. You get to the back door and clamour through, dumping it all into the barrel. You dust your hands off before you head inside. 

You didn’t notice the open door before. You’re slightly embarrassed as you glance over and catch Bucky lathering up his hands in the sink. You quickly flit away without another look. Oops. 

Cramped quarters are bound to get awkward but you hadn’t expected that sight. Bucky, shirtless, focused on his hands as he scrubbed away the dirt. You can see it vividly as you try not to think of it.  

The tortured flesh around his left shoulder, trimming the dark metal of his prosthetic, his other arm as hard as the other, firm and rounded with muscle. His chest full and just as taut, though his middle was softer. The little bit that stuck out over his pants and the extra layer of padding up his stomach filled him out, though there was strength woven into his entire body. 

You shake your head and swallow. You wipe down the counter and rinse off the used dishes and cutlery. You busy yourself and do your best to forget. 

You open the fridge and take out a bottle of sparkling water. You close it and nearly cry out as Bucky stands behind the door. He reaches up to grip the top of the fridge. He wears a fresh ribbed tank top, his arm flexing as he looms over you. 

“Mind grabbing me a beer, please and thanks.” 

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” you open the door again and take out a bottle of beer.  

“Sorry?” He echoes as the fridge closes with a nudge of your elbow, “for what?” 

“Um, nothing, just, didn’t hear you, I guess.” 

“Ah, so it’s not that Canadian thing you do?” 

“Canadian thing?” 

“You apologised for tripping earlier.” He shrugs as he accepts the beer. 

“Oh? Habit, maybe. I didn’t notice.” 

He chortles, “you know, I served with some Canadians. Good soldiers. They always show up.” 

“Wow, I... makes sense... my great grandfather served. Came back and drove a truck after,” you say. “My grandmother talked about him a lot but I was too young to remember him before he passed.” 

“Sorry,” he says, “ha, there I go, huh? Or is it eh?” You give him a look. He uncaps his beer and arches a brow. “What’s that for?” 

“What?” You wonder. 

“That look? Sam did say you could be a bit... never mind.” 

“He said I could be a bit what?” You twist of the plastic lid of your flavoured water. 

“Nothing, he always says shit, you know? Tells everybody I’m a grumpy old man. I’m old and I’m tired, not grumpy,” he insists as he leans on the counter and drinks his beer. As he does, he lifts his vibranium hand and picks at his thumb with the index. “Mm,” he pulls his lips off the neck, “you got a cuticle stick or something? This damn thing collects dirt like a broom.” 

“I might have something. Got Q-Tips,” you offer. 

“Whatever you got. I should probably clean this thing before dinner,” he says. 

“Sure, let me just go look.” 

You put your water down and squeeze past him. He doesn’t shy away, crowding you as you pass him. You don’t know if he’s just not paying attention or what.  

You go down to the bathroom and pull out the drawer. You wince as something rolls against the front. Shit. You really hope he wasn’t looking around already. You reach inside and take out the suction toy you shove it up your sleeve. Would he know what the silicon rose was? 

You search around and find a nail kit. You bought it thinking you were going to go camping but that never happened. Maybe next year. 

You dip into your room and tuck the silicon toy on the bookshelf then head back to the kitchen. You hand him the small case. “Brand new. You can keep it.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” he accepts it, wiggling it between his fingers, “I’ll just go... take care of this.” 

He drinks again from his beer and sidles through the doorway next to you. You slip through and retreat to the stove as warmth blooms around it. Is it the cooking that’s making you sweat or something else? 

[supernatural-bias]

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐛 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ notes: lars content yay! as far as i can tell, i'm one of the few to do anything on him, so i hope there's more than ten people out there interested in him

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: she blinded me with science—thomas dolby

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• This guy is a snacker

• Take one look at him. You can't tell me that he doesn't constantly skip out on meals in favor of research, usually just pulling a granola bar or stained tupperware from his desk drawer to eat while he works

• Don't get me wrong, Lars can still devour a good bit of food. Sometimes you like to make fun of him for how much good he'll get on his face in the process

• "You're looking at me weird." He frowned at you one day from behind the rims of his glasses

• "Uh, yeah. Wonder why." You grin with mild surprise, watching as leftover rice and beans from the burrito in his hands stuck to the corners of his mouth like glue. He was quick to wipe it all off, ignoring you as you laughed at him

• Aside from that, Lars usually keeps his workplace pretty clean. It's cluttered, sure, but you don't think you've ever seen him wonder where something went. He just always knew where things were. It was like he had a system in his head, and the more you thought about it, the more you decided he definitely did

• The one time someone had even tried to clean his place up, you watched as he immediately jumped in, convincing them that they were needed elsewhere and sending them off before they could mess with his set-up

• Often times, when it's just the two of you alone in the offsight lab, you'll bounce a tennis ball off the wall while Lars types away, only ever looking up to squint at you when the ball gets to close to his head

• "You should really give that to the possesor. I'm sure it'd appreciate it." He hums to you at one point while spinning around in his chair to reach something. Behind you, you hear the unmistakable sound of a metal chair tapping excitedly on glass, and you make a tsking noise

• "Pretty sure you just want me to stop distracting you with my awesome skills." You boast, attempting to do a trickshot only to smack Lars in the back. He glares at you, and you inch backward with a nervous chuckle

• "You know what, I think I'll give it to the possesor."

• "What a brilliant idea." Lars says monotonely. You were quick to get rid of the ball

• He hums while he works!

• It's not anything discernable. In fact, most of the time he isn't even singing real songs. Just little tunes he'll make up on the spot for himself; often as a way to pass the time and make minute tasks fly by

• You notice it quite a lot, but don't really say anything. It's quite entertaining, if you're being truthful

• "Sittin' and waitin' for food. Sittin' and waitin' for food.." He'd improvised once while waiting yet again for a t.v dinner of his to finish its cycle in the labs shared microwave

• "Wow Lars. Voice of an angel, you have."

• "Stuff it."

• Lars doesn't often need help with his work, there's a reason he landed the job after all, but when he does, you're always the first person he goes to. It's a side effect of having spent so much time with you at work, and even outside of it—if you counted lunch breaks and independent experiments as a non-work environment

• He likes being able to get a fresh set of eyes on whatever's stumping him, and it usually doesn't take long for the two of you to work around whatever was holding him up

• Overall, you couldn't think of a better friend/co-worker to have, and the same applies for Lars. Your relationship will only strengthen as time goes on, even withstanding the bizzar experiences that Garraka eventually brings later that year

• But that's for much later. Right now, the two of you are content to sit in the aquarium-turned-headquarters, watching as the hours ticked by without a care in the world

[bahrtofane]

soapy oh soapy

jude looses his lucky charm and looses his mind in the process

word count - 1.5K+

watch it - HAPPY ARPIL FOOLS. the most unserious fic to date ( jk theres one more coming )

p.s. -big shout out to my friends @aloejuicebr for fueling this madness u guys are real ones and even bigger shout to plooki @yayam26 for making soapy missing poster

-----

You end up forcing jude to do skin care with you after begging him for weeks because you just know you can work your magic and make him feel the best he’s ever felt. All you need is a night in. And time. Lots of time 

After some persuasion and begging, pouty lips and puppy eyes, he gives in. 

“Fine.” is all he says while you’re in his living room, legs over his watching a movie that you've long ignored in favor of bothering him. 

But you’re already giggling. Picking out a headband you want him to wear in your head. Pink care bear one it is. The night comes on a rainy day, he has a rare day off the next morning, so you want him to start it on a good note. 

You’re getting ready for bed, in your pjs, jumping about while you get your little baggie full of goodies out. 

“Here,” you hand him the headband,” put this on” pink care bear one just like you envisioned. 

He takes it, feeling the soft material while he hums, “what’s this for?”

“Keeps things out of your hair.” you smile, dragging him to his bathroom. You take about a hundred pictures, and he poses for you for each one. Giggling while you coach him into poses. You think you'll send a few to Jobe for good measure. 

You face the sink and think of a game plan. Eyeing the counter  

It’s here you first lay eyes on soapy. 

“Jude what the hell is that? "You grimace, looking at what looks like a dry stump of white something, sitting on its own little ceramic dish. 

Jude looks away, scratching the back of his neck, mumbling something under his breath. 

You swing your little kit on the sink counter, setting a hand on your hip,”what was that?” 

He sighs dramatically, putting his face in his hands,”it’s my good luck charm. soapy,” he wails. 

You snort, patting his back, “I'm sure he’s very uh lucky,” you give it a small pat. 

“No he is,” Jude brings his head up to face you, “ I know it. I've had him since before dortmund. “ he nods proudly. 

You grimace,”you’ve had a piece of soap for years?”

He only nods harder. 

“Okay jude. Whatever you say. “ 

“I am not getting rid of him,” he points a finger in your face. One that you gently move, pulling his hand into your own. 

“I didn't say get rid of him. Let’s get your skincare started, yeah?”

He nods, following you through the steps like a lost puppy. leaning down while you help him apply the creams and foams just right 

When it’s all set and done, he wiggles into bed happy as can be. Sighing deeply, “that was actually really nice. Thank you. “ 

peck! right on your nose. 

you laugh, “told you it would be nice. “ 

your next plan is to find a way to deal with soapy…

——-

Jude loses soapy. It becomes a whole fiasco. He can’t find him in the usual small little pocket in his duffel bag in the usual ziplock baggie. 

He’s frantic at his hotel, tearing his things apart, looking and relooking at the bottom of his suitcase. His jacket pockets, his pants pockets. 

He tries to think. Did he leave him in his bathroom? No. Can't be it. He remembers putting him inside the familiar zip lock baggie while getting the rest of his things ready. Where in the world did he go. 

His soapy. His poor soapy! How is he supposed to live in these conditions. He’s never. ever missed a single game without soapy. What is he supposed to do now? Loose?? There goes his good luck down the drain. Years of good performance is about to take a nosedive. 

When he’s set to do his routine face time with you pre game, you pick up on his sour mood. But he only brushes it off, blaming it on pre game nerves 

You don’t believe him, but don’t want to press

Jude pends 20 minutes locked inside the bathroom, head in his hands while he scolds himself. It’s a bar of soap he wants to scream, pull yourself together. But he can’t. Soapy has become more than just a silly little joke. He’s become attached to soapy, a part of his routine. He’d rather die than admit it out loud to anyone 

For now he sighs, smoothing his jersey down and getting ready to get on the pitch. 

——-

The only thing that’s been in his mind is getting back home and getting to the bottom of the mystery. Unfortunately for him, soapy is nowhere to be found in the bathroom. Not in the living room. The kitchen. The hallway. He thinks of hiring a cleaning team, but what is he supposed to say ? 

Oh hey guys clean my house and also be on the lookout for a dried out stick of white that looks like a finger haha. 

No. Absolutely not. 

He takes to his own devices and begins to tear apart his house in a desperate search for his beloved soapy. He spends the whole day on his hands and knees looking under places he didn’t even know his house had to begin with, squeezing under and into spaces he’s sure gonna regret tomorrow. 

It’s already dark out when he calls it quits. Nothing but a few bruises to show for it. 

He’s really lost him huh. 

——-

His behavior is soon picked up by teammates, coaches and staff. The usual cheery youthful Jude is replaced by a damp sluggish cranky one.

He’s silent at training, chewing the inside of his cheek while going through the familiar motions of each drill. 

Eduardo comes to him after they hit the showers, squeaky clean and ready to go home. 

“You good?”

Jude gives him a bashful nod, “yeah man. just a little worn out, don't worry.”

He gets a clap on the shoulder in response, and gives a tight lipped smile back. He’s gotta figure this out or it will start to affect more than just his mood. How stupid of him to let an old slice of a soap bar affect him so much. 

A little piece of him can guess why. Soapy is one of the very few stable things in his life. And perhaps the only stable physical thing. something to count on. Something to be able to rely on. Unchanging. 

But now that he’s gone and lost it ? jeez. 

——-

You show up to his house on a cloudy day, his favorite snacks under your arm. He greets you with a kiss, but you see the way his eyes droop and sag. What's wrong with your golden boy? 

He leads you to the living room where you make yourself at home. Plopping down on the couch and handing him his things. 

He takes them gingerly, setting them on the kitchen counter while he takes a seat across from you 

you frown, “Jude. What's wrong? “

He looks away, playing with his hands, knee bouncing. Okay what is going on that’s gotten him so worked up

“Baby…” you try, scooting closer to him. 

He screws his eyes shut, bawling his hands into fists, “I lost soapy,” 

oh. 

Your gaze softens, “You lost him? When?”

He sighs, cracking an eye open, when he sees you aren’t making fun of him he opens both, relaxing. 

“I don't know. when we played villareal away I couldn’t find him. Then i got back and tore this place up and still no luck.” arms falling into his lap. 

You place a hand on his knee. Gentle. Soft. 

“He couldn't have gotten far. I'm sure he’s somewhere obvious. “ 

“I guess,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch. 

You smile, letting him lean against you. He's so cute when he pouts. You like babying him anyway. The rest of the day is spent with his head in your lap while you press occasional kisses to his face, letting keeping up with the kardashians play in the background. 

When it’s time for you to leave, Jude whines, pouting and asking you to stay just a little more.

“It's already late jude, I would if I could you know that. “

He huffs, “I guess. “ 

You forgot about your bags laying on the kitchen counter, might as well put them away before you go. 

Jude gets up to help, sliding against the hardwood and meeting you in the kitchen

He grabs a chair from the island in the middle, bringing it to him and a little baggie falls from it. Is that what he thinks it is ? He picks it up faster than you can turn around and almost screams. He could cry tears of joy 

It’s soapy. 

You were right. It was right in front of him all along 

He holds up the bar for you to see and you smile, “see. told you. “

He nods, “yes you did,” kissing your lips as a thank you 

You hum, patting his head when you pull apart, “glad you found soapy.” 

Maybe soapy isn’t so bad after all.